ALL NOVEL Chapter 36: Getting Down To Brass Tacks
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===[Chapter 36: Getting Down To Brass Tacks]===
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Within moments they were on the streets, running northbound, navigating through the city as the drums of war echoed closer. The soldiers ran interlocked with Misfit, ensuring that there was no room for one of them to escape. Bannon, for his part, seemed to know where he was going. Each twist and turn was punctuated by a look down at his monitor and a bark for the team to shift directions. Their pace kept up at a jog knowing full well that armed locals could appear from any direction, and they were extremely vulnerable out in the streets. Being swift to avoid detection would go quite a long way, yet it seemed they had a while to go before they reached their actual goal, the rebel base. And the further into the decrepit pits of Helena they travelled, the more inevitable detection seemed. For there were people still here. Eli couldn't quite see them, but there were definitely people watching them from within the shelter of their homes. Half-ajar curtains were quickly pulled shut by hidden figures, and no matter where they went there would be eyes glued to their backs.
The more they darted through the streets of Helena, the more the city became clearer, “There’s people around here,” Rafael said aloud, “We’re fighting in this city with innocent people still trapped inside?”
“Shut up, prisoner. You don’t speak unless spoken to, and you don’t question orders,” Bannon dismissed him, though it was clear that Bannon was keeping an eye on the civilians too. Occasionally the off-putting feeling of being watched would be interrupted by a strange 'whoosh', only for them to look up and see that another missile had been launched into the skies locking on to the rare Coalition aircraft unlucky enough to find itself within range. Flares would be dropped, and evasive maneuvers pulled, but no matter what the aircraft tried the outcome would always be the same. A fireball, and a pillar of smoke crashing back down into the ground, "We need to target those missile sites if we get the chance, open up a pathway for Airwatch to get us the hell out of Dodge," Dutch whispered through his rushed breathing trying to keep up a jogging pace. The jog wasn't as fast as a full on sprint, sure, but the phantoms weren't exactly travelling light.
"What the fuck did I just say about speaking?" Bannon demanded, "And no shit, we're gonna have to take those out. If we can find them. We link up with the rebels and those missiles are gonna be priority number one."
"They will be well defended though, I don't know what kind of forces the Avonians have around here but if it's anything like what we've seen before we're in deep trouble," One of the soldiers spoke up.
"Yeah but we have to, I don't know what kind of technology or magic those missiles are made out of but they're chewing straight through Airwatch. We can't let them keep firing. If they lose anymore aircraft, Overwatch might just call this whole operation off..." Bannon said, but his scowl was brushed off by a shake of the head "They wouldn't leave us behind, though. Not us PCTs. They'll dispatch some Headhunters or something to get us. I'm sure of it."
Eli glanced at Bannon, observing the patch on his uniform. He saw, of course, the logo of the PCTs. But just underneath that, a delta surrounded by a circle, colorized in mixed green and brown camouflage that made it easy to miss across the similarly designed color of the regular's uniform. And just then, Eli rolled his eyes. Bannon was a Phantom too like Juma. He should've known that their fates were sealed in Helena. Why did Bannon think that just because he was a PCT, Overwatch would risk anything to save him? He may not have been a part of The Penal-Unit, sure. But was the feeling of superiority to other Phantoms and the better quality meals really that good, that it wiped away a lifetime of abused suffered by Overwatch's hands? Not even Captain Juma seemed that indoctrinated by Overwatch's coddling of their regulars, if anything, she seemed distinctly aware of just how cold The Coalition was to those it deemed 'expendable'. Maybe for Bannon it was. Eli wanted to tell him that they were as good as dead here, but he knew Bannon wouldn't care at all.
They came across an opening amid the narrow streets. An intersection which contained an open-air market of sorts. Past the hastily parked trucks that had their tires half-on the road were the stalls. Goods spilled out of the stalls containing fruits and veggies of a colorful variety, though many had fallen over into the street as its occupants fled to shelter in a hurry. Abandoned wares left untouched only proved to Eli that there were definitely other soldiers nearby. Otherwise, the goods would’ve been either evacuated to shelter or stolen by opportunistic thieves.
But flanking almost all sides of the market were sandbags. Some of which had machine guns mounted over them looking out and guarding the road like checkpoints. Luckily for the team, there were no soldiers around to guard them. But the sight of Riverlander flags, red and green, covering the barricades and defensive line amidst the residential district was bizarre nonetheless.
