A Survivor's Musings

[Survivor00]

This thread is for my works of fiction and fanfiction, as well as any roleplays I have edited into stories. Comments are very much appreciated, so feel free to. However, to make it easier to associate particular comments, I request that you place the title of the piece in the comment.

Thank you.​

 

[Survivor00]

"A Sangheili's Pride"​

1846 hours, February 23, 2551 (Military Calendar)\ Epsilon Eridani System, Virocha IV

The Covenant cruiser Redemption emerged silently from the voids of Slipspace over the former human world of Virocha IV, joined by nearly a dozen more vessels of Covenant Fleet. Before them, the inky backdrop of space was illuminated by hundreds of plasma torpedoes and missile trails, each arcing across the blackness to melt armor or impact on energy shields. Dozens of vessels â?? both human, and Covenant - burned, lifeless hulks venting plumes of oxygen and vaporized metal, drifting aimlessly through space. The humans were putting up a desperate last stand to defend the planet from the onslaught of alien forces.

Squadrons of Seraph fighters darted between the battling fleets, strafing human vessels and burning away their bulky Longsword fighters with their plasma cannons, it was a glorious sight to behold. An orbital MAC platform fired its last, a white-hot bolt that pierced the heart of the destroyer Esteem, destroying the reactor with a flash of blue-white light. Plasma eruptions chained down the length of the entire ship, before it was swallowed in a miniature sun. Nearly a dozen vessels fired upon the platform to avenge their fallen brothers, and the station melted and collapsed into a shapeless blob of glowing metal.

The Redemption and a handful of other vessels steered clear of the orbital engagement, settling into position low over Virochaâ??s storm-filled skies. They began to deploy hundreds of Phantom dropships, the purple, beetle-shaped crafts plunging into the turbulent clouds in their decent to the surface below. Bolts of lightning arced between their hulls and high winds buffeted the craft, making maneuvering difficult. But the adverse weather also kept them clear of enemy fighters, who had been deployed where skies were clearer.

Isla â??Unomeeâ??s mandibles flared slightly, her fingers tightening around the grip of her Plasma Rifle. She was eager to get into the heat of battle for the first time, to prove that female Sangheili were capable of things other than breeding. She was the first female of her kind to be accepted into the ranks of the Covenant Army. It had taken her a long time, following only the strictest regiments of military and personal training and discipline, but she was finally able to wear the battle armor of her brethren, and she wore it proudly. The dark blue metal was polished to a near sheen; all the essential systems were working perfectly. Her energy shields were powered up, her Plasma Rifle was at 100% charge, and she had four Plasma Grenades at her waist.

A long-fingered hand gripped tightly against her shoulder, and she turned to lock eyes with Xantum â??Iskonee. The Sangheili Major stood there in his dull red armor. He growled roughly at her. â??I have risked my reputation and the lives of my soldiers by allowing you to join my troop. Do not disappoint me in combat, or I will not hesitate to kill you myself.â? He glowered at her. Several other Sangheili cast their own looks of discontent. Even the Unggoy stared at her with incredulous eyes. Many of them had never seen a female Sangheili, let alone one in full armor.

â??I will not fail you, Commander.â? She said back to him, barely holding her own tongue. The Phantom rocked back and forth, forcing those inside to brace themselves well or be tossed to the floor. As they fell below the cloud barrier, the Phantomâ??s side panels dropped open to reveal the storm-whipped jungles that covered the surface of Virocha. Giant trees shuddered under the gale force winds, massive lightning strikes plunged into the dense canopy, but the heavy rains quickly extinguished any fires that may have started. In the distance, the sky was painted with a dull orange glow, enormous plumes of smoke and billowing steam suggesting that the fleet had already glassed that particular section. Isla felt her chest swell with pride, even as the ship dropped below the canopy into the swamps below.

â??The humans have tainted this world with their presence!â? Xantum roared over the howling wind. â??We are the arm of the Covenantâ??s Will! We will brush the filth from this world, and receive unimaginable reward!â? It wasnâ??t the best of motivational speeches, but to Isla, already eager to fight, it was more than enough.

Several Unggoy scrambled to man the plasma cannons on either side of the ship, although their small forms were almost swept from the ship from the winds. They strafed the trees with superheated gas, incinerating the wet foliage with plumes of steam and crackles of flame. The ship settled into a clearing in the thick trees, and the pilot barked an order to drop.

â??Letâ??s move out!â? Xantum barked gruffly, aiming his Carbine rifle towards the now activated gravity lift. â??Isla! Go!â? She walked quickly to the gravity lift and stepped into the beam. At once, her entire body prickled from head to foot, and she dropped to the ground at a reasonable pace. Her feet sank into the thick mud, and she swept her Plasma Rifle around in a wide arc, looking for targets. There were no human contacts, none that she could see, at least. She stepped out of the beam, feeling the heavy rain splatter off her armor. Their active camouflage units would be completely useless in the environment. They would have to penetrate the human defenses by more traditional means.

Heavy splashes in the mud behind her signaled that the rest of her squad had deployed. The squabbling Unggoy waddled out of the muck, their diminutive forms covered in mud up to their stubby knees. It took several minutes before they managed to organized themselves into a squadron. She growled at the smaller creatures, they were cannon fodder, almost incompetent fighters. Only their superior numbers made them a threat to anybody. Although, when properly motivated, the diminutive creatures could be surprisingly aggressive. They had all learned that painful lesson during the Unggoy Rebellion. It was only at that moment that she realized that Xantum had broken military protocol by sending her into the field first. Grunts were always deployed before the Elites, in case of enemy contacts. He had been hoping she would be killed first, and would not have to be a part of his squad.

Sheâ??d show him.

The Phantom pulled back, banking towards the horizon as it disappeared over the thick canopy, leaving them alone and exposed to the drenching rain. Xantum ordered them into the jungle towards the glow in the distance. They were to clear out any human resistance along the way. All over the planet, squads were tasked with the same objective. It would not be long until they could begin digging for the Forerunner relics. Isla set her face in determination. She would show her worth and then some.

The thick covering of vegetation gave them some protection from the rain, although every tree, every clump of vegetation could hide a potential human. The wind blowing howling through the trees made their motions sensors completely useless, as it detected movement from all around. Isla snarled softly and toggled it off for now, it was just becoming distracting. Ahead of the Elites, the Unggoy patrolled nervously ahead of them, snuffling and yipping from underneath their methane breathers. Isla scanned the branches overhead for anything that would give away a humanâ??s position.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking in silence, one of the Unggoy yelped loudly, discharging his plasma pistol into a bush. Instantly, the entire squad opened fire on that spot, incinerating the brush and baking the mud into a brown crust. â??Cease fire!â? Xantum roared. The towering Sangheili Major stormed over to the spot, glowering at the scorched, but empty ground. Growling loudly, he turned and shot the Unggoy who had fired the first shot. The creature jerked and fell face first into the mud, fluorescent blue blood bubbling from the corpse. â??The next one who gives away our position will be killed, as well as the one next to him! Do you understand?!â? The Unggoy cowered against Xantumâ??s fury, but got back into position, reluctantly continuing the forward march.

Isla still had a 97% charge left on her Plasma Rifle, so it wasnâ??t a major waste; however, the lack of enemy contacts on a word controlled by them was starting to make her wary. They should have encountered something by now. The wind and rain made it almost impossible to discern enemy movement from the background noise. For all they knew, they could be surrounded and not even know it. She began to get a cold feeling in her stomach as they walked.

â??I do not like thisâ?¦there is something out there.â? She growled to the Sangheili next to her. He did not respond, a deliberate act, since she knew he could hear her over the radio. She approached Xantum and looked at him. â??Sir, I think we may be walking into a trap. I suggest we split into a smaller group to â?? Grrrt!â?

Xantumâ??s fingers were instantly clasped around her neck, squeezing like a vice. She choked for breath as the other Sangheili nearly lifted her off the ground. â??Silence your tongue! I am the commander of this squad, I will give the orders! You are â?? â??

The scream of a panicked Unggoy pierced through the air only seconds before the ground pulverized around them. The Unggoy were torn to pulp, blue blood pasting the trees in a storm of mud, rocks, slivers, and twisted metal.

Suddenly, a hail of projectiles hammered the forest around them. Xantumâ??s head practically exploded before her, his eyes nearly bursting from his skull as the rear of his head tore away in a spray of purple blood and brain matter. The sharp report of the humanâ??s sniper rifle tore through the air a second later. He dropped away from her and splashed into the mud, quickly staining the muck with his blood. In an instant, they were down by nine, and missing their leader.

She screamed in rage, aiming her Plasma Rifle in the direction of the sniper, and pressed down on the trigger pad. Glowing blue plasma burst from the end of the weapon, hissing as it vaporized the rain. The tree burst into flame, the thousand-degree plasma incinerating even the wet wood in seconds. Something large fell from the tree and hit the ground. Her energy shields flared up around her as several rounds flattened against her shields, each a hammer blow against her chest. She ducked behind a tree, feeling it shake from the impacts.

