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2
The descent to Athos International Aerospaceport was a quiet one, the shuttle’s atmospheric entry guiding it towards the sprawl of runways, towering mass drivers and vast airport terminals that defined the former civilian travel nexus. Gone was that bustle, replaced instead by the constant arrivals and departures of military craft.
Further south was the city of Athos itself, the morning mist covering its distant skyscrapers with a light haze.
The doors of the shuttle finally opened, the four pilots immediately overcome by the cool, fresh Plateian air. All that time in space had almost accustomed them to the sterile, recycled air aboard space vessels. The clear sky above was a most welcome sight—Andries nearly felt as though he were on Vasati once more.
Descending the boarding steps, they were greeted by the 4th Independent Squadron, red pilot jumpsuits immediately distinguishing three of the four of them as Kunlunese pilots. Formalities were brief, a quick salute in recognition of their arrival.
“Kaptein Jager, if I’m not mistaken?” The sole man among them spoke, his Ruimters evidently well-practiced. “I am Captain Yuan Liping of the Kunlun National Defense Force. This is my unit—the Fourth. Some call us the Thylacine Unit.” He offered a handshake to Marinus, who promptly accepted the gesture.
Andries took note of their patch—a thylacine, a species of predatory marsupial, jaw outstretched. It was followed by an ‘IV’, denoting their status as the 4th Independent Squadron.
“I would comment on the unfortunate circumstances that led to our current cooperation, but…” Liping scoffed. “Really, I’m just glad we won’t be sitting on our asses all day.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Marinus’ reply was dispassionate, far from amused by his fellow captain’s hints. The silence that followed was brief, but tense, as both men seemed to silently size each other up.
“I’ll explain the present situation to you in greater detail in my office.” said Liping, finally breaking the ice.
“Sasjetska, do me a favor and show these pilots their rooms. Ground crews have already been ordered to unload their fencers— no need to worry about that for the time being.” The two commanding officers took their leave, the remaining pilots left behind to familiarize themselves with one another.
His instruction had been answered by the sole Grenslander in the unit. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman stood just taller than Andries, her flat expression and upright demeanor giving away the aura of a no-nonsense pilot. She seemed closer to Marinus than anyone else in her years, a faded scar upon her cheek speaking to her experience. On receiving Liping’s order, she seemed to study each of them before she spoke.
“Welcome to Plateia, pilots,” She began. “I am Luitenant Rosemarie Sasjetska. I apologize if the Kaptein is on edge—we are still getting used to terrestrial conditions.”
She did not delay in escorting the pilots across the tarmac to reach the terminals proper.
“What qualifies as quarters in this place?” inquired Andries.
“The terminal’s hotels are… adequate accommodations in the interim.” Rosemarie answered. “Until the engineers set up the proper facilities, we’ll use the airport’s own provisions. But it is a luxury you should not accustom yourselves to.”
“You sound disappointed, miss.” Qingyan commented.
“Of course.” She replied matter-of-factly. “Comforts serve only to dull the senses. I did not survive the Colony War by eating from a silver platter.”
“You could learn from this veteran’s example,” Gisela teased, giving Andries a light nudge.
“Tch! Rich coming from a general’s daughter.”
The tarmac soon segued into industrial garages and abandoned baggage transports, staircases leading upward into cordoned-off maintenance halls that brought the group of pilots into the terminal proper.
Where once thousands might have walked through this vast space, now only squads of Compact troops here and there kept this grand thoroughfare of shops from total desolation.
As if noticing their curiosity, Rosemarie spoke. “After we secured the spaceport, all civilians were evacuated. Once the proper facilities for our forces are in place, things here will return to normal.”
Past the rows of derelict duty-free shops and restaurants, the hotel entrance welcomed them. The atrium was busy with pilots and officers, the front desk devoid of the staff that would have once tended to the place. The stairs took them up three floors, Rosemarie gesturing to a multitude of numbered rooms down the corridor.
“301, 302, 303, 304. You’re adjacent to us.” She explained plainly. “Do you need anything else?”
“After all that trouble, the least we could do is get acquainted.” Andries suggested.
Rosemarie shrugged. “Very well. You know my name—I suppose you can allow my peers to familiarize themselves with you.”
“Luitenant Andries van Orthen. Pleasure to meet you all.”
“Tweede Luitenant Li Qingyan, nice to meet you!” Qingyan seemed to be in good spirits, given the presence of new faces, not to mention her own fellow countrymen.
“Luitenant Gisela Swarthout,” Gisela introduced herself. “I anticipate worthwhile cooperation between us.”
Andries took note of the other two pilots of the 4th, both Kunlunese. One abnormally tall, one short.
“Ah— uh,” The first one spoke quietly, stuttering over her words as she adjusted her glasses. “Luitenant Li Shengnan. I look forward to working with you… and uh, learning more about you all, if that’s okay.”
Her height gave her away as a hypograv, a human born in microgravity, bones lengthened and brittle in the absence of gravity’s influence. As a people, they were incapable of living in 1g without cybernetic augmentation, naturally leaving them in the margins of broader solar society. Even with her augmentations, her pilot’s suit came with an additional supporting harness to further lessen the burden of pouches and other carried equipment. Her grasp of Ruimters was surprisingly good—perhaps she’d practiced?
