The ocean spray pelted Marina's face. Shielded by her goggles and breather mask; the mist and spray battered the lenses of her eyewear before being ripped away in the rush of jet stream. Millions of droplets generated by the kickback of the company's footsteps hurled upwards in a continuous flurry. Her vision would have been completely obscured if not of the enhanced visuals and HUD of her goggles, although there was not much to see outside of the sonic induced blur of the waters around her feet. Her display filtered through a constant stream of information including wind strength and direction, current speed, compass orientation, and water and air temperatures; all vital information when travelling at two dozen miles a minute. The slightest trip or turn into the wrong current could result in a splashdown, causing her body to collide with the water with the equivalent force of a ton of pressure. If it didn't kill her outright, it would certainly cripple her. She'd seen it happen dozens of times, not only to new recruits but to seasoned hoppers who'd lost focus for just a split second, ending their service or their lives in a heartbeat.
The psychological training was just as important as the physical. Learning to use one's abilities in conjunction with the bio-implants was only one aspect, as maintaining balance and awareness whilst travelling at inhuman speeds took months of training and conditioning, even with the enhancement in natural cognitive reflexes that the hopper mutation presented. Any individual who presented signs of the mutation were drafted by the Capital at the earliest possible opportunity for thorough testing and, providing that those tests were passed, the individual would then undergo implant surgery and begin vigorous training for their two years required military service. Marina herself was career military and from her induction and training at age fourteen had formally joined the Hopper Corps at eighteen and had progressed quickly and efficiently. Hence here she was now, commanding her own company and heading into yet another skirmish with tider scum. She checked the current field updates scrolling along her HUD, keeping her and her soldiers up to date with any changes in the situation at First Province.
Any turn of the head could veer her wildly off course, and she kept hers faced forward. She knew her company flanked her; hoppers to the left and right, in front and behind, all moving in unison, all focusing on placing one foot in front of the other as fast as their mutated muscles and bio-amp controlled static fields would allow.
In the upper corner of Marina's vision floated the sigil of the Ocean Ghost. It was a comet-class tider raiding vessel – their largest designation of model - and its captain, Locke Goodman was a target one priority on Parliaments wanted list: capture alive if possible, terminate if necessary. Marina would prefer the latter if she had it her way, but she had orders to follow and would endeavour to uphold them, if however, the opportunity presented itself then, well, anything could happen in the heat of battle. Whatever the outcome, she had questions he needed answering first.
Parliament Intelligence had provided the most up-to date schematics they had on the ship: equipped with the manufacture-standard quad-cannon mount – two port side, two starboard - in addition, the crew had installed two forward mounted heavy artillery assault rifles, streamlined the engine to increase its speed and modified the thunderfall. The high-pressure water cannon was another standard mount, using the most readily available ammunition to inflict devastation, and if used correctly could crack concrete, tear another ship in two and reduce any living person to a splatter of shapeless sludge. A thunderfall's range was far reaching but they were usually slow, Locke's crew has amped up the spooling time and moderately increased the pressure, if the Ocean Ghost were to use it in conjunction with the assault rifles, it could end the battle in minutes.
"Engage any tiders you meet, aim for the kill," Marina spoke into her breathers radio. "Captain is the primary target. Capture if the window allows it. If it doesn't, then that's one less tider to plague the waters. If you have a window to board the vessel, do so, take the thunderfall out of play as fast you're able."
She listened to the various cries of "Roger that," and "Yes, Ma'am" that trickled through her earpiece, accompanied by brief visual pop ups of the speakers. She glanced up at an alert in her upper field of vision.
"Turrets have powered down, combat is open field. If they spool up again, take cover and
prioritize self-preservation until air support arrives." According to her HUD, the two ASVs that Parliament had dispatched would be four minutes behind them. A lot could happen in four minutes, particularly when civilian defence turrets had malfunctioned and turned on their own people within minutes of a tider vessel docking. Marina believed in malfunctions, but she certainly didn't believe in co-incidences - this was sabotage, from where she wasn't sure, but she was leading nearly a hundred and fifty men and women into a combat field that could turn on them at a moment's notice. It made her more uneasy than usual, but they had trained for this, the strategy was in place. This was their calling, their duty, their responsibility. Justice, Ever Forwards - the official words of the Capital planted themselves at the forefront of her mind. She believed in them, upheld them, and they drove her onwards even now, despite the prospect of her possible end. Yet I must adapt, never yield. She tried not to think of the scene that would await them onshore. Marina had seen plenty of dead in her decade of service, but never this.
