Gears of War: Haunted Echoes



WARNING and DISCLAIMER: Please note that this is a fanfic and that I do not preside over the existing characters that are implied in this story, nor the Gears of War elements and its franchise. Any details, titles, names that may be similar to that of other fiction or fanfiction, (unless cited) is strictly coincidental. This story is Rated M for Violence, Crude Language, and Adult Situations.

Synopsis
Set seven years after the Locust burst from the underground, humanity is worn to the few cities and shanty towns on Jacinto and the surrounding wastelands. The war has been grinding on far too long for the peoples of Sera, but the Gears bravely fight on against impossible odds, looking toward the ever dwindling hope of survival.

Haunted Echoes stars a group of soldiers, Echo Three, on a journey through the outskirts of Jacinto and failing city of Ephyra. Psychological trauma associated with war and the constantly present memories that follow these Gears brings even more burdens to these warriors as they suffer constant physical hardship in their mission to retake a vital fuel factory in the possession of former COG personnel.

Memoir I: "So Where Were You on E-day?”
"The question, seven years later, is just starting to pick up popularity among the ranks. Where were you during Emergence Day? The day the Boogeyman came to life, bursting forth from the ground like moles, sharp teeth and ugliness combining with intelligence and modern weaponry. When twenty five percent of Sera’s population was wiped out in a blink of an eye. Where were you? Having dinner with your family or your friends, celebrating an end of war; peace we’ve never known?"

"Peace. Sometimes, on days when I’m not out there fighting for your survival, I think I feel peace. I feel it like a warm blanket every time I go into the Mess Hall and see my buddies and squad mates having a good time over a few drinks or cards. I feel it when I get into the locker room after a particularly hard engagement and get to laugh and trade jokes with my friends. Then I see the empty seats, empty chairs, empty lockers and my warm blanket gets splashed with cold water and shocks me into realizing peace doesn’t exist. It never existed in my lifetime, at least."

"Sera hadn’t known peace in well over a hundred years. Ever since I was born, I would hear reports of nations battling over pathetic piles of fuel, land, or just be-fucking-cause. Shit that doesn’t even matter anymore, not really. Now, we just fight to see the next day, for survival; because we, the human race, are facing extinction."

"It really hits you, sometimes, during the quiet moment right before the ground erupts in monsters and the shells start flying. Extinction. We’re an endangered species now; women being used to breed the next generation of soldiers. What kind of sick fucking joke would that have been ten years ago? We’re turning into animals on the streets, fighting over water and food because of the Locust Horde and those damn laser satellites they call the Hammer of Dawn."

"Shit, we’re probably screwed no matter what happens from here on out. But I’ll keep fighting, because I remember where I was on E-day. I remember the cease-fire with the Indies, those states of the Coalition of Organized Governments who didn’t want to be COG citizens anymore. I remember going home to my family and just sitting on the couch, talking. Making up for lost time, you know? Then I lost even that; time, family, whatever. Everything."

"I remember where I was, and I want it back. I want those damn Locusts to regret ever coming up to my home, to the surface. I’m going to fight to shove those fuckers back underground and get back what I had; what we all had." ''I remember. So I'll fight.'' - Memoirs of Sergeant Joseph Nyvar

Chapter 1: Out of Control
"“These men are going to be severely traumatized by the end of this war, even if we survive; who knows how they’d react with no outlet for their frustration. I predict an inevitable slide into insanity we can’t control, even if we still had the pharmaceuticals we did before Emergence Day. No sane individual can watch his friends and family slaughtered, face death so many times, and get through it with their mind intact. They’ll be the lucky ones, though, if it ends the way some of the others are predicting it will. Losing one's mind would be a mercy compared to the horrors of watching humanity collapse like a house of cards.”"

"- Dr. Kristine Belova, on the mindset of the current generation’s soldiers."

Crimson Crustacean, south Jacinto City, Emergence Day;

1200 hours.

"Guess that’s the end of that, huh Sarge?”

Joseph Nyvar stared at his wife, snapping back into reality with a start. Fais? He cocked his head, confused for a moment, watching her thick, red lips reach upwards into a smile. She must have known he had been lost in thought for a few seconds, staring at him with her gorgeous green eyes as she was now.

“What?”

“I said, ‘Guess that’s the end of that conversation’,” she repeated, her mouth quirked in a half-grin, half-pout that caused his legs to feel like pudding and his heart to beat ten times faster. She’d always had that effect on him, her beauty captivating him until he couldn’t handle the feelings inside anymore. He'd finally asked her to dinner one night when they were younger, so quick to please and fumbling foolishly over his words.

“Sorry. Just a little distracted, I guess. Never really thought I’d be able to have dinner like this again, after everything,” the ex-soldier replied, waving his hands to encompass the surroundings. The Pendulum Wars had just ended, after over seventy years of fighting, it was done, just like that. He leaned back in his chair to a more comfortable position, resting his calloused hands on the table. The seats in the outdoor portion of the restaurant were infuriatingly undersized for his bulky frame.

The trees started rustling slightly, a serene sound if he had ever heard one; autumn colored leaves tumbling around in the air to alight on the cloth covered table or the surrounding flagstones, only to be once again lifted into the air for another twist or spin. The aroma of the outdoors and other customer’s food mingled together to create a mouthwatering fragrance. Kathryn’s hair fluttered in the breeze, dark red strands gently waving about her face, caught in a graceful ballet with the wandering leaves. She gave up her half-pout, morphing it into another dazzling smile that set his face aflame.

“You earned it, though,” she said tenderly, reaching across the table to take his big hands in her dainty ones, stroking them affectionately with her fingers. “Now forget about the war, love. I’ve waited patiently for a day like this ever since you left.”

“Yeah,” Nyvar said, smiling in spite of himself, forcing his body to loosen up and his mind to focus at the task at hand. It had been a long time since he’d taken his wife out to dinner with no deadline or recall a pall hanging over their heads. He changed the subject, eager to please. “How’s Jason been doing lately?”

“A little miffed,” she replied through a giggle, bringing a hand to her mouth. “He’s been missing his father as much as I have. You should talk to him after we finish here.” She rested her hand back on his, sighing and closing her eyes with a contented expression on her face.

“I will. Bet he’s grown a lot since last time I got leave.” Nyvar picked at his food with a fork, piercing a lump of some kind of beef and bringing it to his mouth. Spices and flavoring roared across taste buds accustomed to the blandness of army rations, causing him to close his eyes and savor it. “Mmm. Haven’t had anything like this in a long time.”

“You never will.” Joseph looked up quickly, staring across the table with his eyes wide open. His wife’s hair was slowly shrinking into pallid, gray hide with a wicked maw filled with jagged teeth taking the place of the luscious lips. Kathryn’s petite, slim body started bursting into a massive, sinister frame, neck thickening and eyes drawing back into their sockets like little beetles. The hands holding his twisted into claws, their black, razor sharp nails cutting into his skin as he ripped his hands away. The stomach churning smell of blood burned his nose as he looked at his wounds, already festering and mutating into a gray hide.

The wind whistled through dead boughs as leaves started flying from the tree, the flagstones cracking and falling into pits of darkness. Menacing, glowing eyes stared up out of the holes, wicked sharp hooks and claws beckoning him to join their ranks. Screaming started somewhere, shrill and panicked, and he turned around, ignoring the transformation his wife was undertaking and the horrible blackness staring at him with millions of pinprick-sized eyes. His face lost its color as he saw his son on the sidewalk, running away from a huge, slavering brute, a chain around its gigantic neck. The thing tore toward his son, overtaking him in seconds and hoisting the boy above its head with its paw-like hands, a roar shaking the loose stones around it. It's huge maw dripped saliva as it held the boy, sockets where eyes were supposed to be. It looked like someone had stretched muscle across a skull and forgot to add the rest of the pieces.

“No!” Nyvar yelled, reaching down at his waist to his pistol. His hand grabbed empty air and he stared down at his dinner clothes. Another cry abruptly cut off and he looked back up to see Jason, his boy, torn in two, entrails hanging out of his body, red blood oozing out onto the monster’s malevolently gleeful face. A crack sounded, loud and sudden, as the building above the thing came crashing down and wiped the sight from his blurry eyes.

An ache formed in his chest as explosions sounded out like drums played by some offbeat performer. The infection in his hands had made its way up to his chest, his muscles expanding under the pasty, off-white membrane. He felt something touch his mutated shoulder and whipped around, eyes blazing with hatred, wanting to tear everything apart with his bare hands after the horrible atrocity he had just been privy to.

“Hey, hey, now!” Marov said, backing up quickly to avoid his punch. “You alright?”

Joseph Nyvar looked at his friend, the man’s salt and pepper mustache the only hair on the Gear’s worried face. Joseph let his face drop down into his hands as he sank to the ground with his back up against the bullet strewn wall. It had been a dream, and only seconds had passed in the real world. He was losing all control over his sanity. The dream had been haunting him for the last seven years since E-Day.

“It’s Jason,” Nyvar said simply, looking over at the body of a seventeen year old torn to pieces, a look of horror plain on the corpse’s face. Glassy, gray eyes stared up into the sky, as if wanting to escape where the Locust couldn’t get to the soul. Marov’s armored form moved in between Nyvar’s eyes and the body, squatting down and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

“No, man, that ain’t Jason,” Syval Marov said, his voice all understanding and full of grief. “It’s just some kid, alright? Jason’s back in Jacinto with the recruits at boot, remember? Calm down, man.”

Joseph leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and wishing it all went away. He wished for the dream to take him again, so he could just relive those few precious minutes with his wife again. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, the street was still in disrepair and his squad was still milling around the battlefield collecting weapons. Damn.

“Yeah. Just give me a second,” Joseph said, standing up slowly and putting his cobalt colored helmet in the crook of his arm, the COG symbol visible on the top of it. The death’s head surrounded by a gear seemed suddenly more an omen for him than intimidation against the Locust. He closed his eyes again and mentally braced himself, wanting to look at the body and understand why he was still fighting. “Go help Ven and Ty. We need to salvage whatever we can.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Marov moved off, heavy boots crunching across gravel and broken glass to the street where the grub bodies lay. Tyler Fais waved in greeting, eagerly showing a couple of grenades he’d picked up to Nyvar’s second in command, his face hidden by a standard issue helmet. Marov just grinned, the waning sunlight reflecting off the goggles on top of the man’s head and dully shining doo-rag under them.

The body of the boy was still lying there, broken and sightless, though the eyes were now closed thanks to Syval. There were no dog tags to take, but there was some kind of bracelet on the kid’s wrist, so he took that and put it in one of his empty ammo pockets. It wasn’t stealing, just something to remember the kid by. Maybe one of the Stranded, people left to die when the Hammer of Dawn came down and destroyed ninety percent of Sera with its pinpoint laser strikes, back at the camp would know whose it was; he’d check.

“The sun is setting, my friend,” a quiet, yet strong, voice said from behind him. Nyvar didn’t turn around, knowing it was Ven Salora; one of the South Islander Gears on his team. The man always took life as it gave, feeling anything that happened was meant to. “The Kryll will no doubt be upon us soon. I recommend making our way back to the Stranded encampment for the night.”

“Alright. Gather the others up and get them moving to the camp,” Nyvar said, blowing out a breath and letting his shoulders drop. “I have to do something, first.”

“I understand.” The clip clop of heavy combat boots sounded as the man walked away, calling to the others; Ty, Marov, and some Stranded who’d helped them out. The sounds of joking and jeering faded as they left, until Nyvar was alone with his thoughts and memories.

After a time, he squatted down next to the body, scooping the pieces into a pile and setting a few dislodged stones around it. Grabbing a metal canteen off a chain around his neck, he poured its contents onto the makeshift pyre, re-stoppering the flask and replacing it. Next, he reached into his back belt pouch and pulled out a small, metal lighter with his initials carved into it.

Joseph flicked the top open and clicked the flame on, watching as its light danced off the metal casing, casting shadows in the tiny scratches of J. and N. The flame was mesmerizing, dancing in apparent glee as it flickered and bobbled, then grew as he set it on the fuel-drenched body. Heat caressed his face, feeling as if his skin was tightening just from being close to it. He backed away, watching the body burn, the fire quickly consuming the clothing, skin, and blood.

He left before the bones started to crack under the heat, glad that the boy was in a better place, away from the uncontrollable hell Sera had become.

COG Training Grounds, Lower Jacinto, two days later;

1305 hours.

“Alright, folks, look alive. You’ve just been conscripted into the COG army and I’m here to teach you how not to die when you look a grub in the eye,” a Drill Sergeant barked at the assembled people standing in disorganized lines, their new armor scuffed and crafted from any kind of metal there was to scavenge outside Jacinto’s perimeter. When one of the Stranded in the crowd guffawed at the rhyme, he got a face full of spittle and yelling as the drill Sergeant went off about military protocol.

“You really think these Stranded can make real Gears, Marov?” Nyvar asked as he watched the proceedings, doubt plain in his tone. Only a few of the more muscled ones in the crowd even looked like they could handle themselves in a fight against a grub, and then only because he’d been there when they did.

“I don’t know, ‘Seph. Maybe. If nothing else, they’ll be able to serve as meat shields for us real soldiers,” Marov said, his arms crossed across his off-duty fatigues, a frown showing out under his facial hair. He let his arms drop and patted his bone-hilt snub pistol resting in a holster on his right hip, which was attached to his tool-filled belt. Nyvar didn't know whether he did it because he was proving he was a real soldier or becuase he was itching to shoot the Stranded. Marov didn't seem like the Stranded all that much.

Grease stained the man’s dark, blue denim pants, tiny spots of black and holes here and there in the fabric. He’d just come out from the garage, fixing up a puncture a Torque Bow’s explosive arrow had torn in a Centaur’s undercarriage. It was a miracle the tank had even gotten back to base, let alone navigated its way through a busy battlefield.

“I’d rather them live. Our species is small enough as it is without losing more because they were poorly trained.”

“They’re Stranded, though; barely even human anymore.”

“Bartch’ll straighten ‘em human again,” Nyvar replied, referring to the Drill Sergeant demonstrating a Lancer’s chainsaw attachment, the buzzing noise causing those in the front to hold their hands to their ears. The smell of smoke drifted over to where he was, causing his nose to crinkle. “Besides, they helped us during that firefight a couple of days ago. Gotta count for something.”

“I don’t think even Bartch can work mira-“

“Sirs,” Tyler interrupted, his youthful green eyes contrasting with the dark blue and black COG armor, “Matheison asked for you. He’s in the CIC. Now, I need to go find Ven.” The younger man ran off down toward the barracks, almost all traces of the clumsy recruit gone from him. Years of battling the same damn things they’d found in Nemaria had hardened the kid, turned him into a real Gear.

Nyvar looked over at Marov, noticing the slight furrowing of his brow. The other man nodded, confirming that he was thinking the same thing. Nemaria. One of the first times the COG had made contact with the Locust, only a couple of months before they’d exploded onto the surface, covering the world like their namesakes would a farmer’s field.

The two men started walking to the building Matheison, their taskmaster as they liked to call him, resided in. A cool breeze blew by, bringing the first hints of Frost, causing Nyvar to pull the collar of his black, leather jacket up higher on his neck. The leather rustled as he messed with it, causing the front of his jacket to open, revealing a loose brown shirt underneath. His boots clicked along with Marov’s, not quite as heavy as their combat rig, but enough to keep the cold out.

“Those Stranded are in for a lovely, cold day today, aren’t they?” Marov asked rhetorically. The man smiled again, letting his arms, covered in a long sleeve gray sweatshirt, dangle at his sides.

“Nothing they won’t have to deal with out in the field. They better get used to it,” Joseph replied, pushing open a heavy metal door to get inside. Heat instantly assailed him as he walked inside, a side effect of the building’s air conditioning going wonky again.

“Why can’t they keep this building to a reasonable temperature?” Marov groused, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt to the elbows. “Always hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Where’s Baird when you need him?” He dodged sideways as a woman with blond hair came around a corner, clad in the gray skirt and blouse of an intelligence officer.

“Out on patrol, unfortunately,” Anya said as she walked back the way they’d come. “I’ll ask him to check it out when he gets back.” The woman’s voice grew fainter as she exited the building, the door banging open with a dull clack-thud.

“She looks tired,” Marov commented as they walked down the corridor and turned left into another hallway.

“She’s been pulling twelve hour shifts, same as Matheison. I heard the other guy came down with something.”

“Yeah, a case of death. Dude was out taking a piss when some grub with a Longshot ruined his day.”

“Damn. What was a grub doing so close to Command?” The things were like rats, scurrying around broken buildings to find that perfect hidey hole. Marov shrugged in response and opened the door to organized chaos. Aides were running around carrying notes scribbled hastily on parchment or laptops closed under their arms, the lights blinking in standby mode.

Nyvar and Marov moved up to the center of the room, their boots falling soundlessly on the massive rug that suddenly took over the floor a couple of meters away from a desk. They stopped and saluted, their muscled arms not trembling a bit, close to a huge console showing images of combat engagements or patrols through the eyes of bots. A map lit up as they approached, red dots slowly pulsating to represent Locust incursions onto Jacinto Plateau. A couple of blue dots, Gears, overtook a red one and the crimson light winked off.

Matheison sat down in a wheelchair in front of one of the desks, a headset on his head, tasking at least six or seven squads of soldiers himself. A couple of assistants were on computers on a wall near him, their monitors showing much the same Matheison’s was, though the teams were split between the two.

“Gentlemen,” Matheison said, turning his chair around by grabbing the wheels and twisting them opposing directions. “Hoffman’s asked me to task your team with a mission. We’re out of Gear teams at the moment, and you’ve had a couple days rest.” He saluted them quickly, almost irritatingly, and they placed their arms behind their back and clasped them together.

“We’re ready to go, sir. Bartch was going to have us train the recruits, but we can always do that some other day. What’s the mission?”

“Prescott,” the crippled man began, lacing the man’s name with acid, “recently divulged some new information about an Imulsion plant right on the outskirts of Ephyra. Apparently, the plant has been reclaimed by a group of Gears who decided the COG wasn’t their cup of tea. They’re cranking out fuel at a steady rate and we want the facility before the Locust find out its working and overrun the place.”

The man wheeled over to the central console and tapped a button on the display. A schematic of the plant, the Lethia Imulsion Facility as it was named at the top, sprang up on the table. Matheison pointed to a place somewhere in the center of the Facility.

“This is where you’ll be headed, the control room. Your goal is to arrest the ex-soldiers who are running the place and, if worst comes to worst, defend it from any Locust incursions. Make no mistake, gentlemen, this facility is a dire need by the COG, so don’t blow anything up we might need to use later. Questions?”

“Guess we can’t take the Centaur I just fixed, then?” Marov replied, wiping his hands on his pants as if grease were still on them.

“No, take an APC. I’ll be monitoring your progress from here via your bot, Sparks. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Nyvar said, snapping off a quick salute and turning away to the door. The man in the wheelchair twisted himself around and went back to his desk as the two Gears walked out of the room. The doors clacked open and shut with a muted click as they strode into the hallway.

“I think I’d rather have the tank than an armored car if we’re going up against former Gears. Who knows what kind of weaponry they’ve managed to scrounge up,” Marov said, reaching his arms behind his back in a stretch that ended with a popping sound.

“We’ll have to make do,” Joseph replied, reaching up to his ear to turn on the radio transmitter tucked into the cavity. “Ven, Ty, meet us at the hangar. We’re going out for a ride.”

“I could definitely use a change of scenery, my friend,” came the reply, the Islander’s tones suggesting a bemused expression. “As safe as these gray walls are, they do turn one’s surroundings monotonous.”

“Roger that. See you there.” the transmission ended with a tap to Nyvar’s ear, the man turning to the other beside him. “Let’s suit up. Gotta dress up nice for the deserters.”

Chapter 2: Road to Hell
"“Yeah, I know how hard it is to fix these things, and yes, I know how hard it is to replace them if we break them. I’m the one that’s been doing the fixing! So, give me a little time to myself, and maybe I’ll come help you with the ‘bots. Right now, though, I’m freezing my ass off in the beginning of winter, so I’m going to get these A/C units working before my goggles start cracking. Five more minutes! That’s all I ask!”" '''– Damon Baird, when asked by Matheison on help with repairing some damaged COG material. '''

Outskirts of Jacinto;

2030 hours.

The Armadillo APC had been moving along through the twisted and broken down portions of the city fairly well, rocking them back and forth whenever they came to a scalable slab of debris. They had all rode mostly in quiet as Nyvar drove the armored car out to the western outskirts of Ephyra, with, surprisingly, no sign of the Locust. The city was starting to be left behind, huge towers in the distance giving way to small, suburban architecture. Most of the houses were still pretty well intact, being made of stone or other hard materials, with the wooden parts caved in or charred to a blackish gray.

“This silence is making me nervous,” the rookie, Fais, said, rubbing the back of his neck and breaking the silence. The kid’s eyes had been alternating between open and closed for the past thirty minutes, his fingers drumming on the hard, metal plate covering his left knee. Its surface was pale in the little lighting provided, the Death’s Head emblem covered in a soft sheen of white light.

“Ah, but the silence is the best part. It gives one a chance to mentally prepare for whatever will come next,” Ven replied with a slight smile on his tattooed face, his eyes closed as he reclined against the bulkhead, a position he’d taken since they had left the hangar. The man’s Lancer was in his lap, one hand draped over the handle and the other in the handhold right above the chainsaw attachment. The chainsaw’s blades were ever so softly scratching across the man’s thigh plate, just below hearing range to be considered a feel rather than a sound. His Gnasher Shotgun was clipped to his back, the man's favorite weapon.

“Besides, Fais, with our luck, we’ll probably be seeing some action soon. And if we don’t, we will when we get to the Facility,” said Marov, who was grimacing, both elbows resting on his knees with his hands dangling over the Lancer between his lower legs. The weapon was gently rattling against the man’s armor as the car bounced over the ashy landscape.

“How far away are we Sarge?” Tyler asked, grabbing his left shoulder with his right hand across his armored chest. The movement was awkward, with the chest plate’s bulging design, but he managed it; used to years of practice in the suits. After stretching it out by swinging it in a small arc, he set it back down, satisfied.

Instead of answering, Nyvar slowed the car down, staring out of the dinged and scratched window to the path ahead. Dusk was just beginning to set in, piles of trash and debris casting long shadows over the road and gloomy, dusty ground. As he peered through the small screen, he saw one of the shadows move, detaching itself and ghosting across the street.

“Somethin’s movin out there,” Nyvar whispered, even though there was no way anyone outside the ‘Dill could hear him. More shadows were starting to move away from the debris, pausing every now and then, practically blending in with the ground. “Ven, Marov. Go check it out. Ty, hop up on the gun and cover them.”

“Shit, let’s hope it’s just some Stranded playin’ games with us,” Marov muttered stood up and palmed the hatch button. A hydraulic hiss broke into the silence, wind gusting in tiny bits of dust on the ramp as it lowered. Ven brought his gun up, scanning from one end of his field of vision to the other, his eyes staring out into the growing darkness with a silent determination.

Nothing but the chilling moan of the wind greeted them as they disembarked from the car. Their heavy combat boots made little noise on the sand covered concrete, puffs of dust rising up with every step. They made their way around to the front of the APC after closing the hatch again, each going around opposite sides, scanning the small ditch and the surrounding suburbs. A few tall business buildings and broken down homes were the only things they saw, their forlorn forms looking lonely so far away from the main city. A few cars, rusted and crushed by who knew what crouched by the curb, their rubber wheels melted into the concrete.

Marov tapped on the ‘Dill’s chassis and Nyvar quickly switched on the heavy lights on the front of the armored car, bathing the road in front of it in bright, blue-tinged radiance. Marov and Ven moved up into view in his screen, slowly walking forward with their guns aimed directly in front of them. A creak sounded from above him as Tyler readied the main chain-gun, moving it around in a 180 degree motion. The radio crackled on, in time with Marov putting a hand against his head and activating the mic.

“Don’t see anything. You sure it wasn’t just some loose weeds or something?”

“It is clear on my side, as well, Sergeant,” Ven said, a hand up to his ear as well. They stopped ten meters away on either side of the street near some gutted houses, letting their Lancers lower to their chests, relaxed, yet ready to bring it up and fire in a moment’s notice. The two men continued walking ahead, checking in cracked windows to see if there was anything dangerous.

Another shadow, in the corner of his eye, moved across a roof; a familiar movement from years spent fighting the nightmarish Locust Horde. As soon as he looked at it, however, it disappeared into thin air. Nyvar shook his head, slapping himself slightly with his heavy, gloved hand.

The motion of his hand across his face rubbed across the stubble growing on the bottom of his chin, reminding him of his need to shave again. He snorted, amused with such thoughts playing out in his head at a time like this. He raised his eyes back to the viewport and watched as Ven and Marov moved further and further out of the light’s radiance. He pushed the button to activate the radio, a red light popping up cheerfully, proclaiming the channel’s readiness.

“Alright, pack it in, guys. I need to sleep a couple hundred more hours.”

“Yeah, you and me both, man,” Marov said as he turned around, looking right and left every now and then. He cut across what could have been a well maintained yard but was now a jungle of weeds and vaulted a worn down, chain-link fence with a grunt. Ven just waltzed down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street as if nothing was wrong in the world, a slight smile on the man’s face distinguishable by the white of his teeth against the tan skin.

Clang.

Nyvar whipped around in his seat, his hand already moving toward the snub pistol at his side. What greeted his sight scared the shit out of him, but he let out a breath as Sparks’ “head” cocked a little to the right, the cameras that represented his eyes gleaming in the APC’s dim lighting. It floated above the ground high enough for the small antenna to bend slightly against the roof of the armored car.

“Damn it, you bucket of bolts, don’t do that,” he said, blowing a breath out and chuckling at himself. A burst of static cut his amusement short, hissing at him like a Wretch, the blind and dumb “hounds” of the Locust army. It wasn’t a pleasant analogy to think about.

“Sergeant,” a voice replied from the speaker on the floating robot’s front, “you need to move, now. Satellites have detected a sizable force of Locust heading your way.” The bot swiveled in the air, Matheison looking through the bot’s camera at the close back end. “Also, there’s some kind of interference where you are on the logistics map. It’s nowhere near what a Seeder would put out, but it’s enough to make me worry.” Nyvar sighed, remembering the countless times the “Seeders” had blocked communications with some sort of weird, natural jamming equipment.

“Yes, sir. Ven and Marov just went out and looked arou-," A burst of Lancer fire crackled out, stopping his sentence cold and causing him to turn about and look out through the viewport. The ‘bot was forgotten, his vision totally focused on finding both Marov and Ven.

“Contact,” Marov yelled into his mic, firing at something outside the field of light the armored car put out. “Looks like some kind of Wretch, but I can’t see it well enough to confirm!”

“Ty, shine the gun’s light on Sy’s location, now!” The gears clanked softly as Tyler Fais swiveled the gun, the light passing over Ven first, and then Marov, who was firing into an alleyway from the left side of a burned down house.

“Moving to engage, Sergeant,” Ven said, sounding calm and composed at the prospect of a firefight. The man ran from the other end of the street’s sidewalk, bouncing slightly as he fell from the short curb to the street itself. A few Gnasher shots rang out, ineffective at that range, but enough to draw some attention.

The light lit up the alley near Marov, throwing up shadows on the far wall of a gray building set against two houses perpendicularly. Hunched over, little things with something strapped to their lumpy backs as they scurried around, unable to find purchase on the surrounding walls. The Wretches started gushing out sparks as the light hit them, their outlines coming into focus and their hideous maws open in a hissing, clicking sound.

“What the hell?” Nyvar heard from behind him as he turned the Armadillo APC to face the area in between two houses, Fais moving the gun to keep the alley in his sights.

“Ty, open fire,” Nyvar commanded, bringing the armored car to a stop right before the curb, the alleyway only eight or ten meters ahead. Marov had crouched down, putting his gun around the corner and spraying off a few shots without looking. One of the shadows fell to the ground, still, while others were punched back. The surviving ones reacted to the attack with a simultaneous hiss, suddenly focused on destroying whatever was threatening them.

“Yes, sir!” Ty replied as he filled the dark alcove with seething, bright bullets. The Wretches started falling down, but a few got through and most were soundly cut down by Marov’s chainsaw bayonet and a few quick shots of Ven’s shotgun.

Something suddenly exploded in the alleyway, blowing Marov back into a trashed and looted car with a rush of fire and superheated air. The old car buckled under the impact of a Gear in full armor, wedging the man in the passenger’s seat. One of the few Wretches not already put down suddenly disappeared, its outline wavering in the light and then vanishing as it passed outside the radiance.

“Aaugh,” Marov cried out, a sound of anger and pain vying for supremacy, as something smashed into him. Fortunately, anger won out as he loosened himself from the wreckage enough to grab his gun and start the chainsaw, bringing it down in front of him where blood started spraying out from thin air. Nyvar could hear a keening wail followed by a sudden crackling sound in Marov’s earpiece through the open circuit as the Wretch once again appeared, in two bloody pieces.

Marov was covered in gore and other less savory things, putting his gun down and trying to remove his lower half from the wreckage when Ven walked over to give him a hand, grabbing onto the other man’s left shoulder.

“Arrgh! Stop!” grated Marov’s voice through gritted teeth, clearly in pain as the South Islander let go of his arm. “I think that thing dislocated my arm!”

“Ven, pop it back in place, and hurry. Radar’s showing incoming,” Nyvar said through the radio, watching as Ven grabbed onto Marov’s arm and heaved, muscles bulging slightly. A sharp cry of pain came over the speakers before being clamped down into a hiss as the shoulder went back in its socket. Ven worked quickly, extricating Marov from the ruined car and pulling him to his feet.

“What the fuck exploded?” Marov gritted out as they looked down at the pieces of what was once a Wretch. Nyvar wished they’d hurry it up and get back in the vehicle. The red dots were flashing closer and closer to their location, one of them altogether too big.