“I’m an open book—you’re welcome to sate your curiosities accordingly.” Andries gave a nonchalant shrug.
Gisela was quick to speak over him. “Don’t listen to him, he’s a bastard.”
“You’ve got a dirty mind to make assumptions right off the bat, Swarthout!”
Quickly things had once again returned to back-and-forth between the two. “Uhh, um—” Shengnan stood there, not quite certain how to respond.
“Don’t worry about them,” Qingyan reassured her. “They’ve been like this as long as I’ve known them.”
“Hey.” The last of the 4th’s pilots spoke, finally bringing Gisela and Andries to quiet down. Yet another argument without a clear victor, one could suppose.
“Luitenant Pang Jing, KNDF. Pleased to meet you all.” Her aura had a strange allure to it, her eyes obscured by short, messy hair. Small augmentations dotted an otherwise unblemished face, perhaps hinting to a far more intricate mechanism concealed behind her overgrown bangs.
“You can see us?” Qingyan jested.
“I can see that and a lot more.” Jing replied cryptically. “I’m excited to see how we perform on the field.”
The return of their superiors quickly silenced further discussion, as the two men made their way down the hall. “We’re back in business, ladies and gentlemen. Kaptein Liping will lead us to our fencers.”
Back to the matter at hand, Andries supposed. Beyond the confines of the terminal and its facilities, several of the aerospaceport’s numerous hangars had temporarily become holding facilities for fencer units. The 7th’s own fencers were faced on the opposite end of the hangar by the 4th’s choice in fighting machines, two Vegters and two Verpletterers.
“To get straight to the point,” Liping began, explaining the task at hand. “Conventional forces are launching a final attack on remaining Coalition forces in the region. Plenty of them are still in the outskirts of Athos, but that’s not our focus—rather, it’s the abandoned military facility they’re using as an ad-hoc base of operations. We’ve been tasked with the responsibility of a flanking attack to disrupt their chain of command. Once we’re through, we’ll fire nuclear loitering munitions right into the heart of the operation. Hopefully that’ll put enough of a dent that the rest of the Compact forces can close in and clean up what’s left.”
“How strong’s the enemy force?” inquired Rosemarie.
“Enough to be a nuisance.” was Liping’s response. “Briefing data has been logged aboard your mechs. Let’s not delay.”
The pilots of the 4th parted ways with Marinus’ unit, making for their own fencers: two RZC-08 Hong Is, a single upgraded RZC-11 Hong II—Liping’s—and a singular Vegter—Rosemarie’s.
Andries noted his own Vegter standing beside Qingyan’s Verpletterer, the minor dents incurred in earlier combat hastily filled with breach foam.
Until proper supply lines were in place and replacement parts were readily available, he supposed it was a stopgap solution. After all, the damage he’d incurred was insignificant.
“You seem nervous, Luitenant.” Qingyan quipped, walking parallel to Andries as they approached their mobile fencers.
“Hopefully my Vegter stays in one piece.” Andries replied, chuckling to himself. “You’ll keep me covered, right?”
“T-To the best of my ability!” She answered candidly. As much as she tried to exude an air of confidence, Andries could tell the prospect of their first terrestrial battle had Qingyan nervous.
“Good. Let’s hope those sim battles serve you well.”
Branching off from the I-23, the I-34 offered a grim glimpse into the disorder and confusion that now reigned. Things varied wildly. Where some of the communities along the highway’s path seemed virtually untouched by the crisis, others had evidently been run through by looters and roving bandits.
Torched homes and ransacked businesses spoke to the cruel opportunism that had emerged in the absence of ordered authority. Wooden signs over fortified houses warned looters with the threat of death, a threat undoubtedly legitimate given just how many owned firearms in Telfair.
The group of fencers trudged on, parallel to the highway. The evening sky above was an oppressive overcast, lifeless shades of gray only further accentuating the misery of their surroundings.
The I-34 proper was still crowded with refugees making their way east, a mass exodus of despairing civilians fleeing the tribulations of war.
Armed troops of uncertain affiliation were gathered along the highway, managing the humanitarian nightmare of the evacuation. None dared chance trouble against the eight fencers that moved parallel to the interstate. Through the optical units of his Vegter, Andries could parse their worried, fearful expressions as the towering fencers passed them by. For many accustomed to life away from the horrors of war, this had likely been their first glimpse of such terrible fighting machines in person.
“So whose side are they on, exactly?” He questioned.
“The Telfair National Guard has been in complete disarray since the start of the conflict,” Rosemarie explained. “They have orders to abstain from the fight and focus on keeping order. Some have refused these instructions, however, either siding with the Coalition or going AWOL and resorting to banditry.”
“Seems like a complicated situation.” Marinus commented.
“It is,” said Rosemarie. “For now, we mostly know their loyalties by whether or not they shoot at us. They’re not a military formation of the Coalition Forces, so they’re not our enemy—we don’t fight them unless we have to.”
Andries kept that in mind as they pressed forward. The map data relayed to them presented a waypoint a few kilometers ahead—once they’d reached that point, they were to make their way south for the attack.