A sheet of paper blew in the weak wind, covering Eli’s boot. At first, he was tempted to just kick it off as a piece of litter, but its bright red surface caught his attention. He reached down to pick it up where a regular couldn’t see. It wasn’t just a clump of unwanted garbage; it was a poster.
A red background. A smiling elven military general of some sort looking to the prevailing sun with white fists supporting him and littered all around. Like giants in the foreground were buildings. Towers in fact. Rectangular and portrayed in white. On the bottom of the poster was bold black text, illegible of course to Eli’s brain. But it was obvious what the poster was. Propaganda of some form or another, perhaps in support of the elf in the general’s uniform?
That theory was all but confirmed the second Eli took the moment to look at where they were. Almost everywhere, on every stray telephone pole, on billboards and signage, glued to walls and to windows, blowing as litter in the wind, was the elf’s face. Either smiling or with a determined look cast out to the people he ruled. Tellingly enough, on the face of a rather tall concrete apartment tower, the elf's stoic glare had been plastered across the face, while moss and colorful birds made nests into the decaying concrete surface which the poster had deliberately hidden. It was doing a piss-poor job at it too. The poster, much like the wall it leeched off of, had been subject to weathering and vandalism. What was once probably supposed to inspire fear, control, or patriotism, now only added to the rot it tried so desperately to hide. The right eye of the elven general had been blackened out by graffiti by a particularly bold or rebellious artist. The left eye had chipped all around it, leaving only tattered holes that exposed the grey concrete bricks beneath it.
The elf must’ve been the local ruler of Helena or even the entirety of the River Republic. Eli could see the towers depicted in the propaganda posters somewhere in the skyline from where he stood. It seemed to be Helena’s downtown. Though they were far, the towers absolutely dominated Helena’s skyline. The titans resembled cinder blocks plopped into the middle of the city, brutalist in design. They dwarfed anything that could be found here in what must’ve been the slums of the city, and the shoddy apartment buildings were fairly tall themselves. Once again, Eli’s brain conjured up images of Eastern Europe and his own experience from the brutalist design of North Korea’s dictatorship. It had been replicated almost exactly here. Except, instead of red banners, they were purple and green. And instead of humans, they were elves.
As they half-sprinted, half-walked, through the streets, they stumbled upon yet another oddity. A playground in between two apartment towers, complete with corroded swingsets, a slide, and lots of graffiti covering the walls surrounding it. But the most striking thing was the fact that there were two people inside of it.
Two elves, both dressed in tattered clothes – one wearing shorts and a stained blue shirt, the other wearing what looked like jeans and a jersey of some foreign sport. Both looked like kids, no older than ten either of them. The one wearing the blue shirt held a white ball in the pit of his arm while they watched the soldiers pass with some vague concern. Misfit was interrupting their game. Or rather, the war was.
Hastily, they moved on, passing the two kids and leaving them to resume their ball game, “This is weird, they shouldn’t be here,” Said Rafael, “This reminds me too much of home. Warlords with guns marching in the street and kids playing games right next to them! It’s messed up!”
“How many times to do I have to say it, keep your mouths shut! Understand?” Snapped Bannon as he spun around to make his point clear. But no sooner had he done so, they could hear something stir in the distance.
The sound of tires rolling across asphalt. A distant thud. The whir of an engine. Several engines.
The team went from a sprint to a full stop immediately with the rumbling growing louder and louder. Omar was the first to name the one thing they dreaded most, especially at this moment “It’s a Sentry!”
“A what?” Asked one of the soldiers.
“Sentry! They’re like the Behemoths but smaller!” Badger looked around for the source of the sound, her eyes wide in fear, “Avonian war machines! They can tear us apart in seconds!”
“Shit! Whatever they are, there’s a lot of them,” Bannon looked around looking for a suitable place to take shelter. The soldiers tried the buildings off to their side but whenever they tried to force the doors open, not a single one would budge. There was a glass storefront not too far ahead of the team, but it was closer to the intersection. Too close to the advancing Avonians. But as they tried each of the doors, only to find that they wouldn't open, the store seemed the only option.
“The store! Get in there!” Bannon shouted, sprinting towards the glass window with all he could muster. Misfit and the Regulars followed close and in a moment they were standing before the glass storefront. The door leading inside was of course locked shut. There was only one way in. One soldier used the butt of her rifle to smash the glass open, carving a man-sized hole through the front window. But as soon as the glass shattered into fine dust, a screech echoed from the store’s interior. A security alarm.