“Looks like the Locust have been repurposing more than our weapons technology,” Ven said with a tranquil voice, tinged with the smallest amount of nervousness that ruined the intended effect. He stood up, turning around and facing the APC and stumbled slightly as a vibration ran through the ground. Marov looked up and over the APC’s back end at something behind the row of houses out of Nyvar’s field of vision.

“Marov, Ven, get back in the APC!” Nyvar yelled into the radio, backing up into the street and turning around to face the back end to the two men. A bellowing roar shook the surrounding area as explosions lit the sky with yellow and orange. “Brumak!”

Marov started running toward the back of the armored car, Ven following close behind, his indicator lights bobbing up and down with a pale, blue light as he ran. Fais dropped down from the main gun and rushed to the back of the armored car and slammed his fist into the button that opened the back end, jumping to the side and falling into a chair as the two other men stumbled up the ramp. They instantly turned around and started firing around the corner of the APC, into the street where a few Grubs were taking cover behind damaged cars, their pale, leathery hides visible in the small amount of sunlight left. Nyvar stepped on the gas, trying to get them out of there, getting back on the road.

Returning fire pinged and peppered the inside of the APC, one of the bullets flashing by both Marov and Ven and hitting Sparks’ directly in the side. Bright, yellow sparks sputtered out as the ‘bot lost altitude, crashing to the floor with a clang, its lights dying out, filling the air with the stink of melted plastic.

“Close the goddamned door!” Nyvar yelled as he moved forward slowly, the ramp dragging against the pavement with a screeching sound. “The ramp’s slowing us down! Aw, shit!” Nyvar looked up to see a Brumak looking straight at him through the viewport through a helmet that made it seem like it had a hundred tiny pinpricks of eyes. One of its scaly hands were holding onto a house, its claws crushing into the roofing with ease as it steadied itself and bowed slightly. A loud hiss sounded out as someone behind him closed the ramp, causing status lights to blink green and the APC to jump ahead, forcing Nyvar back into the chair’s cushion.

“Hold on!” Nyvar yelled back at his team as he swerved to the right, straight at the Brumak as it fired, the rockets flying directly over the viewport, rocking the armored car hard enough to make it come up on two wheels before falling back down to earth.

Curses flew behind Nyvar as he pushed his foot down on the gas; afterimages wavering in front of his face as the car rocketed forward, crushing a small, melted motorcycle. They were moving forward, fire still peppering the back end, sounding like little pings, while flashes danced every now and then from behind Nyvar, casting his shadow across the front of the viewport and panels in sharp relief.

The street ahead of him held a few Grubs and some normal Wretches, hiding behind an overturned truck, but he just kept going straight, nailing the truck head on with the armored front grill, crushing the fleeing bastards underneath the weight of two vehicles. They ramped over the remains of the truck and came down again with a heavy jolt, causing more curses from behind.

The fire started lessening as they flew down the street, away from the Brumak and gathered Locust, one last roar from the huge beast following them as they left the neighborhood. Suburbs gave way to country quickly, only the lights of the APC letting them see the road ahead, since the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. Nyvar slowed down a little bit after a few minutes.

“Report. You guys alright back there?” Nyvar asked, his eyes still on the road, hoping to hear them say they were all okay. He blinked slowly; waiting for a response as the terrain slowly gave way to scattered bushes and dirt. Losing a member of his team would feel like losing his family all over again; not a feeling he wanted to experience again.

“I’m alright, Sarge,” Tyler said, his voice a welcome sound. “Sparks is down, though. I don’t know if we’ll be able to fix him in the field.” Nyvar’s slight smile slowly transformed into a grimace at the news, knowing they needed the ‘bot for a number of things. Guess they’d have to do things the old fashioned way.

“Me and Ven,” Marov said, sounding strained, “are okay, too. Left shoulder’s a bit weak and I caught a little fire in my left side. Bruises are all I’ll get from it, though.” He sounded frustrated with himself for getting even minutely injured and clanged down into a seat.

Ven followed suit and they all fell silent as the flat landscape passed them by, catching their breath and looking over their equipment for damage. A poorly maintained Lancer could malfunction at a critical moment and cause loss of life or limb, especially these days, when they’d been active since before E-Day. Time passed quickly, slowed down, and reverted to normal as their adrenaline gave way to exhaustion. Nyvar looked up at the digital clock up on the right hand side of his panel and noted forty minutes had gone by since they’d left the firefight behind.

“Alright, give me a sitrep. What was that business about the Locust stealing something…?” Nyvar asked as the APC bumped over small ruts and pieces of broken granite. The engine was starting to sound high pitched, so he slowed down even more, looking around in the field of light provided. It looked like there was a small, ruined gas station a couple miles ahead.

“They attached our ‘bot’s cloaking mechanism to those Wretches,” Ven replied, his tone showing he thought the idea was a frightening one. The cloaking generators were one of their most valuable assets and a terrible blow to their efforts if they learned how to attach it to anything bigger.

“Doesn’t exactly bode well for us, ‘Seph,” Marov continued, his eyes closed as Nyvar sneaked a peak behind him. The man looked tired and dirty, red blood flecked in his hair and all down the front of his armor. A few stretches of red where he’d tried to wipe the blood off of his face shown against his pale skin.

“Agreed,” Nyvar replied, slowing down as he turned into the gas station’s driveway. The station’s roof extended from the store part of it to the actual pumps. It’d give them a little protection if it started razor hailing, at least. He pulled up to the front of the store, the lights shining off what was left of the broken windows and illuminating the crushed shelves and burned out register. He shut off the armored car quickly, killing the growl of the Armadillo’s engine, leaving the interior quiet except for the minute sound of breathing. As Nyvar turned around, an acrid stench wafted across his nose, no doubt from the bits of flesh and gore coating Marov’s body.

“Alright, this is where we’re stopping for tonight. Me and Ven will scout out the inside of the store while you and Marov fix up a campsite. See if you can do anything with Sparks when you’re done,” Nyvar ordered, standing up and grabbing his gun from a nearby rack, moving to the back of the vehicle. He palmed the hatch button and moseyed down the ramp, looking side to side at the new bullet holes in the back of the APC’s chassis.

He sighed and motioned for Ven to follow him as he stalked over to the side of the store, grabbed onto the metal handle, and slowly walked in, his gun leading. His shadow stretched into the main room, dark against the pale, white light of the APC. Nothing moved or made a sound as he quietly clomped in with his heavy boots on broken up tile. He sniffed slightly, smelling the smallest hint of smoke from a day old fire pit.

“Looks like someone had the same idea we did,” Ven whispered, the noise sounding loud in the silence. The silence was broken as Marov and Ty walked down the ramp together, clanging loudly with Sparks’ “body” held in between them. Nyvar sighed, shaking his head and gave up being stealthy, checking each row carefully while the South Islander looked into the back bathroom.

Nyvar walked back around to the broken windows, watching as Marov started pouring a can of fuel onto a few desiccated pieces of wood and dried dung. He leaned against the window sill, looking further out into the night; glad the Kryll didn’t come this far out of the city much. Still, the fire would keep them away from the area, even if it gave his team’s location away for miles around.

The APC’s lights went out and a few moments later, Ty came out with a portable stool and a case full of tools. He set the stool up a few feet away from the fire that suddenly sprang to life, and dropped his armored form onto the dented metal seat, Marov rummaging around in the tools Ty brought as Nyvar turned away, looking back to where Ven had disappeared to.

“Ven, where you at?” Nyvar asked, curiously, unconcerned. "Ah...shit."

He got an answer back quickly as he turned the corner into the bathroom, where a woman’s body hung from the ceiling, attached to a loop of metal wiring around her neck. Ven was bowing his head, muttering under his breath, his shoulders sagging. A few moments later, he reached up and sliced the wiring with his pocket knife and caught the woman on the way down in his arms. He gently laid her down in a corner, putting her hands in her lap, muttering a few more moments before standing up and turning around. He started slightly when he looked at Nyvar leaning against the doorframe, then closed his eyes and moved passed him and into the main room. Nyvar followed, closing the door behind him quietly.

Nyvar caught up to Ven outside, where he was leaning against the APC, staring up into the sky, looking at the pinpricks of light in the heavens. Nyvar looked, too, for a moment, before looking down again; the lights reminding him of the Brumak’s helmet. He patted Ven on the shoulder and just stood there with him, staring off into the night.

Chapter 3: Good Intentions
"“You know what? You can take this shit and shove it. If you guys aren’t going to help these people, then I will. If they do that good on their own, just think how much help a Gear would be. Hell, not like the COG thinks of anything but its own skin. So fuck you, I quit. Just try and stop me.”"

"- Unnamed former Gear’s journal, found a day after desertion."

Abandoned Convenience Store, Outskirts of Ephyra;

2250 hours.

The evening passed without any sign of Locusts, aside from the shrill cry of Kryll way out in the darkness. Ven had volunteered for first watch, leaning against the APC like a statue, staring off into the distance with his Lancer across his massive, armored chest, occasionally moving around the store’s perimeter to stay awake. Nyvar had stayed with him a few minutes before he made the first patrol. After the man had left, he settled down against a wall near the fire and removed his armor in preparation for sleep. Little pops and curses floated over from where Ty was tinkering with Spark’s damaged chassis, while Marov washed off the gore and blood as best he could with a rag he had found in the APC’s cargo hold.

Nyvar was just removing the last piece of his leg armor when Marov finished cleaning off and sat down next to him, his standard-issue COG plating already in a pile next to the APC’s massive wheel. Firelight reflected off the man’s face, streaked with sweat, grime, and oil from the old rag he’d used. The man’s mustache still had a bit of dried blood stuck in it, unavoidable when one used a chainsaw on a live target.

“What’re we doin’ out here, ‘Seph?” Marov said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, wrinkles showing out in the flickering light. Marov’s mouth barely seemed to move under his facial hair, the voice sounding tired and tinged with a bitter sadness at all the horrible atrocities witnessed. “We’re getting too old for this, and even if you’re not, I certainly am. I don’t know how many more years I can take.”

“We’re only in our forties. We’ve still got about twenty years left in us,” Nyvar replied after he stretched, realizing all the aches and pains that had slowly appeared after all the hard years of fighting for his life. He yawned then, bringing his hand up to scratch his stubble-ridden chin. “Just try not to break a hip and you’ll do alright, old man.”

Marov smiled a bit, the tell tale curling up of his mustache the only evidence of the action. The man opened his eyes and looked up at the overhanging roof, glistening slightly where there wasn’t patches of rust and grime coating the light peach tile.

“Yeah.” They went silent after that, Nyvar content with the peace and silent camaraderie. He cleaned his gear, taking the chain out and making sure no bone shards or bloodspots were clogging it, even though he hadn’t used it since the day before yesterday. It always paid to make sure about the things.

Slowly, after reassembling his gun, Nyvar drifted off to sleep while laying his head back against the wall, his gun cradled in his arms. Soft, kind words filled his dreams, surrounded by the warmth of his wife’s body. Blissfully, his dreams stayed that way and gave him a respite from the usual horrors that haunted the night.

The next morning;

1040 hours.

“Sarge,” someone’s voice called out, quickly followed by a shake.

“Sarge, wake up.”

Groggily, Nyvar looked up to see Ty’s face contorted in a grimace – never a good sign, especially so soon after waking up. His thought processes started to kick back into gear rapidly, assessing the situation in a glance; Marov was gearing up a few yards away to the right, pulling on the massive thigh armor over his leg, buckling and strapping things with a whizzing sound. Looking to his left as he stood up and starting pulling on his armor as well, he saw Ven already dressed and ready to go, dark circles under his eyes, staring off into the east with a haunted look – a look that said he wanted to move, now.

“Report,” Nyvar snapped quickly as he buckled on the belt with his snub pistol resting in the holster, “what’s goin on?”

“Dust to the east, Sarge. Looks like a Stranded caravan,” Ty replied, starting as a Hammerburst round went off in the distance.

“Shit, looks like Locust. Serves the bastards right, runnin around on their own,” Marov gritted out, his tone icy, no hint of mercy in it. Stranded were the only thing the man hated more than the grubs – they’d killed one of his two remaining daughters a couple of years ago for food. Nyvar knew not all of the former COG citizens went as low as that, but Marov seemed not to even care.

“Save the hatred for the grubs, Marov,” Nyvar ordered, pulling on his gloves as he moved toward the APC and opened the ramp with a dull thud as his fist impacted the button. Maybe the Stranded would have some parts to fix Sparks – even if they didn’t, they were humans being attacked by monsters, a fate Nyvar wouldn’t wish on anyone. He’d seen the disgusting things the Horde did, stringing entrails across fences and mutilating the living as much as possible before their frail forms gave up on life. “Hop in, Gears. Time to go say good morning to the Locust.”

Nyvar heard a chorus of yes sir’s, Marov’s a little less than enthusiastic – that’d be a problem later, if they lived through the next few minutes. Their footsteps echoed against the heavy metal plate floor as they walked in, Ven and Ty hauling Sparks’ dead weight between them. They dropped it, Ven moving to shut the hatch and Ty moving up into the Gunner’s nest.

“Marov, you drive,” Nyvar said, sitting down across from Ven, checking his Lancer and slotting a cartridge of bullets into the waiting chamber, hoping Marov wouldn't take the command as Nyvar's way of giving him a rest after the injuries he'd sustained yesterday - because that's exactly what it was. With a grunt for an answer, Marov kicked the engine on and they started moving, the viewport shining with the glow of the morning sun, blinding them slightly.

“Damn sun, always gotta be in the way,” Marov muttered loud enough for them all to hear. Nyvar smiled, remembering all the times the ‘sun had gotten in the way’ of a kill for the other man, even on an overcast day. His smile faded as he broke out of his reverie, looking out the viewport again and trying to get a feel for the situation.

“Looks like a couple of Bloodmounts, guys. Ty, open up as soon as we get in range, those are your first targets,” Nyvar ordered, his hand looped through a handhold near the door as he stood up, rocking back and forth as they bounced over the rough terrain.

“Yes sir,” Ty replied, pausing for a breath. “Firing.”

The loud report of the APC’s main gun boomed out, rattling everyone inside with the noise. Nyvar saw one of the Bloodmounts drop, the handler falling directly in front of the other, live animal. Blood splattered across the ashy ground as the thing turned on the fallen Locust, ripping into the corpse with gusto, the handler on top trying to gain control over the beast. Too late, the handler leaped off right into a hail of high velocity slugs, torn to shreds instantly – almost exploding into a shower of blood. The other grubs turned toward the new threat, no longer interested in tormenting the Stranded caravan – their mistake. As soon as they turned around, two of the beasties fell to the ground; both victims of a sniper round.

They pulled in, sliding around in the dirt, Nyvar hitting the button to open the hatch. He fired as soon as he had a clear shot, Lancer rounds digging deep holes in the first Locust that fell into his field of fire. Hammerburst rounds instantly filled the small space, forcing Nyvar and Ven to roll out into the open. Nyvar heard a curse from Marov and a hydraulic hiss as the hatch returned to its shut position, spraying gravel as it fishtailed and flew off to the left, ramming the only remaining Bloodmount and turning it into chunks on the way out.

A ragged chorus of cheers came from the general area of the Caravan, where a couple of burned out Junkers were being used as cover. The stuttering report of Lancer fire from somewhere on the other side of the caravan came to Nyvar’s ears, evidence that the Stranded weren’t being attacked on just one side.

“Ven, two on the left. Throwing a grenade to the right,” Nyvar said, grasping the chain on his belt and starting to swing it around in a steady circle, the spiked and heavy explosive tip whirring through the air. He let it go at just the right moment, seeing it fly directly into a group grubs and a Bolter runner firing into the caravan from behind an exploded vehicle. The detonation turned the Locust forces into bloody lumps that flew into the air, splattering Nyvar with blood and rocks as he held up a hand against the debris - small regret at eschewing the traditional COG helmet flowed through his mind. Two shots from a Gnasher shotgun drew his attention back to his comrade.

When he looked over to the left, he saw Ven had taken care of the two grubs, the South Islander forced to roll to the right behind a front half of an old APC as return fire peppered his position. Somewhere behind the Caravan, Nyvar heard the armored car’s main gun still hammering out a steady tempo, even if he couldn’t see the devastation accompanying the sound. A few yards away back to his right, the ground suddenly heaved and buckled into the earth, giving way to a dark hole filled with evil, yellow pinpricks of light.

“Aw, shit,” Nyvar said, readying another grenade to throw into the hole. Only one grub managed to climb out before the explosion rocked the foundations, collapsing the tunnel and burying the rest of the Locust underneath rock and sand. Seeing as how it was too close to get his Lancer back into position for a kill shot, Nyvar yelled out as he ran toward the Locust Drone, its grotesque, white flesh surrounding disturbing, yellow eyes. He impacted the thing with his shoulder, trying to knock it back to the ground as it tried to pick itself back up. It felt like he hit a brick wall, his shoulder popping painfully as they fell in a heap.

Something impacted Nyvar’s head as he tried to get up, knocking him off the bastard and forcing his body to roll across the dirt. Coughing and spitting out the blood that was accumulating in his mouth, he rolled onto his hands and knees just in time for the grub to bring a knee right into his side, forcing him back to the ground. Pain ripped through his scalp as the thing dug its thick, meaty fingers into his hair and pulled him up until he was staring at the barrel of its Hammerburst Rifle. It growled at him with a coughing laugh, a smile forming a horrific facsimile of glee - wicked, yellow teeth drooling with anticipation at the bloodletting about to take place.

A shot rang out in the air, heat blasting over Nyvar’s shoulder. At first, he thought the grub had taken the shot and missed – but he was proven wrong when he saw the ragged hole of a pin-point sniper shot in the thing’s upper chest. It fell to the ashy dirt, its fingers releasing their hold on Nyvar’s hair. He crawled on his hands and knees over to the Lancer he’d dropped earlier, grabbing it and turning around to see the thing – not only not dead, but picking itself up, as well. This one was tough, he thought, but hopefully not tough enough to stand up against his Lancer’s melee alternative.

The injured Locust Drone picked itself up just in time to receive a chest full of chainsaw bayonet. Nyvar yelled out as blood and bone clinked against his armor, the thing’s maw opening in a great bellow that almost matched his own. Nyvar’s arms bulged as he struggled to bring the chainsaw down, shredding through the ribcage with practiced effort. The weapon skipped a few times as Nyvar brought the saw down to the left, slicing through the backbone, knowing it was overkill. The grub twitched and fell, sliding off in two pieces, its entrails and other bodily organs gushing out onto the ground.

Nyvar breathed hard, letting his Lancer drop to his side, the adrenaline wearing off as the battle neared its end on his side of the field. Pain filled his jaw and side, forcing him to hiss in pain and grab the injured areas. He spat out another wad of blood to the ground as sweat dripped down his forehead, landing in the sand and instantly evaporating next to the glob of red. A buzzing filled his ears; an after effect of the chainsaw’s obnoxious whirring – the smell hit him a few seconds later, the dead Drone’s insides smelling like rotted meat and shit. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he brought his hand to his ear, pressing down on the earpiece resting in the canal. It crackled as the channel came online.

“Marov, Ven, report. All clear over on the west side of the caravan,” Nyvar said, gasping slightly as he regained his breath.

“Situation resolved on the south end, Sergeant,” Ven’s voice said, not even out of breath.

“Got a couple of stragglers here on the north end, ‘Seph. Ty’s mowin em down, though. We’ll be good in a minu- ah, nevermind. Clear here, Sarge,” Marov replied, the booming report of the main gun finally quitting its unending rhythm.

“Roger. Stay out a ways, don’t wanna go scaring the civvies. I’ll let you know when you can come in – I’m gonna go have a talk with the Stranded.”

“Talking with the Stranded? Shit, better you than me, Sarge. Roger, will wait for further orders,” Marov’s voice came back, bitter with a tinge of anger.

“Ven, on me. Let’s go be neighborly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ven’s heavy footfalls thudded against the sand as Nyvar walked toward the Caravan, seeing a few Stranded walking out from a beat up, old Junker. They were carrying weapons, the man in the middle seeming relaxed while his two underlings had their weapons raised and ready to fire. Nyvar cleared his throat, dropping his Lancer to his side in a non-threatening motion.

“Mornin’. Looks like you guys ran into a little trouble. Need any help?” Nyvar asked, stopping three meters from the three people who moved up to meet them. The man was resting a sawed off double barreled shotgun on his shoulder, his armor scuffed, but still recognizable as Gear-issued armor, albeit a little newer than his underlings’. He was clearly the leader, while the two others – a man and a woman – kept their weapons trained on Nyvar and Ven.

The man on the left side of the leader carried an old style, Pendulum era Lancer, knife bayonet and all, its exterior shining and taken care of. He had dark, stringy, brown hair down to his shoulders covered by a beat up, straw cowboy hat. He wore some modified Gear armor with extra scrap metal screwed in on random places, giving him a patchwork appearance. Deserters then, Nyvar thought, chewing on his lip.

On the other side of the guy with the shotgun, the woman held the Longshot that had taken out the two drones at the beginning of the battle as well as the grub that had almost killed Nyvar at the end. Her face was covered by a white bandanna, a stark contrast to her raven colored hair and brown skin. Rags covered the woman, a little cleaner than most Stranded but still enough dirt to mark her as one. Striking blue eyes gazed out with all the ice the color implied; Nyvar would be surprised if she even batted an eye as he lost his head in an explosion of gore, even though she’d helped him in the heat of battle. He winked at her, hoping she’d take it as thanks and not as an insult. However, the man with the patchwork armor noticed the action, too, and responded with jealousy evident in his tone.

“We don’t need no stinkin’ help from a bunch of facist assh-“

“Shut the fuck up, Riddley,” the leader admonished, instantly silencing the other man who was staring at Nyvar with utter contempt. The leader’s bald head gleamed in the morning light, a brown, scraggly beard covering his face. “Name’s Parker, Gearhead. What’ve you got? We don’t need any trouble.”

“Nah, no trouble. Just a couple spare rations and some protection on your way,” Nyvar replied, unaffected by the implied insult in the man’s tone. At least they hadn’t shot him or Ven, yet.

“Aw, shit, really, Sarge? Why do we need to work with these fucking animals?” Marov asked through the radio, anger in his tone at the thought of protecting people like those who had killed his daughter. Nyvar grimaced inwardly, forgetting that the channel was still open, ignoring Marov’s protests. He wished he could reach up and shut the channel off, but that would just destroy any chance of peaceful resolution here.

“Awful nice of ya. What’s in it for you?” Parker asked suspiciously, stroking his beard with the hand not holding the shotgun against his shoulder.

“We caught a bit of a firefight yesterday and our ‘bot got shot up. I reckon we could find some parts to fix it, if you’ve got any.”

“Parts?” The man asked, standing there, stroking his beard, his dark, bushy brows beetled over his eyes. After a moment of deliberation, Parker lowered his weapon and put his hand on the woman’s rifle, lowering that as well. The patchwork armored gear lowered his weapon, too, glaring suspiciously at the two soldiers. “You got yourself a deal, partner. Go ahead and bring your APC in line behind the others. You can soak up the bullets the Locust shoot at our asses.”

“Alright, then. Gimmie a second, I’ll radio them. That fine?”

“Sure,” Parker said, turning around and heading toward one of the Junkers near the middle of the formation, digging around in the trunk. Nyvar watched him for a second before reaching up to his ear, pretending to initiate the connection.

“You hear that, Marov?” Nyvar whispered, holding his hand up in the air and swinging it around in a circle motion. Ven nodded and went to secure the perimeter, smiling benevolently at the Stranded that looked at him with hope and anger battling in their eyes. Surprisingly, one of the children who were staring out of a viewport waved at Ven, causing the South Islander’s grin to stretch even further.

“Yeah, I got it. Just keep those animals away from me. I don’t feel like catching any diseases this week,” Marov griped, shutting off the channel and starting the engine. Nyvar heard it somewhere to his left as he walked toward where Parker was still rummaging around.

“So, where y’all headed?” Nyvar asked, looking around and noting what weapons the civilians had obtained. Lancers, for the most part with a couple of Gnashers and Hammerbursts mixed in here and there. A couple of the more adventurous Stranded were even now ranging about the battlefield, picking up Boltok Pistols and a few more Hammerburst Rifles from downed Locust.

“Small outpost half a day or so away. We’d try to make it ourselves, but that last attack you mopped up scared some of the women and children. Figured you guys’d be the lesser of two evils,” Parker said, his moderately muscled arms covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Shit, women and children? What’re y’all doin out here instead of in Jacinto? Least there you have some safety.”

“I’d keep off that topic round here if I were you. Not a lot of people here are happy with the way the COG has been treating its citizens, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Parker replied, turning around and coming up with some machinery and tools Nyvar didn’t recognize. “Here, this should fix your bot for you.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. I used to build the things before I went Stranded,” Parker paused, staring at Nyvar with his beady eyes. “Don’t ask.”

“Alright, sure,” Nyvar said, not sure how to deal with the situation. Normally, he’d be obligated to arrest the man and bring him in for questioning, especially since he carried the knowledge of one of the COG’s main assets. However, it didn’t look like he’d have a chance to even get his pistol out, the way everyone was looking at him.

“I know what you’re thinking. Ain’t goin to happen, buddy. Now, why don’t you take these and go join the rest of your squad. I want you in the convoy, but I don’t necessarily want you next to me. Scoot, Gearhead.”

Nyvar sighed as he grabbed the proffered tools and parts, turning around and heading to the shiny APC at the end of the line. When he looked at his own vehicle, he noticed how minute the rust stains and bullet holes were compared to the rest of the caravan. They’d been through hell and back.

The women he could see were all covered in rags that barely concealed their almost skeletal forms, their eyes only flickering with the bare minimum of human emotions. The children that sat in their laps were not much better – no laughter rang out, no joy was screamed in their high pitched voices. It was as if they had lost any kind of the pure, wholesome childhood they deserved. Only the kid that had waved at Ven before made any show of grinning as Nyvar walked by the window – he smiled back at the boy as he passed, letting it drop as the rest just looked at him with fear or awe.

Nyvar tried to ignore their stares, shrugging up his shoulders and looking at the ashy ground; this is why he fought even after all the years of punishment and pain. Just to allow the children a decent few years like they’d had before the Locust Horde had erupted from the catacombs of Sera’s earthen prison. It reminded him of his own son, drilling and preparing to become just like his father - a Gear, a cog in the machine, probably doomed to live a horribly scarred life even if they won the war and he survived.

When he got to the APC, the door was already open and waiting, Ven leaning calmly against the frame, looking out into the ashy desert, the imprint of a box next to his feet in the soil. A few wrappers littered the area, their crimson color standing out against the kahki-gray ground.

“We’ve given all we may spare, my friend. I only wish we had more to offer them,” Ven rumbled, a sad look on his face. “The women are so thin and broken looking, they look like they’re about to fall apart. And the children. . .” he trailed off.

“I know buddy. All we can do is win this war for them, even if they don’t want our help with anything else,” Nyvar commented bitterly. He changed the subject before the mood grew even gloomier. “C’mon, let’s get in a good meal and plan out the next few days – and help me get out of this armor. ‘Caught a bit more action than I really wanted, today.”

The other man nodded, stepping into the armored car behind Nyvar, hammering the hatch button with his hand a bit harder than was necessary. Nyvar shook his head, sighing slightly and trying to put his Sergeant’s face back on. Marov was lounging in the driver’s seat, his feet propped up on one of the many troop-seats near him, a disapproving look on his face. Nyvar just shook his head again, this time as a warning for Marov to keep his mouth shut about this. Ty was sitting in one of the seats, concentrating intensely on removing one of the plates from Spark’s chassis. Nyvar smiled, glad someone was doing alright.

“Ty, I brought some presents…maybe Marov can help you put that scrap of metal back together.”

Chapter 4: Downside Up
"Hey sis, it’s Ty. Thought I’d write you a letter from the field, just in case, you know, something happens. Never been big on long goodbyes, you should know. Remember when we moved from Landown to Jacinto and we left all our friends? Yeah. Anyway, I’ve been thinking really hard about everything, like what’s going to happen after we win. Yeah, I’m not worried about losing at all – we’ll win, no doubt at all in my mind. I just want you to know I love you and Michael if I’m not there when it ends. Just be happy, alright? Oh, and one more thing, I never told you, but I read your diary when we were twelve. Sorry."

"Love to you both,"

"Tyler D. Fais"

"– Unsent letter in Private Tyler Fais’ possession."

Border of Ephyra, Stranded Convoy;

1745 hours.

Marov cursed again, sparks flying into the air as he worked on repairing the ‘bot with the parts Parker had given them earlier. The constant, unsteady motion of the APC’s tires running over loose stones and bushes was causing the man to scorch the skinny, yet armored, mechanical gloves he wore for the delicate task. Ty watched as he held out tools and parts for the senior member of Echo-Three.

The young recruit’s frame was a little smaller and less muscled than the rest of the squad, but he made up for it in quickness. His hair was a rich, dark brown, a little longer than regulation length – though it wasn’t like regulation mattered that much anymore with humanity caught on the brink of extinction. Yet, the young man kept a positive attitude through it all, a far cry from the nervous recruit he had been when they’d sacked Nemaria seven years before. Nyvar had promised Ty’s only living relative that he’d keep the man as safe as he could.

Ty had a twin sister, whom Nyvar only met once when he made the promise. She’d been a thin little thing, then, with a small tell-tale hint of a curve on her abdomen, her face radiant against the long, brown hair that framed it. Ty always made time for his twin and nephew these days, returning happier and more cheerful after each meeting. Nyvar was glad the man had kin to fight for – most Gears only had each other, like Ven. Still, the squad tried to provide as much a family to each other whenever they were out on a mission.

“Damn it, Ven, would you stop running over every rock in the goddamned desert?” Marov asked with frustration evident in his tone. Nyvar grinned at his friend, glad Marov was back to normal as could be expected, given the circumstances. They were currently following a Stranded caravan destined for some refuge over the border – and as an added bonus, the camp was only a couple of hours away from the Imulsion Factory they had been sent to capture.