When the waypoint did come, it did so unceremoniously. More cars clogged the highway ahead, their exodus managed by overwhelmed national guardsmen. Breaking from the I-34’s course, they began their southbound trajectory, walking amidst forests and unkempt dirt backroads.
The evening had begun to fade, the overcast sky quickly darkening as they continued through the woods. The Vegter’s optical units adapted to the change in lighting accordingly, night vision activating in response to the dusk’s transition into night.
“Nothing in our vicinity,” Liping announced. “We’ll break formation to get them at another angle. I’ll forward trajectory data to your maps.”
The 4th acted accordingly, setting off further eastward. Their trajectory indicated they would be moving to the southeast, while the 7th remained on a direct southbound course to the military facility. By this metric, they were to launch an assault from the east while Jager’s team struck from the north.
Andries kept focused, both on the visual end and on the radar. Faint, distant presences indicated a general agglomeration of forces around the military facility, beyond visual range.
“Wish we’d brought along c-lances.” Qingyan remarked.
“They would’ve served us little,” Marinus explained. “The atmosphere would only disperse the beam’s potential, and give away our presence.”
“What of the loitering munitions, then?” Gisela questioned.
“They’ll have an ample chance to intercept if we try from this far.” He answered. “We’ll utilize them once we’re closer.”
Andries scanned his surroundings, swapping periodically between his fencer’s night vision and FLIR optics. At first, there was nothing but the trees ahead, a sea of low-contrast grey in the infrared. Then came the quick movement of a black shape among the trees that made him freeze.
Qingyan had designated it on their HUDs, making the call just as quickly. “C-contact!”
For a moment, there was silence—then raucous laughter on Marinus’ part. “That’s a deer, silly!” The rest of the 7th followed Marinus in a cacophony of cackles, much to the rookie’s chagrin.
“I- uh— s-sorry, sir.” She stammered.
“No worries, just keep your eyes open—”
Warning klaxons jolted Andries to attention—incoming ATGMs. His fencer’s shoulder-mounted CIWS units responded swiftly, cutting down the first of the missiles as he reflexively maneuvered with a quick burst of his fencer’s thrusters.
Already, he hurriedly searched for the source of the attack. There, among felled trees and dense brush, a trench had haphazardly been laid. The thermal silhouettes of infantry shifted about frantically in the trench, desperately reloading their bulky, crew-operated anti-tank launchers.
Behind the first defensive line, more trenchworks had been excavated, hosting a platoon of four M-77 Chimera main battle tanks.
Andries’ reaction came in the form of a spray of 25mm fire from his Vegter’s twin head-mounted cannons, rounds pattering against the dirt and kicking up dust as Coalition soldiers ducked for cover. Some were turned to mincemeat immediately, further striking terror into the enemy lines. Yet that had not been the sole focus of his attack, his aim moving further on to the row of tanks behind the infantry.
Some shots landed, others ricocheted. There was little time for the tank crews to retaliate. By the time two black flashes filled Andries’ thermals—two of the tanks firing away at the fencer team—the other half of the tank platoon had seemingly gone quiet, crews either reeling in their disabled machines or eviscerated by penetrating rounds.
A loud CHTOONK resonated as one of the two rounds fired made an impact against his Vegter’s torso, the shot putting a dent across the fencer’s metamaterial armor.
“Shit!” Gisela swore. Evidently, the other shot had been for her.
Just as quickly as they’d made their defiance known, the remaining tanks were cut down by retaliatory fire from the 7th. A well-placed shot from Marinus’ assault cannon left one of them a flaming, smoldering coffin for the crew within, while a devastating round from Qingyan had sent the other’s turret airborne.
The trench-based ATGM launchers that hadn’t been destroyed by the deluge of autocannon fire had been abandoned by their terror-stricken operators, cohesion among the defensive line having quickly become nonexistent.
Yet any celebration over the skirmish was short-lived. A glimpse at his radar alerted Andries to the approach of six blips from the south, who soon revealed themselves. Fresh off a thruster jump, the landing of the Titans practically forged a new clearing amidst the woods, leaving toppled trees and burning brush in their wake.
“Six contacts!” Gisela announced.
The trading of shots began almost immediately, fencers from both sides maneuvering across the brush and leaving devastation in their wake. The forest was alight with the eruption of thrusters and assault cannons, the dead winter underbrush igniting in the midst of the crossfire.
A quick jump sent Andries ahead, turning as if on a swivel to face his enemies.
One of the Titans was preoccupied with Marinus and Qingyan. It stepped back upon noticing Andries, as sabots lashed its front armor.
However, the enemy pilot’s reaction was far too late. Flashes surged from Andries’ OKG-16, barrel-tip glowing a faint red.
The first of the 105mm sabots shattered the Titan’s right arm, hydraulic fluids spilling like blood as its hand dangled uselessly, its main gun hitting the ground. Little followed the ensuing shots into the Titan’s side, that was, until belching flames sent the doomed machine’s hatch airborne, ignited fuel having claimed everything within.
Another Titan wavered, collapsing as Gisela’s flurry of shots severed its legs. Another round of sabots ripped the arms from the immobilized fighting machine, spilling mechanical viscera as the Coalition Titan was left completely disarmed.
