by T. C. Edge
Their inclusion will likely have turned things right back in their favour. It may be time for us to consider a retreat.
We begin moving back out of the woods, relatively far to the south of the main enemy base. Marcus, as usual, leads us onwards, utilising his wider array of heightened senses. I stay to the rear, trying to sense the auras of the more powerful enemy warriors, using their signatures to draw us in if we feel we can take them, or else head the other way if we think we'll be outmatched.
We progress swiftly across the plains, working back towards the carnage still raging in the centre of the battlefield. The sight of bodies is already apparent, littered all over, growing more dense in their collections as we go. I see Marcus scanning, trying to spot his Neoroman brothers perhaps. It's hardly surprising that I see so few deceased dressed in silver armour and red robes. There aren't many dead Stalkers to speak of either, both forces so formidable; one born for war, the other bred for it.
Our dead are made up mostly of the City Guards from what I can see, a fact that doesn't surprise me, yet pains me all the same. They are all of Haven. Not Stalkers designed in a lab to kill. Not men from a foreign land, stationed here to help protect us. No, Havenites one and all, dying to save the city they love.
The only solace I feel is that the count of the enemy dead is much greater than our own. For every one of our dead I see, there must be three enemy soldiers in the dirt. Yet even then, they'd eventually see us defeated. Outnumbering us almost ten to one out here, we have no chance if things continue like this.
I sense a powerful signature nearby, as we approach a pocket of fighting around the sentry positions of the enemy base. Marcus slows me, unsure as we go, but I immediately know just who it is. This is a signature I recognise, and know well.
Rounding a small ridge, we work towards a grouping of Stalkers and City Guards, hunkering down in the ditch of an old riverbed, firing across an open area of land at a unit of enemies across the way. In the midst of them, I spot Colonel Hatcher, the man's signature quite distinctive and impressive in equal measure. We hurry quickly up to find him issuing orders, hastily commanding several of his Stalkers to move around in a flanking manoeuvre, distract the enemy as they make a charge over the top.
We slip in and join them.
"Need some help?" I ask.
He turns to me, muddied and bloodied, though with a fire burning in the depths of his dark eyes. "Brie," he says, his voice coarse from shouting. "Er, yes, you two will come in handy."
"What's the plan?" Marcus asks, peeking over the top of the ditch towards the enemy position. Energy rounds and bullets crackle and fizz into the earth ahead of us, splashing lumps of dirt and mud over the top. It's a fairly violent barrage that, evidently, Hatcher hasn't been willing to charge at directly.
"We're flanking," Hatcher says. "Got a few Stalkers circling them on either side. When they fire, we go. Straight over the top. Brie, can you get into any of their heads from here?"
"I can have a go," I say, peering over the top.
It looks a fairly long way out, the enemy holding what appears to be one of their perimeter sentry positions, stationed around their main base. They're well dug in, with a good vantage on each side. It's going to be hard to get at them without suffering a few casualties.
I shut my eyes and enter my usual routine, the world washing to grey, the little lights and electrical signals of the enemy brainwaves beginning to appear. They're weaker than normal, though, my telepathic powers limited by distance. I attempt to find some pathway into their heads, even just the one, but find myself weary from previous exertions.
Frustrated, I draw back, huffing as I shake my head.
"Too far," I say with a pant. "My influence can't extend all that way."
"Fine," grunts Hatcher. "We do it the conventional way. Stay down, wait for the strike. Then rush them."
We wait, my eyes wandering off to the plains in the distance. I can't see the wall from hear, but I can get a sense of at least some of the battlefield. It seems to have quietened a little now. With so many dead, that's hardly surprising...
Ahead, the signal comes, far quicker than I'd have anticipated. A crackle of gunfire, from the left and right, drawing the attentions of the sentry guards at the base. Hatcher reacts immediately, launching himself over the top of the shallow ditch, the remaining Stalkers and City Guards following behind. Marcus and I draw up the rear, our entire unit raining down hellfire on the dugout in the distance.
A peppering of return fire comes our way, flashing from the gloom ahead. We duck and dodge, the Stalkers at the flanks starting to close in. Yet the enemy are hard to hit, so well protected by their shelter as they are.
I see, from the corner of my eyes, several grenades fly through the air, tossed towards the enemy position. They're spotted before they can land, shot out of the sky with expert skill and precision. They explode as one, lighting the mists with clouds of orange and red. The spreading flame catches a couple of our men as they go, engulfing two further City Guards in fire.
Another falls, this time a Stalker, set upon by a sudden volley of gunfire from the enemy den. They target him in a single burst, giving him no way to go as he tries to dash and slip away. He's caught, his armour unable to withstand the heat, falling down dead. Immediately, the enemy continue to spread their attack, holding us back as we continue to press on.
There's so little cover here, nowhere to hide. And for what? Why even bother taking this shelter!
I feel a great energy spread from Colonel Hatcher himself as he continues onwards, determined to take the post. With two Stalkers to his flanks, and the others still firing from the sides, he manages to get close enough to take out one of the enemy defenders, shooting him flush through the forehead with a perfect shot from range.
