There's always one with more brainwashing than brains. The one tightening his comrade's leg dressing makes a grab for his rifle, which is lying within easy reach on the ground. Hugh and Semo both double-tap the Turai - the impacts sound loud and harsh compared to the suppressed SCARs. The Imperial falls back over the wounded man's legs. There's an unpleasant meaty sound and the unlucky second Turai arches his back, his scream mercifully muffled by a helmet with a broken vox.
The third Turai's helmet, vox, and handtool hits the ground next to his rifle. He gingerly steps over to the dead man, rolling him off his comrade. This elicits another scream, then a whimper. The Turai's helmetless eyes dart between Hugh and Semo, large and round in the dim light. The wounded man grunts again as his quadmate drags him to one foot. They do a clumsy but workable job of slowly backing away down the rubble pile.
Semo thinks the dead man's chestplate might work as a replacement. It wouldn't fasten all the way but it's a damn sight better than just the skinsuit.
Semo nods to Hugh and moves forward, still ready for any foolish moves on the part of the Turai as they shuffle off. Reaching the body, he strips the man of his breastplate and puts it on as best he can. This will do for a while, though he'll continue to keep his eyes open for a better-fitting model.
"Ready, Cap." Semo, now several pounds heavier and feeling less exposed, continues in the on down the tunnel toward their intended destination.
Hugh follows Semo down the hallway; in a quiet second, he switches the magazine in his rifle for a fresh one, then stashes the barely-started one back into his tactical vest. With the same move, he taps the transmit button on his radio set.
"Charlie 40 to Hotel 6, we are inside the Spire, heading for the inner sanctum. Request status, over."
*Hotel 6 to Charlie 40, good to hear you. We are encountering moderate to light resistance inside the Spire. Your position and presumed Gate location are blocked by debris. We'll secure the upper levels and then move down if we can get through the rubble. Charlie 40, we need you to secure the Gate area, over.*
Semo and Hugh climb the debris, scattering small chunks and shards of the Spire's bowels as they go. The detritus slopes down again amidst jutting superstructure and tilting, creaking deckplates. A dim, flickering light, blue-white and artificial, coming from the rubble ahead. The terrain is still too broken, too unfamiliar to make out what's being illuminated. There's an abrupt lack of local background noise, prompting the duo to stop and cover. Neither of their helmet rigs are in tip-top shape anymore, but they make out faint voices from up ahead, interspersed with the ragged pops of muffled, distant battle. They can't tell what they're saying, but it's the terse one-way conversation of someone giving orders. Rubble shifts soon after, a cavalcade of tumbling debris originating at the same area.
Hugh and Semo creep closer, taking cover in a pile of debris that Hugh realizes is freshly moved. Excavated, in fact. They must be close to where the bomb sabotaged the Spire's Gateway. They can't make out anyone from their position, but they're close enough to hear specific voices now. Voices, the hum of powered tools, and a sudden grating, heavy dragging.
"It's about fucking time!" exclaims a voice in English. It switches back to Imperial with "All right, get that reactor over here, get it hooked up."
"What the fuck was that?" he whispers to Semo. The Samoan doesn't seem to know any more than Hugh does, so he turns back to the path through the debris.
"Anyway, sounds like we need to move fast. They're all working, so they probably don't have guns ready, but there will be a lot of confusion and concealment going on. We go in and split, I take left, you take right. Hit as many as you can, then hunker down behind the next thing that passes for cover. If we're lucky, they break. If they rally...I guess we gave Hotel a couple of minutes."
Hugh looks back at his rifle.
"Times like these, I kinda wish I'd packed a LAW."
No human would side with the aliens... It's indoctrination like that, the dehumanization of one's foe, that makes Semo Putupu such a valuable soldier. He knows that they're human, that teammates like Arketta and Ngawai are about as alien as a random person in San Fransisco, but to Semo they might as well be Martians. The Samoan moves quietly for his armored bulk, and creeps around to flank the commotion ahead. His training tells him when to strike fast, and Semo darts forward around the right side of the excavation. Hugh does the same, coming in from the left side.