“Good kill!” Marinus complimented. Andries rolled his eyes—she always was the favored one.
The third death in the enemy’s number was far less remarkable—a direct hit from Qingyan’s 155mm gun sending the fencer in question tumbling lifelessly to the ground.
Reeling from the heavy losses, the remaining three fencers began to pull back and retreat southward, still firing upon the Compact pilots as they did. The 7th matched their maneuver with an advance in turn, Gisela stalling the enemy by landing her Vegter just short of their position.
“Not so fast!” She called to nobody in particular, raising her rifle in defiance. The distraction was an adequate one—it had been enough for Qingyan to down another as they reacted to Gisela’s presence.
“Don’t be reckless, Luitenant!” warned Marinus.
Driven by the rush of the stims now coursing through his bloodstream, Andries was not about to let himself be outperformed. A thruster-assisted jump left him adjacent to Gisela’s Vegter, faced down by two Titans ahead.
Andries emptied his magazine on one of them in a wild barrage of sabots, instinctively placing himself between the enemy and his squadmate. Evidently, One of the rounds had managed to strike a weak point in the front armor, while others dented uselessly.
The ensuing catastrophe left little beyond a deformed, half-molten husk where the Titan had stood before. The remaining Titan opened fire, and Andries immediately felt a sharp jolt of nervous stimuli on his right shoulder.
His Vegter’s shoulder-mounted CIWS unit had been ripped to shreds, leaving mangled wiring and machinery in its wake. Another of the sabots had pierced the right shoulder itself, destroying its RCS thrusters and igniting the propellant.
The click of a spent mag made Andries’ blood run cold. He had been so enthralled by combat that he’d overlooked his ammo usage, despite the constant stream of stimuli fed into him by the brain-computer interface.
Forced to fall back upon the next best thing, Andries acted with split-second precision—retaliating in a spray of rounds from his fencer’s 25mm guns. The Titan recoiled as its head was subjected to the full fusillade of rounds, shattering its visor and tearing its main optical unit to shreds.
The enemy pilot had no time to recuperate from this disorientation. A well-placed body shot from Qingyan sent the fighting machine collapsing to the ground, unmoving. Andries stared at the sight, completely frozen by his near-death gambit.
“All contacts are a non-factor.” Marinus announced.
Andries felt himself dragged back to reality by the voice of his superior. Looking to his right, he noted that his Vegter’s scorched shoulder was now slathered in the white of flame-retardant foam, courtesy of the fencer’s built-in firefighting systems.
All in all, the damage was minor. The right arm remained operational, and replacement parts could be procured at a later time. He could push forward despite the damages.
The rest of the unit quickly gathered their bearings, grouping up and assessing their surroundings. The forest, dry with the winter and filled with dead plant matter, was alight with the aftermath of their battle. Those further south would surely notice the glow and rising smoke if they lingered too long—they had to press on.
Looking back, he noted that Gisela's Vegter remained behind his.
“Uhh…” She seemed uncertain of how to reply to his gesture, still baffled by the sudden save. “Thank you, Van Orthen.”
“Our supply lines on Plateia are still young. We won’t have the luxury of replacement parts for a while, so I strongly recommend moving with caution going forward.” Marinus instructed, slightly annoyed by Andries’ maneuver. “Those stunts of yours might fly in the simulations, but they’ll only hinder our combat effectiveness here.”
“U-Understood, sir.” He was hardly fazed by the scolding—he was more surprised by hell freezing over, with Gisela showing him gratitude.
After a quick reload of their weapons, they were on the move once more. The burning forest transitioned to expansive fields and open farmland. Remote, unlit roads served to connect the small rural communities in their vicinity, modest barns and aging houses overlooking crops.
Here and there, some briefly emerged from their houses to watch the group of fencers pass. Much of the world had never bore witness to warfare like this, on this scale—now, for many, it was a reality no longer relegated to the confines of television screens.
The fighting machines marched in lockstep, keeping close to the road. Ahead, Andries could see columns of smoke rise beyond the rolling hills to the south. The nearer they drew to the hills, the more apparent it was that a terrible fight had transpired.
The carcasses of Coalition armor were scattered about, some derelict in the fields, others left to burn by the roadside. The corpses of three Titans lay in one of the fields, their forms borderline unrecognizable from damages sustained.
Breaking from the road’s trajectory to ascend the hill, the fencers walked past the idle forms of a Chimera armored platoon, barrels still raised towards the treeline. One could have assumed the tanks had been abandoned, were it not for the dents and impacts that pockmarked their armor.
Radar indicated the 4th was nearby. The slaughter here had no doubt been their handiwork.
“Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll see them in action…” Andries remarked in jest, though his words rang true as they reached the hilltop.
There they were, blazing wreckage and ravaged trenches lying in their wake. The 4th Independent Squadron pushed forward, undeterred by the two surviving platoons of M-77 Chimeras on the hill ahead of them. Andries and his squadmates had little time to react, much less help their allies—they were doing fine on their own, the number of tanks quickly whittled down by persistent maneuver and fire.