The loss of the man gives the enemy a moment of pause. It's all Hatcher needs as he presses on, Marcus now working quickly to join. They lay down further fire as the enemy fight back, another two City Guards falling before Hatcher's able to send another grenade at the target. This time, it gets in. And, just as he shouts "Get down!", the Olympian dugout explodes from within, bursting apart in a great shower of mud, blood, and ragged human parts.
I march right up to Hatcher, my eyes taking in the four dead City Guards as I go. "Was it worth it?" I call. "What the hell was the point? We lost more men than they did!"
"I have my orders, Brie," he returns, scanning the position, making sure all the enemy have been killed. His eyes work towards the enemy base, the energy shield now visible in the distance, as several of his Stalkers begin to secure the position.
"Orders? What orders?" I grunt.
He doesn't answer immediately, hesitating. I know he's trying to hide something.
But he can't. Not from me.
I slip into his head, scan his current thoughts. And within them, I see a figure materialise. His old master. The man he once served.
My grandfather, Artemis Cromwell.
My thoughts rush as I see his purpose, the order he's been tasked with carrying out. I focus, making sure I stay calm, as I withdraw from his mind and look into his eyes.
"Cromwell," I say. "You're here to..."
"Yes," he says. "He's a liability now, Brie. He needs to be removed from the equation."
I nod slowly, thinking behind my mask.
"The President assigned you this order?" I ask him.
"That's not for me to say," he says. "But I'm sure you know the answer already."
I look to the blue shield. It's been completely restored as far as I can see, none of the gates currently open. If they were opened up to let the Olympian troops out, they were clearly closed immediately after to stop us getting in.
I turn back to Hatcher.
"Let me help," I say. "You won't get through the shield without me. I'll take a couple of your Stalkers. You stay here and keep guard."
"I'm not sure..."
"It won't take long," I say. "I'll be back before you know it."
He regards me suspiciously for a moment, before his eyes move again to the shield. "Perhaps...you're right," he says. "You did get through the shield before."
"I did."
"But he is your grandfather, Brie," he says. "Are you sure you'll be able to..."
"Kill him?" I growl. "After what he did to my family? He's responsible for the deaths of my mother, my father, my brother. I hate him, Colonel Hatcher. If anyone's going to do this, it's me. This is my right, and no one else's."
I set my eyes with an intense stare, breathing harder, turning again to look at the enemy camp down the hillside. "Pick two Stalkers," I say, making sure the lie is secure, believable, "and tell them to come with me."
Eventually, he nods, unable to deny me.
Or the faint order I place in his head...
I step away from him, checking my weapon as I prepare to move back off. Marcus slips over, leans in close, as Hatcher sets about selecting two men to join me.
"What the hell was that about?" he hisses. "You're not actually going in there, are you?"
"I have to," I say.
"No, you don't. What the hell are you talking about? The place might be crawling..."
"The place is empty, Marcus. It's been cleared out."
He shakes his head. "Let the Stalkers go alone."
"No, they won't get in."
"Then I'm coming too."
I take his arm, and squeeze it tight. "No," I whisper, lowering my voice, glancing over at Hatcher. "No, you're going to head around the side of the base, off to the north of this position. Wait for me out there, OK." I look in the direction I want him to take, the woods on that side of the base offering a little more cover.
"What?" he says, following my eyes. "I...I don't understand."
"I'm not going to kill my own grandfather, Marcus," I say. "I'm going to get him out."
"But, what you said. What he did..."
"He isn't that person anymore," I tell him. "He helps me. He's changed. I can't let him die."
"Brie...no. This isn't worth it."
I smile at him, and pull his face towards me, gently kissing his cheek. "It's worth it, Marc," I say. "Please, do it for me." I draw a soft smile. "Don't make me force you. You know I will."
His own lips part into an adorable, relenting smile of his own. "Damn you, Brie Melrose," he says. "You and your persuasive ways."
"So that's a yes?" I ask, eyes raised in hope.
"That's a yes."
"Perfect," I grin. "Slip off when no-one's watching. I'll be in and out as quick as I can. Promise."
"And those two?" he asks, glancing at the two grim-faced Stalkers now stepping towards us.
"Don't worry about them," I say, my eyes drawing close. "I'll take care of it."
He nods to me, our tasks both set, and I step back over to Hatcher.
"Keep watch," I say, noting the presence of enemy soldiers beginning to gather away in the distance, "and protect this position. I imagine the retreat signal is going to be given soon."
He nods curtly, clearly not particularly liking the idea of retreating. I don't think a man like Colonel Hatcher would ever enjoy having to take a backward step.
With that, I move away, the two Stalkers silently creeping along by my sides.
"Look for soldiers behind the shield," I tell them. "It's best if we're not seen."
I perform my own scan as we go, searching for a way in, for minds I can take for my own, just as I did several nights before. Oh, I've done all this already. I know it's possible. If I can get Rhoth and a host of Fangs out of this place without raising the alarm, I can certainly do the same for my grandfather with the army distracted, the camp deserted.
So on we step, as the light of dawn begins to glow off on the distant horizon to the east. It brings with it a hope. A hope that this night will end with our victory. A hope that our losses won't be too great. A hope that this plan of ours has succeeded, that the enemy will have no choice now but to run for the hills, scramble home with their tail between their shivering legs.