Nyvar looked over to Ven, seeing the man unaffected by his team member’s harsh tone, staring out of the viewport with a little more sadness than what usually graced the tanned, sanguine face. The man’s wealth of tattoos seemed to markedly add to the emotion coloring his face; specifically the two curved triangles pointing downward from both ends of his lips seeming to reinforce his miserable mood. Typically, they only made the man more fierce looking – as if the man had fangs ready to tear into any enemies in his way. Nyvar had always seen it that way, at least, but now he questioned if that was really the purpose of the two tattoos.

Shrugging, he looked back to the two on the floor of the APC, trying to repair Sparks’ damaged insides with the parts they’d traded for with Parker, the leader of the Stranded Caravan. Nyvar didn’t know what to think of the man – on one hand, he was looking out for his people and doing what he could to help them. On the other, however, he was still a tremendous liability to leave out here in the middle of nowhere and a possible asset to the COG if he could be persuaded to rejoin.

“Here, hold the bot a second, Ty,” Marov said, drawing Nyvar’s attention back to the task at hand. “Right there, good. Let me just get this thing in there and. . .” a small electric pop sounded as Marov stuck a pair of pliers into the bot’s insides. Static hissed from the speakers, blue lights flickering on and off Sparks’ screens, one of its “eyes” cracked and broken.

“Alright, set him down, Ty, and give him some room. Let’s see if his repulsorlift works right,” Marov said, backing up to sit in one of the chairs that lined the APC’s interior, Ty doing the same thing and watching the bot with hope in his eyes. The man’s green eyes looked up to meet Nyvar’s, smiling around a scar on his lip he’d picked up in one of their many engagements. The other man’s face was blocked as Sparks rose into their line of sight, clunking against the ceiling and losing a bit of altitude. It seemed to almost shake itself off as it did this, its front facing camera lenses no longer flickering.

“Hey, Sparks, glad to see you working again!” Ty said from across the tiny room. Sparks chassis hovered in the air, moving in an arc to the sound of the voice, its head cocking quizzically when it looked at the young recruit. A buzz of static and beeping sounded out from the speakers, as if it was greeting Ty in return. Marov stood up then, moving to the ‘bot’s side and pressing a few buttons, one of the lights slowly pulsing red while the rest cheerfully stayed green.

“Well, ‘Seph, looks like the transponder’s working. Matheison knows where we are if he’s still looking,” Marov said, stroking his beard slightly, an expression of thought on the man’s face.

“What about communications? Can we radio Matheison?” Nyvar asked, wishing he could report the Wretches with cloaking fields attached to them.

“We have limited communications, at the moment. I don’t think we’ll get anything better than short-range radio.”

“Good enough,” Nyvar grunted, moderately pleased by the news. If Matheison sent a Raven like Nyvar thought he would, they’d be able to report the threat and send it back with the message.

“I still don’t. . . trust those Gearheads, Parker. They’re. . . bring more Locust to us!” a voice whispered out of Sparks’ speakers, static interrupting the sentences. Nyvar looked quizzically over at Marov, who shrugged, a look of annoyance mixed with surprise on his bearded face.

“Riddley. . . hell up. I know what I’m. . . them, for now. Just follow my lead. . . pie hole shut.” Parker’s voice, Nyvar thought, wondering what was going on as the static vanished.

“What was that?” Ty asked, walking around the bot, gripping the handholds so he didn’t fall down as Ven guided them into another dip in the road.

“Looks like Sparks, here, has been hiding some capabilities,” Marov replied with a gleeful tone, his annoyance at hearing Stranded no doubt outweighed by the new discovery. “I’d heard some Black Ops ‘bots had been rigged with communication intrusion software, but I thought they’d all been destroyed after the Pendulum Wars ended.”

“Officially, they were,” Nyvar replied, a grimace on his face as he leaned his head back against the cool metal of the APC’s chassis, trying to remember something from years ago. “I saw some papers on Hoffman’s desk a couple of years back when I requisitioned a ‘bot for our team. He put them away as soon as he noticed me looking at them, but I noticed the same emblem Dom has on his knife as well as a few serial numbers.” He got up and traced the numbers on the side of Sparks’ frame, remembering the numbers from the papers. “Haven’t connected the dots til now.”

“So we can listen to the Stranded conversations? What good is that?” Ty asked, disappointment written on his wrinkle-free face.

“At the moment, not much, but it always pays to make sure your allies are really your allies. They don’t know we’re listening in on their communications. Maybe we’ll hear something they’d rather keep secret – or at the very least, we’d be prepared if they decided to betray us,” Nyvar replied, sitting back down and looking at the Imulsion plant’s schematics, trying to plan out the assault on the factory. There didn’t seem to be too many entrances and most of those were probably going to be heavily defended given that the occupying forces were former Gears. The twisted screech of metal on metal skittered across Nyvar’s eardrums all of a sudden, causing him to grab his Lancer instinctively.

“Ahhhh!”

“Parker,” a female voice said quickly, “we’ve got an emergence hole in the back end of the convoy, two cars ahead of our new friends!”

“Shit.” A clicking sound followed soon after Parker’s words. “All cars, we’ve got possible Locust contacts near the end of the Convoy. All cars ahead of the emergence hole move to the side of the road as best you can. Naleena, grab some weapons and try to see what the problem is!”

“Alright guys, let’s move. Marov, Ty, you’re with me. Ven, get as close to the E-hole as possible and hop in the gun,” Nyvar said, palming the hatch button and moving out into a canyon of some sort, high cliff walls towering over him. He hadn’t realized the scenery had changed so dramatically. A slight smell of humidity caused him to look up to see dark, forboding clouds roiling in the sky – it was going to rain soon. When he looked back down, he saw Sparks obediently following the three Gears out of the APC, cloaking as soon as he looked around at the surroundings.

“Yes sir. What about the Gears?” the female voice said from thin air, Sparks’ speakers still picking up the signal.

“I bet they’re already moving, Naleena,” Parker replied, his breath coming in fast over the radio, as if he were running. Another pop echoed over the radio, Parker probably trying to contact them with an all range band signal. “Hey, Gearhead, we’ve got some trouble a few cars ahead of ya. Make yourself useful, would ya?”

“Roger that, Parker. We’re already on our way,” Nyvar replied, his fingers pressing against the small comm nestled in his ear canal. He let go, turning the radio off and looked to Marov. “Hey, any chance you could turn that tin can’s software off? We don’t want them to get suspicious and start shooting.”

“I’d like to see ‘em try,” the other man mumbled to himself, looking around and holding his Lancer at his side in a relaxed manner. “Sparks, uncloak for a second. I need to see you.”

A bubbling hiss of static and mechanical beeps sounded as the ‘bot uncloaked, directly over Ty’s head, losing altitude and waiting for Marov to walk over and press a few buttons. Sparks booped sadly as the Gear touched a button on its side panel, turning off the communication intrusion software.

“Done, let’s move. Gotta go save some rabid animals,” Marov griped, shrugging slightly as he pulled his Lancer to his chest and started running to the source of the trouble.

Nyvar shook his head, following the path Ty had taken past one of the Junkers pulled over on the side of the road. The people inside, from what he could see, were huddled together, frighteningly staring outside the armored windows.

“Damn,” Ty said slowly, dropping his Lancer to his side and staring at the back end of a Junker sticking out of the ground. He turned as Nyvar came up, gesturing with his Lancer at the hole in the ground. “Doesn’t look like there’s any Locust activity, sir. Might be an old tunnel that just caved in from the weight.”

Nyvar nodded as he walked up to the hole, staring down – it wasn’t particularly deep, but it was enough to take most of the Junker down into the earth. There were a few people already dropping down into the hole to pull out some Stranded with small rivulets of blood running down the side of their heads or other places. He looked up then, watching as Parker and the dark-skinned woman with the Longshot came to a stop on the other side of the crater.

“Alright, Ty, you come with me. Marov, tell Ven to drive up here so you can get the winch and tow the thing out. I’m going to go talk with Parker,” Nyvar ordered. Marov nodded, his eyes blazing with hatred as he glared at the opposite end of the hole where Parker was talking with the woman.

The hole was about the length of an APC long, so it didn’t take but a few seconds to reach the other side, Ty following him, his heavy boots clumping against the gravel. As they reached the two Stranded, they slowed down, Parker looking up and holding his shotgun to his chest in a two handed grip.

“Shit, Locust’re taking us out without even being here,” the Stranded man said angrily, kicking a small rock into the hole. “Junker’s probably busted with our luck and we don’t have anything to take it out with!”

“We’ve got a winch. I told my team to try to tow it out,” Nyvar replied, letting his Lancer drop down to his chest, his gloved hands fitting through the grove between the chainsaw and the main part of the gun. Parker looked at him and nodded, digging around in one of the many pouches lining his belt, and pulled out a cigarette. Naleena, strapping her Longshot around her shoulder, quickly came up and lit a beat up lighter for the Stranded leader. Parker leaned down to get the end to combust, puffing appreciatively, the fire quickly igniting almost a quarter of the cigarette. Nyvar noticed Ty wrinkling his nose at the smell when the smoke wafted near him.

“Do it. We need to move, quickly. I don’t like stopping out here, especially if the Locust get smart and start dropping rocks down in the gorge,” Parker said around the cigarette, grabbing it between two fingers and letting out a long line of smoke as he took it away from his lips. His dark, gray eyes peered up to the top of the cliffs, darting from ledge to ledge, as if he expected something to come crashing down on them.

Nyvar nodded, turning around to watch Marov hooking the winch clip to the exposed end of the mobile trash bucket, turning around and waving to the APC Ven was driving. The ‘Dill moved back slowly at first, until the line became taunt enough for the Junker in the crater to start groaning as the tortured metal was pulled in an unnatural direction - Nyvar was surprised it didn’t fall apart right there. Ven sped the vehicle up, fishtailing a little bit as it tried to get traction on the rocky ground, moving forward slowly and pulling half of the Junker out.

A white flash lit the area, which was growing darker by the second, followed quickly by a peal of thunder. Nyvar saw Ty’s normally cheerful face frown a bit as the first bits of rain pattered down onto his armor – the kid never did like the rain much.

“Fuck…it just keeps getting better,” Parker said as the rain hit his bald head and dribbled down into his face. The man grabbed the cigarette again with his left hand and wiped the moisture off of his face with the dark, leather glove he wore on the right.

“At least it isn’t razor hailing, yet,” Ty replied, staring at the Junker’s crushed front end as Ven finally pulled it out of the hole. Clumps of dirt and small rocks fell from the face of the grill, the axles underneath the chassis bent at odd angles.

“Don’t say that, son. Tis bad luck,” Parker said, putting the cigarette back into his mouth and moving over to the other side of the crater, followed closely by the girl, Naleena, Nyvar thought he heard. He gestured at Ty and waltzed toward the broken Junker in the comical pace the armor forced him to take in order to move, looking up into the sky and wishing it would just go away. When he looked back down, Nyvar noticed Marov hadn’t moved very far away from the Junker, just starting to turn around. That wasn’t good.

Nyvar’s best friend stood in the way of the Stranded for a moment, his hand balling into a fist as Parker said something to him, his voice inaudible over the patter of the rain. Marov replied too quiet for Nyvar to hear, his jaw clenched and his face coloring to red – and then, surprisingly, Marov unclenched his fist and moved aside to let them go by. The girl glanced at him sideways as they passed, a suspicious look on her face.

“You okay, man?” Ty said worriedly, reaching up to grab Marov’s shoulder. The other man shrugged it off, muttering under his breath a quick ‘yeah’ and walking away toward the ‘Dill. Ty looked after him with a frown on his face, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, and started to move before Nyvar grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, shaking his head.

“Leave him alone, Ty. He’s got a lot on his plate,” Nyvar said with a tired tone in his voice that matched his drooping shoulders. A long moment passed by as Ty stared through the thickening rain at his squad mate, the rain running down the light teal-green colored armor. The death’s head emblem suddenly seemed to brighten, as if it knew misery was about and delighted in it.

“Yes sir,” Ty said slowly, sighing and dropping his Lancer to his side in a frustrated manner, annoyed at not being able to help someone in distress. Nyvar knew it was one of the reasons the man was a Gear – to help people who couldn’t help themselves; specifically those like his sister and nephew.

“Come on; let’s go see what the damage is,” Nyvar ordered, trying to get the lad’s mind off of Marov’s predicament.

Nyvar moseyed over to where Parker was kneeling in the thickening mud, his second-in-command hovering like a shadow over him, handing him tools from the heavy belt that hung from around her shapely waist. He glanced sideways at Ty, noticing the younger man’s eyes linger a bit longer than necessary on the woman’s waist, and smiled when his face flushed a little red.

“What’s the word on the old girl?” Nyvar asked when the two Gears reached their destination, his heavy boot splashing into a puddle that had just recently formed.

“Not good at all. Axle’s all fucked up. Don’t think she’ll be going anywhere,” Parker replied, running a hand across his bald head as he stood up, shaking out the water that clung to his glove after he did so. With his other hand, he flicked his finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, squishing it into the mud with a soft squelching sound.

“How many people were riding in it?” Nyvar asked, looking to the left side to stare at the small crowd that had gathered under a small overhang on the side of the gorge, huddled together, a few of the children staring out from behind their mother’s dirty rags.

“Eight, plus some possessions. We’ll have to space them out across the rest of the convoy,” Parker replied, kicking the damaged Junker’s tire in frustration. “I hate to ask, but d’ya think you can fit a few in your car?”

“I think we could cart them all around; we have enough space.”

“Nah, I don’t trust you that much. Me and Naleena plus a couple others’ll ride with you. I’d like to keep the civilians away from yours as much as possible,” Parker said, squinting in the rain at Nyvar and gripping his shotgun. “Just in case you get any ideas, we’ll all be armed, Gearhead.”

“That’s fine. None of you will be hurt. I don’t go back on my word.”

“Hurt’s not what I’m worried about,” Parker replied cryptically, walking away to the group that was destined to be spread out amongst the remaining vehicles. Naleena, for once, did not follow him – instead, she stood next to Ty, staring at him up and down, her face uncovered now. The now sodden white bandana she had been wearing earlier was around her neck, dripping slightly into her cleavage.

“Eyes up, fossil,” she said, forcing Nyvar to meet her cold, blue eyes; flecks of silver scattered around the pupil.

“Unless you’d like another hole in your head to stare out of,” she continued, patting the Longshot sniper rifle slung across her back. He shook his head with a grunt of bemusement, turning around and heading toward the APC. Nyvar heard Ty snickering behind him as the boy followed his mentor, but he ignored it – there wasn’t much to laugh about these days.

When they reached the APC, which had by then had its winch pulled back into the casing, Nyvar turned around to see Ty and Naleena slowly come to a stop in front of him, silent. The rain was getting stronger, turning the ground into a soupy mess – they needed to move before it became too swampy to even drive around in the heavy vehicles.

“Naleena, I need you to warn you, keep away from Marov as much as you can. He’s got a few,” Nyvar paused, considering his words with care, “issues with Stranded.”

“If he’s got issues he can deal with them. Not all Stranded are animals,” she said violently, glaring at Nyvar, who stared at her back steadily, before looking away her expression softening.

“But I will do as you say,” she finished, shouldering past him, not even wincing as she impacted his tough armored form, and striding up the open ramp. Hearing no sound of gunfire or explosions after a few seconds, Nyvar assumed she did as she was told. Glancing at Ty, who just stared at the ramp with a confused expression on his face, Nyvar blew out a heavy breath.

“You keep your distance from her, too, Ty. She’s not your type,” Nyvar admonished, grinning as the boy’s face flushed with embarrassment, getting him back for the earlier snicker. He strode up the ramp, noticing Marov sitting on the left, looking everywhere but at the woman who was sitting across the small space. At least he was behaving himself so far, Nyvar thought, though it’ll probably be strained when the rest of ‘em show up.

“Ven, Marov, we’re going to be entertaining some passengers for the rest of the way. Be nice,” he said, noticing Ven’s expression back to its normal, serene form. The two Gears nodded their assent, the South Islander turning around and starting the APC’s motor while Marov set about cleaning the tools he’d laid out earlier to fix Sparks. As if summoned by his thoughts, the ‘bot decloaked and stared at the woman who widened her eyes in surprise and reached for her side-arm.

“No, no, he’s a friend,” Nyvar said, stepping quickly to Naleena and putting his big hand on her small, slender ones, keeping her from drawing her gun the rest of the way. “Naleena, this is Sparks. Sparks, Naleena. Say hi.”

Sparks booped cheerfully, unaware how close to destruction he had come, turning away and sliding into the slot in the APC’s wall to recharge itself. As it powered down, Nyvar let go of Naleena’s hand and watched as she angrily thrusted it back into its holster – he didn’t know if she was mad because she’d been surprised or because he had laid a hand on hers.

“. . . in here for the rest of the trip, alright boys? Behave yourselves. We’ll be done with them soon enough,” Parker’s voice drifted through the rain into the small compartment as Nyvar and Ty sat themselves down on either side of Marov.

“Glad you could make it, Parker,” Nyvar said, gesturing to the seat across from him, right next to Naleena. “Take a load off.”

“Shit, I don’t see why we have to make nice with these bastards, ‘Seph,” Marov muttered angrily, shaking as he tried to keep himself under control.

“Just go to sleep. We’ll be there in a couple of hours,” Nyvar replied, settling himself in as comfortably as he could, with the armor. The smell hit him first; the stomach churning odor of several unwashed bodies, rust, and dirty cloth causing his nose to quirk in disgust. However, he quickly masked the reaction with a fake cough, bringing his hand to his face. Riddley, the ugly man in the cowboy hat and patchwork armor, noticed the action and grinned, like he was glad the Gears had to suffer the stench. It was going to be a long ride.

Chapter 5: Tactical Sacrifice
"“The world isn’t black and white; as I’m sure you’ve seen and heard, sir. Shades of gray mix in with the two obvious choices, causing a whole lotta confusion during a combat situation. Of course, can you really blame a soldier for making snap decisions like that? I sure as hell can’t and you shouldn’t either. We’ve made too many decisions like that to damn them without damning ourselves, too. Still, I hope the choices my Gears make will never be as terrible as our own.”"

"- Colonel Hoffman, talking with Chairman Prescott about moral ethics on the battlefield"

Over the border of Ephyra, Stranded Convoy, Arriving at Stranded Shantytown;

2140 hours.

The ride to the Stranded Camp was uneventful, surprisingly, given the passengers that shared the small space of the APC. The smell had been a problem at first, making Nyvar’s eyes water, but eventually his nose got used to the smell, even if it felt like there was a lining of trash covering his throat.

Slowly and without any rush or alarm, Nyvar felt the APC first slow and then come to a complete stop. Nyvar looked over to the Stranded that sat across from him, giving a questioning look toward Parker. The man brought his wrist up to his mouth and pressed a button on the small device strapped to it.

“Parker here. Why are we stopping?”

A buzz of static washed across the channel in lieu of response, causing Parker’s face to redden in anger.

“Hank? You there? Answer your god damned comlink,” the Stranded leader said, frustration evident in his tone. Receiving nothing but the hiss of static back, he sighed, looking like he was trying to calm himself. “Mind driving our asses up to the front, Gearhead?”

“Sure thing,” Nyvar replied, patting Ven on the shoulder. The South Islander Gear grunted and shifted the APC into drive and moved around the car in front of them. Looking through the windshield to try to get his mind off of the smell inside the small compartment, Nyvar saw a line of red lights in the thickening rain. Thunder rumbled somewhere over their heads, rattling anything loose on the inside of the ‘Dill.

“I hate rain,” Marov muttered, looking down at his shoes to avoid meeting the gaze of the woman across from him.

“I dunno, Marov,” Ty replied with forced cheer, a grin plastered on his face. “The rain’s relaxing, ya know?”

“What about the rain is relaxing? Can’t see but two feet in front of you, it’s cold, and most of all it’s wet,” Nyvar’s second in command said, sighing as he looked dolefully out of the window. “Damn rain. Rustin’ my gear and shit.”

Nyvar just smiled, glad Marov was taking out his frustrations on something other than those near him. The men across from them were also grumbling in dismay at the sound of water pattering on the roof of the vehicle – Nyvar thought he heard the words “annual bath” somewhere in the mumbling dialogue, but he couldn’t be sure.

Another rumble of thunder drew his attention back out into the rain washed landscape outside their car. Every now and then the APC fishtailed as it ran through a particularly slippery puddle of mud, but the massive treaded tires were more than up to the job.

Presently, they sallied up to the front of the line, coming to a stop parallel to the lead vehicle, a rusted hulk of metal with a bit more scrap bolted to its front than the others in the convoy. Nyvar nodded in respect, glad Parker was able to drill some sense into the feral humans – protection on the lead vehicle was vital, especially across Locust infested land.

“Try ‘em now, Parker?” Nyvar asked, his eyes scanning across the huge hunk of metal that served as a gate in the small canyon. The hinges were covered in a reddish-orange color, rivulets of the same color running down the side of the gate reminding him of blood. He had a bad feeling about this place.

“Hank? You there, boy?” Parker asked, bringing his wrist back to his bearded mouth. Nyvar noticed the man’s other hand was drifting down to the side-arm pistol belted at his waist. So it wasn’t just him that was having an uneasy feeling about this business. “Damnit, boy, if this is a joke; I’m gonna skin the hide off your ass when I get in that overloaded piece of shit you’ve been driving in my convoy.”

Grunting with annoyance, Parker unlatched his seatbelt and drew his sidearm as soon as he got up. A click sounded to Nyvar’s right and he looked over to see Marov with his Lancer aimed directly at the Stranded leader. A dozen more clicks sounded out in the small space as Ty and the Stranded in the APC also drew their weapons. Out of the corner of his eye, Nyvar noticed Ven slowly reaching for the Gnasher shotgun clipped to the side of his seat, out of line of sight to the non-COG personnel.

“Boy, you better put that gun down if you wanna live another day on this hellhole,” Parker said, his face turning red as he stood motionless, his pistol dangling from his hand, pointed at the ground.

“You first, old man,” Marov replied, steel in his voice, not even seeming to notice that they were outnumbered by the Stranded.

“Marov, stand down. You are out of line,” Nyvar said calmly, a bead of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. He didn’t want this to end up in a firefight they’d only lose. Ty obediently lowered his weapon – Nyvar was glad someone in here trusted him.

“Listen to your Sergeant, boy. Your behavior’s startin’ to test the limits of my civility,” Parker said dangerously, his eyes glinting in the light provided by the Dill’s interior.

“Stand down,” Nyvar said through clenched teeth, resting his hand on Marov’s gun and pushing it down slowly. His second in command only minutely resisted, the vein in his throat throbbing as he bit down on his anger. “Now we’re all friends here, alright?”

At a twitch of a finger from Parker, the Stranded, including Naleena, lowered their weapons, their demeanors suggesting they were prepared to bring them up and fire at will if they were given the chance. The same hatred Nyvar had glimpsed in Marov’s eyes was echoed in three or four of the Stranded’s.

“I’m gonna go over and press the hatch button, alright?” Nyvar said slowly, unbuckling himself and hauling his armored form out of the seat. He crab walked over to the button and hit it, the hydraulic hiss accompanying the intensifying sound of rain. The bottom ramp plopped into a mud puddle, the end of it disappearing into the soupy earth.

Without a word, Parker and the rest of his goons filed out of the APC and into the rain, gathering in a semi-circle around the scrap metal reinforced Junker. Nyvar heard some banging and harsh words before he ducked back inside the ‘Dill and motioned for Ty to join him out in the rain.

“Hope you get some relaxation out there, rookie,” Marov jeered, his mood already uplifted by the absence of Stranded in his proximity. Nyvar looked away as Ty returned the comment with a one fingered salute and waltzed down the ramp. Ty’s boots sank a few inches into the muddy ground as he stepped outside, yet even that small fact did not seem to diminish the playful smile on his face.

“Marov’s in a better mood, huh Sarge?” Ty asked, his Lancer held against his chest in a relaxed manner. The status lights flickered as particles of rain smashed through them, their blue light eerie in the dark, rain swept landscape.

Nyvar just grunted in response, gesturing for the kid – no, a man, now – to follow him over to the other APC, where Parker was yelling inside the cabin at an unfortunate soul. As he strolled up, a few of the Stranded looked at him with their hands hovering near their side arms, mindful of what had transpired only a few minutes ago.

“What do you mean the radio isn’t workin’, boy? It was workin’ fine a few minutes ago when Johnson was chattering away with some floozy on my command channel!” Parker yelled, spittle flying from his lips, some getting caught in his scraggly beard.

“There’s just static, Parker, nothing I can do. I’ve tried to raise the camp, but they won’t answer!” the Stranded, Hank, replied with a petulant tone of voice.

“Well have you tried getting out and knocking? Or are you afraid of a little rain, Hank?”

“Uh, no. I haven’t tried that yet,” the man replied, his eyes darting to the radar. The bar of light was circling, but there was only a static-esque feature to it. Nyvar’s eyes widened as he saw that, remembering where he’d seen it before. Before he could mention anything, Parker kicked Hank down the ramp and forced him to walk over to the gate.

The massive doors loomed over the man, the rusty orange near the hinges glistening with what seemed to be sick delight. Thunder rumbled, drowning out the first knock Hank performed – at least, it drowned it out to human ears, anyway.

A long screeching howl rang up as soon as the thunder faded, joined quickly by dozens more of the same noises. The sound echoed in the small canyon they were in, sending a ripple of gasps and yells through the forces outside the APC. They all brought their guns up, scanning the sides of the canyon, looking for any traces of the Wretches that were making the awful noise.

Nyvar, however, was looking at the Stranded’s makeshift gate when the battle started. Hank, his ratty clothes offering no protection against anything deadly, was standing at the gate, his eyes wide with fear. The man’s body was paralyzed, like a deer in headlights.

“Run, you idiot!” Nyvar bellowed with growing anxiety, bringing his gun up to scan the ground. Did he spy a flicker to the left? He brought his gun there quickly, lining up his shot and pulling the trigger. Light sputtered and died, the corpse of a Wretch appearing out of thin air. The rest of the Stranded surrounding him started panicking, randomly firing at the canyon walls.

“Shit, fuck, shit, where are they?” one of the Stranded cried in terror, dropping his weapon into the mud in his horror.

Another flicker drew Nyvar’s attention to the canyon wall to the far left. He fired, his bullets just sparking off of the stone. When he looked back to Hank, he watched as a flicker of movement appeared in between the man’s legs. Seconds later, the man was ripped open, long gore covered claws materializing in front of the man’s chest. Hank looked down and screamed with whatever air was left in his chest, silenced instantly as a bullet blew a hole in his head and ended his misery. Another bullet quickly followed, leaving another Wretch corpse in the muddy ground. Nyvar looked over to Parker, whose pistol was smoking with the shots he had fired. Nodding with respect, Nyvar ran over to the Stranded leader.

“These Wretches got their hands on our ‘bot tech, Parker. Light seems to work at shorting their cloaking fields,” Nyvar yelled over the din of the battle and the rain, firing the rest of his clip into another of the flickering shadows dusting over the mucky terrain. He noticed Naleena was closer to Ty than Parker, her Longshot echoing again and again as she picked off the Wretches.

“Light? That doesn’t make any sense, the ‘bots don’t flicker out when they get into the light!” Parker replied, his brows drawn down in consternation, reloading his pistol quickly and bringing it back up to shoot another shadow that was close to killing one of his soldiers. A petrifying scream rang out over the sounds of death all around them, chilling Nyvar to his soul.

“The women and children!” Parker yelled out with a hoarse voice, his eyes widening in fear. His face quickly filled up with red as he grew angrier, belting out a battle cry as he pulled out his shotgun and disappeared into the rain further down the convoy.

“Ty!” Nyvar yelled, looking around for the youngest member of Echo Three. “Ty, where the hell are you?”

“Over here Sarge,” Ty’s voice replied over the sound of a Longshot going off.

“The Wretches are after the convoy. Get down there and secure the area. We can’t let them get the kids!”

“Shit. Yes, sir!” Ty said, his heavily armored form turning and running towards where Parker had vanished. Nyvar grunted as Naleena whipped past him, her eyes murderous, following Ty and her Stranded commander.

“Ven!” Nyvar yelled as he ran toward the APC, the main gun swinging back and forth looking for targets. When he ran up the ramp and into the APC, he saw Marov up the small ladder, his body twisting around with the big chaingun. “Ven, move us back down the Convoy. The Locust are hitting us hard down there!”

“But there’s only kids down there!” Marov yelled, his hatred of the Stranded momentarily forgotten in lieu of the situation. No doubt he was remembering his own daughters. Nyvar hit the hatch button, the rain somewhat muted.

Ven didn’t reply with words, but his hands quickly found the gear stick and shoved it into reverse, slamming the back end of the APC into the canyon wall in his haste. Shifting it back into drive, the APC fishtailed and started moving quickly down the line. Nyvar was hanging by one of the hand holds as the ‘Dill jumped and slid, his heart hammering in his throat.

Nyvar was staring out of the viewport, peering into the darkening gloom when the world went white. The armored car they were in skidded and flipped as Ven brought a hand up to his face to ward away the sudden light. Nyvar held onto his handle for dear life, his eyes squeezed shut as the APC flipped back onto its wheels, as if it knew it was needed for a future date and did not want to fail its occupants. His armor protected him from the worst of the tumble, his head a little dizzy when he’d smacked it against one of the seats.

When he opened his eyes, Marov was on the floor, his eyes closed and a thickening red splotch staining the man’s doo rag. Nyvar rushed over, yelling something incomprehensible, hearing the chatter of automatic weapons outside the APC. He brought his fingers to the man’s throat, checking to see if he was still alive. He felt a pulse and worked quickly to stem the bleeding – he reached up for the First Aid kit that was still latched against the wall, but Ven’s hand got there first.

Nyvar looked up at the man’s face, noticing nothing but a bleeding lip was wrong with him and held out his hand. Ven held pressure against the man’s head with a gauze after removing the doo rag while Nyvar wrapped a bandage around his best friends head, muttering ‘c’mon, man’ over and over.