First Province grew steadily closer in her field of vision; they were approaching from the East but had curved around to adjust for a slightly South Eastern approach – following the trail of the Ocean Ghost. They were headed into a two mile strip of quays known locally as Fisherman's Freeway, an industrial section of the island city that's primary shipping activities were mechanical and structural in nature. The Freeway was once one of the largest natural produce trading ports on the island, but since the necessity has risen for a stronger industry sector, those activities had moved around to the north side, and the Freeway now mostly housed storage and manufacturing facilities for various industrial firms. It was impressive, yet meagre in comparison to the industry on the mainland. The Ocean Ghost had already made port as Marina led the company on approach; the wailing drone of the city-wide siren grew steadily louder.
"Bravo, Foxtrot, November, Zulu, port side. Whiskey, Tango, Delta, Sierra; starboard side. Me and mine, scattershot within and go for touchdown."
"Yes, Ma'am." Bravo squad's leader, Lt. Commander Renata Graves came through Marina's com. "You heard the Commander, engage on port side!" She peeled off, several dozen hoppers following her.
"With pleasure," came back Tango's squad leader, Lt. Commander Albert Travis, guiding his squads away, veering slightly to the right to engage the ship’s crew from starboard side. Graves and Travis had been given joint secondary command duties for the field mission, each leading their own squads and overseeing the other squad leaders in their combat formations. Both were good soldiers and both on route for Commander within months. Marina continued onwards, leading her own Alpha squad alongside three others on a hastened approach to the quay. They launched themselves upwards, propelled by the same channelled static fields that allowed them to traverse the water’s surface and as they descended, hitting the quay's surface below, they tucked their heads and rolled, carrying the momentum through as their bodies jolted back into normal speed. Continuing forward they drew their weapons and joined the fray, launching on the tiders with military precision - ground combat their advantage against the untrained savages. Blades flashed, blood spilled and the smell of gunpowDer joined the already overpowering stench of smoke and fire.
Marina found herself flanked by five tiders; she charged them head on as two were cut down by another passing hopper. Marina engaged the remaining three and felt the brief impact of gunfire against her armour before firing off two quick shots of her own, hitting two of the men in the head and dropping them in a spray of brains and skull. The third tider swung his blade, Marina parried and aimed a kick for the gut, connecting hard; the man fell to the floor but controlled his roll, immediately springing back to his feet. Marina was already spinning, slashing downwards as the man parried. Feigning another swing, allowed Marina a well timed slash to the midsection. The man went down wailing, holding in his now spilling intestines. Continuing her fluid motion, Marina whirled around and finished him off with a single shot to the torso.
Marina quickly assessed the battlefield, the rhythmic
blaring of the alarm still filled the air and she adjusted her com volume to
compensate. She looked around, her gaze settling on the huge plume of filthy smoke
darkening the sky - a warehouse or factory of some kind.
"Travis, take your squads, head for the smoke, find out what it is and what they want. Stop them."
"Yes Ma'am," Travis responded, breathing heavily. Marina couldn't see him among the sea of furious fighting, but he was there somewhere and blessedly still alive. Dashes of blue and black moved through the flurry with precise, fluid grace.
"Everyone else, go for the thunder-"
- KRA-BOOM -
- Marina stumbled, the very floor underneath her seeming to vibrate. She turned, frantically trying to locate the source of the explosion – there, a fresh cloud of dust and debris was expanding outwards from the ground, half a klick or so from base of the nearby watchtower.
"Mortars!" The numerous screams overwhelmed her com-piece. Marina didn't register who was yelling. Her gaze was fixed on the destruction and her HUD was an out of focus blur. She traced the line of fire back to the vessel, briefly assessing the open darkness of the ships thoroughfare. They've upgraded. Damn.
"All units -"
Thud thud thud. The patter of heavy footsteps approaching.
"Yaaaggh!" A tider screamed, his blade swinging towards Marina's eye line. She ducked, rolled and hacked at the ankles of the bandit, barely registering the face or screams of the man. DUFF! A painful thud connected between her shoulder blades – a bullet ricocheting off her armour - from where, she knew not. Another grazed the side of her head, trailing behind it a flicker of sparks as the carbon-fibre mesh-weave of her hood sent it falling to the ground harmlessly.
"All units, take cover!" she cried into his radio as a second mortar was released with a hefty mechanical thunk. Marina ran with all the speed she could muster, skidding into cover behind an abandoned stall. She peered out and watched helplessly as the mortar exploded only metres away, scattering hopper and tider body parts alike - they showered the scene alongside fragments of rubble and shrapnel, joining the dead already littering the landscape. The thunderous explosion rocked every bone in her body and the screams of the injured were a never-ending cacophony of pain in his coms.