One of their own suddenly rocketed forward, driven towards the enemy line by their thrusters. The voice Andries heard on the comm was a familiar one—Jing’s.
“Stay where you are! I’ll send you all to your creator!” She screamed, half-crazed. The translation system aboard Andries’ Vegter could hardly keep up her words amidst heavy breaths and deranged laughs. Unlike the circumstances of their meeting earlier, her demeanor now was completely different to the otherwise unassuming woman Andries had met.
Her landing had crushed one of the enemy tanks in the process, the ensuing mad salvo of rounds fired eliminating the remaining three tanks in quick succession.
Andries’ dumbfounded observation was cut short as he noticed three blips approaching on radar. The forms of three Titans scaled the hill, the glow of their visors visible in the night.
“Contacts!” Gisela called.
Both engaged different fencers in the split-second that followed. Where Gisela’s rounds only managed to dent one of the armored fighting machines, Andries’ burst-fire managed to pierce the other’s visor, shattering its optical unit. The machine rocked back a few steps in disorientation, while the broader three-fencer group was taken aback by the suddenness of the attack.
Jing was upon them in the second that followed. Her movements were mesmerizing—two of them were swept clean off their legs by precise knee shots, point-blank shots finishing them off as they were down.
The third, still reeling from the loss of most of its optical systems, raised its rifle hastily—only for another of the 4th to deliver the final blow. The machine staggered back again, flames erupting from hatches and joints alike as its internals were devoured by propellant igniting. An unceremonious, brutal end.
“You’re welcome, lieutenant.” Liping said, chuckling to himself.
“Don’t interrupt me again!” Jing growled.
“Umm… sir, the other team’s caught up,” Shengnan pointed out, warranting the fencers of the 4th to turn around to face their allies.
“We got tied up with some rear guard forces, as you can see.” Liping explained. “We aren’t picking up anything between here and the base—I think we’ve left them devastated.”
“Fair enough.” Marinus said. “We’ll stick to our waypoints.”
“And we’ll stick to ours,” Liping agreed. “We’ll speak again once we’re in position.”
The two units parted ways once more. Across rugged, forested hills, the 7th pressed on, their fencers ascending the overlook that afforded them a view of the military base.
“We’re in position,” Marinus announced.
“Likewise.” Liping affirmed. A glimpse of the map showed them to the east of the facility, lying in wait just as the 7th did in the north.
Andries looked on at their target to-be, taken aback not solely by its scale, but also its peculiarity. Three pyramidal structures stood at the center of the vast complex, towering several stories above the networks of fortified structures that surrounded the peculiar structure.
“What are those things?” Qingyan inquired, just as interested in the sight as Andries was.
“Phased array radars.” Liping explained. “This facility predates the Coalition… I doubt any of them are operational.”
It was rather easy to tell apart the ancient facility from the hastily-erected blocks of prefab military structures situated across various parts of the base. Old concrete had been overwhelmed by moss and vegetation, the overgrowth only partly undone by the new occupants, suited to the bare minimum of hosting a desperate final defense.
This last-ditch defense was crawling with troops, a bustling culmination of the Coalition’s defensive effort. Along the perimeter, surface-to-air missile launchers and C-RAM systems sat atop old BMD silo blocks, decrepit and rusted hatches adjacent to the newly-laid defenses. These had to go down before the loitering munitions could be fired.
Individual units got to work designating their respective targets, data being shared between the two teams of fencers. Any defensive position in their way had been accounted for. Andries swapped for HEAT rounds, his squadmates doing the same.
“Open fire.” Marinus instructed.
The destruction was almost immediate, surface-to-air launchers practically pulverized by the detonation of their missiles. C-RAMs had likewise been targeted, and autoguns reduced to scrap under the barrage.
Alarms across the base went live, but by then it was too late.
The order came from Marinus without remorse or delay. “Load loitering munitions.”
The magazine in question was marked with warning labels, its size sufficient for a single suicide drone. Loading it in, Andries took aim, the system offering an estimated radius to his blast, as well as the targeting data of his peers. The group adjusted their aim, making certain the collective sum of their attack would cover as much ground as possible.
The low-yield nature of the warhead gave a limited blast radius and a heightened radiological aftermath, a particularly desirable option against the Coalition forces holed up in the fortified labyrinth ahead.
They queued up their shots—a series of 5kt detonations in quick succession, flash after flash, each coming as soon as the previous faded. Even in the dead of night, the spontaneous, macabre inferno was enough to briefly illuminate all that surrounded them.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine how dreadful such a thing would’ve been to experience directly. Such terrifying ‘siege tactics’ had been devised during the Colony War, a means to swiftly break the morale of forces in heavily-defended citadels.
Eight low-yield nuclear detonations in total, each targeting different portions of the facility. For several minutes, the overwhelming presence of dust was all one could see upon the base. Only as it faded did it reveal entire sections of the facility mangled by the blast, flames blazing through dead zones of entire overturned forests.
The instruction to advance was given, the two fencer units trudging past the environmental devastation to wipe out the stragglers. It wasn’t a pleasant affair, but it was a necessary one.
