The Lone Survivor
It actually gave him a short pause - properly indicated by the complete stilling of his frame as he looked after the woman as she skipped to her cart - when she, with exaggerated cheerfulness, offered to shoot him in the face instead. While she had been ... surprisingly lousy at keeping a serious demeanor even when being pointed at with the gun of a man who was fully capable of - if not, as far as she knew, outright
intent on - pulling the trigger at the slightest provocation, this jump to what could essentially be summed up as "light-hearted gallows humor" was nevertheless almost jarring.
He guessed it meant she was indeed taking him on his word, and perhaps even
trusted him beyond just reasoning that all he would achieve by turning against her would fuck him over in the long run, and thus he was unlikely to do so. They certainly were past him maybe shooting her to easily obtain whatever her cart contained hanging in the air by now, he reckoned. Such dynamics persisted when both sides were roughly equal. If one was notably more powerful than the other, then the weaker one was either an ally, was kept around purely to be exploited, or got rolled over with no hesitation. Most often the latter.
He guessed there
would be some truth to insisting that any kindness (or, indeed, any
non-violence) he showed her was with the main aim of getting him into her faction. He could not deny it. Not really. He had even told her outright he needed a place to be, not without a hint - nay, a good dose - of perceptible desperation. He had also told her, in no uncertain terms, that he was, for all intents and purposes, a deserter. Did not exactly paint the most favorable picture of him, did it?
'So here is some guy who is only here because he abandoned his duty and has no place to stay because of it...' The only thing that spoke for him was the fact that he had some insight to his old faction's workings, and even that could be held against him - what if he went to someone else to babble out all Eighfour's weaknesses when things went sour? He had essentially already done that once now, had he not? Even if Kay-Gee decided to put good faith in him, there was no telling whether her superiors would be as accommodating. And then there was the small issue of a doomsday-weapon and the bigger, hungrier fish who might turn their eyes at Eighfour now that their current target was proving too hard to swallow... He was not looking forward to coming face-to-face with whatever mid-tier officer - did her faction even have officers, commanders, sergeants, if they had no soldiers? - she eventually brought him to.
Guess it all came down to whether Eighfour's higher-ups possessed a so-called human side, eh? Strategically, yes, his reliability was dubious at best. Humanly... Yes, he could go faction-jumping, betraying and manipulating his way through life, seeking favors at the cost of others until someone caught track of his bullshit and it all finally blew up in his face, but what would be the damn point? At that stage it would be easier to just end it early himself; yesternight, his base survival instincts might have taken precedence, but consciously, this kind of life was not what he would choose to partake in over dying for a lost cause. Not truly.
Merciless, grim, and devoid of much personal freedom as his old life had been, at the very least he had always belonged somewhere, had an identity, and things had been rather clear-cut. These were us, these were the bad guys, you went there, you did this. You tried to stay out of your superiors' attention (it was much more likely to mean bad things than promotions), and if you were currently not on a mission, you kicked back and relaxed with whoever were currently on your squad, making dumb jokes and complaining over whatever unidentifiable substance of peculiar texture and consistency you got passed for rations that day. There had perhaps always been things about which you kept your mouth shut if you had but a sliver of self-preservation instinct, but he had never feared his comrades, not in the sense of expecting them to turn against him out of the blue or actually living up to the darker part of their humor. You were not
supposed to take that shit seriously.
Kay-Gee might have been surprised to hear that "just guns" like that spent quite a lot of what little free time they had on chuckling at random nonsense and even messing with their fellow soldiers. A lot of their humor was indeed either pretty dark, dry and delivered deadpan - to the point where it probably did not register as humor to the uninitiated -, crude and vulgar, or practical and seemingly born out of someone still having a bit too much time on their hands, but ultimately, it was still vastly preferable to spend your evening cursing at whoever had somehow managed to duct tape all of your equipment to the ceiling while you were sleeping (including the components of your gun ...
yes, even the individual bullets from the magazine had been extracted and subjected to the same treatment), than ponder the likelihood of your next mission being your last. Combined with the actual stress of the battlefield and the looming presence of whatever merciless entity was presently in charge, it would get pretty damn depressing pretty fast. Plenty of time to be serious and covered in cold sweat while staring death in the eyes; better laugh at it behind its back. Made it easier to get back to facing it.
He finally moved his gun back over his shoulder, stepped closer and lowered himself to one knee as Kay-Gee crouched down by her cart and began messing with its side-panel.
“Sorry, I’ve never been taken hostage before – is that right? Is that what you call it? - so you’ll have to forgive me if I didn’t do it right.” "I haven't really partaken in any ... hostage situations, so I'm afraid I'm not really the right person to consult, here..." Notrau admitted. In truth, from the way his old faction usually operated, he suspected such operations were few and far between to begin with.