Another explosion sounded out in the background, lifting their car on two wheels and causing Nyvar to fall over, catching himself on the seat beside him. Recovering, he looked up to Ven and the South Islander nodded.

"Go. Sparks and I will tend to Marov," the man said, his eyes reinforcing the message, leaving Nyvar the ability go back out into the field.

Pulling his Lancer from behind his back, Nyvar ran to the end of the APC and waited as the ramp fell into the mud. As soon as he could, he ran back into the rain, his eyes widening with a horrible display. Two of the Junkers carrying civilians were burning, small bodies lying around it, some of them still aflame. He tore his eyes from the display, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the rain, and looked up. A comet of green was careening directly at them, hitting another of the convoy’s Junkers. Seeders.

Sickening screams sounded out as a teenager jumped out, his body covered in flames, flailing around and yelling. Nyvar knew there was nothing he could do for the boy, so he turned and scanned the battlefield, bile rising in his throat. That could have been his own son.

“Ty!” Nyvar yelled, running through the wreckage toward the muzzle flashes and five silhouettes he saw in the distance. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he jumped over a piece of scrap metal that once had belonged to one of the Junkers. The fires all around him were glistening, hissing with a savage delight at the carnage around them.

Nyvar stepped over a body of small child, its features unrecognizable aside from the expression of sheer agony evident on it. A charred dress attested that the child had been a female. Shuddering with disgust and empathy, Nyvar continued, another explosion lighting up the area where the muzzle flashes were taking place, followed by a thundering secondary detonation as gas exploded in a spectacular display.

Screams ripped through the night again, competing with the sounds of rain and the whistling of the Seeder’s rounds. As he raced toward the scene, he noticed only three of the five shadows were still standing, hiding behind an overturned Junker. With relief, he saw that one of them was Ty, the man’s normally jolly face turned ugly by the angry yell that was accompanying every burst of his Lancer, ducking down as returning fire peppered the position. Naleena, her eyes devoid of any emotion, dealt out death quickly and methodically. Looking over the defenses, Nyvar watched as Drones disengaged themselves from an Emergence Hole, their countenances hideous in the firelight.

A stray shot pinged off Nyvar’s shoulder, leaving an already swelling bruise as he ducked and slammed his armored form into the cover, throwing one of his bolo grenades over his shoulder blindly. Something splattered against the Junker as the explosion went off – Nyvar hoped it was grub blood. Parker broke cover and fired his shotgun into the stew of flesh and mud, popping back down as soon as Hammerburst rounds returned his ‘hello’.

“We need to get out of here, Parker!” Nyvar yelled over the din, blindly firing his Lancer over the cover.

“Fuck you, Gearhead, I’m not leaving my convoy. I swore to protect these people!”

“Well right now, what good are you doing them? They can’t move, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Nyvar replied, looking down the line. He and the other three were at the end of the convoy, the last Junker nothing but slag. “They’re sitting ducks. We need to cut our losses and leave. This isn’t a battle we can win!”

“God dammit,” Parker replied, breaking cover and running into a hail of bullets as Nyvar peeked over the Junker’s frame. Miraculously, none penetrated the Stranded leader’s armor or his uncovered head, Hammerburst rounds pinging off the COG-issued breastplate. The man was akin to a fiery angel of death, running over to a grub and hitting it in the face with the butt of his shotgun. The drone’s head kicked back, giving Parker enough time to turn his shotgun around and blow holes in his enemy’s chest.

Cursing, Nyvar took down a grub that was rushing in from behind the man, catching it in the leg and forcing it down to a crawl. Parker turned at the noise and swung his shotgun like a golf club, turning the drone’s head into paste, blood splattering his face. Fury danced in his eyes as he looked over to the remaining enemy, its mouth open wide as it spoke!

“Die, groundwal- urrk.”

A sniper shot to its shoulder spun it around, its gun falling into the mud beside it. Quickly, Naleena reloaded and stepped into the open, coldly shooting the Drone in the other shoulder, bone splintering and ripping out with the bullet through its back. She reloaded again, her face starting to betray her, an angry expression dancing across her face. If Parker was the angel of death, Naleena’s face turned her into an avenging goddess, white hot wrath dancing in her cold, blue eyes.

Another shot, this time in the thing’s throat. Blood gurgled out of the hole as it tried to speak, the thing’s yellow eyes widening as Naleena drew closer. It fell to the ground, staring up at her with very real fear evident in its corpse-white face. Naleena screamed at it, dropping her Longshot into the mud and bringing her foot up, a heavy boot coming down and smashing the drone’s head into the puddle, blood and brain thickening the muddy water. She choked on her sobs as she brought her boot down again and again.

Another explosion turned one of the Junkers near the gate into slag, forcing them all to turn around and look. Of the convoy, only a few cars remained, their wheels melted due to the heat all around them. Women and children tried to run out of the stationary vehicles only to be cut down by the approaching drones.

“We need to go, Parker! There’s nothing left we can do here!” Nyvar yelled, running to the man and tugging on his arm. The man just looked at him with shock on his face, nodding, his bald head reflecting the flickering fires all around them. “Ty, grab Naleena and let’s get back to our APC. It’s under a ledge over here,” Nyvar ordered, running back the way he’d come earlier.

A drone sprang from the wreckage, a Gnasher shotgun coming up to take an unfortunate down. Nyvar just yelled and shoulder charged the thing, hitting it and slamming it into a twisted hunk of what was a Junker. When he brought his Lancer up, he noticed the thing was already dead, a rod of steel puncturing its eye. Its hand twitched, as if even in death it wanted to kill and maim.

They made it to the APC without further incident, another Junker going up in flames and a crowd of refugees being slaughtered by a crossfire in the distance. Naleena seemed like she wanted to run and try to do something to help, but Ty held her in an iron grip as he pulled her toward the APC, his face conveying his concern over his charge. Tears were mingling with the rain running down the woman's face as she looked away and put her head on Ty's arm. Nyvar knew the woman probably did not have any family aside from the Stranded falling around her.

“Get us out of here, Ven,” Nyvar said brokenly as they entered the ‘Dill. His eyes flicked over to the right side of the APC, most of the seats taken by Marov’s form. Above him, floating gently on his repulsorlifts was Sparks, a bloodstained gauze in it's metal appendages. The machine's 'eyes' focused on Nyvar and it booped softly, a long, mournful note. Marov waved groggily, a grim expression on his face.

“What about survivors, sir?” Ven asked, his eyes looking toward the last remaining Junker, able to see a kid cradled in his mother’s arms looking out of the window. The display vanished in a white explosion, the whistling sound of the Seeder round ripping through the air a death knell.

“There are no survivors,” Nyvar whispered as Ven slammed his heavy boot into the pedal, the ‘Dill racing away from the carnage. The sound of screams followed them, even through the metal plating.

Chapter 6: I Flew Too Close to the Sun
"“Flying a King Raven requires a touch of bravery, a pinch of skill, and a whole lotta insanity. Luckily, our pilots have the insanity part down.”"

"- Corporal Damon Baird discussing the mentality of a pilot to a new recruit moments away from liftoff"

On the Border of Ephyra;

0915 hours

The Armored Personnel Carrier had traveled through the entire night, trying to get as far away as possible from the devastating genocide that had just been committed. None of them spoke, their very souls exhausted by what happened. Nyvar had tried to get some sleep during the long journey, but every time he slumbered; soft echoes of the screams woke him up.

Eventually, the morning light peaked in on the occupants through the trees they were driving parallel with, the compartment shaking every now and then as Ven ran over a pothole or a rock. Marov was still lying down, fast asleep – he had been spared the gruesome sights the rest had experienced. Sparks was no longer active and tending to Marov; the ‘bots frame was tucked into the wall near the hatch, his status lights dark. Nyvar’s eyes shifted over to the two seats next to his second in command, alighting on Ty and Naleena.

The dark skinned woman’s eyes were closed, pink and puffy from the sorrowful night; leaning on Ty’s armored shoulder as best she could with the harness she was buckled in. Nyvar doubted she was asleep, but he hoped just the same that she was. Ty had one of his gloved hands on the girl’s thigh, slowly stroking it back and forth unconsciously, his eyes facing down toward his boots. The man had been melancholy since they left, not even speaking a word to the rest of them.

Sitting beside Nyvar, Parker was looking out into the viewport with a blank expression, his shotgun in his lap. A filthy rag he’d pulled out of his pocket was running the length of the weapon absentmindedly, just an excuse to avoid conversation. Everyone was in shock, aside from Nyvar and Ven.

They had seen much worse during their tours during the Pendulum Wars, gruesome sights as mankind thought up increasingly terrible ways to kill each other. Whole villages with bombed out buildings and bodies littering the ground had greeted the Gears as they strode into ‘conquered’ towns. Any survivors were quickly rounded up and sent to the medics, given fair treatment, food, and water. However, there were rarely survivors.

“We’re almost out of fuel, my friend,” Ven’s voice broke the quiet, almost a whisper. Nyvar looked over to the big man, sighing and grabbing a hand hold to stand himself up. He peered down at the driver’s display and noticed the slowly blinking ‘E’. Turning around, he spoke to Parker with a soft voice, handing the man a map of the area, pointing toward where they were on it.

“Any chance you have some fuel caches out here, man?”

Parker looked up at him, his hand now motionless, the rag clutched in it tightly. A few seconds passed by as he scrunched up his forehead and ran a hand through his scraggly beard, staring at the map. He pointed one dirty finger at an area a couple of miles away, near the edge of the forest.

“Got a cache there, Gearhead. Take it. Not like I’m going to need it anymore,” the man said, staring at Naleena with an almost soft expression on his face. “Naleena’s all I got left out of all of ‘em. I need to get her someplace safe and-‘”

“Hell no, Parker,” Naleena said, her eyes opening with the same fire from last night still in her eyes. She brushed Ty’s hand off her thigh and crossed her arms. “I’m going to kill those Locust bastards for what they did.” Nyvar was surprised when the girl turned her eyes on him. “I want to join the COG.”

“What?” Both Parker and Marov said at the same time, anger and surprise warring across their bearded faces. Nyvar looked over to his second in command and raised an eyebrow that said ‘how long have you been awake?’ Marov just shrugged and shook his head, letting Nyvar know the man’s opinion.

“Girl, you don’t know what those monsters do to women like you, do you?” Parker said before anyone else could get a word in, his arms up in the air and his face livid. “They put you on a farm and keep you pregnant until you can’t bear anymore children! I’m not gonna’ to let you make that mistake!”

“That won’t happen to me. Not if I’m barren,” Naleena replied hotly, her eyes falling to the ground and her face darkening with embarrassment. She looked back up at Nyvar with the anger still in her eyes and continued, “Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Nyvar said, returning the woman’s blue eyed stare with his one of his own. “They’ll check you out to make sure before you join up, but if it’s true, you’ll be put through training just like anyone else.”

“It’s true,” she insisted, wistfully, sitting back down to lean back against the metal wall. She crossed her arms and glared at Parker. “And if you cared about any of us you’d be joining with me. Your flock is gone; you’ve got no other excuse to delay it.”

“It’s because of these assholes they’re dead! Can’t you see that you blind, little bitch?” Parker yelled, unbuckling himself to stand up and point at Sparks’ frame. “They were here for that thing!”

“What?” Naleena said, surprised, her eyes wide. “How do you know what the Locust are thinking?”

“Didn’t you see those invisible Wretches we littered across the damn canyon back there? Where else would they get a cloaking device except from the COG?” Parker said, the man’s eyes’ glancing down at the deck in what Nyvar assumed was his way of calming himself down. When he glanced back up at the girl, he sneered, his yellow teeth showing through his messy beard.

“The COG aren’t to be trusted with our lives, girl. They’ve already shown they’re prepared to sacrifice the lot of us.”

Ty had sat through all of this quiet and controlled, his face turning red whenever Parker had started yelling at Naleena, but now he seemed no longer able to control himself. He stood up and swung his fist, impacting Parker’s chin enough to knock the man’s head back.

“I’ve had enough of you, old man. The COG is trying to save lives, or hadn’t you noticed?”

The Stranded fell against the wall and into a seat, rising back up swinging his own punch, hitting Ty in the gut, knocking the wind out of the kid even through the armor. By then, Nyvar was in between them, pushing them as far apart in the small APC as he could.

“Enough! We have enough lost lives on Sera to add two more fighting amongst each other. Save it for the goddamned Locust. Ty, stand down,” Nyvar yelled, feeling both of the men shaking with rage and almost straining against his arms. He didn’t know if he could hold them off if they decided to keep swinging – they were both younger than he was.

Abruptly, the ‘Dill crashed into something and throwing all three men forward, forestalling Parker’s reply. Nyvar didn’t see where Parker or Ty landed as he flailed around looking for purchase, but judging from the sounds, they landed on top of each other. His hands grasped the edge of the chair Ven was sitting in, hearing and feeling it clang off of his armor dully. Ven had a hand up to his head trying to stem another cut that appeared on his forehead.

“What the hell did we hit?” Nyvar started before looking out through the viewport. In front of them was what they had run into, the early morning light showing the Beserker in all of its horrible glory, looking like a skinned gorilla. It was on the ground, trying to pick itself up, obviously stunned. It recovered quickly, its muscles bulging and its head sniffing the air around it. “Shit. Hit it again, Ven. Step on it!”

The APC moved forward, skidding slightly as Ven stepped down hard on the accelerator. The Berserker had, by then, managed to stand up and bring its shoulder down and charge directly to them. Nyvar spent one second cursing how stupid the Locust could be before the APC hit the Berserker and stopped, the back end flipping into the air, sending Nyvar into the ceiling as they came down hard, glass shattering and metal groaning in protest. He must have blacked out, because when he came to, Ty was over him, shaking him hard enough to bring the dead back to life. Nyvar thought he heard incoming fire pinging against the hull.

“Sarge! Get up, dammit!”

“Report,” Nyvar said, coughing as dust rushed into his lungs, filling his body with pain. He felt like one big bruise as he picked himself up slowly. He tested out his limbs, not feeling anything broken.

“We’re under attack. Ven and Parker are outside giving the Locust something to think about. Nal’s with Marov over there,” Ty said, pointing over to the relatively undamaged section of the APC, the back hatch open with Ven in view firing a Longshot. Marov was lying on the ground, his eyes closed, with Naleena and Sparks tending to him. When Nyvar looked back toward the front, all he saw was a massive hole and blood covering everything; he hoped the Berserker was dead.

“Let’s get out there then,” Nyvar replied, spying his Lancer, picking it up off the ground, and rushing past Marov and Naleena to get outside. When he ducked through the hole, coming up into air filled with bullets, he noticed the forest they’d been running parallel to off to the side. If worst came to worst, it offered a good retreating position.

“’Bout time you showed up, Gearhead,” Parker yelled over his own Lancer fire, blood dripping from a cut on the side of his head. Ven moved to the far side of the APC’s back end to make room for Nyvar, looking around the corner and cracking off a shot of his sniper rifle.

“I figured I’d take a nap, seeing how well you did in the last engagement! What’s the situation?”

“Fucked. We’ve got around five Drones and a Theron taking cover behind some rocks,” the man paused, aiming and firing at a drone that had poked its head out too far. The thing’s face blew away in a cloud of red, its body falling from the rocks. Parker continued on as he fell back into cover. “I think the Berserker’s still alive, too, seeing as how I don’t see it lying on the ground anywhere.”

“Holy shit, do those things ever die?” said a voice from behind Nyvar. He looked over to see Ty crouched and blind firing his Lancer around the APC’s frame at the rocks. Return fire started peppering his side and riddling the ground with holes.

“Fucking hell, I think I see it,” Nyvar replied, his eyes picking out a massive form far behind them throw off a piece of the APC’s plating and stand up, blood running from dozens of cuts. One of its arms was slashed to the elbow, thick blood falling to the ground as it flailed around in an insane rage. Suddenly, it faced them, its nose sniffing up into the air – Nyvar didn’t like that at all.

“Aw, shit, shit, shit. It’s going to smell us,” Ty said, his Lancer aimed at the thing. His words seemed to have an effect on the monster, causing it to roar and start to move toward them, picking up speed.

“Echo, focus fire on the Berserker! We need to take it down before it charges the APC!” Nyvar yelled, aiming and firing at the Berserker with his Lancer, hoping against hope the thing would drop dead before it hit them. A Longshot round rang out, a yellow line following the slug as it flew toward the charging behemoth and blew a hole in its head. However, even that only seemed to slow it down, the creature’s body not even knowing it was already dead.

“Where’s the Hammer when you need it?” Nyvar said, reloading his Lancer as it clicked empty. He slammed a clip into it, but something caught inside it and cost him precious time as he fought to fix it before the thing got any closer. Next to him, Ty clicked empty, too, slamming a cartridge in and letting loose another burst without any difficulty. Before Nyvar could finish his reload, a crackle of static burst into his ear, causing him to wince.

“This is KR Two-Three. Sergeant Nyvar, is that you down there?” Nyvar faintly heard the chop-chop-chop of the Raven’s blades over the battlefield’s din.

“Affirmative. We’ve got a Berserker right on top of us! Take it down!”

“Roger that, firing!”

The sound of a chain-gun going off pierced the air, streaks of fire slicing the air in half as it opened up on the Berserker walking toward them haphazardly. The monster roared once before the bullets cut it in half, spraying the surrounding ashy dirt with gore.

“Whoo!” Ty cheered loud enough to hurt Nyvar’s ears, a grin on his young face. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

“Anything else you need help mopping up, Sergeant? I’ve got a team of Gears in here itching to riddle some grubs with holes,” the pilot said in Nyvar’s ear with a debonair tone. A burst of fire sparked off the Raven, coming from the rocks. “Oh, I guess so.”

Before it could unleash another batch of withering chain-gun fire, something green and nasty flew by it, the slipstream it brought with it causing the chopper to spin toward the ground. The pilot managed to right the Raven before it crashed, but it didn’t look like they were going to get anymore air support.

“Ah, shit. Nemacysts! Hang on back there!” the pilot yelled into his mic, probably to the Gears loaded in the hold.

Nyvar grimaced as the chopper roared over them toward the forest, followed quickly by five Nemacysts, green, flying suicide bombers made especially for taking down choppers. Nyvar fired at one with his Lancer as it whizzed by, hitting it and causing it to explode in a green cloud. Another fell out of the sky as Parker filled the air with bullets, the thing detonating when it hit one of the trees. The tree it had hit fell down a few yards away from the APC, its huge trunk almost completely devoid of branches.

“That’s our ticket out of here, Echo!” Nyvar said, pointing at the tree. “Ty, get Naleena and help her carry Marov. Parker, you go with him. Ven, you and I will give them some covering fire! Go!”

As Parker and Ty ducked into the APC to follow his orders, Nyvar moved over to Ty’s previous position and crouched, his back against the ‘Dill’s massive wheel. He peeked out to the rocks, spotting the tell-tale yellow of a Torque Bow’s arrow glowing amidst the rocks. Nyvar lined up his sights and fired, knowing if the bow hit them it could possibly blow a hole in the APC and harm the people inside.

His bullets rammed home into the Theron’s armor, knocking the arrow off course and into the rock next to it. The thing scrambled away as fast as it could, but one of the Drones next to it was not paying attention. When the arrow exploded, the grub went with it, showering the rest of the hostiles with its blood and organs.

The Locust all ducked back into cover, leaving an opening for Ty, Naleena, and Parker to carry Marov toward the forest, a shimmer in the air behind them floating above the ground – Sparks. Nyvar was glad the ‘bot was still functioning; it had probably been the only reason the Raven had even found their position.

The brief lull in fire fell away as more bullets flew through the air, directly at the four running for cover in the trees. They all took cover as best they could, but not before one of the bullets hit Ty in the shoulder. He went down, dropping Marov’s legs into the dirt and forcing Parker to drag the unconscious man by himself. Before Nyvar looked away and started firing another burst at the grubs in the rocks, he noticed Naleena next to Ty, checking his pulse.

Nyvar hoped the kid was okay, but he could not worry about it at the moment. Returning fire peppered his position as he crouched back against the wheel, blind firing his Lancer around it. His weapon clicked empty again, so he clacked in his second to last clip, this time perfectly and without any problems. When he looked back over to Ty, he saw the man crawling behind the big trunk with Naleena leading him by the hand. Parker had already managed to bring Marov far enough into the woods, so he was crouched behind a tree, firing into the rocks.

Another drone fell from a Longshot round, the rock behind it covered in bits of brain. Two left, plus a Theron. Nyvar didn’t like the odds, especially with the grub’s superior position. They’d have to make a run for it in the forest. He patted Ven on the shoulder, pointing to the woods.

“Go, I’ll be right behind you!”

“I will hold you to that, my friend,” Ven replied, tiredly, bags under his eyes. Nyvar remembered the man had been up for almost two days already, driving the APC. He felt suddenly ashamed for sleeping while one of his Gears went without, but he pushed it aside for later and nodded, firing into the rocks while Ven ran toward the forest. A crackle of static sounded in his ear again as the Raven made contact again, the pilot’s voice harried.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to drop off these Gears without going down, Sergeant. There’s too many-,” the man grunted as something exploded in the background. “Aw, hell, the tail’s on fire.”

Sounds of the pilot struggling with the controls over the open line were almost drowned out as a Torque Bow blew up one of the tires above Nyvar’s head, his hand up to his ear and yelling over the sound.

“Try to set her down, pilot. We’ll come get you!”

“We’re going down, I repeat, we are going down. We’re about twenty clicks northeast from your position, Sergeant,” the man said, his voice strangely calm as his bird fell apart around him. “Fuck, jump for it, jump!”

The line went dead, just a buzz of static in his earpiece. He clicked it off, standing up and running toward the forest. Parker and Ven were ahead of him, firing into the rocks to cover him; even so, a few bullets ricocheted off the bark of the tree and flew past him by centimeters. He raised his hand in the air and brought it down several times in a swiping motion.

“Go, go, go! We need to get out of here! The Raven went down and we need to see if there’s any survivors, get some reinforcements.”

They nodded, Ven grabbing Marov around the middle and hoisting him onto his back, leaving Parker free to help Naleena carry Ty into the forest. Nyvar ran with them, firing behind them with the rest of his clip. They ran as quickly as possible with two injured being carried, Nyvar covering them from behind while Ven lead them with one hand holding his Lancer out in front of him.

Pulling his last grenade from his belt, Nyvar started swinging it, gathering momentum until he let it go. It sailed into the air and stuck to a tree, detonating a second later with enough force to bowl over one of the grubs chasing them. The tree tipped over and smashed the Drone as it struggled to get up, sending blood splattering into the undergrowth. With a screech whistle, the Theron yelled out as it retreated, the remaining grub following it. Nyvar sighed with relief as the things left, glad they now outnumbered the Locust forces enough to stop a pursuit from occuring.

“Echo Three, this is KR Two-Three’s pilot. Do you copy?” A voice said in Nyvar’s ear, wheezing and coughing, fire crackling in the background.

“This is Sergeant Nyvar, I read you. What’s the situation?”

“Bad, sir. We landed in one piece but a Boomer and a couple of Drones took us by surprise. Two of the Gears are dead, but we fought ‘em off. I don’t know how long we can last if another attack comes.”

“Alright, sit tight. We’ll be there soon. Who’s the ranking officer over there?”

“Sergeant Hemmins was, but he’s dead, sir,” a new, familiar voice came over the comm.

“Who is this? What’s your name soldier?” Nyvar said, fear clawing into his throat, hoping it was not who he thought it was.

“Private Jason Nyvar, sir.”

“Shit,” Joseph Nyvar muttered; worry bringing bile up into his throat, his chest going cold. It did not sound like his son knew who was on the other end of the line. “Hold position. We’re on our way, son.”

Chapter 7: Frostbitten
"“We survive as long as we can and protect the people we care about. Dad always did that for us. He was what a Gear stands for, strong and honest in his virtues. He will be missed more than I can possibly set into words. Be at peace, dad. You earned it.”"

"- Tyler Fais, the last part of a eulogy at his father’s funeral"

In the forest, 9 kilometers away from downed Raven;

1150 hours

“How’re you holding up, Ven?” Nyvar asked, his eyes staring into the forest with his gun sweeping back and forth. He was anxious to reunite with his son, but he understood the risks of letting his soldiers tire themselves out before battle.

“I will be fine, my friend. I have faced more hardship than this before.”

“At least let me carry Marov. You need a break,” Nyvar replied.

“Please. This walking tank is bouncing me around so much I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Marov said weakly as Ven slowly laid him on the ground. Nyvar smiled at his friend, glad he was in higher spirits; almost like himself again, grumpy and disapproving.

“The sickness might be coming from your head wound, Sy’. You lost a lot of blood,” Nyvar said, looking over as Naleena and Parker gently helped Ty sit down against a tree, his breath coming in strained gasps. The man had been rattled by the shots he’d had inflicted on him. One of his ribs were cracked from the force of the bullets and a small gash where a slug had grazed him as it went through the armor were the extent of his injuries. However, it was enough to slow the kid down, even with a numbing injection they had stuck in his side.

“Who needs blood, anyway? I’ll just make some more. What happened, by the way? One moment I’m watching a fight erupt and the next I’m being lugged around by Ven the South Islander giant through a forest.”

Nyvar recounted the events that had landed them in the forest, citing the Berserker as the reason they were walking and a downed chopper as their next destination. He hesitated when Marov asked who all survived the Raven’s crash, but figured his best friend should know.

“The pilot’s alive, as are two Gears. Corporal William Banner and. . . Jason.”

“Jason? As in your son, Jason?” Marov replied, his eyes widening as he tried to pick himself up. “Well, shit, Nyvar, what are we waiting here for? Let’s get the kid, now!”

“As much as I want to, we all need a break. We’ve been moving as fast as we can for the last two hours trying to get to the chopper,” Nyvar said, a bitter tone in his voice and his muscles itching to move, to find his son and keep him safe. “I’m going to check on Ty. Ven, try to rest while you can. We’ll move in ten.”

Nyvar did not wait for a reply as he moved over to the youngest member of the squad, the man’s sharp, green eyes filled with pain. Naleena was by his side, rubbing his arms and cooing softly to try to make him comfortable as she probed his side.

“Hey. How you doin’, man?”

“Not –ow- too good, sir. But I can still fight if you need –errgh- me to,” the man replied, laughing in pain at himself as he finished. “I’m so pathetic.”

“Naw, man. I know how bad this shit hurts, but you’ll make it through. Just take it easy. Parker and ‘Leena can take over for you and Marov for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Ty replied, smiling through the pain in his ever cheerful mood. Nyvar smiled too, shaking his head and gently patting the man on his good shoulder. He shifted his gaze over to the woman tending to him, noticing her bandanna was back on her face, the white cloth contrasting greatly with her dark skin. He wondered vaguely why she was wearing it, but an answer came to him after he breathed in through his nose. They stank; all of them. None of them had had a bath for days. Aside from her, Nyvar thought, remembering how clean she had looked when they first met.

“We need to move soon, Gearhead,” Parker said, looking intently back the way they had come. Nyvar walked over to where the man was, far enough away from the others to keep their conversation private. “I think I hear the Locust crashin’ through the forest.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hearing it, too. Nothing we can do about it but find a defensible position after we get the survivors from the Raven.”

“Waste of time. We need to find cover, now,” Parker replied, causing Nyvar to narrow his eyes in annoyance. Plainly the man held no kindness in his heart for the COG forces, aside from working with them to save his own skin.

“Hell, if you have a problem, Parker, now’s the time to say it. Fuck, man, if you don’t wanna stick around, no one’s stopping you!” Nyvar said, angrily, spreading his arms out to encompass the group, his Lancer pointing toward the ground. Parker whirled around, his cheek still blue from the hit he had received from Ty earlier, irritation in his eyes.

“I’m not staying here for you, asshole,” Parker said acidly, pointing at Naleena. “I’m doing this for her. Not you, not your little band of misfits, and definitely not for the COG. And I’ve had it with your self-justified bullshit; the Coalition only looks out for itself. They burned half of Sera to the ground to keep themselves safe, leaving the survivors to die!”

Nyvar ignored everyone’s stares as they noticed the yelling, gritting his teeth, trying to keep a lid on his anger. He knew his son being in trouble was just ramping up his temper, but until they reached the Raven, he had to control himself. He closed his eyes, unclenching his fist; he had not even noticed the action.

“Fine. After we reach the Raven, Naleena can decide to leave with you or join the COG. I know you’ll try your damndest to keep that from happening, but until then, you deal with this shit like a grown man and follow my orders. You were a Gear once, you know what’s at stake here – we don’t have time to bellow at each other all day.”

“Whatever, Gearhead. Just keep your COG propaganda to yourself,” Parker said, his eyes flashing dangerously as he hefted his Lancer to his chest.

Nyvar did not like what he saw in the man’s eyes, but he had to trust the man, for now. All of their lives depended on their working together. He stared into the man’s eyes until Parker looked away, kicking at a rock and sending it into a tree stump with a loud thump. Nyvar looked down at his wrist, pulling back the black sleeve to uncover the watch; it was time to move out.

He passed Naleena and Ty, motioning to them that it was time to go, not trusting himself to speak at the moment. When he arrived at Marov’s location, he bent down and picked the man up with a grunt, his knees almost buckling under him – plainly he was not as fit as he used to be when he was younger.

“You weigh a god damned ton, Sy’,” Nyvar gritted out, shaking his head as Ven moved closer to help. He would do this himself. “What’ve you been eating? Rocks?”

“Hell, rations sure taste like ‘em,” Marov said, his breath hot on Nyvar’s neck as he settled himself in. “So what was that all about back there?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“C’mon, man, I need to know these things in case you ever get yourself knocked out. Like the time Kathryn hit you in the head with the frying pan. Remember that?”