For those aboveground, it had been a near-total massacre. Many of those below had surely been entombed by collapsing corridors. Andries kept fixated on his thermals as the unit drew towards the facility’s epicenter, walking past half-pulverized fortifications, debris trampled under the advance of the fencers.
None among the broken rank and file had the will to resist in the face of the staggering destruction. This was the true potential of the mobile fencer, a devastating weapon of war in the proper hands.
Over the radio, the instruction of surrender came shortly thereafter.
“Coalition Forces, this is General Claudius Martin Clements. Athos Citadel can hold no longer—the defense has shattered under overwhelming force. As of this moment, I ask that all of you lay down your arms and surrender.”
White flags were raised from what fortifications still stood in the aftermath of the apocalyptic strike. Compact ground forces arrived, MOPP-clad soldiers scrambling to deal with the POW situation. Looming over the rubble, fencers walked the grounds, optics scanning damaged structures for any willing to defy the instruction of surrender.
“That’s a wrap, everyone.” Marinus finally spoke, breaking the cold silence between the pilots in the strike’s aftermath.
“Your pilots have done quite well, Jager. My expectations are pleasantly subverted.” Liping complimented.
“I could say the same to you…”
While their commanding officers exchanged words, Andries looked on at the devastation. The Coalition’s wounded were brought out on stretchers from half-collapsed redoubts, transferred to the care of Compact medics. Soldiers laid down their arms to be taken as prisoners by their victorious opponent, the process undertaken with haste under the strike’s residual radiological contamination.
Even in the aftermath of such a brutal atrocity, basic dignity was afforded. None of this was personal, Andries assured himself—all that had changed was the theater of war. For years, this misery had been the norm of offword warfare. Now the horror had come home to haunt the responsible.
He’d have plenty to think about in the coming days, he was certain of that much.
The looping alarm klaxons of the Titan’s warning systems had seared themselves into Emi’s mind, leaving her with a throbbing migraine that was hardly helped by the combat stimulant cocktail still coursing through her veins.
Her necklace, a wooden oracle card, dangled over her helmet’s visor. A tree of life was depicted upright on the card, flanked by ornate engravings. Things in life tended to always come back to this card. She considered it a good luck charm—now it was almost a mockery of her situation, as she’d survived despite everything that’d happened.
Her fencer was immobile. Limbs severed, it lay surrounded by the flames that now burned in the battle’s aftermath. Across every display, she could see her fencer encircled by the roaring blaze that had consumed the forest. On her comm, the displays that weren’t mere static showed the lifeless forms of her squadmates, dismembered by shrapnel.
For every minute Emi lay idle, the spherical chamber grew warmer. She supposed eventually the flames would reach her immobilized machine and ignite her Titan’s fuel reserves, taking her away at last. It would be an unceremonious end, she thought…
She didn’t want to look at the card any longer. As she brought a hand to pull it away from her visor, there came a sudden and startling jolt on her comms. The source was a Coalition channel.
The last she’d heard any CFA comms was General Clements ordering Coalition forces in the region to surrender. She was uncertain how long ago that’d been. Minutes? Hours? Her perception of time was twisted by her idle anticipation of death.
“To any who can hear this—if you are outside of Athos Citadel, there’s still hope. We’re designating a number of evacuation sites—thirty minutes and we’re out of here.”
A quick check revealed the source of the message as the 34th Infantry Division’s combat aviation brigade. Emi quietly wondered to herself if joining them in their defiant insubordination towards the surrender order would be wise—and then she pondered the alternative.
If she was indeed meant to die here, she thought, then for sure these signs would not have presented themselves. A sudden surge of willpower drove her to persist. Allowing for a final injection of the combat stims, Emi proceeded to free herself from the fencer’s motion harness.
With the machine laid back-first, Emi’s tumble brought her sliding down to the door, now the ‘floor’ in this disorienting arrangement. The automatic doors slid open, the fencer pilot landing upon the exit ladder.
She checked her oxygen supply and stashed ammunition before going forward. At her hip, a Usine Nationale d'Armes SP-34 .45 caliber sidearm was holstered, a rudimentary means of self-defense if she ran into trouble beyond the safety of her fencer.
A forward crawl led her to the hatch, which she finally got open with a labored push.
Part of Emi was thankful her sealed suit spared her from breathing the fumes of the blazing inferno around her, yet even then, she could still feel the terrible heat. Her hand instinctively clasped her card necklace, counting on her faith as she pressed on.
Her boots met the ground with a crunch, her step crushing several layers of dried, dead leaves. Surely this would be more fodder for the flames, given time. From that point onward, she moved with haste, braving the heat as her run took her into the woods.
The evac positions had been marked on the map at the bottom left of her helmet’s HUD. The position in question was a hill several kilometers to the west, directly north of the fallen citadel. She was certain the last dose of combat stims could carry her there in time.
The sound of her own rapid breathing was almost drowned out by the cacophonous crackle of the wildfire burning through dry winter woods. Slowly, but surely, the heat became less oppressive as she continued her desperate run through the forest.
Ahead, there was a break in the thicket, which quickly registered to her as an isolated backroad. She would’ve paid it no mind, but the sound of engines and a glimpse of lights further off made her freeze, ducking into the bushes.