The alarm blared over them, screaming at the team as they trudged inside of what looked to be a clothing shop. Mannequins and racks full of old looking coats and clothes greeted them. A good place to hide, but with the alarm blaring it would be compromised. And yet, they had to hide inside, alarm or not. There was hardly any better choice. Eli slid into cover behind a clerk’s counter, knocking over a mannequin as he did so. He heard scuffling as everyone else ran into hiding. Eli kept an eye outside through a hole between the mannequin and the counter.
Armored trucks, the same ones used to guard Sentries, rolled onto the street outside. Soldiers hung onto their sides, their guns out. They were all militia, which made sense – they were in the heart of the River Republic. A slight relief that at least they wouldn’t have to fight cyborg murder drones. For now.
But that slight respite faded when he saw that the soldiers were pointing towards the store. The alarm and freshly broken glass drew their attention. And now the trucks were pulling over, “Shit, shit, shit,” Eli whispered to himself as he watched them, “Come on… no!”
The Militia, though poorly trained and equipped per Otaes’ own scathing critique, were still dangerous in their own right. Especially since they outnumbered Misfit and the Regulars ten to one, at least.
“Can you see them? What the hell is going on outside?” Badger asked.
“They’re investigating the alarm! They’re coming!”
He looked around to ensure that they had all gotten the message, and they had. They nervously scurried to get their weapons ready. Eli watched as the militia dismounted from their trucks and advanced closer to the storefront. Their weapons primed. He felt his heart race inside of its cage, hands shaking as he pulled his rifle up. He could hear that his own breathing was ragged, nervous. And yet he had to pull himself to reality, “Don’t shoot until they’re close! Stay behind cover!” Bannon whispered a shout over to the team, “Wait for my signal!”
The seconds ticked by painfully slow as they waited for the Militia to close in. Every jackboot on the concrete outside was another second gone past. He listened to them, a drum of war beating closer, inevitable, and dangerous. He closed his eyes and inhaled, setting his sights on the head of a clueless human militiaman.
He swallowed hard, and fingered the trigger. His mind brought him back to the tunnels of Seoul. Standing there with his gun pressed against the temple of his Staff Sergeant. The bullet waiting in the barrel. Fate ahead of him.
And then Bannon opened fire, in the process, unleashing a pandora's box of chaos!
Without missing a beat, the militia returned fire. Their ekron bullets tore red trails through the air. Piercing through clothes, mannequins, wood and even steel. Eli ducked down, watching in horror as the place where he stood moments prior was pierced by a barrage of red light. Wooden splinters and bits of the counter exploded off, covering him in a sprinkling of devastation. The rest of Misfit was faring little better. Ducking away from bullets that cracked through the storefront like thunder. They retreated further in the building, trying their best to remain out of sight, yet they were running out of time.
Already the Militia had formed up outside of the storefront. A formation of soldiers that fired on Misfit’s position, and then moved up closer. But it was clear they were not professionals. If Eli’s experience with the Avonians were anything to go by, the Militia would’ve already tossed in a grenade to be rid of Misfit once and for all. Looking at their ill-fitting uniforms – poorly maintained at that – it was only confirmation that the Militia wasn’t of the highest quality. At least not in comparison to their Avonian counterparts who would’ve used shields, grenades, everything.
And then suddenly, there was hope that they might be fighting on even ground, “Don’t stop! Return fire!” Bannon shouted to Misfit, “Keep them off of us!” He placed his gun atop the counter and blindly fired into the outside, unsure of what he hit if anything at all. The sound of bullets whizzing past, yet not at, Misfit told him that it was working. They couldn’t get a good shot on Misfit while pinned down. They just had to keep the pressure on then maybe… they’d go away?
But it was too late to worry about the future. He couldn’t hear it over the explosive gunfire inside the room. But it was there all the same. His eyes peeked from behind cover to get a look at the chaos outside, expecting to see the Militiamen and their trucks. But further down the street was something else entirely. He saw it’s four long spider-legs, it’s alien weaponry, it’s cold metal armor, it’s massive red eye…
“SENTRY! SENTRY!” Eli couldn’t help but scream when he saw it. There was absolutely nothing that they could do about it. Unlike in the palace, there were no Ostralander rocket launchers designed to kill them. Not even the elves were with them. It was just Misfit and their puny guns, to the iron giant that marched towards them. Unstoppable.
Red light flooded the street, and eventually it illuminated the dark storefront. The red eyes were staring right at them. He saw the main gun powering up, energy sucking in, their doom imminent.
“GET DOWN!”
He cowered behind the counter, arms over his head. He closed his eyes, and braced for the inevitable...
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