“Aw, screw you,” Nyvar said, glad Marov could not see his smile at the mention of his late wife. Back before Emergence Day, Nyvar had just gotten home after the Pendulum Wars ended and snuck up on his wife to surprise her. Unfortunately, she had been in the process of washing the dishes and she reacted badly, slamming the pan directly into Nyvar’s forehead. The blow had knocked him out, momentarily. Marov had been there, luckily, and they revived him quickly. Marov was laughing when he came to, while Kathryn was slapping him, scolding him for scaring her and saying how sorry she was for what she had done.

“Just sayin’ man. So are we all a big, happy family with the Stranded again or do we need to watch the animals?”

“Parker’s willing to help us until we get to the Raven. Then, all bets are off,” Nyvar replied as they started moving, Ven leading them and Parker bringing up the rear.

“Perfect. Well, I suppose it coul-,” Marov started, sounding cheerful for once.

“Don’t finish that sentence, please,” Nyvar complained, grunting as they trudged up a hill. Things could always get worse.

They traveled as quickly as they could, the trees giving way to small clearings now and again. They skirted them, however, preferring not to be spotted by any passing Reavers. The flying, squid-looking monsters the Locust used to get around were deadly to ground forces, able to either strafe from the sky or land and spear soldiers with their sharp, sword-like ‘feet’.

Presently, static whispered over the radio, warning Nyvar that an incoming transmission was coming through his earpiece. He held onto Marov with one hand, reaching the other up to his ear and connecting his side of the communication line.

“Uh, Sergeant, you better be getting here fast. We’re seeing a hell of a lot of Reavers flying around over the wreckage,” the pilot’s voice said, sounding tired and worn. “We’ve managed to take cover in a formation of rocks, but I don’t know how long we’re going to remain undetected. Any chance you could hurry it up a little?”

“Nyvar here. Just defend that position; we’re about 4 klicks away from your position, now.”

“Roger that. Oh, one more thing. When we were up in the air, I spotted a wall of clouds heading our direction. Looks like Frost is ready to kick our ass with a snowstorm, sir.”

“Aw, hell,” Nyvar replied, glancing up at the sky through the trees. He could not see any sign of the storm, but he noticed the wind was starting to pick up. “Did you spot any signs of caves in the mountains or anything?”

“No, sir. I was a little busy trying to dodge the green explody things trying to take down my bird,” the pilot’s reply came, filled with sarcasm. He did not blame the man for resorting to the tone, especially in the current situation, so he let it slide this time.

“Copy that. We’ll be there soon, Nyvar out.” He took his hand off his earpiece, breaking the circuit.

“That didn’t sound good,” Marov said, his voice sounding stronger. “Things getting worse?”

“Unforunately,” Nyvar replied, chewing on his lips as he tried to think. “Reavers are swarming the crash site and there’s a snowstorm blowing in our direction.”

“Fuck, I knew it was getting colder.”

“Yeah. Do you think you can walk yet, Sy’? I need to have a word with our Stranded friend.”

“I’ll try,” Marov said as Nyvar set him down, leaning on Ven as the South Islander came over and offered a shoulder. Nyvar dropped back as the two moved forward, letting Ty and Naleena know the situation.

“We’ve got a problem,” Nyvar started, walking beside Ty and letting the man lean on him for awhile, giving the girl a break. “We’ve got snow coming in within the hour and no shelter. Any chance you or Parker would know somewhere we could hole up?”

Naleena pulled the bandanna off of her face, frowning as she looked back at Parker and thought about the question. Nyvar saw Ty looking at her with a soft expression on his youthful face and sighed. The man was still a kid when it came to women, regardless of Nyvar’s orders.

“Parker never really told me anything about this forest,” she began, her lips moving almost hypnotically. Nyvar could see why Ty was smitten with the girl, at least. “But, I once heard him talking to Riddley about a series of caves near here. I think it’s that way, somewhere.”

Nyvar looked over at where she was pointing, seeing the giant form of some unnamed mountain rising out of the trees perpendicular from their position. He mentally marked it and nodded, steadying Ty as he tripped over a root.

“Alright, that’s our best bet, then. Thank you.”

“Its fine,” she replied, shaking her head and making her hair sashay across her face. A determined look appeared on her face as she took Ty back from Nyvar, whispering, “And when the time comes, I’m sticking with you. Parker won’t be able to sway me otherwise.”

Ty smiled weakly at her; Nyvar could tell the man was happy with the announcement, though it would probably cause trouble later on down the road. He put it aside for now, though, as he ran to catch up with Marov and Ven. The two men were just cresting a small hill, Ven helping Marov up a ledge by pulling him up with his massive arms. Nyvar forgot just how strong the South Islander was, even with lack of sleep – he was glad the man was on their side.

As soon as he heaved himself up the ledge, he heard a Hammerburst’s distinctive sound, quickly followed by static once again almost deafening him. He reached up to his ear, idly wondering if he should switch it to the other to relieve his hearing.

“Sarge, this is Private Nyvar. The Corporal is dead and we’re being surrounded by drones,” his son’s voice said, sending adrenaline through his veins.

“Yeah, and I think I can see come Boomers coming in, too. Lucky us. Damn it all, I didn’t sign up to be a ground pounder!” the pilot’s voice complained, snub pistol shots echoing as he returned fire.

“I see you. Sit tight, we’re going to flank ‘em,” Nyvar said, taking his hand off the earpiece. “Marov, you stay here, and tell Ty to sit this one out, too. ‘Leena can give us some covering fire with that Longshot of hers while Parker defends this position. Ven, you’re with me. Let’s go rescue us some Gears.”

They both replied with ‘yes sirs’, Ven following Nyvar as he ran to the left flank of the Locust firing into the rocks. They both took cover behind a tree, looking out onto the battlefield. One of the drone’s heads exploded in a shower of gore as the pilot got a lucky shot.

“Yeah, take that you pale faced sons of bitches! Can’t handle th- oh shit!” the pilot’s voice rang out. Nyvar watched as the man hopped back into cover as the Locust shifted their fire on his rock, chipping away at the improvised cover. Jason burst out of cover when that happened, throwing a frag in between two drones. One of them managed to scramble away from the device, but the other erupted in a display of blood and dirt, body parts flinging into the sky.

With a smile on his face at Jason’s kill, Nyvar motioned for Ven to circle around and flank them from the other side. He looked around the tree he was standing behind, analyzing the forces arrayed against them. Six drones were scattered behind trees and a bunch of rocks, firing at the stones and roaring unintelligible epithets at the Gears there. There was a Theron directing them and hissing as it motioned forward to something out of Nyvar’s view. What came next caused his heart to skip a few beats.

“BOOM!” a deep, growling voice yelled, echoing into the forest. Seconds later, there was a whistling sound as the massive Boomer shot its weapon. An explosion tore a tree in half to the side of Jason’s location; Nyvar was glad the trees were interfering with the thing’s aim. With a hand to his ear, he tried to raise Ven.

“Ven, we’ve got a Boomer in business. That’s the first priority. Do you read me?”

“Yes, sir. I am in position to make the Locust one with their gods,” Ven replied mystically, his voice overlaid with the strange resonance he had when in battle. The voice still gave Nyvar the creeps, but he shook it off.

“Alright. Hit it!”

Nyvar belted out a battle cry, taking aim at the Boomer and firing his Lancer at it, bullets whizzing through the air to impact the thing’s heavy armor. It listed to the side as the slugs hit it, catching it by surprise. It tried to turn, but Ven opened fire at that moment with his Gnasher shotgun, blowing the giant Locust into slightly less giant pieces. The Theron cried out in a slithering whisper, trying to get the drones to respond to the new threat. However, his face turned into a spray of red as a Longshot round went off, bone and brain spewing out of the back of the things helmet.

“Alright! The cavalry has arrived!” The pilot’s reedy voice echoed into the forest, quickly changing from jubilation to a caustic overtone. “Granted, they’re a little late, but they’ve arrived!”

“Good to see you, sir,” Jason said over the comlink, stepping out from behind a rock and firing down into the now confused drones. One of the Locust spun as the projectiles bit into its shoulder, falling to the ground and weakly crawling for cover. Nyvar had other plans, however, and burst from cover, raining Lancer rounds down on it, putting it out of its misery.

The rest of the drones went down quickly under their combined fire, Ven making short work of the two closest to him with his shotgun. Thick, dark blood stained the green forest. A cheer went up from the rocks as the last drone fell, quickly silenced as an explosion blew one of the rocks to rubble.

“BOOM!”

“Aw, shit, another one?” Nyvar said incredulously.

“I thought you took care of it already! What the hell, man? I said Boomers earlier, as in plural!” the pilot complained, anger in his voice at most of his cover being demolished.

“Can it. We’ll take care of it!” Nyvar said, gritting his teeth and trying to find out where the Boomshots were coming from. Another whistling sound warned him just in time, the rocket blowing a tree into splinters next to him. He grunted as pain filled his face, his hands coming away with blood. He would feel that later.

“Ven, do you see it? I can’t get a location,” Nyvar yelled, his face tingling.

“Yes, sir. Taking care of it,” Ven replied, Gnasher shots resounding through the air. Nyvar directed his gaze to where it was coming from, watching with mounting trepidation as Ven roared and charged the Boomer. The thing stood its ground with its yellow teeth bared, trying to reload its weapon before the South Islander could get to it.

“Ven! What the fuck! Get the hell out of the way!” Nyvar yelled, watching the tableau unfold before him, horror and panic warring in his chest. What happened next would haunt him forever. He heard the sound of the Boomshot reloading quite clearly, the ‘chak’ as the rocket slid into the chamber hammering in his ears as time slowed down.

Nyvar watched Ven’s face morph from a savage expression to one of complete and utter serenity. Flashes of memories roared through Nyvar’s brain as he saw that face, watching the expression repeatedly cropping up at multiple occasions through the years they had known each other. He dimly could hear himself yelling something as the whistle of a rocket leaving its chamber screamed in his ears.

“No!”

Ven kept going, bringing his shotgun up and firing off two rounds before the rocket hit him and exploded, sending the man flying back into a tree, pieces of armor ripping through trees around him. Nyvar shouted, tears mingling with the blood on his face as he fired an entire clip into the Boomer, watching it fall, already weakened by Ven’s Gnasher blasts.

Nyvar had no more ammunition, so he flung his gun to the side and ran toward where his friend lay, his head down against his chest, skin blackened and his hair smoking. He fell to his knees next to the man, reaching out a hand to check for a pulse. There was nothing. Everything stopped for him as he kneeled by one of his best friends, completely stunned. There was no way this could happen, not to Ven. The massive Gear could not be gone without even a word of goodbye. Distantly, Nyvar felt hands grab him and pull him away from the sight, Marov limping with Naleena as they worked to resuscitate the Gear. Marov was beating on the man’s chest, trying to start the heart back up again, but Nyvar knew it was not going to be.

The air grew colder as a shadow glided across the scene. He looked up, still kneeling there, not hearing anything, just watching as dark clouds roiled in the heavens. Thick, white flakes fell, dancing in the wind, the first signs of Frost ushering in the season of sorrow. A savage howl screeched through the silence of the forest; Wretches were on their way.

“Grab his tags. We need to move,” Nyvar heard Marov say through a broken voice from far, far away. “Jason, grab your father. He’s in shock right now, so don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Move out!”

Chapter 8: Rising Son
"“Being a Gear is about protecting people, son, helping people who can’t help themselves, and that includes the Stranded when they let us. Never let anyone tell you different. We’re the only thing standing in the way of humankind’s annihilation. I know you’ll make me proud when you get into the field. Just be careful. Your mother’d come back to haunt me if anything happened to you.”"

"- Joseph Nyvar to his son, a day before Boot Camp."

En route to a cave for shelter from snowstorm;

1343 hours

“C’mon, dad,” a familiar voice said accompanied by a tug on Nyvar’s arm. He looked up, seeing but not seeing the face of his son, slight fuzz dusting the young man’s chin. His son was here, something he was unable to focus on; why were the final moments of his best friend the only thing whistling through his mind? He was numb, just following his son in the blistering cold forest, reliving the memory over and over.

“Am I losing it?” Nyvar whispered to himself, raising his hand to his face and staring at the blood on it. He had seen friends killed before, in the worst ways possible. His own wife had died before his eyes. Kathryn.

He smelled her hair on the cool breeze, the forest and snow flurries disappearing as the memory came to him, blotting out the real world. The sound of gunfire and mortars punctured the air around him, but he did not even notice. Kathryn was lying in his arms, a hole the size of his fist in her stomach. Blood was being leeched into the ground as her eyes fluttered, her pale hand reaching for his face as she smiled. The soft touch of her hand stroking his rough beard sent a thrill through him, quickly followed by an almost soul crushing feeling. He pulled her to him, knowing she was not going to make it. What was he going to tell his son? He didn’t know what to do other than hold her. She hugged him weakly, her warm breath brushing his ear, stuttering in slight pain despite the numbing agent Nyvar had injected her with.

“I love you, Joe,” she said, coughing, “but I gotta go, ya know?”

Nyvar could picture the smile on her face as she said those words, a ritual they had performed since they had married. He had always been the one to say them, his duties to the COG forcing him away from his family time and again. She had always smiled and replied with a cheerfulness that had no real base besides love.

“Yeah, I know, Kat. We’ll be back together sooner or later. Can’t get rid of me forever,” Nyvar said, holding her tighter. He closed his eyes, his soul too worn to even cry as her grip grew slack. It felt like there was a void in his chest, sucking away all the light and emotions, leaving him numb. Minutes passed by like an eternity, Kathryn’s pulse slowly fading into stillness.

He laid her body gently on the ground, feeling nothing as he picked up his gun and looked out of the small store he had hidden in. Marov and Ty were taking cover behind a couple of supporting pillars, trading fire with the grubs in the courtyard. Ven was next to him in the only available cover, calmly firing off round after round of the Longshot. When the South Islander drew back to reload, he looked up at Nyvar; there was a deep sorrow in the man’s eyes, tears running down his face.

Something twisted inside Nyvar’s chest at the sight, the world seeming strange and suddenly surreal. He felt his breath coming in gasps as his eyes widened, a slight tug of a smile on his face. He jumped over the counter and waded into the courtyard, his gun flashing before him as he laughed hysterically, uncaring about the returning fire hammering into his armor.

“Dad?”

Nyvar broke out of his memories, his heart racing and small clouds of his breath puffing into the air with rapidity. His face felt pinched and stretched in the cold air, its temperature combined with his son’s voice suddenly shocking him back into his right mind. He looked at his bloody hand, collapsed into the snow, and blacked out.

Two days later, somewhere in the mountains 1906 hours

The first thing he felt as he swam back to consciousness was warmth. As he came to, he heard voices at the edge of his hearing, their voices seeming to be heated. He struggled to open an eye, succeeding and seeing nothing but a ceiling with spikes hanging from it. A smoky smell and the crackling of burning wood told him that there was a fire in the cave; the source of the heat he felt.

When he tried to move a lance of pain shot through his left side; it felt like someone was stabbing him with a white-hot poker. Nyvar closed his eyes again, grunting deep in his throat against the pain. Resigned to being forced not to move for the moment, he took stock with his limited senses.

His armor was no longer covering his body, for one, though the black bodysuit he wore in armor was still there. When he moved his hand up his left side, he noticed a soft bulge around where he was hurting. Logically, that told Nyvar that he had suffered some sort of injury, but if it was during the battle or after it, he couldn’t tell.

The feelings of malice and despair that had been at the back of his mind flooded to the fore as he thought of the end of the battle, and Ven. However, Nyvar pushed them back with a practiced ease; the affliction was something he was used to after losing someone, even if it still hurt in his chest. At first, the emotions would win out in his mind, but eventually he would overpower them and return to his right mind. He didn’t like feeling like a prisoner in his own body, so it never lasted long.

Sighing with the not insignificant effort of regaining himself, Nyvar tried to listen closer to the voices in the distance. Luckily, they seemed to be getting louder, so it was less difficult than before.

“I don’t understand,” said a young voice; Jason, Nyvar thought. He sounded worried – Nyvar felt like getting up to grab his son and never let him go, but knew that was impossible at the moment.

“He’s got a few problems, Jason,” Marov’s voice replied, carefully modulated to a neutral pitch. “I think Ven might have reminded your father of the way your mother. . .” He trailed off.

“Oh,” came the response, Jason’s voice thick. Nyvar could just imagine his son’s head bowing down for a moment before setting his shoulders and looking forward. Jason had always been stronger with the emotional side of trauma; Nyvar was glad of it.

“He’ll be alright, though that chunk of shrapnel we removed from his side might cause a few problems,” Marov continued, revealing the reason for the bandage. Adrenaline was amazing, sometimes; Nyvar hadn’t even felt it happen. Figuring it was time to get a report on the situation, Nyvar grunted and called out.

“I’m awake, son.”

“Dad?” Jason, his armor covered in grub blood, rushed over. Kneeling down and staring at him with concern, he continued. “You okay?” Nyvar shifted his eyes to the side and grunted again, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I’m good. Can’t move with this wound in my side, though.”

“That’s because you had a tree shoved into your ribcage, ‘Seph,” Marov said, smiling through his bushy mustache. “You should be fine in a day or so. Sparks’ pretty good with that surgical stuff.”

Nyvar nodded, looking at Jason again. The kid had grown since he last saw him, three months ago. He looked tougher, a new scar on his lip and his eternally messy brown hair shorn short. Muscle he hadn’t had before had bulked up the rest of his body; it seemed like the armor was just a hair too small for him.

“How long’ve I been out? And what’s the situation?” Nyvar asked, curious to know what had gone on during his recovery. Marov sat down on a stone and leaned back against a stalagmite, crossing his arms. Jason followed his example and sat on the floor next to his father.

“Well, you’ve been sleeping for a couple of days, so we’re way off schedule for attacking the facility,” Marov said, looking up at the ceiling. “Grubs’ve been scouting out our location. This is the third cave we’ve had to move to. Took out a couple of patrols, but there’s always more. Surprisingly, there haven’t been any more of those invisible wretches, as far as we can tell, but who knows. They aren’t known for their stealth, but this breed could be silent.”

“Not something I’d like to imagine,” Nyvar said, closing his eyes and willing his body to heal. He hated being useless and just sitting here doing nothing while his team risked their lives. “What about Ty and our Stranded friends?”

Marov looked to the side, avoiding his gaze, causing Nyvar to think the worst. After a moment of excruciating silence, Marov continued.

“Parker’s missing. He left out on patrol with Jason and me, told us he wanted to check something out. Haven’t heard from him since; personally I hope he’s dead.” He paused, blowing out a breath. “Ty’s fine and Naleena seems to have no inclination to leave with Parker. The girl’s got a good head on her shoulders, for a Stranded. Follows orders well enough, seems to mesh well with Ty and Jason.” Marov smirked and looked over at Jason, who blushed slightly at the words. “The pilot, Jonesy, is out with Ty and Naleena at the moment, trying to see if there’s any supplies left at the Raven. For a flyboy, he’s a pretty good shot with a pistol.”

Nyvar nodded, his eyes closed as he absorbed all the information. The pilot would be a risk to bring with them, having no armor. Still, they weren’t going to just leave him here. Jason seemed to be having the same trouble with Naleena as Ty did, which wasn’t a good thing. With all the battles and adrenaline, emotions would be heightened. Nyvar didn’t feel like seeing Ty or Jason’s heart break; he’d have a talk with the three, separately. With a goal in his mind for the moment, he opened his eyes.

“Good work, Sy’,” Nyvar said, smiling at his best friend. “Let me know if the situation changes. Jason, you mind staying here for a second?”

Marov got up, patting Jason on the shoulder as he left. The boy looked at his father questioningly, but stayed quiet. Nyvar stared at the ceiling for a second before starting.

“So, Naleena,” Nyvar said, awkwardly.

“She’s cool, I guess,” Jason replied, scratching his neck as he looked to the side. Nyvar noticed a slight red coloring as he said it. Nyvar knew he was probably suffering from the same thing, but carried on regardless.

“She’s going to be a Gear,” Nyvar rumbled, “so there’s certain rules we have to follo-,” Jason cut him off.

“I get it, dad, stay away from her,” Jason said sadly. “It’s just. . .”

“I just don’t wanna see you get your heart broken, son.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” Jason sighed, standing up. “I’ll go help Marov with the food. Ty and the others should be back in an hour or so.”

“I love you, you know,” Nyvar said, uncertainly. Jason paused, not turning around.

“You too, dad. Thanks for saving me.”

Nyvar watched as his son walked away and out of sight, sighing and closing his eyes for a moment. The smell of meat being cooked danced around the cave, causing his stomach to rumble hungrily. When was the last time he ate? Nyvar shrugged and went over the Imulsion Facility’s schematics in his head as he waited for the food to be finished.

Presently, he heard more voices coming from the left, Ty’s laidback tone resonating with Naleena’s playful one. The pilot’s voice rang out suddenly, something sarcastic Nyvar couldn’t make out, causing the others to laugh. These people were his family. Nyvar smiled and fell back asleep, confident someone would wake him up when the food was done. As he headed back toward dreamland, he thought of Ven and his wife, and the pain returned. However, he could deal with it as long as he had his family around him.

Chapter 9: As Quiet as a Whirlwind
"“My Gears aren’t made for stealth missions, Chairman, but they’ll do their best. We still have a few old recon suits from back in the Pendulum Wars. Send them with the Raven; I’m sure they’ll be happy to see it. After all, Nyvar and his boys are old pros with the suits - more than I can say for some squads.”"

"- Colonel Hoffman to Chairman Prescott, when informed of Nyvar’s ‘bot’s signal being picked up."

Somewhere in the mountains,

2006 hours.

Nyvar awoke to the smell of cooked meat – what exactly it was, his stomach didn’t care. When he opened his eyes, Naleena was holding a plate, an actual plate, with a few slices of meat. Her dark skin flickered with the fire’s light, making her somehow more beautiful than usual. Nyvar could see why the two boys were attracted to her. Her deep raven hair went extremely well with the color of her skin, her luminous eyes like stars against the night sky.

“What is it?” Nyvar asked as he took the plate, glad to have something to take his eyes off the woman. He thought of Kathryn as he carefully maneuvered himself to a sitting position; while Naleena looked nothing like her, they had somewhat of the same personality. The one where they could get what they want just by using their feminine wiles – the thought caused Nyvar to smile slightly.

“Venison,” Naleena replied, standing back up and leaning against the wall. “The grumpy one said you wanted to see me?”

Nyvar almost choked on his meat at the description of Marov, chuckling slightly at the mental image it conveyed. His best friend in the rain, looking miserable and irritable, complaining about something, as usual. When he finished chewing, he looked up at the woman, wondering slightly at how Marov knew to send her to him. The man must have noticed the same thing Nyvar did.

“Yeah. It’s about Ty. . .and my son,” he said neutrally, watching for a reaction. Unfortunately, she only shrugged and stared straight into his own eyes.

“I haven’t been leading them on, if that’s what you think,” Naleena said, frowning slightly and turning her expression into a slight pout.

“Regardless, if you want to become a Gear, there’s certain procedures ya gotta follow.”

“Like?” Naleena replied, arching an eyebrow. Nyvar frowned slightly, wondering if the woman knew where this was going already; however, he was already in, so he might as well finish.

“Like fraternization, for instance, dating someone in the ranks. A punishable offense, for good reasons.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well,” Nyvar paused, suddenly unsure of himself. “I just want you to be careful with the boys. Practice distancing yourself for the military.”

“I get what you mean, Gearhead,” Naleena said, using Parker’s nickname for Nyvar, “but my private life is my own business. And I don’t think I’ll get court marshaled and drummed out of service when the COG needs every soldier it can get.”

Nyvar had to admit the woman made a good point, even if he didn’t like it. The war wasn’t going well for the COG; they were losing soldiers left and right. Still, if he was going to keep control of the situation, he had to stick to his guns.

“Listen here, missy. You stay away from Ty and my son for the rest of the mission. I don’t want them to get distracted and try doing something stupid to save you. That could get them killed. Do you want that for them?”

Naleena frowned even further, her eyebrows coming down and wrinkling her forehead. Then she turned and left. Nyvar hoped the former Stranded got the message. Now the only one left was Ty to talk to. He wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, as it seemed the boy was extremely attached already. Nyvar sighed – they didn’t have time for all this angst.

“Reminds me of Kathryn,” said a voice from the side. Nyvar looked over to see Marov leaning against a stalagmite, his arms crossed. “She called me grumpy, too.”

Nyvar smiled at the joke, nodding and digging into his food as a wave of sadness washed over him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over losing his wife.

“Got some good news, if you’re feeling better, ‘Seph,” Marov continued, standing up. “The pilot happened to bring a few of the old recon suits. You know; the ones we wore when we took down those Indies back in the Pendulum wars.”

Nyvar stopped chewing for a moment, thinking back to the previous war. It seemed so long ago and so stupid now that he thought of it again. The human race had been fighting for a hundred years while the grubs plotted under the ground, waiting to unleash hell on Sera. Still, the war was probably one of the reasons the COG had survived as long as it did; peacetime military was never as organized as a wartime one. As well, all the weapons would never have been developed; the Hammer of Dawn, for instance.

“Yeah, I remember,” Nyvar replied, swallowing the meat down with a swig of water. “That’s where you got that hilt, right?” He pointed at Marov’s sidearm, the custom bone hilt etched with markings.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Marov said, guardedly, “how’d you know?”

“Just figured it out now, to be honest,” Nyvar said, shrugging and returning to his meal. He ate for a few moments before he noticed Marov had stopped talking. “Hey, Sera to Sy’. How many suits do we have?”

“Oh, uh, three,” Marov replied, seeming to break out of a trance. Nyvar frowned slightly, then an idea came to him that might cheer Marov up.

“Feel like seeing if we still got the skills to use ‘em, Sy?” Nyvar said playfully, standing up and wincing slightly. His wound was better than it had been a few hours before, even if it still hurt like hell. It kind of reminded him of the time Marov had mentioned; he’d been injured then, too. Marov looked up, the darkness gone from his face, his mustache tilting up in a tell tale smile.

“We aren’t that old. Let’s hit it.”

In the forest, en route to the Lethia Imulsion Factory;

2030 hours.

Crack.

“Quiet!” Naleena whispered, frowning at Nyvar. He just responded with a soft sigh, placing his feet more carefully. He felt Marov prod him from behind, a clear message that said “yeah, be quiet, old man”. Grumbling in his thoughts, Nyvar continued after Naleena, the woman’s form encased in a recon variety of standard Gear armor. It was much smaller than the regular gear armor, more gaps in between the plates of armor. All of it was covered in a dark camouflage that blended well with the surroundings, a cloth of the same color forming a sort of cloak that draped over their shoulders and head. It reminded Nyvar of ancient times; back when men had used bows and arrows instead of guns and bullets. Still, if they got themselves in a firefight, they weren’t doing their job right.

The suit Naleena was a little too big for her, since they were built for more muscled individuals, but she hardly made a noise even with the extra room. Nyvar and Marov, on the other hand, were not up to her standards, plainly, as the woman kept shushing them. Unfortunately, Nyvar had been the subject of them than Marov, to his best friend’s enjoyment.

Suddenly, Naleena held up a fist - the signal to freeze. Nyvar stopped where he was, concentrating on making his breathing quieter and trusting the suit to keep him hidden in the dark forest. Slowly, Naleena reached around for her borrowed Lancer, bringing it up to her chest.

“I smell oomanz,” a gritty voice said, the sound of sniffing audible in the cold air. Nyvar looked to his left where the voice came from, seeing a group of three grubs standing below them, beneath the ridge his team was on.

“Liar. I don’t smell oomanz. You just hungry,” another equally rough voice replied, slapping the other grub in the head. The third made a sound that Nyvar thought was a laugh, but filled with more malice than a normal laugh would hold.

Nyvar would have thought it comedic had they been anything but Locust. With exaggerated slowness, he pulled a knife out of his boot, the matte black blade seeming to absorb all light. He signaled to Marov, pointing at the left grub. The man pulled out a similar knife from his belt, nodding, slowly creeping forward to the edge of the ridge. Naleena, understanding what they were doing, put away her gun and pulled out a knife from somewhere, Nyvar couldn’t tell where, and knelt down by the ridge. She pointed out the one on the rightmost side and Nyvar nodded.

Holding up three fingers with the hand not holding the knife, he looked to each of them and counted down. When he reached zero, he leapt in the air on a collision course with the grub in the middle. He brought his knife down in the drone’s neck as he hit it, his momentum forcing the grub to the ground. Nyvar pulled the thing’s head up out of the leaf-strewn ground and brought his blade across the thing’s throat. There was a lot of resistance, so Nyvar had to saw the blade back and forth a few times before it broke the skin. The whole time, the thing was trying to resist, trying to push off the ground, but Nyvar just held on, hissing in pain as the drone’s elbow hit him in his injured side. Blood started gushing out as the knife bit deep into the thing’s throat, Nyvar only stopping when it quit thrashing.

Suddenly, a heavy weight hit him from the right side, forcing him off the dead grub and landing in a heap with Naleena on top of him. The grub she had been supposed to take care of stood with a knife sticking out of its shoulder, an angry expression on its face. It reached for the sidearm at its side and pulled it out, aiming it at Nyvar and Naleena.

He thought it was the end right there, Ty’s girlfriend on top of him and his knife lost somewhere in the brush. Not the most heroic way to die, by any means. He pushed Naleena off of him, hoping she’d at least dodge the bullet. However, he needn’t have bothered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw motion and turned to look, the grub following his gaze. Marov stood up from his kill, grabbed his knife by the blade and threw it at the pistol-wielding grub, burying the weapon to its hilt in the thing’s eye.

It cried in surprise, falling back and squeezing off a shot into the air. The pistol’s discharge was loud in the silence of the night. Before the thing could recover, Marov pulled out his own sidearm and pointed it at the drone’s head, pulling the trigger. A wet gurgle accompanied the sound, slowly dwindling into silence.

“Thanks for that,” Naleena said, breaking the quiet.

“No problem, missy,” Marov replied, smiling and spinning his pistol before slamming into his holster like some hero in an action movie. Nyvar rolled his eyes at the action, standing up and looking for his knife. He spotted it underneath a root and reached for it, putting it back into his boot.