A splash next to her drew a quick glance. A flashing red light, sinking into the mud. â??Grenade!â? She shrieked to her brethren, diving aside. The ground erupted up and out, splattering her with mud as rocks pinged off her shields. There was a steaming crater where she had been standing. The tree she had been hiding behind crashed to the ground, unable to withstand the damage from the grenade. She pulled herself up, covered in mud. Two of her brethren had fallen, torn open by shrapnel and bullets. Their corpses lay in twisted shapes in the mud, purple blood bubbling from the holes in their armor.

She gripped one of the Plasma grenades from her waist, pressing down on the button to activate it. The blue sphere flashed to life, glowing blue-white in her grip. She lobbed it towards the humans, watching it arc through the air and disappear. She heard screams before the ground trembled, and a blue cloud of superheated gas flashed in front of her. She roared in triumph and began firing again.

 

[Survivor00]

"Line of Sight"

â??Italicsâ? ~ Translation, since I canâ??t speak Slavic.

Varyag, Western Estova,
November 1994, 3:22 PM

The air was thick with smoke and dust, the broken and gutted shells of Varyagâ??s former apartment blocks and department stores clawing at a clouded and ashen sky. Muffled gunfire popped within the ruined cityâ??s depths, like the sound of embers in a dying fire. Every now and then, a louder explosion would shatter the air, bleeding smoke and rubble into the sky. It hadnâ??t always been like this, though. Once, Varyag had been the Capital of Estova, but almost three years of war had reduced most of it to rubble. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the country had fallen into chaos. The once busy streets now lay abandoned, broken with craters and littered with debris. Fighting was done room by room, building by building, day and night. The only ones that remained behind were soldiers, fighting for control of a ghost town.

<><><>

Aleksei TahiroviÄ? sighed heavily, patrolling the war-torn streets. Shell casings crunched under his boots as he walked, his breath coming out in white puffs against the cold air. He grunted, setting the Avtomat Kalashnikova Model 47 that he carried down on the dented and bullet-riddled hood of a burnt out car. The Russian-made assault rifle weighed almost 10 lbs unloaded, and carrying the thing around got extremely uncomfortable after a while. They had cleared this particular area out only a few hours ago â?? the acrid stench of gunpowder and death still hung in the air â?? and now they were just trying to keep it in their hands. The nearby rattle of gunfire showed that the rebels were already trying to take it back.

He reached down and fumbled through his uniformâ??s pockets, digging out a half-crumpled cigarette and bringing it to his lips. Lighting it with his last match, he let the bitter, nicotine-filled smoke sooth his frayed nerves. At least he could enjoy this one moment. He tapped the ashes away, watching them fall to the street. He brought his eyes up to scan the broken skyline of the city. It was a damn shame. His family had lived here before the war started long before, he had grown up on these streets, and now it was all gone. His family had fled, the streets were empty, and all that was left was war.

â??Fucking rebelsâ?¦â? He muttered, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette away. He took a step forward, grabbing his assault rifle and making sure that the safety was off. Resuming his patrol, he walked along the remains of makeshift barricades, some still stained with wet blood. The bodies of the dead rebels had been dragged to the side and were thrown in a pile on the sidewalk. Even in to coldness of the autumn air, flies buzzed around the bodies, which were already starting to put out an awful stench. He hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat on the pile of corpses. It served them right.

It would be the last thing he ever did.

Even as he turned, the 7.92 x 57mm round punched through the side of his head in an instant, the ballooning pressure inside his skull destroying his brain before it nearly blew off the opposite side of his head and jaw in a spray of blood, gray matter, and splintered bone fragments. He was dead before he even realized it, his body dropping lifelessly to the street just as the report of the sniperâ??s rifle reached his location.

<><><>

â??Good shot, Senka!â? Bojan commented excitedly, looking through his own scope at her sixth kill today. Senka Deshinov exhaled slowly, looking over to mark another tally in the notebook beside her. Over seventy pencil marks were scratched into the paper, each mark a life she had taken from afar. She safetied the Zastava M76 sniper rifle, before sitting back and rubbing her eyes. Only 19, she had been pulled into the war when her parents had been cut down trying to flee the region. The rebels had taken her in, trained her, and when she was 17, she had killed her first man. After a year, the action of killing was as familiar to her as breathing.

â??Of course it was a good shot, Bojanâ?¦â? She spoke calmly to the rookie sniper, brushing away the compliment. â??If it was a bad one, heâ??d still be alive.â? She adjusted the thin hoodie she wore, brushing some of the dust and masonry fragments away from it. Like many of the civilian fighters, she did not have proper military equipment. Most of it was stolen from corpses, or were just forgone for mobility. She lay back down on her stomach, peering through her scope again. The soldier she had just shot was being dragged off the street. â??Should have left the fucker there to rotâ?¦â? She flipped the safety, sighted the target, and pulled the trigger.

The rifle bucked against her shoulder, but the man had retreated to cover in time, the round driving into the street with a puff of dust. Shaking her head, she turned to Bojan and thumped his arm lightly. â??We should move, theyâ??ll figure out where weâ??re shooting from soon.â? She quickly safetied her weapon, gathering her tally book and binoculars.

Bojan fired, once, twice, three times, the semi-automatic sniper rifle putting out a round each time he pulled the trigger. The casings clinked softly as they hit the floor, one rolling towards her until she stopped it with her boot.

â??There had better have been three targets, Bojan.â? She spoke coolly. Bojan nervously withdrew his rifle, flicking the safety and setting it at his feet. He looked up at her from his spot on the floor. â??Well?â?

â??There was only one, Senkaâ?¦â? He said.

â??Idiot. Ammunition is precious; we canâ??t afford to waste it.â? She spat, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.

â??I am sorry, Senka, I will be more patient next time.â? He apologized as she walked away, collecting his gear as well.

Senka headed into the hallway without him. The war had reached every part of this city. Bullet holes raked the cracked and faded plaster, faint bloodstains still visible even after three years. Each apartment she passed was a snapshot of how life had been when it had abruptly stopped. One room had a small table set up in the middle of the floor, where a ragged teddy bear sat abandoned at a tea party that had never finished. Senka walked quietly up to the table, lifting the teddy bear as if though it would crumble to dust in her hands.

She swallowed the lump that she felt rising in her throat, placing the teddy bear in one of her pockets. Quickly, she returned to the hallway just as Bojan exited the apartment. He looked at her, â??Are you okay, Senka?â?

â??Yes. Iâ??m fine.â? She spoke quickly, heading towards the stairwell. The doorway had been torn from its hinges and removed, making access easier. Senka moved quickly, although she still had to watch her footing. She kept going down until damage to the first floor made the stairwell impassable. Walking out onto the second floor, she moved straight across into the apartment adjacent to the stairwell, and out the window onto the fire escape outside. The sounds of fighting were much closer than what they had been earlier. A throaty grumble and the sound of clattering treads meant that they had brought a tank.

She hated tanks.

Leaping over the railing, she landed with a dull thud on her feet, keeping pressed against the wall. Bojan joined her a few moments later. â??Keep quiet, they have armor nearby.â? She warned him. Logically, they moved in the opposite direction of the armor, keeping their eyes and ears peeled in case of any other enemies in the region. They were seven blocks from their shelter, if they hurried and kept low, they might both make it there within a few minutes.

A loud blast shattered the air, and Senka felt the shockwave rumble through her feet. A gray cloud of smoke and shattered masonry blossomed from a building a block away, hurtling into the sky. Damn that tankâ?¦ Hopefully they could get a rocket team to take it out, and soon. They didnâ??t have much that could stop it otherwise.

The two snipers darted across the war-torn streets, pot-shots being taken at them as they scrambled around piles of debris. Bodies littered the scene, some dragged away, others lay along with the people that had tried to save them. A machine gun rattled from an apartment two blocks down, forcing those who were shooting at them to take cover. Another tank shell slammed into the wall, showering the street below in hot debris, and vaporizing the machine gun. Senka pitied those that had been there. Puffs of dirt and chips of asphalt danced up a few feet from her as she scurried behind cover between two buildings. Bojan was close behind, winded, but unhit. She quickly looked back out onto the street, hearing the sharp crack of a bullet as it hit the brick wall right behind her. She turned back to Bojan, looking at the other side of the alley. "Let's keep moving."

<><><>

Senka darted from street to street, her boots pounding a fevered rhythm against the broken pavement. Her breath streamed from her lungs, her rifle smacking against her side with each step. The distant thump of tank fire reverberated within her chest. Rushing from an alley, gunfire erupted around her â?? theirs or the enemyâ??s, she wasnâ??t able to tell. Chips of shattered asphalt and dust exploded around her feet, pelting her legs. A sharp stinging creased her back and she yelped, stumbling, almost falling, but she plowed on past the burnt wreck of an overturned van, the vehicle offering her at least partial shelter.