Emi could feel her heart pounding ceaselessly, the act of keeping still being a conscious struggle. The vehicle drew into view: four MRAPs, markings identifying them as Grenslander. She clutched her oracle card, quietly praying she would go unnoticed by the passing the group.
When the vehicles moved on without incident, she breathed a sigh of immense relief.
Rising to her feet once more, she made for a mad dash across the road. With a hurried leap into the brush ahead, she stopped momentarily to see if any more were coming down the road. The first slivers of light were beginning to tint the leaves—more were coming.
Continuing her desperate run, Emi checked the map on her HUD. She was getting close. When the hill finally came into view, it was as though her heart were verging on leaping out of her chest.
At the top, she could glimpse the helicopters and VTOLs lying in wait, a few ragtag groups of surviving Coalition soldiers gathered by the cargo doors. Almost tripping over herself, she made her way uphill with reckless urgency, freezing as she was momentarily met by a few rifle barrels.
Only when they gradually lowered their guns did she exhale, relieved.
“Bloody hell, I almost shot your head clean off.” One of the soldiers spoke, managing a nervous chuckle. “You’re the only fencer pilot to show up to evac—we’re all grunts here.”
“Warrant Officer Oh Emi, 104th Mobile Fencer Unit, 19th Armored Division…” Emi was still catching her breath. “I’m all that’s left of my unit.”
“Second Lieutenant Andrew Falkirk,” The man introduced himself. “Most of the men here hail from my platoon. We were close enough to heed the evac in time… I’ve no plans of becoming a prisoner this early into the war.”
“How much of you are left, lieutenant?”
At this, Andrew scoffed. “Under my command? About a hundred men. Most of the division was holed up at the citadel when the Spacers nuked it to shit. Most of us here are from the 34th—guess we’re what’s left.”
Emi could see variety among the disorganized band of soldiers that had organized themselves upon the hill. Some hailed from the 19th, like her, while others were merely NatGuard personnel who had chosen to fight alongside the CFA, blue armbands distinguishing them accordingly.
“I see,” She said. “Where is this evacuation going?”
“Away from here, that much is certain.” explained the Lieutenant. “The spaceport up north in Clarendon is adequately defended… but who knows how long until the Spacers begin their way up the I-23.” It was hardly a reassuring message, but at the very least it promised temporary respite from all of this.
Emi looked south, in the former citadel’s direction. Pillars of smoke had blotted out the horizon, a testament to the sheer scale of devastation inflicted upon the ill-fated defenders.
“Our pilots are already running pre-flight checks. No use in sightseeing, lass.”
She supposed he was right. Emi was unsure whether it was some form of transcendental fate guiding her forward, or her own force of will, but she felt confident in believing her death was not for today.
A degree of mutual respect had been forged through shared experience, both squadrons unwinding in the aftermath of the operation. The hotel bar was alive with chatter, the pilots far from alone in having successes worth celebrating.
Alcohol wasn’t quite Andries’ go-to when unwinding, nor was it recommended while traces of combat stims remained in one’s system, but a great victory like today’s demanded its exceptions.
Still, despite the enthusiasm of those around him, Andries was quiet and thoughtful, the battle playing back in his mind with photographic accuracy. On the table, his glass of whiskey sat half-full, ice slowly melting as his attention lay elsewhere.
The television was set to a Compact military newscast, scenes from across the Plateian theater playing out. Of course, the conflict in Esmaria was but one of many ground campaigns actively underway in the struggle against the Coalition. Telfair almost felt miniscule in the grand scheme of things, though Andries understood the value of their mission.
“Awfully quiet for the occasion, Van Orthen.” A voice came from the adjacent barstool, jolting Andries back to reality. Looking to his right, he was surprised to see Gisela there with him.
“I suppose I am. Not much to say about it, really.” Andries answered with a shrug. “Thought you’d find chatter with the Kaptein more interesting.”
“On the contrary. I feel I’d be remiss not to have a word with you after…” Gisela trailed off, as if measuring her words with care. “What you did out there. Thank you,” then she uttered in almost a murmur, “I do mean it.”
“It was nothing, Swarthout. You’re not a bad pilot either—you did well out there.” Andries was cautious in sounding too patronizing with his praise. Truth be told, he’d never had a one-on-one like this with her, and it left many uncertainties in regards to what she’d interpret as compliment or provocation.
“I could say the same about you. Perhaps I was wrong in my initial assessment…”
“There you guys are!” Another familiar voice—Qingyan’s. She invited herself over, sitting beside Andries. “I looked allll over for you, you know.”
“You’ve had a little too much to drink, I take it.” Gisela commented.
“N-not at all! I was just.. curious… about what you guys are up to. I’m not a lightweight!” Qingyan was quick to get defensive over such an accusation. “We did great today. It was my first time fighting on a planet. I hope I didn’t disappoint.”
“O-of course not. You did fine.” Andries was slightly caught offguard by Qingyan joining them at the table.
“I’ve been nervous about Plateia long before we landed. It’s all so big and vast… almost overwhelming.”
“Uh-huh…” Gisela responded, half-attent. “Where’s Kaptein Jager?”