The Spire Gateway lies on the ground where a team of eight or so Imperials have dragged it from the ruined mounting and elevator mechanism, now nothing more than twisted metal amidst a cave-in. One of the ancient-tech coffin-shaped reactors floats a few feet off the ground. A handful of power cables snake to the Gateway, where a Keeper initiate has just finished connecting the two artifacts. Semo and Hugh spot more cables; these terminate in backpack-worn power tools, cutters and lifters and other esoteric specialty equipment. The Turai wearing these things have the posture and demeanor of desperate, frightened, but determined men. A second Keeper monitors the reactor from a handheld. The most jarring person in this split-second tableau, however, is Benjamin Greene. What's left of him, anyway. One red unblinking eye snaps to the two intruders, recognizes the Army gear slung over Turai-issue armor, and his wired reflexes and four prosthetic limbs spring into action.
The suppressed SCARs start firing. Surprised, two Turai go down bleeding from ragged wounds. Greene grabs a Keeper, using him as a shield as 7.62mm rounds follow him across the rubble.
It must have been a ricochet, a stray round, or possibly intentional fire from Greene. He'd know what kind of exotic compounds lurk inside the excavation tools. A backpack ruptures. Blinding white light. A thunderclap, then shaking, rumbling earth. Metal and not-quite-concrete rain from above. Dust covers all, blinds all - even through the rugged Turai optics - and settles.
---
Through bleary, stinging eyes, Hugh sees Greene struggle out from under his dead Keeper. The room - although cavern is more apt now - is much darker, lit only by the Gateway's faint blue glyphs. Hugh realizes he's lost his helmet. Shit. Rifle, too. The tattered, broken sling slides from his shoulder when he reaches for his SCAR-H.
Greene hears the scrabbling behind him. He turns and sees Hugh.
"Kilgore said you died above Aikoro. Then you guys pull a full-on invasion, and guess who I hear over the comms? I never thought you'd be dumb enough to come down here, though, not after what you did to me. What did they tell my mother? Did they send you?"
Greene draws a knife. It's Earth style but has the unmistakeable glint of Imperial alloy.
"Come on, Top. Finish what you started!"
---
The rubble and debris slam down around Semo. It drives him back, but he stays on his feet. Then the ground shifts, the tortured floor supports give way and Semo falls into deeper black. He hits a slope hard, rolls amidst more rubble, and comes to a dizzying stop. His helmet amplifies just enough for Semo to make out broken pipes, one wall a broken slope, the rest some sort of mangled sub-basement. He can't see or hear Captain Verrill, can't tell where the Gateway is. He steps over a crushed Turai corpse and thinks of poor Mellish. Then he hears footsteps on loose ground, the taps and rustles of several people closing in under the cover of darkness. Semo thinks of his CQB training with Livia Colomaya, of Sturgis bushwhacking him with a cloaked skinsuit. He thinks of Livia and how he doesn't want to die in a dark hole on some dusty alien rock. The sword is light in his hand. Semo listens. Will he wait for them, take them as they come, or will he find them first?
There is only a second to evaluate the scene as Semo steps around the huge pile of debris. Techies doing their thing with one of those alien generators floating in the air and providing the needed power. Looks like they nearly have the gate functional. And - -
Greene!? Holy Shit! How the fuck is he alive?! He died back on that Whirr planet... right?
As Greene's prosthetic arms come up and Sgt Putupu instinctively begins firing at the meat targets, it occurs to him to wonder whether Greene really is alive under all that tech...
Flash. Explosion. Darkness.
The floor gives way amidst the rain of rubble and Semo falls away into darkness. A hard landing, but he's just as hard, rising to his feet as he tries to blink away the darkness. A drip of water from a busted pipe, then Semo detects movement in the dark. The Turai blades nearly leaps into his hand.
Following his training, Putupu begins a flanking loop, moving as quietly as he is able. Death is an instant away, yet he's not certain whether these are friendlies or aliens. A desperate hope flits through his brain that he'll be granted a confirmatory glimpse of one of these bogies before he's forced to kill them.
Hugh's right hand undoes the snap of his pistol holster, but he doesn't draw it yet.
"Kilgore's still alive?" Hugh says, surprised for a beat. Then he smiles. "I guess we're all just hard to kill."
The smile fades, and his voice lowers.
"You think I don't regret having to shoot you? We busted our ass trying to come up with a way to rescue you. When I saw you through the gate, I didn't know what they'd done to you, Benjamin, but I vowed right there and then that I wouldn't give them the chance to keep doing it. And yes, they sent me. You know what? Fighting is easy. Killing is easy. Telling your mother that you died a hero, saving my ass in Iraq..."
He trails off for a moment, then takes a breath.