“I wasn’t talking to you, showoff,” Naleena replied, standing up and dusting herself off. “I was talking to the asshole who threw me into the dirt. But thanks for that, too.”

Nyvar looked up at her words, an angry expression on his face and a retort on his lips. However, a smile and an arched brow met his gaze, cooling down Nyvar’s temperature. He didn’t realize the former Stranded knew how to joke.

“I’ll remember that next time I try to save you from a bullet between the eyes, little lady,” Nyvar replied with a grin, watching as Marov tried to pull his knife out of the grub’s eye. “What happened, anyway?”

At those words, Naleena looked down and her smile disappeared, turning into a frown. She muttered something quietly, holding her left arm and massaging it.

“What?” Nyvar said, grinning even wider. “I couldn’t hear that.”

“I was too weak to hold it, okay?” Naleena said, turning around and grabbing her own blade from beneath the grub’s weight, Marov holding it up for her. She ripped it out with a sniff and wiped it off in the grass. “We need to move before more show up.”

“Yeah, yeah, change the subject,” Marov said, Nyvar’s grin infecting him. Naleena glared at them for a moment before moving off into the dark forest. Marov followed her, with Nyvar bringing up the rear.

They traveled for a few hours through the cold forest, pausing every now and then as Naleena held up a fist. Each time it turned out to be nothing more than a passing animal; still, it paid to be sure. The hike through the forest was compounded by the snow that had recently fallen, Nyvar’s boots getting wet and soaking through to his socks. Marov grumbled a few times, so Nyvar figured his friend was having the same problems.

It was going well until they ran into an obstruction on the way to the factory. They were at the foot of one of the mountains when they saw lights off to their left and below them, as well as the clinking of chains. Nyvar crept up behind a tree, staring around it and looking down at the horrifying scene.

People, humans, were clustered in groups, chained together and being led out of an opening in the side of the mountain. Following them were a group of five grubs, their weapons held to their chest in a relaxed manner, kicking a few of the slaves when they wouldn’t move fast enough. Nyvar looked over to see Naleena’s face darkening with what he thought was rage – the quickening of her breath was another clue. He put a hand on her shoulder and she whipped her head around to him, her eyes wide.

“They’re Stranded, Nyvar,” she hissed, pointing down at a group pushing a cart of stones out of the tunnel. “I recognize them! They’re from the outpost we were heading to when we got attacked!”

“Are you sure?” Nyvar asked, whispering quietly so none of the grubs below them could hear.

“Yes! That’s one of my friends, Teresa. And there- oh, no,” Naleena stopped midsentence, her jaw dropping and then clenching with rage. Nyvar followed her gaze to see what could cause the reaction and sucked in a breath when he saw it. A gasp from his left told him that Marov saw it too.

Parker stood next to some kind of tall, cloth wrapped Locust, a cigarette in his mouth glowing red. He took it out and turned to the skinny thing next to him, saying something Nyvar couldn’t make out. With a look to his side, Nyvar saw Marov mouthing something underneath his bushy mustache, his eyes widening with anger as Parker finished speaking. A raspy voice clearly audible to the three on the ridge replied to the man’s words, the sound skittering across Nyvar’s mind with an uncomfortable feeling.

“These humans were not where you said,” the thing hissed, sounding angry. “They take out many patrols!”

Parker frowned and spoke to the thing with a wheedling tone, his words too faint to hear. The Locust seemed to buy whatever he said, turning and heading into the tunnel, pulling out a pistol and shooting one of the humans that got in its way with a three round burst. Blood flew into the air, the sound causing Nyvar to flinch as someone was murdered before his eyes. Parker seemed a little startled, too, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth and drawing in almost a quarter of the thing.

“That fucking bastard,” Naleena said loudly, reaching for the Longshot and taking aim. Before Nyvar could stop her, she pulled the trigger. Nyvar followed the bullet, a grub stepping in front of it just before it hit Parker. The report of the weapon caused the grubs all around to raise their weapons and look around, yelling in their horrible language. The Locust that had entered the mine ran back out with a weapon in it's hand, looking around. Parker was hiding behind a mine cart, the fainest line of his bald scalp peeking over it.

“Find them! Kill them!” the robed Locust screeched, pointing vaguely in Nyvar’s direction. The grubs hastened to obey, crawling up the mountain with startling speed.

“Shit,” Marov said, grabbing for Naleena and pulling her back as a bullet whizzed into the place she had been. Nyvar looked up where the shot had come from; a sniper was nestled somewhere in the darkness.

“Let’s get out of here and back into the woods! There’s a sniper!” Nyvar said, forcing the others ahead and chucking a grenade down the cliff. It exploded as he ran; the cry of a grub dying music to his ears. However, the shots whipping by his ears were not – he ran harder, his side aching. What happened to stealth, he thought as he caught up to the other two, running away from the veritable army of grubs chasing after them.

Chapter 10: Covert Exposure
"“Alright, now look, maybe I’m not the quietest guy around, okay? But I can get the job done. I never fail, in case you hadn’t noticed. Huh? That time Cole beat me in an arm wrestle? That doesn’t count, have you seen that guy’s muscles? They’re like the size of my frikkin’ head!”"

"- Baird to a member of the squad he just saved"

In the forest, retreating from Locust forces;

2250 hours.

Bullets were whizzing by Nyvar’s ear with an alarming frequency, his breath coming in gasps and his side feeling like it was about to explode. The recon suit had less armor to it, so there was less weight, but right now, Nyvar wasn’t sure if he wanted the speed he had now or the protection his other suit had.

Marov was starting to pull ahead of Nyvar, Naleena far out in the lead. Suddenly the woman turned around and fired a shot, the bullet flying past Marov’s head. Nyvar’s best friend cursed and flinched to the side, tripping over a root and falling to the ground.

“Aw, shit,” Nyvar muttered, catching up to the man on the ground and pulling him behind a tree. A few shots thudded into the wood, the vibration traveling through to Nyvar’s armor. He cursed in his head silently, pressing a hand down on Marov’s back to keep him on the ground. They had to hide, now, and trust that the armor they wore could keep them that way. Nyvar looked up to try and find Naleena, but the woman had disappeared.

A few seconds passed before the first grub ran past, the heavy crunching of its boots on the snow more than enough warning for Nyvar. Trying to be as quiet as he could, Nyvar closed his eyes and stopped moving, breathing in shallow breaths. With all the racket the Locust were making, hopefully they wouldn’t spot the two forms by the tree.

The second and third ran past, as well, shooting into the darkness seemingly at random, their grisly laughs filling the night. Nyvar hoped the cold air would play havoc with their sense of smell, like it had earlier. Luckily, that seemed to be the case, as another four ran by after the others, not even pausing to look around.

When there were no more sounds of footsteps echoing from behind the tree, Nyvar felt safe enough to breathe deeply, the expansion setting his side to a dull pain. Marov picked himself up, his face hidden by the cloak that came with the armor. Pulling it back, Nyvar’s friend looked at him questioningly, his hand on the sidearm at his waist.

“I think they’re gone,” Nyvar whispered, looking around the tree at where the grubs had come from. He didn’t see anything, and breathed a sigh of relief, standing up. He put out a hand to help Marov up, heaving the man to his feet with a grunt.

“That was close, huh?” Marov whispered with a grin evident in his tone. “Reminds me of old times, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Of course, none of the old times were good times,” Nyvar replied, remembering the last time they wore the suits.

“Maybe.”

Crick.

Nyvar ducked, pulling his Lancer from his back, peering into the darkness, Marov following his example. Something had made that noise and Nyvar didn’t think it was anything friendly. He moved slowly and deliberately, trusting his armor to keep him blended long enough to spot the enemy before they could find him. Nothing jumped out at him from the darkness, though he could feel something’s eyes on him, setting the hair on his neck up.

He looked around again, nearly having a heart attack when he did so. A few meters away, a grub with a Longshot was crouched by a tree, sweeping the weapon back and forth. Nyvar raised his weapon, taking aim at the grub with a conical helmet. His finger tightened on the trigger just as a heavy weight impacted him from behind. With a trained response, his finger left the trigger guard as he fell, twisting around so he landed on his uninjured side. A guttural yell rang out as Nyvar looked up, his best friend fighting with another grub, the thing already having grabbed both of Marov’s wrists. Nyvar saw the knife in Marov’s hand just as the grub kicked him in the chest, sending the knife flying and Marov backwards.

Reflex took over as Nyvar brought up his weapon and fired a burst from his Lancer, catching the grub attacking Marov full in the chest. It roared at him as it weathered the hail of bullets, finally falling as Nyvar’s clip clicked dry. Nyvar ejected the spent clip and leapt to his feet, sliding in the next cartridge with practiced ease. A shot rang out, pain lancing Nyvar’s shoulder as a bullet grazed him and impacted a tree behind him. The grub with the Longshot finally found his prey.

There was no time to run over there before the grub reloaded and this time, Nyvar knew it wouldn’t miss, so he dove to the side and came up behind a tree closer to the grubs position. He blind fired his rifle in the general direction of the grub, hoping a bullet would find its mark.

No such luck. Another Longshot round went off, tearing a hole through the tree Nyvar was hiding behind. He cursed and turned around the tree, running up to the Locust while he was busy reloading. The chainsaw on his Lancer roared to life as he brought it down on the unfortunate grub, the metal spikes ripping through the thing’s hide much easier than his knife. A few seconds later, it was dead.

“Damn, why does it always have to smell when you do that?” Marov’s voice came from the left, coughing as he tried to regain his breath.

“Hell if I know, but we need to get outta here. All that noise is bound to attract more of the things,” Nyvar said quickly, grabbing Marov by the front and hauling him to his feet. “Stop falling down, old man. You’ll break a hip.”

“Aw, shut it,” Marov replied as they ran through the forest, in an arc around where the grubs had gone, just in case they doubled back to check out the brouhaha. They had almost reached their campsite cave when they heard the sound of Hammerburst rifles in the distance. They double timed it, running through the snowy forest as quick as they could. Nyvar slipped and almost fell over a few times as they ran, but somehow kept his feet under him.

When they finally arrived, they saw an group of about twenty Locust assaulting the cave from downhill. Ty, Jason, and the pilot were defending themselves well, judging by the bodies rolling back down the slope. A Longshot round rang out from near their position, causing a grub to fall over with smoke rising from its head. Naleena must have made it.

“’Leena, you out there?” Nyvar yelled, giving up all pretense of stealth. Not like the grubs could hear him over the din of the battle anyway.

“Over here, Nyvar,” her voice said sharply, followed by another round of her gun. “I’m running low on ammo.”

Nyvar checked his own ammunition and found only a few clips left. He looked at Marov and saw him shake his head. Damn. They were outgunned and outnumbered; never a good combination. Nyvar and Marov found Naleena kneeling with her rifle on top of a rock, steadying it better than she could holding it in her hands. As they ducked behind the rocks next to her, she fell backwards, cursing as rounds ripped through the air where her head had been.

“How’re we going to get them out?” Naleena asked, picking herself up off the ground and ducking behind a rock next to Marov. Nyvar looked around and tried to come up with something. Suddenly, with a boop, Sparks’ materialized out of thin air, his ‘eyes’ quirking to the right as he looked at Nyvar.

“Sparks!” Nyvar said, glad to see the little robot. Then an idea came to him. “Sparks, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

It beeped an affirmative, bobbing in the air, almost looking inquisitive. Nyvar regretted what he was about to ask, but he didn’t have any other ideas on how to get out of the pickle they were in.

“I need you to try to drop a few of these on them,” Nyvar said, pulling out the last of his bolo grenades. “Maybe they’ll think it’s a bombardment and run away. At the very least, it’ll get rid of a few of them.”

The little robot booped, rising into the air and disappearing. Nyvar felt a little guilty as the robot obeyed him unquestioningly, even though there was a strong likelihood Sparks’ might get shot and destroyed for good this time. Still, maybe there was something he could do to distract the grubs from the grenades dropping.

He stood up and brought his Lancer to his chest, steadying it and firing into the horde of Locust. A few bullets hit their mark before the return fire peppered his position, but there were still eighteen of the bastards still out there. Nyvar reached up to his ear and initiated a circuit, breaking the radio silence he and his recon team had been under.

“Ty, this is Nyvar. Do you read?” The reply came back quickly, Ty sounding like he was out of breath.

“Yes, sir, loud and clear. Is Naleena with you?”

“She’s fine, son,” Nyvar said, looking down at Naleena with a “see what I mean?” expression on his face before replying. “Listen, Sparks is about to drop a few grenades on the grubs. You got any explosives with you?”

“No. Well, sort of, sir. We have a barrel of fuel Jonesy siphoned from the downed Raven,” Ty said, pausing to take a shot. “We could roll that down the hill with a frag attached to it.”

“Roger that. Do it now, before Sparks drops the bombs,” Nyvar said, breaking the circuit and leaning out to take another shot. One of the grubs dropped under a hail of Lancer fire, his buddy falling next to him as Marov opened up with his own Lancer. Sixteen left.

Suddenly the group of grubs nearest the cave lit up in flames, the Locust flailing around in a macabre dance as the fire consumed them.

“C’mon, Sparks, now would be a good time,” Nyvar said as he ducked back behind the rock, trying to count in his head how many had been lit on fire. Five or so, he thought he counted, so about eleven left. He breathed in, inhaling smoke and the smell of burnt flesh, almost causing him to throw up.

Two bangs, quieter compared to the barrel igniting, disturbed the battle, silencing the Hammerbursts for the moment. Nyvar risked a look out, seeing chunks of grubs littering the area. He aimed and fired at one of the figures still moving, grunting in satisfaction as it dropped back to the ground. Under their combined fire, the battle was over quickly. The grubs, whittled down to just a group of four, ran away, firing behind them as they retreated. Nyvar was glad they were leaving; he’d run out of ammo a few minutes ago and knew Marov was suffering the same problem judging by the amount of cursing coming from him.

“Yeah, bitches, run. Can’t take none of his flyboy,” Jonesy’s voice rang out after the grubs, the man pissing away ammo at the retreating grubs.

“Jonesy,” Nyvar yelled over the mic, “quit wasting your damn ammo. We need that for later!”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Jonesy’s reply came. The man fired off one more shot and his form disappeared back into the cave. “I see why you ground pounders are always coming back with the most stories. You run into some stupid shit down here.”

“Just be glad you lived through it, pilot,” Nyvar replied, sighing and resting back against the rock for a moment. Then, gathering himself, he and the rest of his recon team slid down the ridge they’d been firing from, going straight back up to join Ty and the others at the cave.

“Report,” Nyvar said, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion and leaning back against one of the stalagmites.

“Well, we’re out of fucking fuel, thanks to your brilliant idea. Not that I’m complaining,” Jonesy said, adding the last part quickly as Nyvar opened his eyes and glared at him. “Other than that, I think we’re good.”

Ty shook his head at the words, handing Nyvar a bottle of water. He took it gratefully, twisting the cap off and chugging down half of it, passing it to Marov when he was done. Jason handed another bottle to Naleena, smiling slightly at her. The woman smiled back, thanking him, catching her breath before she took a sip of the water.

“We need to move, sir,” Ty said, his tone somewhat irritable as he watched Jason and Naleena, “The grubs know our position.”

“You’re right,” Nyvar replied, not looking forward to the hike to find a new hidey hole. “We’ll move out in ten.”

“So what’s the plan, sir?” Jason asked, leaning back against the wall to clean his gun.

“We need to rescue those people,” Naleena started, but Marov cut her off.

“They’re just Stranded,” Marov said, earning a glare from Naleena. “What? They are. Still, I wouldn’t mind slotting Parker.”

“Rescue? Parker?” Jonesy asked, suddenly interested, his face in a frown. “What, did the guy get himself captured?”

Nyvar shook his head, sneering with disgust at the depths the Stranded would plunge. Selling out his own people, for what? “No. The bastard’s chummy with the Locust.”

“What?!” Ty, Jonesy, and Jason said incredulously all at once.

“Parker’s made a deal or something with the Locust. He’s sitting around while my friends are tortured and forced to work in some kind of mine,” Naleena said hotly, setting down the water bottle and jumping to her feet. “That. That little.” She couldn’t finish her sentence, so overcome with fury.

“Calm down, Naleena,” Nyvar said, standing up himself. “You need to learn some discipline. You almost got us killed out there. I didn’t give you an order to fire!”

Naleena looked shocked as Nyvar yelled at her. Then she looked down, deflated.

“You’re right. I just. I.. .” she trailed off, tears in her eyes. However, none of them fell down her face. The girl was strong. Nyvar looked away, not wanting to see the results of his yelling. His gaze came to rest on Jason, who was looking outside with a furrowed brow.

“You think of something, son?” Nyvar asked, curiously. Jason started, looking at his father; he nodded.

“Yeah, you mentioned mines, right?”

“That’s right,” Marov said, replying before Nyvar could. “Why?”

“I think I remember something about these hills being filled with some kind of metal. Something important,” Jason said, biting his lip and closing his eyes like he was trying to remember.

Sparks suddenly materialized, booping and beeping, surprising them all. Nyvar cursed under his breath; the ‘bot seemed to enjoy scaring him.

“Sparks, I’m glad you’re okay,” Marov said, glad to have something to distract himself with. “Looks like you have a little graze on you. Here, I’ll fix you up.” He motioned the robot to the back of the cave, where his toolkit was.

“The JACK!” Jason said quickly, his eyes wide. “You said the wretches have our ‘bot tech attached to them, right?”

Nyvar frowned, wondering where his son was going with this. Then he understood, nodding to himself.

“Yeah, that’s right. You don’t think that the metal they’re mining is-.”

“The same metal they use to build the JACKs. Some kind of special alloy that allows the cloaking field to actually work,” Jason said excitedly, putting the pieces together.

“Oh, shit,” Nyvar said, remembering something Parker had said, days ago. “That fucking idiot, he better not have done that.”

“What?” Naleena said, looking up with her puffy red eyes.

“Parker said he used to build the ‘bots back when he was still part of the COG. He must be building the generators for those new wretches!” Nyvar slammed his fist into a wall, angry beyond words. The bastard was supplying the enemy with tech that could kill the COG!

Memoir II: "So Who Are You Fighting For?”
"'You ever seen the assholes out on the streets, rummaging around in the garbage for food? Seeing them scurry over a COG wreck to scavenge supplies? Those are the good ones, if any of the Stranded could be “good”. That’s who we’re fighting for? People who don’t even care about anything but themselves? I mean, they might be thieving bastards, but they’re still people, right? Right?"

"Yeah, right. Tell that to my daughter. Those animals stole her away during transit to a breeding ground and now she’s gone, forever. Damn Stranded aren’t going to have any mercy from me. Wish I could get my hand on the Hammer and finish the job the COG started when they roasted most of the planet to stop the Locust. Anyway, since I can’t do that, I’ll settle for shooting the bastards when Nyvar lets me. There’s enough reason to shoot on sight, already, in my opinion, but ‘Seph keeps talking about the future, making things safe for the children by keeping the population up. I wonder if what he thinks of the “baby farms”. He doesn’t have a daughter, so he wouldn’t understand about certain things, but I won’t hold it against him. He’s my best friend."

"As much as I don’t really approve of sending my girls to a f*cking farm, where women have nothing to do but make new babies for the “war effort”, that’s better than the alternative. Dying to a grub bullet or boot as the things ravage Sera like a bunch of, well, locust. Heh, I’m still keeping my humor, even after all this? I must not be right in the head – ‘course, who could be after seeing their daughter. . ."

"I’m not going to go there, not now. Gotta keep my wall up or I’ll break down. ‘Seph needs me, so does the rook, Ty. I don’t know what Ven needs, but I’ll stick around for him, too, the lug. My family. Couldn’t ask for a better one out in the field, or, hell, even back at the barracks. Gotta look after my own family, too - Caroline and Rene. Rene seems almost a twin of her mother, mischievous and sneaky. Then there’s ‘Seph’s boy; Jason. And everyone here at base, including all those poor souls pumping out children at a steady rate. Heh, I gotta lot of people to protect, huh? Guess I’ll keep it up and do my best. That’s all anyone can ask of a Gear, right?"

"People need me. So I’ll fight.'"

"- Memoirs of Corporal Syval Marov"

Chapter 11: Oscar Mike
"“So, did you hear about Echo Three? I heard they lost their ‘bot four days ago. No one knows if any of them are still alive. Hoffman sent another team after them, but they haven’t come back either. I hope they’re okay. We’ve lost too many in this war already.”"

"– Dom Santiago on the subject of Echo Three’s disappearance"

Somewhere in the forest, 20 km from the Stranded Slave Mine;

0734 hours.

“I like this armor.”

Syval Marov concealed a grin as he noticed his best friend, Joseph Nyvar, reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose. It had been a long, exhausting night. They had been trekking through the wilderness to find a new place to hide, as their previous location had been compromised. Unfortunately, the pilot, Jonesy “Psycho” Breen, hadn’t shut up about the “new digs” he’d been given.

Nyvar was back in his own COG standard issue, the bulky armor seeming more normal for the man than civilian clothes. Marov had to admit the he missed his own plates, but his commander needed him for “special reconnaissance”, so he kept the less protected recon armor. It was fashioned with a several plates on the chest and back, leaving the sides open to allow more maneuverability. The groin and sides of the hips held another few plates, with shin and thigh guards strapped around the leg, leaving the rest to the camouflaged underlay. Luckily for him, all that meant he didn’t have to put up with the clown the entire night, being forced to scout around with much less effort than a fully armored Gear.

“I’m so. . .glad for you, Jonesy,” Nyvar ground out. Marov’s grin grew even wider as he looked back toward the rest of the group. Jonesy, with Nyvar’s own set of recon armor, was strutting across the rocky ground with all the bluster of a kid with a new toy. The man’s pistol was strapped to his chest, under the camouflage cloak that hung down to the man’s waist; Marov thought that was a stupid place to put the weapon, but Jonesy was undeterred. The armor was meant for larger men and women, so the pilot’s lanky frame reinforced the kid metaphor in Marov’s mind.

“Just wish I could have one of those sniper rifles the lady has back there,” Jonesy complained. That was the seventh time he had “wished” for one of their weapons.

“I’d quit while you’re ahead,” Marov said, watching Nyvar slowly start to redden in the face. “You might get one of those weapons turned on you if you’re not careful. And I’m not sure I could stop Nyvar, even if I wanted to.”

Jonesy just returned the comment with a cheesy smile, playing it off. Marov marveled at that; the man was deserving of his nickname, to be certain. Of course, all the pilots had to be insane to fly through the Nemacyst infested skyways to drop off their Gear squads.

Behind the grounded pilot with the goofy expression and oversized armor were the rest of the team, all lined up in single file. Tyler Fais, bringing up a hand to his face to cover a yawn, had bags under his eyes from staying up and cataloguing the amount of ammo they had before they left the cave, which wasn’t much. His brown hair was tousled and gleamed in the early morning sun, the light steadily rising over the horizon. Ty was the newest member of Echo Three, joining their squad shortly before E-Day; still the younger man was in his late twenties and a veteran as much as anyone else on the team.

Next in line was Jason Nyvar, ‘Seph’s kid, at the tender age of nineteen. He was attentive to his surroundings, his eyes darting from one direction to another like he was expecting a Locust at any moment. Marov didn’t blame the kid - even though Jason had grown up with the Locust knocking at the doors of Jacinto, this was still his first mission. Although shorter than Ty, Jason made the difference up with a more muscled frame, taking after his father. His new COG armor suffered from a few scratches and dents, mute evidence of the action he’d already survived these past couple of days.

Marov knew the armor was going to pick up quite a bit more before they finished the mission, whatever that was at the moment. It seemed to have shifted somewhere during the course of the night, after Marov, Nyvar, and Naleena Viscar found the pit of Stranded slaves and their traitorous asshole of a leader, Parker.

As soon as he thought of Naleena, Marov frowned in her direction. He didn’t want to like her. She was Stranded, just as much as the animals who’d gotten his daughter had been. However, the woman was also skilled with a rifle and seemed to be loyal to Nyvar and the others. What was worse, Marov had found himself actually enjoying her company; she had a sharp mind and was an excellent scout, almost as good as he was. He snorted at the admission, wiping the frown off his face and stared at her, willing himself to feel something other than the affection he actually felt.

Naleena had her white bandana up around her face again, at odds with the few-sizes-too-big recon armor she was wearing and her raven colored hair. The now off-white cloth obscured all of her features aside from her focused, sky colored eyes. Marov idly wondered if she wore the bandana as a fashion statement or because they all f*cking stank like a dead grub fresh out of the sewers. He shrugged, assuming it was the latter and turned to Nyvar, a question forming on his lips.

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because,” Nyvar replied, looking straight ahead with his unreadable face on, “they’re people, too, Marov. I don’t care what you think of them.”

“They’re Stranded, ‘Seph. Let ‘em die like the sorry bastards they are,” Marov scoffed.

“We’ve had this conversation already.”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe this time you’ll listen to me so we can complete the mission we were supposed to about three days ago,” Marov said heatedly, wishing Nyvar would forget about the Stranded slaves.

“Not a chance, Sy’. Humanity’s too far gone to just forget a bunch of people being held by the Locust. They’ll die if we don’t help them and in case you hadn’t noticed, there were women and children at that mine, too.”

In fact, Marov had noticed; he had just been trying to forget the sight of the little kids picking up rocks to load into carts for their mothers and sisters to push them around. It hit too close to home and he didn’t want to think about it. They were Stranded; they deserved what they got. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

“Besides, Parker was there, too,” Nyvar continued, looking worried. “He’s got too much information stuck in his head to leave him alive. I don’t want to have to fight invisible Wretches the rest of this damned war. Hell, if we gave him enough time, he’d probably come up with a way to cloak a Brumak.”

Marov shuddered, not liking that thought at all. It was bad enough they’d already run into Wretches, little monkey-esque beasts the Locust used like dogs, with cloaking fields. The things fizzled out in the light, the stealth generators not seeming to be able to cloak something bigger than the ‘bot’s the device was made for. That and the little shimmer they made as they moved were the only reasons Marov could see them at all.

“Fine,” Marov said, sighing and resigning himself to the inevitable, “but I want to kill Parker myself. I need some kind of fun after being shot at, betrayed, and almost ripped apart by a Berserker.”

He saw Nyvar smile slightly as his best friend turned back to the path. A smile tugged on the edge of Marov’s lips, too, glad he was still able to cheer up the dour Sergeant.

“Why don’t you go run around a bit, then? Maybe you’ll find a drone to poke with a stick or something,” Nyvar dryly replied, holding up his hand and swinging two fingers in a circle, the signal to check their surroundings. Marov nodded and looked back to see Naleena had already noticed and was moving up the side of the mountain next to them. Not to be outdone by some floozy who thought she was Gear material, Marov ran after her, only slightly out of breath as he ran up the slope after her. He hated aging almost as much as he hated Stranded.

“Still angry with Nyvar’s decision?” Naleena asked as Marov strode up beside her. He gave her a questioning glance, wondering if she knew what he had just been talking about. With a shake of his head, knowing he would never get a straight answer, Marov replied.

“No, this is my normal attitude. I just want to get out of this freezing cold forest and back to base, which requires us actually completing the mission we were given.”

“I can sympathize with that,” Naleena chuckled; the crinkling of her eyes accompanying the smile her bandana was covering. It faded as she continued. “But so can the women and children in that mine.”

“Not like anyone could let me forget,” Marov groused, reaching up to pull his goggles down over his eyes. The sun was shining directly in their direction, in between a layer of clouds and the horizon. It would disappear sooner or later, but until then, he’d keep the goggles on. “I guess they’re worth saving, if I get to make Parker’s head my new hood ornament.”

“I’m glad you’re being so reasonable about this,” she replied sarcastically. Sobering up, she kneeled down to examine something. Marov looked over her shoulder and noticed it was the imprint of a hoof; there were a lot of wild deer out here, which was surprising given the Hammer strikes destroying most of the planet. Suddenly, Naleena continued her previous thought with a more serious tone in her voice. “Actually, I really am surprised you’re this okay with it, though. I thought you hated Stranded, like me.”

“I do hate Stranded,” Marov said honestly, returning her candor with his own, puffing a bit as they went uphill, his breath misting the air in front of him. “But you’re not like them. You, I have to live with, soon as we get outta here and get you through Boot. Most of those bastards wouldn’t even try to do anything but steal and blame us for everything.”

Naleena didn’t reply to Marov’s dodging of the real question, falling silent and scanning the forest for Locust or signs the grubs had passed through. They didn’t spot anything aside from a rabbit dashing through the small drifts of snow and fallen leaves, causing a soft rustle. Marov breathed in through his nose, smelling the sharp bite of the cold air and the heady scent of the forest. He’d always enjoyed camping with his father, back before E-day.

“Why do you hate us?” Naleena whispered wistfully, surprising Marov from his memories. He shrugged in response, not wanting to think of his daughter or the unfortunate fate that had befallen her. He could almost hear her screams on the Frost’s air, the miserable season forever seeking to rob his warmth and chill his soul.

“I used to hate the COG,” Naleena said. Marov sighed, feeling a touchy feely moment coming on; not his favorite thing to endure in the middle of an enemy infested forest. Still, there didn’t seem like any way out. “They took my mother. Forced her into those breeding camps.”

“The Farm’s not all that bad,” Marov replied, thinking of the accommodations the women were given. Comfortable furniture and plenty of things to do as they waited out their pregnancies. “Got all the comforts of home and at least they’re safe. My own daughter’s in one of them. She’s expecting a girl in a month or so.”

“Doubtless fathered by some unknown soldier,” Naleena scoffed, sounding angry. “How old is she?”

“She’s twenty three.”

“At least she’s not a young girl forced to start early, then, like some of them have had to,” Naleena said heatedly, referring to the drugs the COG was giving the women to start their breeding cycles earlier and earlier. Marov was forced to admit that his opinions on the matter were much the same as Naleena’s, but he didn’t see any other way around it. They needed what little remained of humanity to grow.