"Air support? Where are you?" She screamed into her radio.
"One minute out commander," came the crackled reply from an ASV pilot. My God, it's only been three minutes!
"Intel had a lag. We have mortars in play. They care not for their own!"
"Hold your positions."
"Easier said than done," she peered around the corner again. Numerous faces, both hopper and tiders were dotted among the various nooks and crannies, the occasional flash of gunfire sparking hither and thither. A bullet zinged past near Marina's head, missing her by inches. A third mortar sprung backwards with a creaking whine as the launcher misfired, causing the explosive to sail harmlessly into the ocean.
"Travis, report."
"They have formation at the -" the rest of his words were obscured by the monstrous grinding from overhead. Marina gazed up at the still operational watchtower turrets as they turned on their axis and settled into position facing out towards the water.
"Ten seconds from target range, Commander," the pilot said into Marina's ear. She could hear the approaching roar of the ASV engines but knew it was already too late. A sickening hollow feeling dropped like lead in her stomach.
"Air support, pull back!" She screamed, but it was already pointless. The cannon's guns opened fire once more. Low on ammunition, the barrage lasted only seconds until the guns ran dry, but it was enough. Marina heard the brief explosions followed by the deafening scream of the two flaming ASV's as they spiralled out of control overhead, spinning over the battlefield in a trail of smoke and flame before colliding with the island's skyline somewhere to the North West. She watched it, transfixed; the snippets of chatter and questions bombarding her earpiece going completely unanswered. A realisation formed in her head with unquestionable clarity. They're controlling the turrets.
"All units, they have remote turret access, report positions," she yelled into her radio. She needed a plan, needed to rethink and regroup her men. With mortars on the field and no air support, the options were limited. As if to prove his point, another mortar sailed overhead, this time connecting directly with the base of the watchtower. The explosion was tremendous, rocking the very foundations of the ground underfoot. Pieces of concrete and steel peppered the surrounding area. A chunk of iron crashed down onto an awning, destroying the structure underneath and killing the two hoppers cowering under it.
She caught snippets of the various responses from her men, but not enough to get a clear assessment of the current state of the field. She could barely see, even with the visual enhancements of her gear; the air was thick with dust and smoke. She wiped his goggles, clearing the lenses.
She was aware, vaguely, of another sound growing under the wailing of the alarm. The gradual aggressive roaring of a nearby machine - gears and heavy components working in relentless unison. The engine grew louder, rumbling and grinding as it increased in ferocity, the sounds of churning water joined it. A rusty, mechanical, splashing.
A blanket of terrified failure descended on Marina.
"Thunderfall!" Someone screamed full volume into her ear.
The water erupted from the Ocean Ghost like a volcano. The narrow stream arced overhead with frightening speed, connecting with the damaged watchtower. The weakened base finally gave way under the force of the pressure and the tower began its seemingly slow collapse, fresh clouds of particulates and detritus ejecting upwards and outwards.
With the whole dock shaking underfoot from the collapsing building ahead, the stream began to move slowly across the scene, destroying walls, structures and supports. Any living person hit erupted in a watery spray of gore.
Marina desperately searched the surrounding area; no air support, still potentially hostile turrets, and a destructive weapon that made any active engagement impossible. She needed a strategy and needed it quickly. They could not wait this out.
They want whatever is in that building, that's the one place they won't risk destroying. But how could she use it? How could she get there? How could she order any more of her men there? What was the angle?
"Whiskey? Tango? Sierra? Any squads in the target locale?" No response. "Travis? Graves?"
"Here, Ma'am, ' Graves came back. "Still have most of the platoon, we're holed up near the port side. We need to take out that cannon."
"Are you close enough to engage? We need to get under its range."
"Negative. Cluster of boat boys between us and it, we're outnumbered."
"Acknowledged. I need any hoppers within safe range to get inside that ship. If you can avoid the stream and potential rifle fire, go now. You have full authorisation to do whatever it takes."
No response. No movement. He had no one in position that could turn the tide.
"Commander, that you? On your left."
Marina peered out to her left once more, a nearby hopper gestured to him from within the framework of a support structure. The face of Corporal Ashe Marvel briefly flicked up in Marina's HUD. Marvel was in Delta squad, not under Marina's direct command - that fell to Lt. Commander Xiu - but Delta had formed part of the scattershot attack platoon with Marina's own squad.
"What is it, Marvel?"
Marvel pointed upwards, towards the top of the structure. "I've got this."