â??Fuck!â? She shouted, reaching behind her to press her hand against her back. There was no hole â?? the bullet had only skimmed her â?? but her hand still came back red. She hissed, wiping her hand on her pant leg, smearing the fabric with her blood. Bojan crashed down beside her, panting from the exertion.

â??Senka! Youâ??re hit!â? He said with wide eyes. Miraculously, he had charged through the hailstorm of bullets unscathed.

â??No shit!â? She screamed back at him, â??Now keep your head down!â? Bullets sparked off the metal of the bus, cracking loudly into the air. An RPG round streaked overhead, plunging into the wall of a building down the street where it detonated with a shower of brick and dust. There was the squeal of protesting tires, and a dusty green pickup truck veered around the corner, the machine gun in the back burping loudly. Bullet holes laced the windshield in seconds, blood splashing the inside of the cab. It turned sharply, flipping onto its side and tossing the man â?? or it could have been a woman â?? mounting the machine gun into the street.

â??Weâ??ve got to keep moving!â? Senka shouted to Bojan, looking for an escape from the growing battle. She couldnâ??t be afraid, she couldnâ??t freeze up â?? not here, that would get both her and Bojan killed. They were only a few blocks away from the former school that now served as their current â??baseâ??. If they could get out of this battle, they should have a clear path to safety.

She slowly began to creep over towards the building that the van had ground itself against, trying to stay as low as possible to avoid the crossfire. â??Come on.â? She said, crawling towards the doorframe. The building was nearly gutted by fire, the paint seared off the inside, just gray soot and ash. She doubted its structural integrity, but it would serve to get them away from the battle.

Bullets continued to crack and ricochet behind them as they wormed their way through the collapsed building, keeping low to avoid being stuck by a wayward shot. She ducked under a portion of collapsed ceiling, coughing slightly from a cloud of soot that was stirred up by their passage. Climbing out the opposite window into the next street, she sighed, brushing some of the soot from her clothes. She saw no government soldiers, which meant that they still controlled this areaâ?¦for now. Another tank fired again in the distance, and she heard the sound of collapsing rubble and the shattering of glass accompany the blast.

She sucked a breath of smoke-filled air into her lungs, trying to steady her frayed nerves. There was so much adrenaline running through her veins that she was nearly shaking. She walked towards the mortared school. Barbed wire and sandbags lined the pockmarked walls, graffiti scrawled on the gray concrete. Bizarrely, she could swear that she heardâ?¦musicâ?¦echoing faintly from within the building.

She rushed inside, now hearing the music clearly now. Who in their right mind would be playing music at a time like this?!

â??Is there anyone going after that fucking T-72?â? She shouted, walking over to the maps on the wall. As if to give her words more urgency, there was a muffled report in the distance. The baritone thrum of the cello in her ears was another distraction â?? a far more welcome one, perhaps â?? but in her rattled state, right now she just wanted calm, something she would not find in a warzone.

â??Senka, are you alright?â? Bojan asked her, referring to the wound on her back. Senka sighed heavily.

â??Yes, Bojan, I am fine. Go tend to your mother. She needs you.â? She said, carrying her rifle out of the room. Gunfire rattled from the windows as she walked, shell casings littered the floor. Unceremoniously, she pulled off her ragged, soot-covered hoodie and the blood-stained shirt beneath, leaving her topless. Like many of the refugees, she was thin and dirty, her build almost gymnastic. Her lower back was caked with her blood from where the bullet had grazed her. She was lucky, a few centimeters to the right and it would have struck her spine.

Senka walked into a rubble-filled room â?? rather surprised to find the source of the music here. The rich notes emerged from a nearly pristine cello, played by a young woman â?? one that could not be older than her. She was not from here â?? she looked too healthy â?? which made her wonder just what she was doing here. But right now, she had other things to take care of. She grabbed a rag, one that was nearly as dirty as the shirt she had pulled off, and ran it under a broken pipe, soaking it through. She needed to clean the wound so it wouldnâ??t get infected.

 

[Survivor00]

- Queen of Diamonds -

Venezuela, South America
August 17th, 2011



The modified Humvee bottomed out after a particularly nasty pothole in the jungle road, spitting a plume of dirt, rocks, and mud in its wake. Shayne Wolfe almost bit off part of her tongue as her head snapped forward, one arm bracing against the seat of the driver while her other arm gripped the metal roll cage in a vice grip.

"Christ girl, slow down!" She shouted, looking back at the metal crates that thankfully had been tied down tight enough that the frantic jostling of the Humvee had not disturbed it. Inside the crates were enough munitions and small arms to run a small armyâ?¦precisely the reason why they had been transporting them. A few guerilla factions had offered a hefty sum for these weapons, and as long as they paid up, she didnâ??t care what they did with them. Common sense told her that they would stage another attempted coup on the government; perhaps they would win this time, perhaps theyâ??d lose. But if she made an honest buck off of the deal, she was fine with whatever outcome happened. She was pretty sure she wouldnâ??t be visiting again anytime soon.

"Well Iâ??m fucking sorry, but if you hadnâ??t seen it necessary to piss off the entirety of the Venezuelan military, I wouldnâ??t have to drive so God damn fast!" Nicole snapped back at her with a venomous tongue. Her partner had been driving like a madwoman, trying to ditch their pursuers ever since the two of them had â??liberatedâ?? the weapons from a Venezuelan Supply Depot under the guise of two lost tourists. The Humvee hit another nasty bump, and Shayne almost cracked her head off the roof of the car.

"Damn it!" She barked, grabbing her head. She twisted around and looked behind them. In the fading wake of scattered dust were five jeeps from the Venezuelan Army. Each was manned by three men. A driver, and two passengers, armed with pistols and Kalashnikov assault rifles. She thought she caught a glimpse of a troop transport, but she wasnâ??t sure. That would bring the total up to 27 soldiers, maybe a few more. â??Are there guns on this wagon?â?

Nicole looked at her as if she had grown another head for a moment, tearing her eyes away from the winding road before them to glance at the weapon crates.

â??Ooh no!â? Shayne retorted, â??Weâ??re getting paid to deliver those weapons. We start shooting them off, we lose money.â? She caught a microsecond glimpse of muzzle flashes from the lead jeep before the rearview mirror shattered, forcing her to duck in her seat. The unmistakable dakkadakkadakka! of an AK-103 rattled behind them, and bullets pinged off the metal panels. Several rounds buried themselves into the bulletproof window with a spider web of cracks. â??Oh all right! But this is coming out of your half!â? She shouted, twisting around and grabbing one of the weapons crates. She grabbed a pair of bolt cutters from the vehicleâ??s floor and snapped the lock. Flipping over the lid, she grabbed a Kalashnikov. Shayne inserted one of the 30-round â??bananaâ?? magazines into the receiver and pulled back on the charging pin, feeding a fresh round into the breach.

â??Hold this thing steady!â? She yelled over to Nicole, climbing between the seats to stand in the back. Formerly, this space would have held a .50 caliber machine gun turret â?? a feature that would have come in handy right about now â?? but now stood as an empty hatch. She batted open the hatch and stood, branches whipping past her head. â??Steady!â? Shayne raised the assault rifle, peering down the almost archaic iron sights, and pulled the trigger. The assault rifle was set onto fully automatic fire, and the recoil kicked into her shoulder like a mule, while the sound was nearly deafening.

Sparks blossomed off the leading jeep, and she laced the front of the jeep with the entire magazine before she took her finger from the trigger. Steam hissed from the jeepâ??s punctured radiator, and the shattered windshield revealed the slumped corpses of the driver and passenger. The vehicle veered off the jungle road and ground into the embankment, flipping the jeep on its side. The other jeeps pulled back to a safer range. â??They know we bite now!â? Shayne called down to Nicole. â??How much further?â?

â??We have to ditch our tail before we can return to the camp!â? She shouted back, â??If thereâ??s any sign of the military when we return, the dealâ??s off!â?

â??Then youâ??d better keep driving!â? She yelled, watching as the much larger troop truck charged through the pack of vehicles and crushed the flipped jeep aside. The soldiers that stood in the back of the truck raised their rifles. â??â?¦DOWN!â? Shayne screamed, pressing herself as low to the bottom of the truck as she could. The world sounded like it was being torn apart. The bulletproof windshield didnâ??t as much as shatter as it did crumble under the barrage of 7.62mm rounds. Sparks danced inside the vehicle as holes appeared as if by a magicianâ??s hand. â??Nicole?â? No answer. â??Nicole!â?

â??What!â? Her voice finally screamed back. The back of her chair was cratered with pockmarks. She had armored the seat back just in case. It had paid off. She reached forward and shoved the destroyed windshield out of place; it slid aside and half-hung over the side of the vehicle.

â??I was just checking to see if you were still with me.â? She said, looking up at the battered roof. Where she had been standing was now riddled with bullet holes. Shayne shook her head, looking down to the floor. She blinked, cocking her head before reaching down, her gloved hand closing over the head of a Russian-made RPG-7. Her hand slid down the length of the grenade, finding the launcher sitting nearby. She never recalled loading them onto the truck. But in the chaos she had been raising there, Nicole might have had the foresight to grab one.