"You know it doesn't have to be this way. You know it. There's no point of no return. There's no question of loyalties. All you gotta say is 'I want to go home'. I'll make it happen. Doesn't matter how, I'll do it. We'll find a way, we'll find an explanation.
It doesn't take Semo long. He settles down in a cluster of pipes and hanging cables, waits, listens. Then he moves again, crouch-walking to a foundation wall. He spots movement through his helmet amplifiers, a slow blur, a displacement as a cloaked Turai stalks past his previous hiding spot. The Imperial - and it is an Imperial, Army doesn't use those hand signals - motions to others Semo can't make out yet. It looks this one wasn't able to recover his rifle, though. Semo can just spot nervous fingers and the twitching of a sword blade. The Turai doesn't know Semo's six feet behind him. It would be an easy kill, but how many more survived the cave-in?
---
"It's not that easy," Greene says. "I had to give home up, give it up in more ways than you know. If I go back now, traitor isn't strong enough a word for what I'll be seen as. I am a patriot, Verrill." It sounds like something he's told himself many times, hoping that repetition would make it true. "I have done everything in my power to soften their views towards Earth, to gain their trust, and to undermine them with it. So you see, I can't go home. I'm not finished here yet. And even if I was, I wouldn't go back with you." Greene spits the last word.
"You really think that's gonna work? Bring down the Imperium from inside?"
(OOC: Allergic to Bullshit, go!)
"Stop lying to me, Benjamin. They had you on the ropes and you caved. Fuck if I wouldn't have done the same. Nobody can hold out against that and it's high time you stop blaming yourself, because it's making you blind to what's really going on."
Hugh pauses for a second.
"You're not doing shit to help us, or save Earth. You're walking the path of least resistance and now that your reality check has come in you think that all the doubts in your head are gonna go away if you can just kill the guy who screwed you over like this. If you think that's gonna happen, if you think that that knife is gonna bring you peace of mind, I got a gateway to Bashakra for sale.
You still wanna draw down, bring it. Otherwise, fall in, soldier. We got a job to do and good men are dying out there while we stand around chattin'."
Semo is a soldier. He has spent the last decade learning to kill. He has a target that it is his job to kill, and kill he will.
Quietly, Semo moves to take out the Turai in front of him. He knows there are other bogies in the area, but right now this is his target, his job, and he will do his job.
Once the Turai goes down, Sgt Putupu will attempt to meld back into the darkness and seek out the next target.
"I'll tell your mom you died for your country," Greene growls. The knife glints in the dim light cast by the Gateway glyphs.
Eyes narrow, pupils dilate, and Greene's other hand snaps down for his own sidearm. Hugh's HK45 has already cleared his drop holster.
BANG
pwip
Hugh's hit in the chest by one of the goddamn Russian 9mms they sold on Botane. The round flattens on his carapace, leaving Hugh more angry than hurt. Greene staggers back simultaneously but it looks like Hugh's .45 round didn't fare much better against the traitor's own armor.
"Closed casket, then," Greene quips, bringing his silenced pistol up for another shot.
---
Elsewhere, Semo takes one, then two tentative steps towards his target. The Turai stands still, maybe noticing Semo's footfalls, maybe not. Semo raises the blade, both hands on the hilt, and swings for the undersuit between collar and helm. The sword cuts deep, misting and then spraying blood in horrible gouts. The Turai flails and falls to the side, his head cut halfway off.
Footsteps now, closer than Semo expected. A second Turai slides to a halt, obviously spotting Semo and his handiwork. The soldier's voice is muffled by the helmet but the message is clear: "Get him!"
First one down, Semo thinks grimly as the nearly-beheaded Turai crumbles to the ground.
A sound draws his attention and Semo sees another Turai stop nearby. The man says something that Semo knows can only be a death knell for himself and he acts instinctively.
Semo attacks the speaker almost as soon as the words are out of his mouth. He knows he needs to move fast, keep moving, and pick off the attackers quickly one at a time. Staying close to the targets should enable him to use their IFF against them. If he runs out of identifiable targets, he'll slip into the darkness away from the attackers and try to get enough separation to lose them for a moment or two.
Near the Gateway, Hugh and Greene duck and weave as they snap off rounds, trying for the headshot and a quick, messy end to the duel. Hugh flinches away from a snap right next to his ear - he sees Greene reflexively duck as well. Greene zigzags close enough that Hugh has to worry about Benjamin's knife. Too bad for Greene Hugh's had a hell of a lot of close combat training since Whiirr...