“Oh, you know. Talking with the 4th’s CO about the mission. I tried to speak with him, but he told me I should stop drinking.”
“Maybe he’s onto something,” said Gisela. “Why don’t we get you back to your room, leave the chit-chat for the morning.”
“I’m fine, really—”
“That wasn’t a request.”
Andries kept quiet as the two squadmates took their leave, one clearly less willing to than the other.
Alone, his eyes wandered. Now that his solitude had been interrupted, he was far more interested in finding someone to talk to. Looking about, it didn’t take long to spot the pilots of the 4th—one notably missing.
A few tables over, he spotted her. Shengnan was keeping to herself, gloomy despite the jovial undertone of the occasion. Andries’ curiosity was piqued, and he deemed it long overdue to make proper acquaintances with someone in their brethren squadron.
Finishing his whiskey, he got up and made his way over. His sudden arrival caught her by surprise, though she relaxed slightly on recognizing him.
“Ah.. Van Orthen, was it? Is something the matter?” She questioned, showing evident apprehension.
“Nothing’s the matter. Just saw you alone here, figured I’d strike up a chat.”
Leaning in, Shengnan spoke in a hushed tone, “They… sent you to pull a prank on me, didn’t they?”
“Huh?”
Her pale features reddened in an ashamed blush as she cringed slightly. “T-That was a weird thing to ask, sorry. It’s nothing.”
Andries felt a pang of pity for the poor girl. “It’s something if you felt the need to mention it, surely.”
Shengnan was uneasy as she sought the right words. “It’s just that I stick out like a sore thumb… and people notice. I can see it in the looks I get, the things people say when I’m not around. It’s just something that I’ve gotten used to. C-can we move on from this?”
“You think I’m here to torment you?”
“W-well..” She looked at Andries, as if trying to deduce his intentions. “I don’t think you are. I hope not.”
Andries sighed. “Come on. I’m not that scary, am I?”
“..I guess not..” Shengnan meekly answered. “I think we got off on the wrong foot… I don’t doubt your good intentions. I-I’m just not used to new people, okay?”
“Your Ruimters is good, perhaps even better than your commander’s,” Andries complimented. “Practice frequently?”
“When I can.”
“I figured as much. You can tell when someone actually takes an interest in studying the language, instead of auto-learning off a sim.”
The positive praise helped break the ice, and Shengnan let her guard down as the conversation went on. “Well, your culture is something of a passive interest to me. After all, if I’m fighting alongside you all, the least I could do is learn more about my allies.”
Andries shrugged. “What’s happening now is more important, I reckon. More worthwhile to think about the future in times like these.”
“Perhaps…” Her long fingers tapped idly upon the table as she dwelled on the thought. “But surely there’s no harm in being curious. I feel it makes things easier to understand, at least for myself.”
“I don’t think we’re all that different.”
“You’d be surprised how different I feel.” Shengnan retorted. “Even among my own countrymen. Here, being surrounded by so many who don’t look like me. Plenty think me a mutant… at best.”
“I think you’re beating yourself up over nothing.” Andries replied. “I certainly don’t view you in such a manner.”
“I hope that’s not out of some well-meaning pity…” She moped pessimistically.
“The battlefield has no room for these petty things. As long as our units remain joined at the hip, I care more that I can depend on you when it matters.”
“I’d like to imagine I’m dependable…” Even if apprehensively, at least Shengnan had introspected positively for a moment.
“That’s a good start. Find the positive in things—starting with yourself. We’ve got a war ahead of us. Won’t exactly help being demoralized this early.”
“Command doesn’t want us calling it that.” She was quick to correct him.
Andries scoffed. “I doubt this semantics game will persist if the Coalition manages to last ‘till the summer…”
“Hopefully victory will be swift.” On the other hand, her optimism for the war contrasted with Andries’ own cynical, realist pessimism.
“I’d hope.” He said half-heartedly.
Andries had been so absorbed in conversation with her that he’d hardly noticed much of the bar had cleared up. Few remained, and none of them were his fellow pilots.
“Bit late, isn’t it?” He said, Shengnan coming to a similar realization.
“Ah… I hadn’t even noticed.” A nervous laugh followed her words. “We should get going.”
“I’d like a proper night’s sleep, yes.” Andries agreed, getting up from his chair.
The walk back was a quiet one, both pilots silently dwelling on the circumstances of their conversation. It felt refreshing to meet a new face, Andries concluded, even one as insecure and nervous as Shengnan. By now, most of the corridors were dead silent, leaving the two to walk through eerily empty halls on their way to their rooms. Finally being met by the sight of his door was a relief by comparison.
“Andries, wait,” Shengnan called. He paused, looking over to see she still hadn’t headed into her room. “I just wanted to say… Thank you. It feels good to finally have somebody lend an ear to my ramblings. I was having a pretty awful night—thanks for turning it around.”
“My pleasure. Rest well.” He answered her heartfelt gratitude with a smile.
Returning to the solitude of his room, Andries’ mind wandered once he’d settled in to rest.
A new friend—knowing someone in the 4th was a good start, he supposed, especially when these fellow pilots would be faces he’d be working with for the foreseeable future. That, and he couldn’t deny that making someone’s day better felt rather cathartic.