She grabbed it and inserted it into the launcher with a reassuring shunk. She pulled the pin at the end, and once again stood through the hatch. If the driver knew what she was holding, he made no effort to change course. She sighted the truck and fired, the rocket screeching away behind a trail of blue-gray smoke. After ten feet, the small rocket motor ignited, propelling the rocket the final length of its journey in an instant. At this range it would be impossible to miss.

The troop transport violently disappeared underneath a yellow-orange fireball as the anti-armor rocket blasted the truck down onto its axles. Oily black smoke boiled into the sky, shrapnel soaring in all directions. The deafening blast echoed through the jungle behind them as the flaming hulk groaned to a stop, steaming in the mud. With the road blocked, the other jeeps would be unable to follow. For now, at least.

Shayne dropped the smoking launcher to the floor, settling back into her respective seat. For a long moment, not a word passed between her and Nicole, the two of them just thankful to be alive for one moment longer. But as the adrenaline faded, emotions boiled up and broke the dam of silence, unleashing a torrent of words.

â??What the fuck was that all about?!â? Nicole cried, pounding her fist against the steering wheel so hard it nearly tore up her knuckles. Nicole didnâ??t lose her temper often, making it all the more surprising when she did. Shayne had found her working a dead-end job in a computer firm in LA, making just enough to keep her going, but nowhere near her level of skill. Plus, Shayne had to admit, the girl could drive. Add that to her brains and Shayne had found the perfect business partner. The two split their jobs 50-50, and things went from there.

â??You just canâ??t make things simple, can you?!â? Her sunglasses almost fell off her nose. â??It could have been a quick, in-and-out job, but no! You had to go and start shit! And this!â? She swept her arm around the bullet-riddled cabin, â??Do you know how much this is going to cost to repair?!â?

Meanwhile, Shayne pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and shook one out. She gently tapped the end against the metal frame of the cabin, and the Insta-Lite tip lit the cigarette for her. With a sigh, she took a long pull before exhaling the cloud of white smoke. The wind coming in from the open windshield blew it back against her face, but she didnâ??t bat an eye. It was always best in her opinion to let the girl blow herself out before speaking back. Nicole swallowed a few breaths of air to calm herself, easing her white-knuckle grip from the wheel. Shayne let out a soft grin, â??You finished?â? She asked her, looking back to check on the cargo. Only one AK and an RPG fired. That wouldnâ??t hurt them too much. â??Look, donâ??t worry your pretty head over it, weâ??re alive, we didnâ??t lose too much, and weâ??re going to get a nice paycheck at the end of this.â?

Nicole said nothing, just letting out a dissatisfied sigh and planting her hands on the wheel, focusing on keeping the battered truck on the road. Shayne took a final drag on her cigarette and flicked it out the window. The sooner the job was done, the better.

[]\/[]

The guerilla camp was buried deep within the vast expanses of Venezuelaâ??s jungles, with only a few hastily dug roads connecting it with the outside world. Because discovery was always an imminent threat, the base was always ready to be on the move within fifteen minutes. Even before the two reached the camp proper, they encountered two men manning .50 caliber machine gun nests, hidden within the thick vegetation.

â??¡Parada!â? One of the men shouted angrily, the two menacing gun barrels swiveling in their direction. Shayne had already had enough bullets shot at her today, and decided not to make any more trouble for her and Nicole. Within seconds, a man with an assault rifle was pulling the door open and grabbing her by the arm. Roughly, she was slammed against the side of the Humvee, watching as the same was done to Nicole on the other side. She felt the barrel of an M-16 being shoved painfully into the base of her spine, while the man shouted incoherently at her in Spanish.

â??Weâ??re here on business with Raul.â? Shayne grunted. â??You can take it up with him, but if you donâ??t cut this shit out, you and your pal are going to be real sorry, real quick.â?

â??¡Usted! Llame Raul. Vea si esta ramera miente.â? The man called to someone who had a radio. He kept the rifle barrel jabbed against her spine as his partner radioed in their arrival. While she couldnâ??t hear the exact words coming from the other end of the radio, she could imagine what they were from the way the soldierâ??s face sank. She heard him apologizing profusely, and she smiled grimly.

â??¡Permítales ir!â? He shouted, waving down the road, and the rifle was removed from her back. She glared at her former â??captorâ??, opening the door to the Humvee and climbing back in. She slammed the door closed behind her and looked over at Nicole. â??You alright?â? She asked. Nicole said nothing, just staring straight ahead at the road, her hands gripped on the wheel. She maneuvered the vehicle down the road, past sandbag and barbed-wire fortifications, past more machine gun nests, before she drove right into the center of the camp, pulling to a stop and killing the engine. She opened the door and stepped out, leaving Shayne at a loss for words for once. Had she really angered Nicole that badly?

She stepped out of the truck as well, looking around the rebel encampment. There were a few tanks lined up against the wall â?? older model AMX-30Vs, French tanks developed in the 1960s, and upgraded over the following decades. While no match for modern MBTs in terms of armor and firepower, the AMX 30 was faster and more maneuverable, which was exactly what these guerillas wanted. Rebels patrolled the compound with dogs, armed with pistols and assault rifles. If you made it here when you werenâ??t wanted, you would know it.

â??Senora Wolfe!â? A familiar voice called to her, and Shayne spun on her heels to face the man. Raul Guerrero did not look like someone you would expect to be running a guerrilla faction. With his short, portly build, thick mustache, and wide smile, he looked like someone who would be running a Spanish restaurant. But he had the eyes of a soldier, and the fact that he had led these troops this far was a testament to his military prowess. â??You got the weapons, si?â?

â??Yes Raul, two crates full of guns in the back. We got a few RPGs as well. We met some stiffer resistance than we thought though.â? She jerked her thumb back towards the bullet-riddled vehicle behind her.

â??Gracias, Shayne. I apologize for what those putas did to your truck, but I hope I can offer some consolation in the fact that the money has been transferred into the specified accounts.â? He turned to a couple of the soldiers that were milling around and barked a few orders to them. They scurried over and began to unload the crates from the truck bed. Shayne smirked a little.

â??Thatâ??s good news, Raul. Weâ??re going to need to get out of Venezuela soon. Iâ??m pretty sure news of our raid has spread all over by now, and I want to get out before they lock us down.â? She said firmly, looking around for Nicole. â??The sooner we get out of here, the better for you as well.â? She added, and Raul nodded.

â??Si.â? He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cigar. â??We can provide you with gas for your vehicle, but you will have to make your way to the airport by yourself.â? He spoke, looking up at the setting sun. Shayne nodded.

â??I understand, Raul.â? She said. It was strictly business, as always. Raul ordered his troops to fill up the Humvee, and Shayne turned to find Nicole. She walked around the courtyard, finding her partner leaning against the flagpole, staring at the ground beneath her boots. Shayne stepped up to her and sighed. â??Raulâ??s going to fill up the truck, and then weâ??re going to book it to the airport before they lock down our flightâ?¦â?

â??I want out.â? Nicole spoke sharply, locking her eyes with Shayneâ??s. She blinked, having never expected to hear that from Nicole. â??Iâ??ll take my cut, and Iâ??m done. I canâ??t do this anymore.â? Shayneâ??s mind had gone blank, and the void was quickly replaced by the easiest emotion she could generate â?? aggression.

â??And what are you going to do? Go back to that computer firm I found you working at?â? She snapped at her.

â??At least itâ??s better than nearly getting killed every other week!â? Nicole shouted. Shayne reached out and pinned Nicoleâ??s shoulders against the flagpole.

â??Itâ??s what you signed up for, wasnâ??t it? I told you this shit wasnâ??t going to be easy!â? She shouted, drawing the attention of a few soldiers around the base. Nicole shoved her back, freeing herself momentarily.

â??But you make it harder than it needs to be! We didnâ??t need to be shot at today, or last time, or the time before! But you go and start shit that comes down on us!â? She yelled, stabbing at Shayne with her finger. â??Do you want to get killed? Is that it? Do you have no concern for your own life?!â?

â??Maybe I donâ??t!â? She shouted, â??Maybe I donâ??t want to live the cushy life that you lived. I want the rush, I want the danger! Why else would I go to the ass ends of the earth doing things like this?!â? She breathed heavily, glaring at her partner. Nicole stared back furiously, before finally giving up with a sigh. Her shoulders sank, and she shook her head.

â??Fine. Whatever. Justâ?¦do it without me.â? She said, walking back to the Humvee. Shayne watched her as she climbed into the vehicle. Shayne shook her head, walking over and climbing into the passenger seat without a word. The soldiers had also fastened a burlap covering over the rear of the truck to hide a majority of the bullet holes. Raul stood back, giving her a trusting nod, before turning back to his men. Nicole started the truck and headed out of the camp, driving down the bumpy jungle road without a word.