---
Semo knows there's no chance he can get back to cover now. The Turai that spotted him brings up his sword to parry, but he's too slow. Semo puts his considerable bulk behind a brutal roundhouse swing that cleaves the Imperial's right arm at the bicep and leaves Semo's blade jammed somewhere in the man's breastplate and ribcage. No matter - Semo takes the fresh sword from the Turai's severed limb and pushes the man to the floor. The rest of the Turai - at least four, Semo can't tell for sure - swarm him from the shadows. They throw caution to the wind, swinging and stabbing with little care to their own safety, hoping to overwhelm the Samoan soldier with numbers and ferocity where stealth failed. Semo's well-versed in swordplay, and although he parries and maneuvers his toughest armor to absorb and deflect much the onslaught, he's only one man against four, one blade against a horde. Luckily Semo's had his share of injuries - a Turai blade stabs through the hastily-repaired salvaged breastplate. The adrenaline keeps Semo up, but he can tell it's a bleeder. A sudden white line flashes across his helmet's HUD next as one Imperial scores Semo's visor. Semo's rattled for a second, but through all the parrying and maneuvering his back finally slams against a wall. That's one direction he doesn't have to worry about.
He may die here today, but Semo isn't about to go easy. Pushing off the wall, Semo throws his bulk at the smallest of the four Turai, hoping to plow him down and escape the circle of opponents. Simultaneously, he weilds his sword defensively to avoid being cut to ribbons in the process. If the opportunity presents itself, he'll stab the downed man as he charges past. Three opponents would be slightly better than four...
Semo crashes into one of the four Turai, but the Imperial hangs on as Semo's charge slows. Semo parries another swing, then manages to stab his hanger-on in the leg. He pushes the soldier off - the Imperial grabs his wounded leg and hits the floor when it refuses to take his weight. The Turai have backed off a bit, now that their initial onslaught failed to take Semo down. A brutal ballet ensues, with Semo sliding and spinning, trying to keep the three Turai within his sight, trying to get close enough to gut one without leaving himself open again. He sees the silhouette of the wounded man again, loping to his right on his good leg. Semo doesn't think the other three know their comrade's back in the fight yet, so he darts to the side, not really attacking any of the main three. It's a surprise move, and Semo makes it to the wounded Turai, slams the man's blade aside with a vicious swing that notches his own sword, then comes back with a stab into the Turai's side. This time the man stays down. Semo shoves the dying Turai towards one attacker, parries a second, but he has to block the third Imperial's attack with his left arm. Semo turns his lacerated arm away from his foes. He can still move it, and there's only three Turai left.
Hugh's next gunshot shows the angry fire in Greene's good eye as the ex-Delta darts in with the knife. Hugh knows the blade's probably as good at penetrating armor as his appropriated Turai sword, so he throws his forearm up into the path of Greene's attack. Hugh's armor takes another 9mm - in the gut this time, and at this range it's going to leave a horrid bruise - but Greene's got both hands full and he can't stop Hugh from replying with a .45 slug through Greene's upper arm.
Greene stutter-steps back and Hugh does the same. No quips from Greene, just a pained curse and more silenced gunfire. Hugh's said all he has to say as well - he lets his HK45 do the talking as the conversation continues downhill.
Hugh's conscious mind doesn't really register much. It's all training, and the hours upon hours at the range exist solely to give him half a chance in a real combat situation, where there's no light, the air's dusty, his heart's pounding, and he's been battered mentally and physically. Point and shoot, point and shoot. Greene's slugs hit Hugh; his chest, his right leg, his shoulder, driving him down, driving him back. Greene staggers drunkenly under Hugh's thunder, blood gleaming in the strobing muzzle flashes. One bullet creases Greene's skull and sends him to the floor. Benjamin keeps firing through the dust cloud his impact raises, his human eye blinded by the blood from a torn scalp. The shots whip past Hugh. The .45 barks again and crimson paints the floor behind Greene's shoulder. The Russian 9mm drops to the ground. Greene backpedals, raises his good arm, and throws his knife. The custom razor-sharp blade leaves Greene's fingers just as Hugh's sight picture finally lines up with Benjamin's forehead.
Greene doesn't live to see the knife sail past Hugh and clatter off some rubble.
Admiral Duck Sauce