Marina was confused, and immediately apprehensive. Marvel was an impulsive, undisciplined soldier. A competitive Colonial Games sportsman since his late teens, Marvel's fame and skill had led to a hedonistic lifestyle, a disregard for authority and a bullishness that had not entirely been trained out of him. He was twenty months into his two year mandatory service after keeping his hopper mutation hidden throughout his adolescence and beyond, eventually paying for illegal amps. He'd eventually been found out, stripped of several medals; and finally drafted under duress. He was cowardly, selfish and his global fame had swelled his ego to intolerable proportions. Even now, a huge billboard loomed over the battlefield with his smug grin plastered on it. The perfect military recruiting tool.
"I don't understand."
"Top of the frame Ma'am, the stream is approaching, I can get up there, get on that stream and hop to the ship. I can shut it down."
"Marvel, you can't hop on that, it's impossible. You won't get a foothold on the water."
"I can, Ma'am, and I will."
"You will stay put, that is an order."
PING! Another bullet ricocheting off Marina's cover. She leaped up, fired blindly until her clip emptied and she hit the deck once more. She turned to Marvel, who was now already halfway up the structure.
"Marvel, what are you doing? I gave you an order."
"I'll need cover fire, Ma'am. It won't take them long to piece it together."
"You are disobeying -"
"We are out of options. I can do this, I hopped twenty metres up Azure Falls once."
"This is not Azure Falls."
"No, this is easier," Corporal Marvel laughed. "You and the men should make haste, Ma'am."
"Corporal, you are -" But it was too late, Ashe had reached the top of the structure. He kept low, crouching and watching the slowly approaching stream of death. Marina ejected her clip and reloaded another from her belt in one fluid motion.
"Ready, Ma'am? In three."
"Marvel...." Marina considered. It was a dangerous play, possibly a suicidal one; but it was the only play they had. She watched as the occasional sparks and puffs of dust started to bounce off of Ashe's armour and the tower underfoot.
"Three...."
Marina relented. She could see no other option. "All units, cover that hopper up above. Await further orders. Good luck, Corporal."
"Don't need it. Two." The stream was mere metres away from the structure. Ashe dropped lower, poising himself for the jump.
"Travis, take your squads, head for the smoke, find out what it is and what they want. Stop them."
"Yes Ma'am," Travis responded, breathing heavily. Marina couldn't see him among the sea of furious fighting, but he was there somewhere and blessedly still alive. Dashes of blue and black moved through the flurry with precise, fluid grace.
"Everyone else, go for the thunder-"
- KRA-BOOM -
- Marina stumbled, the very floor underneath her seeming to vibrate. She turned, frantically trying to locate the source of the explosion – there, a fresh cloud of dust and debris was expanding outwards from the ground, half a klick or so from base of the nearby watchtower.
"Mortars!" The numerous screams overwhelmed her com-piece. Marina didn't register who was yelling. Her gaze was fixed on the destruction and her HUD was an out of focus blur. She traced the line of fire back to the vessel, briefly assessing the open darkness of the ships thoroughfare. They've upgraded. Damn.
"All units -"
Thud thud thud. The patter of heavy footsteps approaching.
"Yaaaggh!" A tider screamed, his blade swinging towards Marina's eye line. She ducked, rolled and hacked at the ankles of the bandit, barely registering the face or screams of the man. DUFF! A painful thud connected between her shoulder blades – a bullet ricocheting off her armour - from where, she knew not. Another grazed the side of her head, trailing behind it a flicker of sparks as the carbon-fibre mesh-weave of her hood sent it falling to the ground harmlessly.
"All units, take cover!" she cried into his radio as a second mortar was released with a hefty mechanical thunk. Marina ran with all the speed she could muster, skidding into cover behind an abandoned stall. She peered out and watched helplessly as the mortar exploded only metres away, scattering hopper and tider body parts alike - they showered the scene alongside fragments of rubble and shrapnel, joining the dead already littering the landscape. The thunderous explosion rocked every bone in her body and the screams of the injured were a never-ending cacophony of pain in his coms.
"Air support? Where are you?" She screamed into her radio.
"One minute out commander," came the crackled reply from an ASV pilot. My God, it's only been three minutes!
"Intel had a lag. We have mortars in play. They care not for their own!"
"Hold your positions."
"Easier said than done," she peered around the corner again. Numerous faces, both hopper and tiders were dotted among the various nooks and crannies, the occasional flash of gunfire sparking hither and thither. A bullet zinged past near Marina's head, missing her by inches. A third mortar sprung backwards with a creaking whine as the launcher misfired, causing the explosive to sail harmlessly into the ocean.