The trip to the air base passed in silence, not a word was spoken between them. Thankfully, whatever damage had been done to the Humvee did not draw attention, but she knew that she had stirred up the hive. Military jeeps patrolled the roads furiously, and she saw a few Mi-35M2 attack helicopters searching the area from the skies. They reached the airport, handing over their papers to the guard at the tollbooth, who eyed the battered vehicle with suspicion. He allowed them to pass, and Nicole nodded, maneuvering the Humvee towards the rear of the C-130 â??Herculesâ? transport aircraft.

With the U.S. Military mothballing an extensive amount of its military hardware, she had managed to buy one off at a far cheaper price than what it would have cost to service and maintain. Pulling up the ramp, Shayne set to strapping the vehicle down while Nicole moved to the cockpit. Shayne closed the ramp, before moving up to the cockpit as well. Desmond Wright looked up from the computer console set up in the cockpit, removing his headset.

â??Jesus, what did you two do?â? He asked incredulously, â??The radio chatter from the military has been crazy. Theyâ??ve got troop movements; theyâ??re scrambling fighters, armored columns up and rolling.â? He shook his head, adjusting the glasses that slipped down his nose. â??Weâ??d better get the hell out of here, and fast. The military just ordered the lockdown of all outboard flights, and this tub is no match for a fighter jet.â?

â??Heâ??s right.â? Shayne said, climbing into the copilotâ??s seat. Nicole had already strapped herself in, flipping through the pre-flight checklist. She still wasnâ??t speaking. Shayne shook her head, placing her own headset on and fastening her harness. The massive engines fired up with a deafening roar, and Shayneâ??s headset was suddenly flooded with voices from the control tower about her lack of clearance. â??Can you shut them up?â? She asked Desmond, who quickly cut comms with the tower.

â??That probably tipped them off.â? He said, looking out the window at the line of vehicles that raced onto the tarmac, military jeeps among them. â??Definitely tipped them off. Letâ??s go!â? The lumbering transport crawled out onto the tarmac. The vehicles pulled out of the way, their drivers smart enough to not play chicken with a 42 ton plane. Bullets pinged off the fuselage, but small arms would not penetrate the airplaneâ??s thicker skin. The drone increased as Nicole maneuvered the aircraft onto a relatively open runway, cutting off a smaller plane. The plane rattled underneath them, as Shayne and Nicole worked the plane into the sky, lifting off just shy of the end of the runway.

â??Weâ??ve got inbound fighters â?? Su-30s. ETAâ?¦ten minutes.â? Desmond warned. Shayne cursed softly, ignoring the burning glare that Nicole shot in her direction. SU-30â??s, â??Flankersâ??, as designated by NATO, was a Russian-designed multi-role combat aircraft. One capable of flying circles around their slow transport before blowing it out of the sky. And there would be no way they would be out of Venezuelan airspace by the time those fighters showed up. There were no US military bases nearby either â?? although that was also the last place she wanted to land.

â??Is there any way you can throw them off?â? She asked Desmond, who frantically started hammering away at his keyboard.

â??I donâ??t knowâ?¦â? He muttered, â??All weâ??ve got are some countermeasures, and those wonâ??t last us for very long. What about the Stinger?â?

Shayne shook her head. â??No good. Theyâ??ve got us beaten in range by a good hundred miles. The Stingerâ??s only got a range of three.â? She paused, â??We could just bail out. Tie the stick and have them chase a ghost plane.â? She suggested.

Nicole entered the conversation, â??And then what, walk through hundreds of miles of hostile jungle? I donâ??t think so.â? She again turned her eyes to the controls, and then shoved the plane into a descent that made Shayneâ??s stomach fly to her throat.

â??What in Godâ??s name are you doing?â? She yelped, grabbing for her own flight stick and trying to pull the plane back, but it was a fruitless battle.

â??The mountains will interfere with their radar and slow them down.â? She muttered, â??As it is, theyâ??re probably going to try and force us to land rather than shoot us down directly.â? Outside the cockpit, the jungle surged up towards them, and Nicole finally leveled the plane out. â??Once they close the distance, hit them with the Stinger.â? They were still vulnerable, though. Shayne didnâ??t say anything for a moment. She didnâ??t like the idea, but she was sure Desmond and Nicole didnâ??t like it either. She unbuckled, standing from the seat and walking to the rear of the cockpit. â??Weâ??re not going to lose anything back there, are we?â?

[Story Gap]


Arizona, United States
September 9th, 2011

The dry, arid expanse of Arizona desert did not seem like an inviting place to live, especially not in an old aircraft hanger, but Shayne had found having her own airfield to be an invaluable asset. She always had clearance, there was no traffic, and it made authorities less of a problem. Shayne wiped the sweat from her brow, looking at the repairs done to the Humvee. They had needed to replace nearly the entire frame, as well as the windows, taillights, and most of the interior. Nicole had been right, it wasnâ??t cheap, but they had earned more than enough for the repairs.

Nicole had gone back to Los Angeles, and hadnâ??t contacted Shayne since. Desmond had gone to his apartment in New York. They all had lives outside of what they did, except for her. She had no home to return to, no comfy life outside of her killing and smuggling. And even if she did, she didnâ??t like being tied down like that. She needed to be up and moving.

Shayne lit a cigarette, walking outside to stand in the blazing sun. There was emptiness around for countless miles. Civilization was just a ghost here. Taking a drag, she exhaled and headed towards the dilapidated-looking hangar. A closed-circuit security camera peered down at her from the man-sized access door. She stepped in and sighed in relief at the wash of cool air that rolled over her. While the outside looked worn-down, the interior had been turned into a high-tech living space. The metal skin of the hangar had been coated in insulation that kept the heat out and the cool in. The rear of the building sported a two-floor apartment, with kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room, computer room, and armory. All that she really needed to live.

Her boots slapped against the concrete floor, and she kicked them off as she entered her house. She took the stairs up to the kitchen, fishing around in the fridge to grab a cold beer and a sandwich. Shayne stepped into the living room and dropped down in the worn-out chair in front of the TV. The news had been the same as it had been for years. Oil prices at record highs, while the introduction of synthesized fuels were only starting to ease the strain. The Middle East was still recovering from the limited nuclear exchange. Russia was engaged in a civil war that threatened to spill out into other countries. All in all, the world was going to hell in a hand basket, and the only thing to do was get through it the best as you could.

She cracked the beer open, taking a long, thankful sip before setting the can down. She hadnâ??t done a job in a few weeks, she needed to hunt down another driver, or find some way to get Nicole back. Had she known how difficult it would be, she would never have gotten in that argument with her in Venezuela. She regretted what she had done a million times over, but there was nothing she could do to change it now. She sighed, taking another drink from the can. Their first job had been a simple â??cargoâ?? exchange in Japan. The Yakuza wanted someone transported, and they wanted someone outside of the influence of the other clans to do it. The two of them had delivered the man to a waiting cargo ship outside of Tokyo harbor, to be taken care of however the Yakuza saw fit. Once the job was done, the two of them had a few days left to chill and see the sights.

She shook her head, bringing her back to reality. She finished the beer, setting it aside as she yawned. She looked over at the clock on the wall. She should get a few hours of shut-eye before looking in on getting a new driver. Turning off the TV, she closed her eyes and sank into the chair, being claimed by sleep before she even knew it.

[]\/[]

Shayne was jolted from her sleep by the heavy thump of helicopter blades hovering right outside her hangar. She leapt from the chair, reaching over and grabbing the M-16 assault rifle that was resting against the wall. She didnâ??t know who it was, but they werenâ??t invited, and they were more than likely unfriendly. She was down the stairs in an instant, crossing the concrete floored garage, holding her assault rifle in a safe position. She quickly made sure that she had a full magazine, before flipping the safety off. Shayne reached the door, cracking to open slightly only to be blinded by the barrage of whipping sand as the helicopter landed right in front of her. It was a UH-60 Blackhawk, U.S. Marines markings labeled on the side. She snarled, what the hell could they want?

The engine wound down, the massive propeller blades slowing, drooping under their own weight as they settled. The side door slid open, and four Marines bounded out of the helicopter, XM8 assault rifles held at the ready, aiming at her. She was somewhat impressed, either someone thought she was legitimately dangerous, or they wanted to intimidate her.

â??Drop your weapon!â? One of the men shouted over the still whining sound of the helicopterâ??s engine. Shayne considered her odds at fighting them, even hand to hand, before she tossed the weapon away, watching it clatter onto the ground with a plume of dust. She placed her hands on her head as the soldiers surrounded her, one delivering a rough blow to the back of her knees that sent her down. She recovered enough where she didnâ??t land on her face, but the assault rifle that was pressed against her neck made her growl.

The Blackhawk finally wound down, and another figure stepped down and began walking towards her. Unlike the soldiers, this man was dressed in a uniform. She glared furiously; he had gotten a few promotions since she had last seen him. The man stopped before her, looking down at her. â??Let her stand.â? He said to the soldiers around her. Slowly, they stepped back, letting Shayne get back to her feet. â??Itâ??s been a while, Shayne.â? He spoke calmly, apparently unaffected by the blazing sun.
​

 

[Survivor00]

The rail yards at the edge of Eurei were never silent, a near constant stream of trains entering or leaving the city, the only pause happening if there was an accident, and those were growing increasingly rare as technology made the rails safer. The air was thick with steam and everything had a layer of soot caked onto it from the coal-fired boilers. It wasnâ??t one of the prettiest parts of Eurei, but it was certainly one of the busiest.