No hesitation, no doubt and all that. "Shouldn't I have demanded something from your faction, promising them your safe return, should they oblige with my demands?" He shook his head. "If this were a hostage situation, then I'd also make for a rather inept captor, huh?"
He watched with mild puzzlement when the first thing Kay took out of her cart was some manner of glove, rather than a container of food.
"I don't really make a habit of biting the hands that feed me, if that's what you're concerned over," he offered as she began slipping her hand into the article. "And if that's for getting the food out, then, uh, I think I'd prefer my dried meat a bit more seasoned. I might not know what went into my rations half the time, but at least these never
actuallyattempted to sink their teeth into my nearest fingers when prodded with a fork..." Jokes aside, he would really prefer if sustenance did not wait until they had reached Eighfour. Had she not said the closest people of hers were the computer-guys a couple dozen kilometers away?
He listened in silence as she commented over relocating herself - though he thought he could easily offer at least a few pointers (something like the cliffdrop would be a significant enough landmark, would it not? and the "ground zero"?) - and echoed his assumption that offering the birds some food might appease them. It was only after she inquired about him seeing the birds that he spoke up again.
"I saw the first one," he noted, briefly raising his shoulders. "The heat would not bleed through if they somehow knew to hide themselves behind the trunks or something - I can't really see through the trees properly with just IR, but I can see a hand-print on your your cart a dozen seconds after you touched it with your bare hand. Sonar just gets me the direction here ... too much leaves and other nonsense. Perhaps I could detect them with something less passive, but I'd rather not announce my presence more than necessary. You could perhaps convince yourself that a gunshot was a breaking branch, but good luck hoping that any listening sensors will not be able to tell a ping from cosmic shenanigans. That, and the static is picking up again, which tends to get in the way of more sophisticated systems." He sighed.
His eyebrows crawled up on his forehead (though still fully concealed by his matte visor) when he looked up to meet what the woman had turned around for proudly presenting him. It was a drone. A very small, seemingly unarmed, and generally inconspicuous-looking rotored drone. Probably not built for silent flight; he figured those tiny blades would sound like a swarm of particularly pissed hornets at the least. It was actually remote-controlled, right? Even though she had decided to name it -
him - and was speaking of him as if he were an autonomous individual. For all that he knew, it was also entirely possible that it was sitting there, staring at him with its tiny lens, evaluating him,
judging him. That was a disturbing thought.
"He?" he repeated, carefully, as of yet uncertain what to make of the tiny machine that he could probably easily crush in his gauntleted hand. His eyes moved from the drone to Kay's smiling face and back. Reaching for the gun would probably be an over-reaction, all things considered, but some things - like his fear of thinking machines - were far too deeply ingrained to ignore. One day, it was cute little apparatuses that sat on your shoulders like well-trained pet rodents, the next it was their much bigger, armed cousins hunting you down for the simple crime of daring to not be machine yourself. "Should I introduce myself?"
The Aftermath
The thirteen intact Trenian artillery units were still and quiet, positioned in a sparse cloud, still anchored to place, but with their guns at rest, laying flat on their roofs. They were almost inconspicuous from distance, somehow harmless-looking, these robust metal monstrosities - until you compared them to the humans milling about, and begun to comprehend how
big the damn things actually were. Two were positioned a ways off, and while some of the intact ones bore marks of the battle upon their hulls, then these were obviously significantly damaged, the mechanisms on their guns burnt and twisted. Unlike the rest, these were unanchored. And, slightly behind the rest, there was the 'dead' one - blackened and rent, remains of its gun still extended, gaping hole clearly visible in the middle of its roof.
Between them seven comparatively much smaller vehicles lay spaced out, just as robust, but almost oval rather than harshly rectangular, sensitive lenses redacted under the protective covers of heavy metal hatches, with nary another visible opening present. One could easily tell the artillery units were moving on treads, but whatever mechanism the "hell-lasers" - as Notrau had dubbed them - used for moving, it could not be easily discerned from above and afar. They were almost featureless, like crabs pretending to be rocks.
Towards the front, there were four vehicles which were barely more than metal frames with guns and frontal plates attached to them - obviously meant to be used against human forces, not heavy armored units. Towards the back, there were what looked like support vehicles - twelve APCs, broad and slant-hooded terrain crawlers, and five trucks, not too unlike the APCs by general structure, though with their backs being removable modules rather than solidly attached. The smaller of the two last remaining vehicles stood out mostly because it was decorated with what looked like various antennae and relay masts.