“I don’t like what they’re doing either, darlin’,” Marov replied, looking down the slope at the rest of the team far behind them. “But it’s not like we have a choice. We’re an endangered species these days, case you’ve been living under a rock the last seven years.”

“So we sacrifice our humanity in the process? The procedures are monstrous.” Naleena paused and Marov heard her sigh. He was just about to retort that Stranded acted even worse, resorting to cannibalism like they did, when Naleena continued. “But, as you say, we don’t have much of a choice. Which is why I’m choosing to stay with you and the others instead of going off with Parker.”

“Oh, yeah, that would have been a bad idea, huh?” Marov sneered. “Your own leader would’ve led you right into a bunch of grubs as thanks for all your hard work. Seems like he’s holding to those wholesome Stranded values. Too bad you couldn’t make that shot last night.”

“Too bad,” she reiterated, the corners of her eyes crinkling in what looked like anger. “Not all Stranded are like him. Some of us are just trying to survive.”

“Look how well that’s done you,” Marov said quickly, regretting the words as soon as he uttered them. Naleena glared at him, pulling ahead and leaving him behind. Marov watched her form slowly become indistinct as the camouflage blended in with the deciduous trees all around them. He wasn’t so good at this PR bull.

Marov grumbled under his breath, moving quicker to catch up to the young woman, intent on apologizing. However, Naleena held her hand up in a fist, the signal to stop all movement, slowly reaching for the Longshot on her back as she crouched behind a tree. Marov’s eyes darted around as he tried to look around, not moving his head in case something saw him in the open. The key to remaining unseen was to act as though one belonged where they were; people saw what they expected to see more often than not, and movement would just alert them. Marov just hoped the fact was the same for grubs.

There. A single grub with a Longshot of its own lay between two bushes. He’d mistaken the thing’s pale white skin as another snow drift before. Luckily he had Naleena’s sharp, young eyes with him. The woman had finally pulled her weapon around and sighted through the scope at the Locust’s conical helmet. A moment later, the shell flew through the air with a sharp cracking retort, showering the grub’s immediate proximity with blood, brains, and pieces of the helmet.

“Report,” Nyvar’s voice came over Marov’s comm. He turned toward where the rest of the group was and reached up to tap the device, initiating the circuit and responding quickly.

“Got a sniper, ‘Seph. Naleena took care of him, but there might be m-,” before he could finish the sentence, another round cracked through the air, followed by an exclamation of pain in a female voice. Marov twisted around as fast as he could, watching Naleena fall to the ground in what seemed like slow motion. He cursed, breaking off the circuit and rushed over to the fallen woman, pulling her behind a tree where he thought the sniper couldn’t find them. Another shot ripped through the cold air into the tree above him, confirming his thoughts.

“Sy? Answer me, Sy. Was that another of your shots?”

“Negative,” Marov said, initiating the circuit again, warning his friends before they fell under sniper fire. “We have enemy snipers in the hills and Naleena’s down. I’m going to see what I can do to fix her up.”

“Sh*t. Roger. We’ll go hunting. Sending Sparks over to assist you.”

“Copy. Marov out.”

“Nal,” Marov said worriedly, looking at the wound. There was a hole the size of a half dollar just above her left breast and right under the clavicle, the Longshot round having penetrated the thin underlay of the armor with all the ease of a hot knife through butter. Blood was starting to sluggishly leak out of the wound and Marov didn’t know exactly what to do. Ven had been their medic, the rest of them only had the very basic first aid skills. Still, if he could fix machines, maybe people weren’t that different. He reached for her neck to feel her pulse as he spoke calmly to her.

“Listen to me. Do you hear me?” She nodded, grimacing in pain as she writhed. Good, she wasn’t in shock, yet. “Can you move your hands and feet?” Naleena did so, demonstrating that her spinal cord was still intact.

“Okay, I need you to stop moving. Stop moving, understand?” Another nod and she stopped moving aside from a twitch every now and then. He pulled out his combat knife and started cutting through the flexible underlay that held all the plates of the armor together, pulling it to the side when he had ripped it enough. The black bodysuit underneath the armor came apart faster, his knife making a large square around the wound, not wanting to totally destroy the suit.

As it opened to the cold air, Naleena shivered, causing another moan to escape her clenched teeth, her breathing starting to come faster and more insistent. He could hear air hissing in and out of the wound and knew that wasn’t the best thing in the world to deal with. The bullet must have penetrated her lung.

Marov saw her wince as he pulled out a bandage and push it on the wound, his fingers trailing blood on her dark skin. He started taping three of the sides as best he could, stabilizing her breathing somewhat as the airtight bandage did its work.

“You’re doing fine, Nal,” Marov said soothingly, watching as Naleena closed her eyes and breathed in a shuddering breath. “Just try to stay awake, okay?”

He reached around her and felt along her back in between the plates. Another, larger hole, the exit wound, was also leaking a steady stream of blood. He hoped the bullet not being in her was a good thing, but he knew he had to do something about it, pronto.

A beeping noise came from behind him, causing Marov to turn around. There, in mid-air, was Sparks, Echo Three’s JACK ‘bot. Marov was glad to have the little guy here, motioning it over before the sniper could take a shot at it and break it. Again.

“Hey, Sparks, she’s got an entry wound right here,” he said quickly, pointing at the bandage, “and an exit wound in her back. I’m not sure what I can do for her.”

Sparks bobbed in the air, moving over and holding out his appendages. He started by examining the bandage on her chest, booping with satisfaction at it. It looked up at him with one of its eyes cracked and held out an appendage. Marov pulled out all his medical supplies, the ‘bot taking it and applying bandages to the exit wound, beeping in what he thought was a worried tone. Minutes passed, sweat beading Naleena’s head as the ‘bot worked on her. Marov helped where he could, but Sparks seemed to have things in hand, so he reached up for his earpiece and contacted Nyvar.

“’Seph, this is Marov. You read me?”

“Roger that, Sy. Is she ready to move yet?” Nyvar said, sounding out of breath.

“No sir, not for at least another,” he paused, looking up at Sparks, who helpfully supplied a countdown on his screen. “Twenty minutes, safest. But she’s in bad shape, man. She needs a hospital.”

“Sh*t,” Nyvar said, sighing heavily over the mic. “Twenty minutes is going to be a problem. We’ve got a squad of grubs moving along the road a few miles back. Do what you can for her; we’ll try to keep ‘em off you.”

“Roger that. Good luck, ‘Seph,” Marov said as the circuit closed. “F*ckin’ hell. This isn’t what we need right now. Why can’t anything go right out here?”

He turned back to the ‘bot and Naleena, looking down at the young woman with trepidation. This reminded him too much of the way Nyvar’s wife had died. Growling, Marov kneeled down to the ground to squeeze Naleena’s hand. He wasn’t going to lose another member of his family to these grubs!

Chapter 12: Grave
"“I never liked being underground. My mom and dad used to take me down into deep caves, but I could never go very far. Something about that much weight over my head, I feel like it’s pressing down on me. I just want to get out, out of the dark. It’s pressing in all around, all the time. That’s where the monsters are.”"

" – Naleena Viscar’s Diary, written thirteen years ago."

Somewhere in the forest;

0843 hours.

They were running out of time. Marov looked around, trying to spy the grubs that were swarming their little area of forest. Nyvar had said a few of the Locust had gotten past their barricade, which wasn’t surprising with the vast amount of wood. Still, that meant Marov had to keep on his toes in case they tried to sneak around him to Naleena.

He was leaning his back against a tree, the hard bark biting into his back where the armor was not covering. Breathing hard, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, sweat pouring down his face and into his beard. Even with the cold temperature, he was perspiring enough to fill a pool. Something sounded off to his left, a slight crack of a twig. He opened his eyes and felt an icy hot sensation fill his body.

Time seemed to almost stop around him, leaves falling to the ground buffeted by the snow flurries in slow motion. The mist of his breath came in tiny puffs; out, pause, in, pause. His adrenaline fueled eyes seemed to dart around, taking in every detail of the forest as he swung around the tree, Lancer leading. A flash of white ahead of him and to the left warned him of the grub. Marov smiled, pulling the trigger, the Lancer kicking back against him in what seemed a semi-automatic rate.

Blood misted into the frozen air as the Locust twitched against each bullet, the pale hide blossoming into red. It fell to the ground, but Marov was already twisting to the right to catch a normal Wretch in the brain pan. The thing’s head exploded in a shower of gore, its grating cry cut short as the bullet tore through. It crumpled in a heap in front of him, brain splashing onto his heavy combat boots. He kicked it away as he ran to the nearest tree, bullets ripping through the air next to him, heat blasting past his skin at the near misses. Just as he flung himself into a summersault, a bullet dug into his lower leg, eliciting a cry of pain.

“Shit,” Marov yelled, dropping one hand to his injured appendage, feeling for the wound as he stared toward the rocks he’d dragged Naleena behind. The slightest hint of Sparks’ flank was exposed, bobbing up in down as he worked on the woman. Marov hoped she was doing alright. The sound of scrabbling came from just around the tree; another Wretch, he thought. With a quick move, he pulled out his knife with his left hand and stabbed out to the side, catching the second Wretch in the throat. It gurgled as its claws came up, scrapping across Marov’s gauntlets.

“Die, you piece of shit,” Marov muttered, twisting the knife and ripping it out with a spray of blood. The thing twitched and fell to the ground, blood leaking into the snow and causing steam to rise.

“Guess I gotta make sure Sparks has enough time to make her alright,” he said as he put his knife away, the stinging sensation in his leg momentarily gone as he distracted himself with talk. “Damn grubs’ve shot me full of enough holes as is this week.”

With that, he clenched his teeth and roared as he put weight on the leg, barely holding him up as he stood. He leaned against the tree for support, firing his Lancer at an approaching Drone. It rolled to the side as he fired, his bullets missing their mark. Marov cursed as he swung around the other side of the tree, bullets thudding into his cover and shaking more leaves to the ground. The Drone was behind a tree, its thick arms not able to be completely hidden by the trunk, so Marov aimed and fired directly at him.

It snarled in pain and fell forward, catching itself before it tumbled to the ground. Then more bullets slammed into its back, Marov taking full advantage of the thing’s momentary weakness and drilling it to the ground.

“Get back in your damn hole,” Marov yelled over his Lancer’s chatter. Suddenly, his weapon started clicking, no longer expelling bullets from its sturdy frame. “Aw, hell, not now!”

Reaching for his side to grab some more ammo, Marov came up with nothing. He looked down to see his ammo belt empty – he hadn’t realized he’d exhausted the rest of his clips. Gunfire forced him to lean back into cover, making sure to avoid the grub’s mistake and tucking his arms in. Without any ammo, Marov wasn’t too happy about his chances at living through the next few minutes.

“Shit, who needs bullets anyway?” Marov asked loudly into the air, peeking around his cover to see a grub with a Lancer of its own. Knowing the amount of bullets in a clip, he waited until he was sure the thing ran dry and burst from cover. He roared in fury and pain as he ran toward the grub, who was baring its teeth while it tried to reload. Marov knew it was going to be close, but he thumbed his Lancer’s chainsaw attachment and ran faster. The grub gave up trying to reload; opting to resort to its own melee equivalent, the whirring of two chainsaw bayonets dulled in Marov’s ringing ears.

They met in a clash of sparks, Marov gritting his teeth as he brought his weapon down, surprised at the amount of resistance the grub offered. The skittering of the chainsaw’s teeth was hurting his ears, as if someone were drilling into Marov’s head. His muscles bulged as he used all his tremendous strength to deflect his opponent’s Lancer to the side, the grub swinging to the left from overexertion. Marov knew he had the Locust.

Then his injured leg failed him, forcing him to one knee, crying out in pain. However, Marov used the move to his advantage, pivoting in a circle with his Lancer held out in front of him. He felt the hot rush of the grub’s bayonet as it passed over his neck, skipping off of the plate of armor on his back as he turned. The momentum of the turn combined with Marov’s strength as he brought his chainsaw into the back of the grub’s leg, in the seam between boot and leg armor.

“How do you like that, mother fucker?” Marov yelled as blood sprayed into his face, the weapon ripping through the joint in the armor with ease. There was a slight catch as the teeth of the chainsaw caught the grub’s femur, but it recovered and ripped out through the grub’s kneecap with an explosion of blood and bone. With a grunt, Marov shoved his shoulder into the grub with all his might, sending it to the ground, its detached foot still standing.

Pushing the boot aside, Marov crawled toward the Locust, dropping his Lancer to the side. With his leg sending shocks of pain to his brain with every movement, Marov climbed on top of the grub, his knee in between its legs. When it tried to swat at him with the still powered Lancer, Marov just pulled out his knife and stabbed it into the thing’s wrist, pinning the arm to the ground as the grub dropped the gun.

“You don’t mess with the COG, you sonofabitch,” Marov yelled, spittle flying from his lips as he brought his fist around and smacked it into the thing’s face, twisting its head to the side. It reached with its free arm and clawed into Marov’s cheek, dragging down. Fuck, that hurts, Marov thought as he grabbed the clawing arm and put all his weight into pinning to the earth. He hopped around the grub’s body and knelt on the arm with his good knee, putting both his gloved hands up in the air and bringing it down hard on the grubs face.

A dull thud sounded, followed by gurgling wheezes as the thing tried to breathe through its broken nose. Marov brought his hands down again. Another thud, Marov’s breathing digging a stitch in his side, sweat dripping off of his marred face onto the Locust’s armor. With enormous effort, he picked his hands up one more time and, yelling, brought them both down as hard as he could. There was a crack as the grub’s skull caved in, Marov’s hands drenched in blood.

Fighting the urge to vomit as the corpse twitched spasmodically, Marov rolled off the grub, looking into the sky. A leaf landed on his forehead, but he was too weak to even swat it away, just laying there and hoping there wasn’t another grub about to come finish him off. Pain was lancing through his hands, his leg, and his face, but Marov just swallowed and closed his eyes, breathing hard.

“Marov, this is Nyvar. Time’s up, we need to move, now,” Nyvar’s harried voice came over the channel, breaking into the quiet forest. Sighing and wincing as he brought his hand up to his ear, he initiated the connection, responding in between breaths.

“Yeah, okay,” Marov said quickly, stopping and pulling in a shuddering breath as more pain hit him. He grunted as he rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up on to his hands and knees, the goggles over his doo rag digging into his forehead. His body seemed extraordinarily heavy as he lurched to his feet, favoring his wounded leg. “What’s going on down there?”

“They’ve got a Corpser causing trouble,” Nyvar said, interrupted by an explosion. “Ty, shoot that damn Grenadier. Jason, pull back. We’re not doing to hot here. Shit!” Static hissed into the channel for a second, causing Marov’s heart to jump into his throat. “Pull back! Marov, we’ll meet you at the caves. Nyvar, out.”

Another explosion sounded over the circuit just before it clicked off, Marov tiredly pulled off the dead grub’s ammo belt and clipping it to his own. He grabbed the thing’s Lancer as an afterthought, clamping it to his back. The world around him was a little fuzzy, but Marov knew he needed to keep moving, keep going, or Naleena and he would be dead. He staggered over to where Naleena was laying, her eyes still lucid as she looked at him.

“You look like you just got in a fight with a Boomer,” Naleena whispered, wincing slightly as Sparks stabbed a needle into her chest. The robot looked up and beeped its agreement, coming at him with a new syringe in its appendage.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Marov said, backing away from the needle, “no need for that, Sparks. We need to go. There’s no time to sedate me.”

Sparks managed to look dejected as it put away the syringe, floating down to grab the first aid kit. When it tucked the kit close to its frame, it looked at him and beeped reproachfully. At least, that’s what Marov thought it sounded like; machines spoke to him all the time like that.

“Hey, now,” Marov started, stopping as a coughing fit came over him. Recovering, he looked into the ‘bot’s eyes as it lifted it’s cracked “eye” up in an imitation of an eyebrow lift. Marov frowned at that, wondering just how intelligent the little machine was. Shaking his head, he bent down and grabbed Naleena’s Longshot and clipped it to his back, too. Stooping down again, he grabbed the wounded Stranded, holding her in front of him shakily with his own weapon across her stomach. However, his foot held beneath him as he moved forward, slowly.

“You weigh a friggin’ ton, girly,” Marov said through clenched teeth as he soldiered on toward the rendezvous. The caves were only ten minutes away, but that was going to prove difficult if he didn’t get some help with his load.

“Not something you,” Naleena started, wincing in pain as he tripped slightly, jarring her. “Say to a lady,” she continued.

“Yeah, well, I’m too old to care right now,” Marov said, feeling his age in his back, as if his spine were twisting with every footfall. “And wounded. And tired. And…”

He rattled on, trying to stay awake as his vision blurred again. Naleena softly tapped him on the face, bringing back everything into sharp reality.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Marov nodded, still moving forward, slowly, thinking of his kids as he held her frail form. He hoped carrying her wasn’t causing her any damage; still, Sparks was a good a surgeon as they had out in the field and Naleena was a survivor, Stranded as she was. The thought drove his mind down darker paths.

“They killed my daughter,” Marov whispered, a tear sliding down his face in a combination of old pain and new stresses. “Ate her like fucking animals. That’s why I hate them. Stranded.”

Naleena looked up at him with compassion in her eyes. Marov tried to ignore it and kept talking, partially intent on keeping them both awake and partially just to have someone to vent to.

“I can’t do anything but hate them,” Marov continued, “even though there might be some strong, sane ones like you out there. But I still want them all to die, painfully, just like she did. I don’t care if they deserve it. Might make me a bad person for thinking that way, but that’s how I feel about your ‘people’. Maybe I’m just too old to forgive, too set in my ways.” He paused, looking into the forest with a determined gleam in his eyes, his walls coming back up. “Whatever. That’s why I hate them. So there you go. Now you know.”

Naleena didn’t reply except to squeeze his arm, which was bruised. Trying not to wince from her good intentions, Marov cursed inwardly. Wishy washy moments weren’t his thing.

Presently, Marov heard the sound of heavy boots thudding into the ground behind him. Using the last failing bit of his energy, he looked back, relieved to see Jason and Jonesy running toward him, followed closely by Nyvar and Ty. They all look harried, dust caked on their skin and bits of blood on their armor.

“You look good,” Jonesy said sarcastically, falling to his knees and catching his breath. “You get a haircut or something?”

“A little off the top, yeah,” Marov returned just as caustically, almost falling over. “Someone mind grabbing her?”

“I’ll get her,” Jason replied, rushing forward, concern etched over his face.

“About damn time,” Marov said, gratefully handing Naleena over to Jason. With a gentleness that belied his heavily armored form, Nyvar’s kid took the girl and spoke with a frown plastered on his face.

“You weigh a ton.”

Marov stared at the kid for a second, and then broke into wheezing laughter at the combination of the sentence and Naleena’s glare in his direction. He dropped to his knees as his laughter turned into a cough, his ribs hurting as the mirth and pain surged through him. As he recovered, Marov felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look into Nyvar’s worried eyes, his hand pointing down at Marov’s leg.

“You get shot, again?” Nyvar asked seriously. Marov scowled at the ‘again’, but nodded, leaning onto Nyvar’s proffered shoulder.

“Yeah. That happens when you take on five grubs at once,” Marov grumbled, exaggerating only slightly as the air grew colder around them. Nyvar seemed to catch on to the lie, grinning as they all moved toward the caves, more and more snow drifting down.

“Uh huh. Well, we,” he motioned to Ty, Jason, Jonesy, and himself, “faced about six of the damn things and a Corpser and we don’t have any holes in us.”

“A Corpser,” Marov scoffed. “Like that’s a challenge for these younglings. Hell, remember that Khimera we took out that almost toasted you back in the Pendulum Wars?”

“I remember flying and burning,” Nyvar muttered as they surged up a rise. The gaping maw of a cave appeared as they crested the ridge, a welcome sight to Marov. It meant they had cover and shelter from the damn snow, which was picking up in intensity. The powdery white stuff was coming down in an almost impenetrable sheet, now.

“Mmm, burning,” Ty said from behind them, shivering slightly as they slowed down and walked into the cave. “I could use a little of that right now.”

“Me, too,” Marov started to say, but was interrupted as the world started shaking around them. He looked up at the roof of the cave, noticing dust and gravel submitting to gravity. “Oh, come on!”

“Cave’s coming down!” Jason yelled, looking toward the front of the cave. “Must be that damn Corpser!”

“Shit. Alright, everyone move further back into the cave,” Nyvar ordered.

“We’re going farther into the cave?” Jonesy asked incredulously.

“What else are we going to do? If we go outside, we’ll freeze to death or get stomped on by a Corpser. At least this way we might find a more stable cavern.”

The rumbling increased above them, causing Marov to curse as he hopped down the hall with Nyvar’s support. Sparks turned on his lights as they went deeper into the darkness, the wind howling from outside the cave like it was angry they had escaped its wintry fury. Then it cut off, the sound of rock crashing down directly behind them, the light dimming from behind.

Marov pushed Nyvar ahead of him and dove forward as the rocks came down around them. He curled into a ball and prayed he wouldn’t be buried alive, a few medium sized rocks banging into his armor. As suddenly as it started, the shaking and cave-in ceased.

“Everyone okay?” Nyvar’s voice echoed in the cavern.

“Aside from being buried the fuck alive, I think I’m good,” came Jonesy’s caustic reply.

“We’re fine, too,” Jason said, still holding Naleena. In the pale luminescence of Sparks’ lights, Marov spotted blood running down across the kid’s face from a cut on his forehead.

“Ty?” Marov said, coughing. He looked around for the recruit, panicking.

“Over here,” came the young man’s voice, pained. “Got my arm stuck under some rocks.”

Marov staggered over and saw a large boulder on the man’s arm, covering it from the shoulder down. Grunting with effort, Marov leaned into it and picked it up enough to let Ty pull his arm out from under it.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Ty said, rubbing his arm with his good hand. “I’m starting to hate this mission.”

“Just now, huh?” Marov muttered, looking around. The way they had come from was filled with rocks, impassable. The chamber they were in had a few stalactites hanging from the roof, dripping water down on the floor. When he looked down he noticed a steady stream of water furrowing its way across the stone and disappearing into a gap in the far wall. At least they had water.

“How’s Naleena?” Ty asked, wincing as he moved his arm, a tone of concern in his voice.

Sparks booped cheerfully, displaying a thumbs up on his display. Marov privately thought the ‘bot was a bit of an optimist, but good news was good news. They needed it when everything else around them was going to hell in a hand basket.

“I’m going to assume that means she’s fine,” Jonesy supplied with his customary snarky tone, his voice getting more and more panicked as it went on. “But what about us? We’re in a damn cave with no way out. What’re we going to fuckin’ do now?”

“Alright, calm down. Let’s rest, refill our water, and take stock of the situation,” Nyvar calmly stated, spying the small stream Marov had seen. “Ty, check our ammo. Jason, see what kind of food we have.”

“Yes sir,” they said, sluggishly moving to their tasks, their faces both turned in concern to Naleena.

“Marov, keep an eye on Naleena and let Sparks take care of that wound. We move out in ten.”

“Then what?” Marov asked as he slid down a wall, taking off his boot and covering the wound with a bandage Sparks gave him. There was a small hole drilled through the middle of his calf. That sucked, he thought as he closed his eyes and tied the bandage off.

“We go spelunking. Gotta be another exit somewhere.”

“Fuck,” Jonesy said; and that about summed up the general mood.

Chapter 13: Keep All Extremities Inside the Light
"“You know, I’m not sure why I’m here. I don’t need a fucking psych eval’. We all know I’m crazier than a blood mount on a feeding frenzy. I fly a friggin tin can into enemy fire and exploding squid on a daily basis. Huh? You wanna know why I do it? I do it because I just don’t care anymore; there’s nothin’ left for me to care about. So I’m going to keep going out there and shuttle around those ground pounders until I burst into flame or get shot out of my cockpit by some rookie with an itchy trigger finger. Are we done? Good. Now let me get back to my bird.”"

"- Jonsey 'Psycho' Breen during his yearly evaluation"

Outer Hollow, Lethia’s abandoned tunnels

1040 hours.

There was something depressing about being underground, as if the weight of the entire world were resting just overhead. No one was really in a mood to talk, aside from Jonesy, so they’d walked in relative quiet, alert for any sign of Locust. There hadn’t been another quake since they were trapped, but Marov periodically looked up at the ceiling, trying to maneuver himself so he was never underneath a stalactite. Just in case.

“Alright, who shit their pants?”

Marov rolled his eyes at Jonesy’s remark, also smelling the unpleasant odor of Imulsion. The stuff left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, but he was used to the smell, having been around it back when he’d just been an engineer. Leaning on Ty to alleviate the pressure on his wounded foot, Marov took stock of his leg. The pain had receded somewhat; Sparks had injected some kind of cocktail into his ankle. If he didn’t know better, he could have sworn the ‘bot had let out a condescending series of beeps when it had stabbed the needle in. Still, it was a thought for another time, after they got out of the massive complex where ‘dodge the stalactites’ was the main sport.

They had been walking for the past hour, Sparks’ bright, cheery light leading them down the pressing confines of the tunnels. So far, there wasn’t much sign of an exit, which seemed to get Jonesy into an even jitterier talking mood than normal. Marov idly wondered if the man was claustrophobic - a smile worked its way under his bushy mustache as he thought of ways to exploit that.

“Don’t think what your smelling is what your really smelling, Jonesy,” Jason replied to the pilot’s inane remark, his voice falling into a more intellectual format. The kid was holding Naleena’s injured body in his arms, the girl’s legs dangling over one arm and her head lolled against Jason’s breastplate. Ty and Sparks had removed most of her armor as best they could; both to check for any new wounds and to make it easier to carry her.

The woman hadn’t spoken since the cave-in, which worried Marov a bit, knowing the dangers of the wounds that had been inflicted on her body. However, when he had Sparks take a look at her, she seemed fit to be moved. The ‘bot had stabilized the woman as best it could with the resources supplied, but she’d be out of the fight for awhile, if she could get back into it at all. Marov knew Nal’ wouldn’t be eager to hear that. He’d save it until after they were somewhere relatively safe.

“We’re in the Outer Hollow, near the Imsulsion Facility,” Jason continued, breaking into Marov’s mother hen thoughts. “Stands to reason we might be picking up a whiff of the stuff from somewhere further in.”

"Kids these days,” Jonesy sighed, putting a palm to his forehead. “They just can’t see a joke when it walks up and bites them in the ass.”

“Is it safe to be breathin’ that stuff?” Ty worriedly replied, his lightly bearded face falling into a frown. Marov noticed the visual display of emotion, his own face assuming the same expression in response. Not much made the kid frown genuinely; besides, Marov was wondering the same thing.

“Uh, I don’t think we’ll be negatively harmed by it,” Jason said, huffing slightly as he shifted his grip on Naleena. “Though I...”

The kid trailed off as Sparks’ light slowly dimmed, the ‘bot making a melancholy booping noise. Marov closed his eyes and sighed. What else could go wrong? No, wait. Scratch that. Forget I thought anything.

“Marov?” Nyvar asked as he leaned against a wall leading to the next bit of cavern. The man’s voice filled with annoyance at the unsettling display, though Marov knew Nyvar was just as nervous about it as he was.

“Yeah, yeah. C’mere, Sparks, lemme take a look at you,” Marov said nonchalantly, leaving Ty and hopping over to the floating JACK unit. It lost altitude, coming to rest at head height in front of him. With his frown deepening, Marov tapped a button on the side of the ‘bot, bringing up a softly lit screen with indicators and menus staring harshly at him. He pressed another button and waited for the next series of options to pull up. Nothing happened. With a grumble, he banged a fist against the machine, drawing a surprised string of electronic noises from Sparks; however, the screen changed to the location Marov desired.

“Nice. You know what would happen if I treated my Raven like that? She’d probably do a nosedive in revenge,” Jonesy said acidly from Marov’s side. As he turned to look, the pilot continued, “Anyway, what’s the word, my mechanically gifted friend?”

Marov hid a grin, watching the pilot nervously look side to side around the cavern as he sallied up closer to the light. Now would be the perfect time to test the other man’s composure.

“The ‘bot’s taken a lot more damage than I thought. He’s malfunctioning and I’m not sure I can put him back together into a workable format. We might have to make do with feeling our way along,” Marov whispered with a grim frown. The expression on Jonesy’s face almost caused Marov to give it away right there. He turned away, squeezing his nose with one hand as if trying to think, barely holding back a laugh.

“R-really?”

“No, pff, not really,” Marov said, turning back, biting one of his gloved fingers to stop from busting out with a loud guffaw. Jonesy glared at him, causing Marov’s stomach to tighten as he went into mirth-inspired convulsions, a slight wheeze escaping him as he laughed. “Sparks’ just, heh heh, running low on power.”

“Fuck you, dude. That just ain’t right,” Jonesy said, the light from the screen showing his face going red with anger and embarrassment. Marov doubled over, his hands on his knees, wheezing with restrained laughter. “Asshole. Next time you ride on my Raven, I’m pushing you out, headfir-.”

“Shh!” Nyvar hissed over their conversation, instantly dispelling the humor. Marov turned toward the sound of the voice, his best friend’s silhouette still hovering by the wall that turned into the next chamber. Marov reached for his side arm, pulling it with a swift, practiced motion, a small amount of adrenaline threading its way through his veins as he became instantly alert. The cool, bone hilt reassured him somewhat, as it always did. His ears strained as he tried to sense what spooked the man.

Then he heard it; a soft, chittering sound, echoing shrilly in the distance. Marov knew what made that noise – it was one of two things that could make his heart freeze with fear.

Kryll.

“Shit,” Nyvar said, his voice carefully modulated, even though Marov knew the man was almost panicking. “Marov, how ‘bout those lights?”

“Sparks’ out of juice, ‘Seph,” Marov replied, returning to the screen to see if he could drain power from something else to the lights. He faintly heard Naleena asking what was going on, but he remained concentrated on his task. “Might be able to turn ‘em back on, but someone’s going to have to carry the ‘bot. Gonna need the power from the repulsorlifts to run it.”