Alicia McKay leaned against her shovel, lazily watching as one of the Swengel 4-10-4â??s let out a massive rush of steam, the roar of the whistle echoing over the yard. The heavy wheels clacked loudly as the locomotive pulled from the yard, a long trail of passenger and freight cars being pulled behind it as a new detachment of troops were sent to the front. She smiled at the sight of the powerful locomotive as it pulled away, watching it as it left the yard under a trailing cloud of smoke and steam. She had always had a strange liking to the metal beasts, the sheer strength held behind the iron boilers. They were a testament to the raw power of steam.

Another dull roar behind her made her jump a little, and she turned to see a smaller Marson 2-4-0 shunting locomotive pulling up, with an empty flatbed car in tow. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, it stopped, a long shrill whistle signaling that the brakes were set. Alicia wiped the sweat from her brow, tucking a few loose strands of black hair up under her cap. Girls werenâ??t commonly seen in this line of work, and most of the boys mocked her because of it. But she was damned proud that she had gotten the job and wasnâ??t going to let some meatheaded boys get her down. She pulled the shovel from the coal pile and walked over to the boiler that powered the cargo crane.

The heat in front of the boiler was sweltering, causing her face to bead up in sweat even before she had come within five feet of the thing. Huge plumes of coiled, black smoke billowed from the twin smokestacks, obscuring the crane that it was powering. She grabbed a heavy pair of gloves and pulled them over her hands for protection. The air in front of the boilers was hot enough to scald the skin off her hands. She grabbed a metal hook and latched it onto the handle to the boiler, pulling it open with one quick motion. A literal wall of boiling air punched her straight in the face, and she turned her head and coughed. A few loose embers singed her cheeks, but she steeled herself and walked over to her shovel.

As she watched, three of her â??fellowâ?? workers approached, their overalls filthy with oil stains and coal dust. The three had constantly irritated her for being the only girl on the workforce, calling her â??princessâ??, and acting like she was completely helpless and couldnâ??t do anything without their help.

Alicia planted the shovel up to the hilt in the pile of coal and hoisted it up, slugging the load into the firebox. The air surged in temperature and the massive pistons that drove the machine hissed with steam as the pressure started to rise. The three boys stood alongside the station platform, watching her. It was sort of a bet, sort of a dare between them all. They had finally agreed that if Alicia could shovel enough coal to keep the crane running for the time it took to load a single container, then they would never mock her again and be her servants for the whole week. However, it was a task that normally required three people to accomplish, and she was already getting tired from the whole day of work she had already done.

"Hey, Lady McKay!" Edward Calhoun, a grimy, pudgy boy who lived three houses down from hers shouted, "You look tired! Why don't you let us guys do it!" He snorted-very pig like- and they all broke down into what was little more than testosterone-driven chuckles. This only spurred her on even more, and she once again plunged the shovel into the coal pile, hefting the load into the firebox.

Each heavy load made her muscles scream in torment, and sweat poured down her face and neck from the heat of the boiler and the physical exertion. The front of her shirt was soon plastered with sweat, and she could vaguely feel one of the straps of her overalls slipping down, but she didn't care, too embedded in the current task to notice. She was going to beat them, and she would ruin the only work clothes she had if need be. The massive pistons hissed loudly, groaning as they began to rise and fall rhythmically. The crane rumbled, a loud steam whistle roaring over the yard. She paused her frantic shoveling only for a few seconds, long enough to replace the slipping overall strap and to give the boys watching a half-crazed, seductive grin.

By now, Aliciaâ??s fingers were stiff, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She hadn't even bothered to check how far the crane had come along; she wasn't taking her eyes off the boiler in front of her. Shovel after shovel, load after load. Nothing but the noise and the smoke and the steam, Alicia was engulfed in a symphony of racket and heat, it surrounded her, wrapped around her, caressed herâ?¦ Aliciaâ??s father had been a machinery-worker all his life, and had told her that working a boiler was like being with a lover. When you got it right, you just knew. Right now, she knew. Surrounded by the steam, it seemed to take on a personality of its own, it was definitely a woman's, the touches gave that away. She knew exactly what to do. Even as Alicia shoveled, the steam cupped her small breasts, warm fingers brushing between her legs. The steam grew bolder, pushing against her, her nipples were hard, visible through the soaked fabric of her shirt.

Alicia shuddered and let out a small cry as she felt her legs turn to mush beneath her, and she felt a rush of warmth between her thighs. As if sensing her climax, the massive whistle signaling the job was done erupted with a roar. The thundering pistons hissed to a stop, and she triumphantly stabbed the shovel into the pile of coal. She was filthy, covered in sweat, grime, and coal dust, but it was the best that she had ever felt in her life. Her steam lover slowly dissipated in the wind, and she glared at the boys in triumph, feeling pride at their awed stares. With a laugh, she realized she must have looked like a madwoman, with her heaving chest, crazed eyes, and the smell of climax and oil wafting around me. She felt changed, for once; they were in awe of her. "Well boys, I guess that means I won the bet, huh?" She asked coyly as she left them behind. Not a word was uttered in response.

Alicia wasn't getting paid until the end of the week, but the victory was more than worth it. She pulled off her cap and shook her hair down, slipping into one of the washrooms to clean up. She stopped at a washbin and splashed some cool water on her face, clearing some of the soot away from her skin. Cool, blue-gray eyes stared back at her. She felt her face flush as the realization of what had happened set in, but she didn't do anything other than smile a little bit. With a shrug, she turned and headed to the break room, she was damn hungry.

 

[Survivor00]

Amour et Châtiment


France â?? November 1941
~/\~

This wasnâ??t what he volunteered for.

Ethan Harke shuddered from the bite of the cold night air, even though he was bundled under the layers of a heavy flight jacket. The roar of the twin Allison V12 engines was strangely muffled under the turbo-superchargers attached to them, even allowing Ethan to hear the wind as it whistled over the wings of his F-4 reconnaissance plane. He didnâ??t mind the additional silence that the superchargers gave him, as stealth was really the only protection he had right now. The aircraft was a modified version of the P-38 â??Lightingâ?? fighter plane, and all of the machine guns had been removed and four K17 cameras had been mounted in their place. The lack of defenses for protection left it completely vulnerable to patrolling German fighters, and he was counting on the cover of darkness and his own planeâ??s sky camouflage to give him some better protection. That and praying. Lots of praying.

In all honesty he would have preferred to have guns and bombs mounted to the wings instead of cameras. It was why he had joined the Air Force, after all. Back when the War was just something in the papers and in the newsreels, back before the Japs had bombed Pearl and pulled the United States into the global conflict, Ethan had volunteered to help Great Britain fight back the Germans. Taking pictures wasnâ??t going to kick the Krauts back to Berlin. But the brass had just puffed out their chests and insisted that reconnaissance was just as â?? if not more â?? important than actively attacking the Germans. And so here he was, the French countryside a flat plain far below him, getting ready to take pictures.

Ethan kept a watchful eye on the instrument panelâ??s fuel gauge. Even though the P-38 had one of the longest flight ranges of any active Allied fighters, and with the external fuel tanks giving him additional flight time, crossing the Channel was still a daunting and stressful endeavor. If he ran out of fuel before he got back to Great Britain, heâ??d have to bail into the icy waters of the Channel, and pray that the Brits picked him up before he froze to death. There was also the ever-present danger in running into a German patrol. If that happened, all he could do was drop the reserve tanks and climb, hopefully lose his pursuers in the cloud cover.

â??Alright, letâ??s get this over withâ?¦â? He muttered to himself, pulling his mind away from those thoughts. Heâ??d need to focus for thisâ?¦ Assuming that everything went as it was supposed to, his search pattern tonight began around the French town of Vignons, down the coast, before heading back across the Channel for England.

From almost 40,000 feet up, it was almost impossible for him to distinguish anything. A few winks of light from the town, maybe a darker patch of trees, but trying to determine what was a tank or an artillery position was almost impossible for him. But that was for the planners to sort out. But, he cursed openly when he saw that the cloud cover had started to close in, making it nearly impossible to see what was below.

A less daring pilot would have turned back to his base, abandoned the mission until the weather cleared, no one would blame them. He wasnâ??t that kind of pilot. He was out here in the first place, he was going to take those damn pictures, one way or the other.