The other ... it was easily comparable to the arrays in size - unpacked, it actually appeared larger -, though its main purpose was harder to determine. It appeared to lack any proper big guns, with just eight mid-caliber barrels sticking out from strategic positions. It furthermore seemed to have pulled its wheels or threads in - or, at the very least, it had sunk itself firmly to ground. Its one side had been lowered to the ground, unveiling another wall beneath, though this one adorned with narrow bomb-windows, while the dislodged outer side formed a manner of service ramp. Its back, in turn, had been lifted up, forming a shade and baring what appeared to be sliding doors, with a lone soldier standing guard on it, his back to the platform made up from the vehicle's roof.
On said platform, there sat what looked like four full-sized attack helicopters, rotors locked with blades positioned along the tail, and a dozen smaller planelike aircraft with folded wings, dark and sleek. As these seemed too small to fit a human, one could perhaps conclude these were drones - it did not seem all that impossible to confuse one with unfolded wings with a large gliding avian - or
vice versa, which explained why the lone surviving Anderekian from yesternight had mistaken an actual bird for a drone.
Three other "structures" accompanied the vehicles, strategically placed well within the perimeter - sizable fabric tents, rectangular in shape and patterned yellow, brown and light green on the outside. These were placed side-by-side, but much like with most other things here, they had some distance between them. Perhaps it was a manner of precaution - should one get hit, the others would not be caught in the blast.
And finally, the people. There seemed to be far too few actually moving about for the number of vehicles present, barely two dozen at first glance - half a dozen by the tents, the aforementioned one guarding the construct with the helicopters in it, four by various vehicles, eight wandering about the perimeter, the remaining nine at various tasks, or at least heading somewhere with obvious purpose, rather than standing guard and observing. Those on guard were in full armor, and at least appeared unharmed, though it would presumably be hard to tell. Some of the others were only partially armored - including a guy with a yet black ponytail headed for the "land-carrier", and several of them were visibly limping, only using one arm to carry something, or stopping to recover between activities.
One could easily assume there many who were not quite as fortunate. Excluding whoever might be hidden in the tents and vehicles, who could easily be more dead than alive, one only needed to look ways north of the perimeter, where the dead lay. Out of direct sight and, hopefully, range of smell, should the wind be merciful. Stripped of usable armor, no graves, no distinction, placed in lines, Trenian and Ardek alike. The former had counted their fallen, the latter had unlisted the forces sent here, but a random onlooker had no means of telling one from another. Dead cared not who you were, they said... And tired, weak, and most likely injured men and women had no means to provide burials, lest they did so at dire cost to those who were still alive. Beasts were going to have a feast once they dared close in...
All under a sky that was now less uniformly milky white, and more ominously gray-patched sickly yellow.
Two Dead Men
Why did people think being high as a kite was usually pleasant? For most things, it was not strictly true. It was less a sense of calm or excitement, and more a bizarre combination of being at once numb and hyperaware. Light hurt. Colors hurt. Pain in his torso had receded to a dull throb, but in turn, he could barely feel his body at all. Only cold, for some reason... He could hear ... his heartbeat? Blood flowing in his veins? Something like that. It was loud, and drowned out practically everything else. He tasted blood, and thirst. How could one
taste thirst?
He felt lightheaded. Faint. There was vertigo. Disorientation. Was he even going in the right direction? Losing his helmet was
not going to benefit him any. No sun. Not even visible sky. He
thought the wall was to his right, and the underground structure he had left his friend into was somewhere to his back and right.
Thought... What was it, two kilometers removed? Probably less. Could be five hundred meters in completely wrong direction, for all he knew. And he would need to cover twenty-five, thirty, maybe more. Maybe it was fifty. Or hundred. He could roughly envision the area, but in the end, it was but guesses...
Why was the forest floor trying to crawl away? Maybe it was ants, rather than the odd dead needles moving. Who knew. His vision was long past being reliable. If those were ants, then he had move on before they climbed all the way up him. That would have been unpleasant at the best of times, let alone when he had a gaping - (
Don't think about it.)
At least he was still upright. Get to a settlement. Run into a vehicle. Did not matter. Just keep going. He would even just risk representatives of his own faction now. To hell with being potentially trialed later, better take the odds there than die here. Heck, he would have to take the odds with running into anyone, anyway, as there was no guarantee some random unit would be friendly. If it was a Trenian, then they would not at least shoot on sight, and he would at least be permitted to explain that Rayne had no fault. He
could testify that. It was all his own poor judgment that got them here... Rayne had collapsed to an explosion. Just ... fallen.
Just to get it over with... Just be done... But until he is, he must keep going. If he lets himself rest, if he lays down, he would not be getting up anymore. He knew that. That if he falls, he will stay down. It was only some odd momentum, not even willpower, that kept him knowing now. Just mechanical continuation of what he had been doing for however long it had been since he left the ruins behind.
And so, he staggered onward.
Noctis
Izurich
sandstorm
Alfhedil
Tuujaimaa