“How long will they stay on? That’s kind of important.”

“Uh, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Marov said, unsure exactly how much power the lights drew from the battery.

“Wonderful. It’ll have to do,” Nyvar grunted, turning to Jason and pointing at the ‘bot. “Hand Naleena to Ty and grab Sparks. Tie it to your back, lights facing up. That should give us enough protection from the Kryll.”

Marov tried to ignore the obvious “I hope” that Nyvar left unsaid as he pressed another bunch of buttons, trying to reroute power through the system menu. However, as became exceedingly apparent to him, that wasn’t something he could do remotely. Sparks had suffered enough damage to keep him locked out of the crucial systems – a failsafe in case a ‘bot was taken out in hostile territory and unable to be recovered.

“Marov?” Nyvar yelled over the growing wall of sound, his Lancer out and pointed down the hall where the Kryll were coming from, opening up on them to stave them off. “Now would be nice.”

“Aw, shit. Shit. Just what we need. Fucking Kryll and we’re in the darkest part of Sera. I think I would’ve stood a better chance with the damned giant spider back there!” Jonesy yelled, hovering close to Marov. Jason came up beside them, holding his hands out under the ‘bot’s heavy, metal form.

Trying to ignore the pathetic mewling from the pilot and the Lancer fire coming from Nyvar, Marov pulled out his tools and unscrewed one of the panels on the side of the ‘bot. A dozen wires, lit by an internal light, crisscrossed about the small space. Marov picked the one connected to the lifts and unhooked it, plugging it into an auxiliary input. When nothing happened, he pushed the wire in a little harder, sweat starting to bead on his brow. The ‘bot dropped like a stone, Jason catching it with a grunt, his expression betraying the surprise of Sparks’ weight. The JACK unit booped reproachfully, its one working eye swiveling to face Marov, as if it didn’t enjoy being cut off from its only source of movement.

“Alright, Sparks’, light us up,” Marov said anxiously, ignoring the machine’s look. The deafening shrieks were getting painful; they were almost out of time. With his eyes glued to the lights, Marov flicked one of the bulbs with a finger. They winked on sluggishly, pale radiance lighting up the small cavern they were in. Just in time, too, Marov thought as the screeching reached a fever pitch, a swarming dark mass bursting into the cavern and hissing as the Kryll reacted to the light. Echo clustered together around Jason, the ‘bot on his back their only shield from the bladelike wings.

“Oh fuck. Is it my damn imagination or are some of those little fuckers glowing?” Jonesy cried as they moved quickly out of the cavern, the dark mass swirling around them. Marov saw what the pilot was talking about, noticing a few of the Kryll pulsing with a sickly, yellow glow. That looked like a whole lotta no fun. It reminded him unsettlingly of Imulsion, which was explosive under the right conditions.

“Uh, when did they start doing that?” Ty questioned, following Jason and Nyvar as the men ran forward into where the Kryll were coming from, trying to find some kind of safe harbor.

“Doesn’t matter. We need to find somewhere safe before Sparks runs out of all available power,” Marov said, raking his brain for a solution. “These are abandoned mines, right? Maybe we can find a way station or something.”

“Yeah, the miners probably knew about these little guys, right?” Jonesy’s voice squeaked out as they ran to stay within the light.

“Actually, no one knew about the Kryll ‘til E-Day,” Jason said in his “know-it-all” voice, seemingly unaffected by the scene around them. It almost sounded like the kid was interested in getting up close and personal with Kryll. Marov was glad the kid knew so much about the Hollow, but he wasn’t sure he liked the fascination with something that could kill the kid in a split second. Of course, with the light in Jason’s possession, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine the kid felt safer than the rest of them.

“Oh, great. So, we just keep running and hope we find somewhere where these flying knives can’t stab us before our light runs out? Fuck that. Maybe this’ll drive ‘em off,” Jonesy yelled over the chittering of the Kryll. The pilot pulled out his pistol and shot into the swarm before Marov could stop him. He suddenly regretted not mentioning his suspicions as the first shot struck one of the glowing bat-things.

A bright light flared from inside the swarm, causing the “flying knives” to shriek even louder. Marov had to hold a hand over his left ear, the sound stunning him into motionlessness. Pain lanced into the hand holding his ear as the light moved away from him, persuading his immobile muscles to unlock. Hissing, he jumped back toward the others, stumbling on his wounded foot and falling to the rocky ground. Something hard banged into his codpiece, sending another sharp pain through his synapses. Great, I’m gonna die in a fetal position clutching my balls. What a way to go, Marov thought angrily.

Luckily, Jason had apparently noticed Marov’s hesitation, as he wasn’t being ripped limb from limb by the mass of ravenous Kryll. However, the relief he felt was short lived; sharp cracks and pops mingled with bright fireworks going off as one glowing Kryll after another exploded in a chain reaction. Then the first rock fell, hitting Marov in the shoulder.

“Another fucking cave in? Really?!” Jonesy yelled, pulling Marov to his feet and holding him up as they all ran faster, dodging rocks as they wended their way down a particularly large cavern. Marov felt his adrenaline spiking as they ran, the pain in his leg and hand fading away. A steady, yellow glow distinguishable from Sparks’ bright light appeared at one of the many exits from the huge space.

“’Seph!”

“I see it,” Nyvar yelled, running to the corner. The man stopped, shoving his kid in front of him to lead the way as he looked back at his charges. Marov lurched past Jonesy as a rock fell between them, motioning Nyvar to keep moving. The shockwave from the boulder sent Ty into a forward falling motion, but Marov grabbed the man by the massive collar, steadying Ty. Naleena cried out in agony as a rock hit her. They needed to get out of here before they were really buried alive.

“C’mon, Sy’, I can’t have you getting crushed by a rock,” Nyvar quipped, dust and pebbles falling down on him as Marov and Jonesy caught up. Marov just nodded and closed his eyes, coughing as he inhaled dust of his own. When he opened his eyes again, he was around the corner, looking directly at a heavy metal hatch set in a large bunker type of building. A way station, in case of situations just like the one they were in now.

Pumping his legs even harder, Marov ran through the door-frame, closely followed by Jonesy and Nyvar. His forward motion stopped as he slammed into the opposite wall with his shoulder, grunting in pain as the pilot impacted his back, quickly followed by a dreadful thought. Oh, no, Nyvar’s going to-

Another, harder force slammed into him, eliciting a cry from the pilot and pushing the rest of Marov’s air out of his lungs. He fell to the ground, Jonesy and Nyvar landing on top of him in a pile of heavy armor. Marov felt his best friend’s Lancer bayonet scratching one of the places where the recon armor’s plates didn’t cover.

“Close the door! Now!” Nyvar roared over the collapsing tunnel.

A heavy clang sounded as Jason shoved his weight against it, a plume of dust shooting in just as it closed and locked with an audible click. Marov watched as the kid leaned against the door with his chest heaving from exertion. The adrenaline tapered out of Marov’s system as he dropped his head to the cool, metal floor, staring up and trying to get his own breath back. Silence reigned, aside from their breathing and a feminine moaning. Sparks’ lights were still on, illuminating the small space.

“Jason? Ty?” Nyvar barked between breaths, his head somewhere by Marov’s legs. “Everyone alright?”

“No, sir. Nal’s turning pale. I don’t think that dust was good for her,” Ty replied quickly. Marov gritted his teeth, suddenly angry at the universe. Everything was fucking going wrong!

“Dammit. Lay her on that table,” Nyvar ordered as he lifted himself off of Marov’s chest, pulling Jonesy up with him. Marov turned over on his side, trying to keep Ty in sight as the man laid Naleena out on a pull-out bench. When he moved his left hand to pick himself up, he noticed something odd.

He no longer had a ring finger, and his index finger had a deep cut in it. The pain hit him just as he looked at it, his synapses finally registering the loss as the adrenaline ebbed. Clenching his teeth, Marov pulled out a wad of gauze from his belt and stuffed it over the wounds, hissing as the material came in contact. Luckily, his wedding band was on a chain around his neck; he would have hated losing it.

“Jason, bring Sparks over here. Aw, shit,” Marov heard Nyvar mutter. “Her chest wound’s reopened. We need Sparks up and running. Marov? Come ove- What the hell happened?”

Marov grinned, or tried to, holding up his wounded hand as Nyvar turned around and stared in horror.

“Don’t think I’ll be much, errg, help right now. Ty can do it. He’s at least a good a mechanic as I am.”

“Ty?”

The younger member of Echo Three started, looking up at them and then nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do it. Hold on.”

He squeezed Naleena’s hand as he moved over to the ‘bot on Jason’s back, looking at the space where Marov had removed the casing. Blowing out a breath, Ty ran a hand through his sweat stained hair and dug into Sparks’ side.

“We’re going to need some light. Once I turn his repulsors back on, all the power’s going to drain from his bulbs,” Ty said, looking at his Sergeant and then down to Naleena, who was coughing and wheezing.

“Alright. Jason, go find a lantern, a flare. Anything.”

“Yes, sir,” the kid replied, turning away and rummaging through a drawer on the far side. With nothing else to do and in an effort to distract himself from Naleena’s situation, Marov dragged himself over to the wall nearest him and sat against it. His hand had stopped bleeding profusely, but Marov didn’t remove the bandage. Instead, he grabbed some more gauze and covered the blood-soaked ones with it. Removing the original bandage would just yank off the clotting and cause more bleeding.

Something on the floor drew his attention away from his wound. On the floor lay a folded piece of paper, covered in dirt and footprints. Marov picked it up with his unwounded hand, unfolding it as best he could one handed. It ruslted slightly as it opened. His eyes scanned across it in the dim light from Sparks’ bulbs. It looked like a map.

A crackle sounded from where Jason was, causing Marov to look up. The kid was glowing green, a glow stick in his hand. He tossed one near Marov and bent another one, handing it to Ty. The ‘bot’s lights winked off, the glow sticks giving just enough light to see around them.

“Sparks? I need you to take a look at Naleena. I think the dust is aggravating her chest wound,” Nyvar said as soon as Ty reengaged the repulsorlifts. The ‘bot tilted its head and looked down at the girl, hovering over her and blocking Marov’s view. Nyvar, his teeth clenched as he patted the girl’s arm, strode over to where Marov was leaning against the wall, sliding down with his knees up and his head in his hands.

“Hey,” Marov ventured after a minute of silence. Nyvar looked up, a surprised expression on his face, as if he didn’t really believe what was going on around him. Marov had seen that look before.

“I know,” Nyvar replied grudgingly, casting his eyes downward. “Ain’t my fault. Don’t blame myself, yada yada.”

“Exactly. Blame Jonesy, instead. He shot the Kryll,” Marov joked weakly. The pilot looked over from where he had been standing out of the way, uncharacteristically quiet. A sneer popped onto the man’s face as he replied in his customary acidic tone.

“Hey, I got rid of them, didn’t I?”

“Shut it, flyboy,” Marov returned, shooting the man a warning look. Jonesy just rolled his eyes and turned around, muttering under his breath, suddenly finding something interesting about the wall. Naleena half moaned, half coughed again, drawing all their attention to her. She quieted down as Sparks injected her with something. Marov wasn’t sure it was safe getting as many shots as the ‘bot kept administering, but who was he to judge?

“How’s the hand?”

“Well, considering I’m still alive, I can’t really complain of losing a finger,” Marov replied to his friend, wincing at the reminder of his injury. “Still, my wife’s going to kill me. Can’t wear my ring properly.”

Nyvar smiled at that, a little sadly, in Marov’s opinion. Thinking quickly before Nyvar could return to the dark place he had been, Marov passed him the paper he’d found. The man took it, reaching for the glow stick and holding it over the page.

“Found a map. ‘Least we know where we are.”

“Lotta good that does us,” Nyvar replied, setting the glowstick and map down and leaning his head against the wall. “Half our team’s WIA and we have no support or reinforcements. I doubt we could even take a squad of grubs now, let alone a well-defended facility.”

“We’ll think of something. Echo Three’s only failed, what…one mission? And that was because Ven chuked all over Stroud’s uniform,” Marov said he smiled around his pain, remembering the South Islander’s actions costing them the credit of the mission. They’d completed it, but the then Lieutenant Stroud had been so mad she’d blotted out their involvement. Marov didn’t particularly want the credit, though, seeing as how they’d had to take over an innocent village in neutral territory. The Pendulum Wars seemed like forever ago.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Marov supposed that was as good an answer as he was bound to get.

Haunted Echo I
Mining Way station, Outer Hollow;

1450 hours

Eventually, the glow sticks Jason had found died away, leaving them in darkness. Indicator lights winked hauntingly in the pitch black, bobbing as their owners moved with their hands stretched out in front of them. Marov took the opportunity to get some much needed rest. Leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, he hoped he wasn’t going to wake up with the ceiling falling down on him or Jonesy somehow messing with something to vent all the air. However, with his finger still throbbing painfully despite the blood clotting, he fell into unconsciousness almost immediately.

“Daddy?"

Almost as immediately, at least to his perception of time, Marov’s eyes opened again, staring into the lightless room. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he heard something rustle against the metallic floor. His mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow, knowing deep down in his gut that there was something sinister in the room with him. He stood up with his injured hand braced against the wall, reaching for his sidearm. The hard, bone hilt felt frozen, whispers of pain exuding from it causing him to drop it in surprise. He watched its journey to the floor in what seemed like slow motion, a pale radiance glowing from the pistol.

Somehow the gun went off as it hit the ground, the brilliant flash lighting up the immediate area for a second. Marov saw a small form fall in that fleeting moment of brightness, a cry of pain grating across his eardrums in a familiar voice. No, that couldn’t be right. She was dead.

All logical thought flew out of his head as he heard her whimpering, his body automatically moving to where he had seen the girl fall. He quickly fell to his knees, the heavy knee pads thudding against the ground as he reached out to find his little girl.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here, darlin’,” Marov choked out, a faint light similar to his pistol illuminating his deceased daughter’s face. “I’m here. Don’t move. I’m here.”

“It hurts,” the girl replied stutteringly, luminescent tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Marov’s chest tightened, a hollow feeling like someone had just torn out his heart occurring. Panic coursed through his body at a breakneck pace, his own eyes moistening with sorrow as he examined the wound. A hole the size of his thumb stood out against his little girl’s stomach, blood soaking her pink, doll-like dress. A gut wound, then, a detached voice said in his mind.

“I know, baby. I know. Just, just don’t move. It’ll be okay, daddy’s here,” Marov said, his throat burning with an acidic, bitter taste. He didn’t waste any more time talking as he tried to figure out a way to save her, his finger already pressing against the wound to stem the bleeding. She yelled out as he did so, almost causing Marov to pull his hand back. However, he just gritted his teeth against the awful task and kept pushing, stroking his daughter’s face with his free hand.

''“Stop it! You’re hurting me!”'' she half cried, half yelled, slapping away his hand from her face. With surprising strength, she pushed him away, tumbling onto his back. Marov looked up confusedly as she somehow stood over him, the blood still streaming from her wound and darkening the dress. Suddenly, his daughter’s skin darkened to a wholesome brown, her clothing shifting into familiar rags.

“You couldn’t save us,” Naleena sneered, Marov’s pistol appearing in her hand. “You had all the tools, all the power to keep us alive and you failed.”

“No, no, I tried,” he croaked out, wincing as the woman standing over him threw her head back and laughed. The mad, cackling sounded like two people, one sad and full of blame while the other was tinged with anger and bitterness.

“You tried?” the woman replied, the strange twin vocals continuing as her face morphed back to his daughter’s fair features, still wearing the rags. ''“That wasn’t good enough, was it? You couldn’t save your daughter. You couldn’t save me. So we died. Thanks to you.”''

His daughter examined the pistol in her hand, stroking the bone as a haunted scream echoed in Marov’s mind. With her face returning to Naleena’s sneer, she pointed the pistol at his face.

''“You killed and took this man’s self, to remind you of something. How you failed to protect us the first time, promising yourself what?”'' Naleena grinned madly, continuing in a piercing tone. ''“That you wouldn’t let it happen again? And yet, it did.”''

Marov laid his head back and stared at the light coming from the ceiling, thoughts of blame and disgust running through his mind. It was his fault. He couldn’t protect anyone. With his beard wet with tears, he closed his eyes and waited for the end.

Chapter 14: Back on Track
"'Keep walkin' ahead free of fear,"

"Long as the streets don't rumble 'n' sheer,"

"Hide behind cover,"

"Got lots of it here,"

"And blow 'em away with a grin 'r a sneer."

"And when them grubs look up to peer,"

"At the ones in the cobalt blue gear,"

"Well we'll turn 'em to mush,"

"Keepin' safe the ones we hold dear,"

"Til we get back to days that're sunny and clear!'"

"- Excerpt of a Folk song by Nick Beamer, last of the world's great musicians"

Abandoned way station, Outer Hollow;

1520 hours.

He awoke to someone shaking his body, the sound of his pistol cracking off a shot lingering in his mind. A bright light caused him to wince as the person's shadow moved out from in front of him. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck fret a night of heavy drinking.

"Hey, princess, time to wake up," a sneering voice came. Jonesy, of course. "You're our mechanic and we need lights. Your pet 'bot ain't gonna last forever."

Marov opened his eyes and stared at Jonesy's stubbled visage, his nose picking up a whiff of mint. Was the pilot chewing mints at a time like this? The thought forced a chuckle out of him, the spasm sending a shooting pain into his injured hand. Jonesy looked at him as if he were crazy. Maybe he was.

"Much as I like a little insanity, why don't you go off the deep end after you fix what needs fixin', yeah?"

"Give me a minute, smartass," Marov grumbled, pushing the pilot away as he stretched. A yawn escaped him, his hands coming up to his eyes to rub the last remnants of sleep away. As he stood up, bracing himself against the wall he had been laying against, he noticed someone had turned Spark's light back on. Ty, probably. No one else in this bloody mountain knows anything about machinery, Marov thought uncharitably, ignoring Jonesy's affinity for airborne vehicles.

A series of boops and whistles issued from the ought source, the bot's head turning to partially block out the light. Sparks' turned it's metallic head as best it could, looking cheerful despite it's inability to move, if a little worse for wear.

Marov reached up to scratch the thickening stubble around his previously groomed mustache, looking over at a wall where a screen that looked like it was just about to go out. Ty was hovering over it, no doubt trying to find something useful in the mining database; like a way to get out of the mountain. Marov's eyes nervously took stock of the room, heaving a sigh of relief when he spotted another door on the opposite side of the one they had ran through with a collapsing tunnel on their heels.

With the thought of a way out eating away at his melancholy mood, he went to the table Sparks lay on and began to carefully reapply the bandage around what had been his ring finger. A little stream of blood and a dull pain throbbed in time with his pulse, the wound looking healthy, with no sign of infection setting in. Grunting in approval, he wrapped a cleaner bandage around it.

"If there's one thing we have, it's med supplies," Marov muttered under his breath, continuing sarcastically as he remembered their ammunition predicament. "Maybe we can make a slingshot that shoots our needles."

Once his injury was once again covered, he pulled on the gauntlet he had shed earlier. A line of ripped textile and plastic along his knuckles matched perfectly with the shallow cuts along his other fingers. It was a wonder none of the others had been severed. He flexed his fingers experimentally, grimacing slightly as the movement tugged on the bandage. It would have to do.

With Sparks' pale radiance lighting up the small room, Marov took stock of the surroundings. A hexagonal formation of several gray walls stared back at him without emotion, their color as dreary as the barracks back in Jacinto. He chewed on his lip as he remembered the accommodations he had complained about - what he would give to be back there, sleeping in an actual cot instead of against a wall.

Against the wall opposite of his previously vacated accommodations was the pull out table they had made into a makeshift bed for Naleena. Nyvar and Jason were discussing something in low tones as they changed the former Stranded’s bandages, gesturing back and forth. Marov felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth as he watched the father and son pair, their gestures and postures almost identical.

“So, are we going to get some light, or are you just going to stand there all day?” a sneering voice came from Marov’s right. Jonesy was leaning against the wall with his eyes darting here and there; his tone suggesting he was very uncomfortable in the enclosed space. Marov looked up at the slate-colored ceiling, only a meter or so above their heads with a faint uneasiness; he didn’t blame the pilot for his nervousness.

“Yeah, gimmie a second, asshole,” Marov shot back, flipping the bird at the flyboy. With a chuckle from his object of insult following him, Marov shifted his bulk to the side of the table. The panel he had taken off when they’d entered was hanging loosely off the surface, connected to the ‘bot by a thick, plastic tie. He grabbed is and put it on top of Sparks, tsking at the carelessness absentmindedly.

With a few deft moves, Marov brought the screen online and to the main menu on the ‘bot’s side. A blinking battery indicator in the corner of the screen showed 3% left of Sparks’ power reserves.

“So you’re out of fuel, huh, little buddy?” Marov whispered rhetorically, receiving an answering boop from Sparks anyway. He thought that meant some kind of affirmative, so he nodded and chewed on his lip, racking his brain for an idea. A curse from Ty’s location at the console sparked a possible solution as he looked over.

“Ty?” Marov croaked out, suddenly aware his throat was dry. He took a swig from the canteen on his belt and tried again. “Hey, Ty?

“Yeah, what?” the other Gear growled out in irritation, not even looking up from the low-lit screen.

“That console have a dedicated power supply? Or is it routed through the mining base?”

The younger Gear flicked his eyes irritatingly down to the station, pushing a button and bringing a menu similar to the one displayed on Sparks’ side. After a few minutes of searching, Ty pulled up a schematic of the way station from the database. A few lines reaching down through the rock from their current location confirmed Marov’s suspicions.

“Looks like we’re hooked up directly into the immulsion, sir,” Ty replied, a hand running through his sweat and dust-caked hair. Marov momentarily wondered how he himself looked – probably worse. We’re dirty enough to pass for friggin’ Stranded, he thought with a grimace.

“Good, that’s what I thought. Here, grab Sparks and see if you can hook him up to the power supply. Might be able to recharge him that way,” Marov nodded, motioning toward the ‘bot with his injured hand.

“Me?” Ty asked, a surprised look in his eyes. “Why me?”

“Because I need to talk to our glorious leader about our objectives,” Marov yawned, looking over to see Nyvar pouring over the map he had given his friend earlier. His rough, mustachioed visage twisted into an amused smile as Ty picked the heavy machine off the table. “Plus, you were able to turn the lights on and off. I’m sure you can figure out how to plug the damn thing into a wall.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the other Gear wryly replied, grinning slightly as Spark’s uttered a series of condescending beeps.

As Marov turned away, he wondered at the chemistry the young man and the ‘bot had. His eyes narrowed as he looked back Ty, idly wondering if the two were developing enough of a rapport to plot something devious. Last thing I need is the twerp and his pet floating trash can tag-teaming me back at base, Marov grumped in his mind.

With his heavy boots banging dully against the floor, he moved around the center island toward his friend, who had laid the map on top of a small, pull out table. There were a couple of indentations on either side of it which Marov guessed were stools, but with their heavy gear on, he doubted they’d handle the weight gracefully.

“Hey,” Nyvar said, not even glancing up at his friend, one gloved finger trailing along a particular section of the map. Marov glanced down to see X’s and O’s cluttering the once clean map; circles marking possible exits while the X’s marked…something.

“Hey,” Marov returned, sidling up to the opposite end of the table and gesturing his uninjured hand at the map. “What’s with the X’s?”

“Locust activity, blocked tunnels, Stranded outposts,” Nyvar replied, finally looking up with tired eyes at his friend. “Ty managed to get us a few of the last updates from the central facility. Turns out the deserters have been keeping the mainframe active.”

“Smart of them, with all the Locust around,” Marov nodded appreciatively at the soldiers’ instincts. Even if they were deserters, they still were a force to be reckoned with. “He find anything else?”

“Unfortunately, no. We got locked out a few seconds after we downloaded the maps. Looks like they have a tech expert with them.”

“Or the Locust could have shredded one of the cables connecting us to the facility,” Marov countered. Nyvar just shrugged, closing his eyes as he reached up to pinch his nose.

“At any rate, we have a couple of options on how to get in. Care to hear them? One involves explosives.”

“I’m all ears,” Marov said, leaning his elbows down on the table and putting on an eager face.

“Smartass,” Nyvar scowled at the reaction, continuing with his Sergeant voice. “We’ve got two ways in. There’s a sort of lift we can gain access to in the tunnels. It requires us traveling for a couple of hours through Locust infested tunnels, but it doesn’t seem to be guarded very heavily. At least, the bottom doesn’t, seeing as the Locust don’t seem to be able to crack the codes. Ty says he can hotwire the thing to bring us up, though. Something about some programs he found in Sparks’ memory. Black Ops stuff.”

Marov nodded, remembering the conversation they had had several days ago, back when the bizarre journey had just started. Suddenly, he was more appreciative of their robotic friend, thinking back on the number of times the loyal machine had saved their asses. It was an embarrassingly high amount, unfortunately.

“And the second option?”

“We can get the hell out of these tunnels and enter in the front like we originally planned. Maybe blow the doors of the base with some dynamite.”

“That doesn’t seem like it should even be counted as an option. Last time I saw, we were getting hit with a blizzard – freezing my ass off isn’t something I’d enjoy. Plus, who knows what kind of shit they have cooked up to keep us out with a frontal assault, even with TNT on our side,” Marov sighed, wondering why Nyvar even brought it up.

“Well, yeah, but I was thinking we could throw the pilot at them. Solve both our problems,” Nyvar replied, looking over to the side. Marov followed his gaze to Jonesy, who was sullenly looking back at them. “But seriously, we still need to rescue those slaves and this seems like the best opt-.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Marov said, cutting his friend off. “They’re dead. No way in hell the Locust care enough about them to bring them inside the nice warm caves. More than likely, they’re corpse-sicles outside the tunnel entrance. Plus, this mission is going to be hard enough without carting around a truck load of stinkin’ refugees through the snow, Locust, and whatever the hell else is out there, even if they were still around!”

“Look, Sy, I know you don’t like Stranded, but they’re people, too. The topic isn’t open for discussion.”

“But-.”

“Why don’t we do both?”

Marov and Nyvar both looked over at Jason, who was sitting next to Naleena with his armored back against the wall. His dark, serious eyes stared back at them, the teenage stubble on his chin reminding Marov exactly how young the younger Nyvar was. Marov was the first to recover from the break in.

“What do you mean?” Marov asked, pulling on one side of his mustache. “We don’t exactly have the people to mount an assault on both sides. Let alone the equipment.”

Jason stood up, shaking his head as he walked over to them, glancing down at Naleena as he moved past her pull-out cot. When he arrived at their tiny stand, he pointed at the tunnel entrance.

“A small team can enter here, sneaking in the back,” he said, the gears in his head almost audible as he continued, his face thoughtful. “Ty said he could do it without throwing out an alert, so we should be fine. Especially if we have someone keeping them busy up at the front.” The kid tapped the entrance on the outside of the network of tunnels with a gloved finger, the impact causing a slight rustling of paper. “We could impersonate a group of Stranded, or even a few Gears with intention of desertion, giving the other team time to do some damage. Those explosives we found would be perfect. Having the facility as a fallback point for the refugees would be a boon either way.”

“One problem is I don’t think they’d be very trusting to a bunch of muscle-bound hulks all of a sudden showing up with a vendetta against the COG,” Nyvar replied, pointing out the obvious flaw in the plan. Marov nodded along with his friend’s assessment, though he had a feeling Jason had thought of that, too. Judging from the way the junior Nyvar grinned, Marov felt confident in his assumption.

“That would be true. However, we have a couple less muscled, and therefore less threatening-looking, people with us.” The kid hitched his thumb back at the pilot, who was glowering over at them as if it was their fault he was stuck miles deep in the ass crack of a mountain. Marov had to admit to himself it probably was, though.

“True,” Marov rumbled out, rubbing his chin as he stared at their wounded compatriot. “Still, Nal’s in bad shape. I don’t think we should leave her here, alone. Because we’ll need everyone we have to do any damage.”

“I thought of that, too,” the too-smart tone of voice retorted as Jason appraised their raven-haired Stranded girl. “With the armor she’s still wearing, she could pass for another Gear. If I carry her and head to the front with Jonesy, she should be able to add some kind of urgency to our situation. After all, even if they’re deserters, they’re still soldiers at heart – we’ve been taught to safeguard women, whenever we can.”

“I don’t know,” Nyvar replied to the plan, rubbing a bicep through the thick mesh sleeves he wore under his armor. “It’s risky. They could just keep you out regardless. Then we’d be without the distraction you mentioned and you’d be out in the cold. I don’t think she’d survive out there long, son.”

A flash of sparks interrupted Marov’s thought processes, causing them all to look over to where Ty was working on the ‘bot. Cursing, the younger member of Echo Three ripped a power cord out of Sparks’ side, stopping the inflammation of their highly expensive machinery.

“What did you do?” Marov asked incredulously as Sparks’ lights went dim, the room plunging into darkness once more. Jonesy started cursing up a storm, quickly followed by a crash as the pilot ran into something and fell.

“I just hooked him up, sir. Hold on,” Ty growled, a bang accompanying his voice. All of a sudden, Sparks started lighting back up, the bulbs blinking on as it started to raise up on its repulsors. “There. All fixed. Right buddy?”

Sparks beeped and booped cheerfully, extending a grasping claw and patting Ty on the head, comically rising and lowering on his repulsors to manage the action. A rumble of laughter from Marov’s side joined with his own as they laughed at Ty’s expression, which was one part proud and one part confused at what had just taken place.

“Looks like he agrees,” Naleena’s soft voice broke through the din, a wan smile on her paler-than-normal face.

“And I think I figured out a way to failsafe my plan, too,” Jason said with a sudden eagerness.

“Let’s hear it then, General,” Jonesy sneered from across the room, his arms folded as he leaned against the wall. Marov had a feeling the pilot knew his part in their plan wouldn't be pleasant, whatever they decided on.