Slowly, he began to push down on the yoke, the aircraft descending towards the clouds below, and sacrificing the only real defense his aircraft had against detection. He knew the move was risky, and one that could potentially get him grounded for a few weeks, but if his lower altitude allowed him to pick up a better picture of the German positions, he was sure that nobody would mind. The altimeter crept lower and lower, the ground rising up to meet him. Vignons glittered below him, a scene that hardly evoked the Nazi occupation of the country. It was actually quite beautifulâ?¦

Finally, he leveled out, at a level much lower than he should be flying at right now. â??There we goâ?¦â? Ethan muttered softly, quickly checking the instrument panel. He started snapping pictures as he flew over the forests outside of the town, searching for German units. They were smart enough to camouflage them, or to park them under the foliage, but he was sure that there would be enough for the planners to work with.

He started banking around, planning on heading back up to a safer altitude, when the sky around him was pierced by the blinding flash of a spotlight being aimed towards him. He squinted and turned his head away from the glaring light, pulling back on the stick, trying the pull out of the beam.

For an instant, his heart froze in his chest.

The sky exploded around him as the German AA batteries started opening up on his plane, twisted blasts of smoke and whirling shrapnel appearing instantly in the skies around him. Metal shards rattled like hail on a tin roof as they bounced off the frame of his aircraft. He had stirred up a hornetâ??s nest, and he wasnâ??t getting away without getting stung.

He had almost reached the cover on the clouds when a well aimed burst exploded right in front of him, the sooty residue from the blast instantly coated the canopy, but he was too shocked by the knives of icy wind that tore at him through the holes in the canopy. The left engine was belching flame and smoke, and he could hear that it was seizing up. â??Come on!â? He pulled back the throttles for both engines, slowly increasing the throttle for the right engine to keep the plane stabilized.

With a wrenching noise, the left engine seized up, the plane began to drift towards the left. More shrapnel whirled around him, tearing apart the aircraftâ??s thin skin. He smelled the stinging scent of aviation fuel, one of the tanks had been ruptured. There was no getting back across the Channel, even if he got away from here. He had to bail out, take his chances on the ground... He reached up and wrenched back the canopy, being punched in the chest by a fist of freezing cold air that chilled the blood in his veins. With his hands off the yoke, the plane started to roll over towards the dead engine. He frantically undid his harness, trying to ignore the disorienting shift of gravity as he wound up upside down.

Before he got in a spin that would make it impossible to bail out, he dropped out of the aircraft, the wind buffeting him back. The plane tore out from beneath him, twisting into and uncontrolled spiral until it flattened into the French countryside. The fireball rose up over the tree line, and he could hear the blast echoing by him. The ground was approaching quickly, too quickly. He reached back and grabbed for the ripcord of his parachute, giving it a hard yank. The parachute unfurled from the pack on his back, catching on the air and jerking him so hard that he nearly got whiplash.

The ground was still approaching too fast, not to mention the group of trees he was swooping towards. He lifted his arms in a futile gesture of shielding his face as the parachute tore into the trees, the bare branches shredding through the thin fabric, while twigs stabbed at him. There was no cushion of leaves, as they had already fallen off. Finally, the parachute was so ensnared in the branches that he jerked to a stop, hanging like a marionette from its strings.

He groaned miserably, feeling a warm trickle of blood oozing down his face where a branch had slashed at his skin. Luckily, his flight jacket had protected his torso. He took precious seconds to focus again, and when he did, he noticed that he was nearly fifteen feet up in the air, held up by the ropes of his parachute. The wind rocked him back and forth as he tried to come to his bearings. He had to get down from here, and fast. If the Germans found him here, they could shoot him at their leisure.

With a grunt, he reached down and pulled a knife out from his coat pocket. Most pilots had a knife on them for this occasion, although they hoped they never had to use it for such. He was too far up from the ground. Cutting the harness would result in a nasty fallâ?¦but the consequences would be far worse if he didnâ??t. He sawed through the parachute straps with his knife, jerking lower each time one snapped through. Finally, the last strap gave though and he dropped like a bag of bricks.

Ethan hit the ground at an awkward angle, and a sickening crunch echoed within his leg. He let out a yell of agony, a noise that echoed over the open fields. Gasping in pain and shock, he pulled himself to his good foot, only to collapse again from the white-hot pain that furiously raged through his leg. He dragged himself away from the tree, hearing the distant shouts of German soldiers, as flashlights swung through the trees in the distance.

The glow of flames from the wreckage of the F-4 glowed over the hills, a cloud of smoke boiling up into the coal black sky. The fire had destroyed the cameras and film, at leastâ?¦ Still, now he had to escape the swarms of German soldiers that were sure to be combing the area. If he werenâ??t injured, that might have been less of a problem, but the shattered bone in his leg made walking impossible, let alone dashing across the French countryside in the dead of night. Add to that, his only weapon was a sidearm, a Colt M1911, would only be good for killing one or two soldiers before they killed himâ?¦

He stared at the town of Vignons, breathing out a winded â??Fuuuckâ?¦.â?​

 

[Survivor00]

The single bell clanged loudly from the steeple of the small church that overlooked the mountain community of Norford, echoing off the nearby peaks. The ancient building had been built decades ago from stone that had come from the surrounding mountains, and if viewed from a distance, looked almost as if it had been carved out of the mountain itself. The chipped wooden doors at the front of the church swung open and the congregation slowly filtered back down the steep dirt trail to their homes. Many of the villageâ??s families owned small farms and lived in tiny shacks along the mountains, and many of them had fallen sick with the arrival of the cold winds from up North. For many, the church was the only thing that gave them hope.

A slenderly built man stepped out after the congregation, holding a worn and faded bible under his arm, dressed in the robes of a priest. He couldnâ??t have been more than 40, but his eyes held the distant look of someone who had seen much suffering in his life. He nodded and smiled softly to the people that walked by him, offering them words of encouragement on how life would get better, that faith in the Lord and use of proper medicine could heal their ailments in no time. He was saddened by the frail condition of many of his followers, many young ones were extremely sick, as were most of the elderly.

He knelt down next to a small girl, barely five, and gave her a piece of hard candy that he had picked up back in Aldhaven. She smiled at him and sniffled, quickly stuffing the rare confection into one of the pouches on her clothes. He patted her lightly on the head and stood, looking at her parents.

"See that she gets plenty of rest, she will get better if she does not work herself too hard." He told them. He knew it would be hard for many this year. The winds of winter had come early, and many were rushing to finish harvesting and preparing their homes for winter. Everyone had to work, including the children. Even he joined in when he could, but he feared that many families would not have enough food to last them through the winter.

The girlâ??s mother, a lovely young woman named Selene, looked to him. "You will pray for her, Father?" The priest just nodded slowly. Selene smiled at him and took her daughter's hand. "Thank you, Father." She kissed her husbandâ??s cheek and they set off down the trail to the main road.

Father Delmont watched them as they walked back towards the village, before he turned and walked back into the church, closing the doors behind him. He walked up to the altar and carefully placed the bible on the table. He extinguished the candles that were merely stubs of a wick jutting out of a puddle of molten wax. He would have to ask the candle maker for a few new candles in exchange for whatever services he could offer. The church was starting to show signs of age, and he knew he would have to fix it soon. Behind him, the door to the church creaked open and somebody walked in, bringing in a chill of mountain air. Delmont nodded silently and stepped over to the confessional booth, closing the door.

The opposite door opened and the individual sat down behind the screen. Instead of the expected â??Forgive me Father, for I have sinnedâ?¦â?? the individual turned to face the screen and cleared his throat. He spoke a single word in a calm, firm voice. â??Alarik.â? Delmont froze. There were only four people that knew of him by that name, and two of them, his parents, were dead. And one of the others was not going to leave her castle in Aldhaven to come speak to him, not with the shady nature of business that went on between them.

Alarik Delmont quickly pulled back the screen and found himself staring into the eyes of his mirror image. His twin brother, Asvin, sat in the opposite booth, grinning.

â??Itâ??s been a while since weâ??ve last talked, brother.â? The other man spoke, dressed in rather fashionable attire when compared to Alarikâ??s robes. Asvin had become one of the Queenâ??s top aides, and one of her best personal advisors.

Alarik scowled, â??Thatâ??s because I know the nature of our conversationsâ?¦â? He said back, his demeanor changing greatly from that of a soft-spoken priest to one of aggression. â??I told you that I wanted out after the last assignment.â?

Asvin looked him right in the eyes, â??But this one is different, brother, this one comes from Her Majesty herself.â? He slipped a parchment over to his brother and continued. â??A town in the Chalmera Mountains was besieged by an unknown enemy three days ago. No survivors have come from that area. Her Majesty ordered in a detachment of Imperial Marines to take back the town, but none have returned. She personally requests that you investigate the incidentâ?¦â?

Alarik narrowed his eyes at his brother, â??Iâ??ve said this before, Iâ??m no hired killer.â?

â??And youâ??re no priest either!â? Asvin snarled, â??Youâ??re better with a sword than you are with a cross, brother!â? His voice became more like a sneer, â??And I think impersonating a man of God is a black mark in the Good Book, isnâ??t it?â?

Alarik growled, â??What does it matter, weâ??ve both gathered enough sins to guarantee us a place in Hell when our time comes. And besides, Asvin, who would expect a priest to be Amagurâ??s greatest assassin? I canâ??t think of a better ruse to fool my enemies.â?