And now, as I look into the camp, I hope, too, that I can free my grandfather from a terrible fate. Taken, tortured by the enemy. Targeted by his own people for extermination. Yes, I can understand my grandmother's thinking. I can even agree with her in part. But, that doesn't change how I feel.
He is different now. He does help me. And I will not see him die in this way.
We press on, and I spot a possible target behind the shield, manning one of the gate-control stations. I draw my focus once more, yet as I prepare to act, a final flourish of hope spreads through my heart...
Out of the corner of my eye, away on a distant hill to the east, the sun begins to rise, peeking upon the plains below as it begins to brighten the earth.
And there, no more than dots in the distance, I see silver figures glinting under the light. And in their midst, a figure in red.
My eyes widen, and briefly zoom in, and a smile of hope and promise burgeons on my face.
The Neoromans have come.
The Red Warrior has come...
30
Kira
We charge down the hill, the weary residue of our long journey cast off.
There seems no instinct among us to keep secret our arrival. We care not to spring a surprise on the enemy, sprawling across the battlefield.
No, we want them to see us coming.
Our force may be small, but we're coming with purpose. And if Ares and his men have done their job, they'll know by now to fear the sting of the Neoroman sword.
Cheers ring out as we come, delivered by the Neoroman soldiers fighting nearby, and the City Guards and Nameless soldiers who have learned just how potent a hundred Imperial Guards can be. They rush from their cover to join our charge as the enemy nearby turn their attention towards us, firing at us as they begin to back away. I see even mighty Brutes reduced to kittens, trembling at the sight of the silver stampede.
My body begins to brim, every single one of the men under Maximus's command blessed with enhanced speed. We rush with such a pace that we're upon the enemy before they can even act, running them through with blades, not guns. I draw my own; the same curved scimitars that served me so well on the sands of the Colosseum, and begin slicing through any Olympian soldier I see, our entire troop falling into a frenzy of pent up rage and destruction, a hundred strong tornado of death rushing across the battlefield.
We draw others with us as we go, suddenly imbued with a collective energy that's hard to contain. Pockets of enemy fighters are cut down in seconds. Some, more powerful, put up more of a fight, but don't last much longer. Only when we come upon a much larger force are we slowed, forced to adapt a new strategy as the waves of enemy fire come at us in relentless, devastating blasts.
I see, then, why Max is so highly regarded, watching him do battle for the first time. He isn't just a Dasher and Hawk. No, he's a Mind-Mover too, an telekinetic. I watch in morbid fascination as he draws up twenty enemy corpses from nearby, pulling them into a great shield of human flesh and bone. It hovers ahead of us, a mass of death hanging in the air, blocking off the enemy onslaught as we press on behind it.
I smile with a profound sense of joy and purpose, moving in by Max's side, ready to strike as soon as we get near. There's nothing quite like this. Like fighting off a people here to destroy you. Like defending the city you love, the place you have fought to liberate all of your life.
I may yet find purpose elsewhere. I may yet settle into life as Empress Consort by Dom's side. But not yet.
No, not yet...
The barrier of bodies begins to be cut down, bathing those below in blood, showering us in ragged flesh and severed limb alike. Max continues to fill in the gaps, drawing all loose material from the grasses nearby, ably supported by a couple of the other powerful telekinetics among his troop. Hunks of wood and lumps of mud are sucked into the mess. Each time the enemy begin to break through, Max and his men seal the breach with their rare teleki
netic powers.
Then, just as we're about to launch from behind our shield, it bursts apart from the inside, exploding as a duo of Olympian Wind-Elementals break it apart with their combined might. I see no fear or concern on Max's face. He's got us close enough to strike. This is no setback at all.
As one, we pile right through the cloud of carcass, mud, and wood, breaking to the other side as it blows apart. We're there in a flash, resuming the killing. Around us, there must be a couple hundred enemy soldiers spread along their lines, firing from various points, all bunched into groups.
A strong position yes, but no longer. As soon as we burst through, getting in behind them, I see panic ensue, the world falling to chaos as the Neoroman soldiers, many of them former gladiators, enter into a frenzy of bloodlust and rage.
I join them in that feeling, that desire for blood and vengeance. My mind fills with everything I saw in the north, all those dead villagers, murdered, sacrificed, for this so-called Prime. Of the execrable Herald Nestor, and his strange, blue-eyed soldiers.
And of Gwyn, lying dead at the water's edge, drowned down in that lake.
She was my friend, who only ever wanted to get home, tell her mother that she was OK. And she died there, for nothing. For the sake of a people who don't value human life. Who only value what they consider to be the 'divinity' locked within.
I hated them then, like I've never hated before. Of all my trials in Haven with the Nameless, of everything I went through in Neorome with Empress Vesper, those days to the north, so far from here, tested me in ways I've never been tested before. And now, here I stand, in the face of the soldiers driven by those ideals, with an opportunity to seek my vengeance.
And do so on the grandest stage of all.
It is an opportunity, a responsibility, I'm not going to miss.