Asvin locked eyes with Alarik. â??This is the last job, brother, after this; you can disappear from the face of the Earth again like you did six years ago.â?

Alarik laughed sharply, â??Yes, until Iâ??m needed again, and then that will be the last job, and it will keep going until I am either killed or become too injured or frail to do the Kingdomâ??s business, and then what? Then what, brother?â?

Asvinâ??s stare finally faltered, and he turned to look at the wall. â??That decision isnâ??t mine, brother, you know that.â? He sighed. â??Listen, do this last one, and I will personally ask Her Majesty to let you go. Lord knows youâ??ve done more for this kingdom than any man in historyâ?¦â?

Alarik sighed a bit, knowing that the last part was true. Although his actions were not something he was proud ofâ?¦ â??Fine. I will go. But this is the last time, regardless of what the Queen wants.â? He looked around, â??Who will take my place? The townspeople need me here.â? He said.

Asvin nodded, â??A replacement has been selected. He will announce that you have received Holy Orders to attend a meeting in Aldhaven, and that you shall return in a few days.â? The man looked at his brother, â??Everything has been arranged, just like always. The only factor we need now is youâ?¦â?

Alarik sighed and stood from his seat. â??Give me until dawnâ?¦I must prepare myself for the journeyâ?¦â? He walked outside of the church and stood on the steps overlooking the valley.

Asvin nodded, â??I knew you would understand, brother. At dawn, a carriage will arrive to take you to the outer rim of the mountains. You must travel on foot from there.â? He too, stood up and left the booth. He met his brother outside and the two of them stared at each other. He frowned and offered his brother his hand. â??I am sorry that you must be the one to bear these burdens. I know it isnâ??t right, but we were born into this order, itâ??s in our blood. Mom and Dad would be proud of youâ?¦â? He said.

Alarik sighed and lowered his head, â??Yesâ?¦that they would beâ?¦â?

Asvin frowned a little, looking at the sky. â??I can see why you chose to reside here, brother. It is very beautiful.â? He shrugged and sighed, â??I must return to the city, Her Majesty will be expecting my return. I will inform her of your decisionâ?¦â?

Both brothers turned to face each other and nodded solemnly. Asvin turned down towards the path and slowly walked down towards the main street where a carriage waited for him. He looked up at the church on the hill one last time before climbing in.

Alarik watched as the carriage pulled away and he sighed, turning and walking off the path to the small cottage built beside the church. He closed the door behind him and pulled off his robes, revealing the pale marks of dozens of scars on his back. Despite his thin build, it was clear that he was in shape, as the defined curve of trained muscle shifted under his skin. He set his robes aside and pulled on a loose-fitting tunic. He had fled to this area to avoid exactly what had happenedâ?¦and he had been found again. Once again dragged out of hiding to do the jobs that others couldnâ??t.

Much like his father had done before him.

Alarik and his brother had been born into a long line of assassins, working for the royal family. His mother served the role that his brother now held, while he upheld his fatherâ??s side of the job. Alarik walked quietly to the back of the cabin and pushed a bookshelf aside. There was a hole behind it that led into the cliff face. Inside was a small cavern, just large enough to hold a man. But what was most important was a small stand against the far wall. A simple wooden box sat there, faded with age. Alongside it was a brown male kimono.

He knelt down in front of his sword and garments and said a ceremonial prayer. He stood and reached out, gently lifting the lid on the box, revealing the razor sharp blade of a katana, stained with old blood. Blood that he had spilt.

He lifted the katana, the weight familiar in his hands. He had spent nearly a decade training in the Far East with the masters of the craft, and had honed his skills to be as sharp as his sword. The sword had been hand-crafted by master metalworkers, folded and pressed over and over again until it could cut through almost anything. It was a shame that its use was for such shady business. It had been a long time since he had last held it.

He walked back out into the cabin proper, slipping his hand around the hilt and curling his wrist. Clasping the sword with both hands, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, sinking into a personal realm of concentration. He lifted the blade above his head, and brought it down with a powerful strike. He extended his senses beyond himself, feeling for the far corners of the room without actually seeing them. He swung a sharp slash to his side, sweeping his leg around and turning himself with a swift motion. He sighed, opening his eyes again and returning to a neutral stance. He still held the knowledge of his training, but whether or not that was a good thing was still unsure.

Alarik placed the sword back in its box, sealing the lid firmly. He walked out into the center of the room. He had several hours before sundown, it would be in his best interests to meditate, collect his inner energies for the journey ahead, but a knock on the cabin door interrupted him, and he quickly rushed to the door. One of the townspeople, eyes wide with urgency, stood there. She had apparently run all the way here, considering her lack of breath.

â??I am sorry father, but I do not know where else to go. Isabellaâ?¦sheâ?¦she is giving birth. We do not know if she will make it.â? Alarik quickly turned and grabbed the Bible and a rosary. He may have broken the Lordâ??s Commandments many times, but he still gave these people hope.

He rushed down the hill towards the cabin, following the woman who had fetched him. Even from this distance, he could hear the faint cries of a woman in pain. Isabella was a girl, no older than 20 years, who had been married to a boy from another house. It was not long before she was expecting. Even as Alarik reached the base of the hill, the girlâ??s cries reached a shrill pitch that chilled his blood, before falling silent. He rushed into the house, nearly knocking the frail door off its hinges. He slowed and stopped, looking down at the body on the floor.

Isabella lay there, unmoving; her eyes open in a lifeless stare that he had seen too many times before. Her parents wept, even though her mother now held the shrieking baby that Isabella had delivered. Alarik kneeled down beside her, reaching out and gently closing her eyes and mouth. He crossed her hands over her chest and spoke a silent prayer. The woman that had rushed to fetch him burst into tears, and Alarik also felt tears begin to blur his vision.

He knew that suffering happened no matter how or where you lived, but to be struck from life this soonâ?¦it was almost unfair. He turned to Isabellaâ??s mother, â??I am truly sorryâ?¦â? He said to her, reaching down to gently stroke the babyâ??s head. His only hope was that this little one was able to stay in this world. He looked back in the direction of the church, looming over the town, and silently wondered what the townspeopleâ??s reaction would be once they realized the depth of his deceptionâ?¦

<><><>

Dawn.

The sunâ??s gold and orange rays had just begun to reach over the crest of the mountains, dying the sky with a beautiful mix of colors. Alarik quietly sealed up his cabin, dressed not in his church robes, but the kimono that signified his role as an assassin. It was too early for anyone to be out to see him, so there was no danger of him being discovered. He turned to look at the church once more, and he bowed his head. On the narrow path before the church, a small, horse-drawn cart rattled up, just like Asvin had said it would. The driver lifted a small torch and motioned towards the back of the wagon.

Wordlessly, Alarik climbed into the back of the cart, sitting among bags of herbs and dried meat. For food, he had only packed a simple water gourd and cornmeal gruel. If he required more food, he would need to find it on his own. As an assassin, he would need to be fast on his feet, and bringing too much in the ways of supplies would slow him down just as much as a heavier weapon would.

The wagonâ??s wheels bumped and jostled over the worn trails, making his ride very uncomfortable, but he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, entering his meditation state and letting the rest of the world slip away from him, like grains of sand sliding through his fingertips. He tugged at his internal energies, drew them in, stored them for when he would need them most. The feeling of someoneâ??s hand on his shoulder broke him from his meditation, and he understood the gesture. The cart had stopped moving, and he stood from the floor of the wagon and hopped off, hitting the ground with barely a sound.

The horses were uneasy; they could sense that something was off. The man tilted his hat, before jostling the reins and setting the wagon back on its course along the road. Alarik looked down towards the distant town, the high protective walls that surrounded the town was a shapeless blob in the mist. They had failed to do their jobâ?¦

The cool mist seemed to hang in the air like a shroud, choking the light from the air as he entered it. He drew his sword, holding it in a ready position, in case anything sought to attack him. The open gates to the town loomed wide open as he walked under them, looking up to see the post that had once occupied archers, but now stood empty. The entire town lay in ruins; it appeared that most of it had burned in the days prior. Smoke still trickled from the ashes, and the occasional tongue of flame licked at the sky.

He closed his eyes, once again extending his senses beyond himself, tuning out the sound of the wind rushing down the mountains, the crackling of flames and loose rubble. With these distractions past him now, he was able to focus with much greater clarity. All he could sense was that this was a town on ghosts, not even animals remained here nowâ?¦

Walking ever further into the mist, he soon found himself standing at the very center of the town, a still fountain built in the middle of the road. Market stalls stood abandoned, food still sitting in their bins, only just starting to decay. There were also the signs of a battle here â?? from the footprints and dropped weapons, this was where Her Majestyâ??s Imperial Marines had made their stand, but where were their bodies?

He heard something, faint, muffled by the fog, but he recognized them as footsteps. Someone besides him was here. He drew his sword, taking a defensive stance, trying to keep the source of the noise in front of him at all times.
​