"Travis, report."
"They have formation at the -" the rest of his words were obscured by the monstrous grinding from overhead. Marina gazed up at the still operational watchtower turrets as they turned on their axis and settled into position facing out towards the water.
"Ten seconds from target range, Commander," the pilot said into Marina's ear. She could hear the approaching roar of the ASV engines but knew it was already too late. A sickening hollow feeling dropped like lead in her stomach.
"Air support, pull back!" She screamed, but it was already pointless. The cannon's guns opened fire once more. Low on ammunition, the barrage lasted only seconds until the guns ran dry, but it was enough. Marina heard the brief explosions followed by the deafening scream of the two flaming ASV's as they spiralled out of control overhead, spinning over the battlefield in a trail of smoke and flame before colliding with the island's skyline somewhere to the North West. She watched it, transfixed; the snippets of chatter and questions bombarding her earpiece going completely unanswered. A realisation formed in her head with unquestionable clarity. They're controlling the turrets.
"All units, they have remote turret access, report positions," she yelled into her radio. She needed a plan, needed to rethink and regroup her men. With mortars on the field and no air support, the options were limited. As if to prove his point, another mortar sailed overhead, this time connecting directly with the base of the watchtower. The explosion was tremendous, rocking the very foundations of the ground underfoot. Pieces of concrete and steel peppered the surrounding area. A chunk of iron crashed down onto an awning, destroying the structure underneath and killing the two hoppers cowering under it.
She caught snippets of the various responses from her men, but not enough to get a clear assessment of the current state of the field. She could barely see, even with the visual enhancements of her gear; the air was thick with dust and smoke. She wiped his goggles, clearing the lenses.
She was aware, vaguely, of another sound growing under the wailing of the alarm. The gradual aggressive roaring of a nearby machine - gears and heavy components working in relentless unison. The engine grew louder, rumbling and grinding as it increased in ferocity, the sounds of churning water joined it. A rusty, mechanical, splashing.
A blanket of terrified failure descended on Marina.
"Thunderfall!" Someone screamed full volume into her ear.
The water erupted from the Ocean Ghost like a volcano. The narrow stream arced overhead with frightening speed, connecting with the damaged watchtower. The weakened base finally gave way under the force of the pressure and the tower began its seemingly slow collapse, fresh clouds of particulates and detritus ejecting upwards and outwards.
With the whole dock shaking underfoot from the collapsing building ahead, the stream began to move slowly across the scene, destroying walls, structures and supports. Any living person hit erupted in a watery spray of gore.
Marina desperately searched the surrounding area; no air support, still potentially hostile turrets, and a destructive weapon that made any active engagement impossible. She needed a strategy and needed it quickly. They could not wait this out.
They want whatever is in that building, that's the one place they won't risk destroying. But how could she use it? How could she get there? How could she order any more of her men there? What was the angle?
"Whiskey? Tango? Sierra? Any squads in the target locale?" No response. "Travis? Graves?"
"Here, Ma'am, ' Graves came back. "Still have most of the platoon, we're holed up near the port side. We need to take out that cannon."
"Are you close enough to engage? We need to get under its range."
"Negative. Cluster of boat boys between us and it, we're outnumbered."
"Acknowledged. I need any hoppers within safe range to get inside that ship. If you can avoid the stream and potential rifle fire, go now. You have full authorisation to do whatever it takes."
No response. No movement. He had no one in position that could turn the tide.
"Commander, that you? On your left."
Marina peered out to her left once more, a nearby hopper gestured to him from within the framework of a support structure. The face of Corporal Ashe Marvel briefly flicked up in Marina's HUD. Marvel was in Delta squad, not under Marina's direct command - that fell to Lt. Commander Xiu - but Delta had formed part of the scattershot attack platoon with Marina's own squad.
"What is it, Marvel?"
Marvel pointed upwards, towards the top of the structure. "I've got this."
Marina was confused, and immediately apprehensive. Marvel was an impulsive, undisciplined soldier. A competitive Colonial Games sportsman since his late teens, Marvel's fame and skill had led to a hedonistic lifestyle, a disregard for authority and a bullishness that had not entirely been trained out of him. He was twenty months into his two year mandatory service after keeping his hopper mutation hidden throughout his adolescence and beyond, eventually paying for illegal amps. He'd eventually been found out, stripped of several medals; and finally drafted under duress. He was cowardly, selfish and his global fame had swelled his ego to intolerable proportions. Even now, a huge billboard loomed over the battlefield with his smug grin plastered on it. The perfect military recruiting tool.
"I don't understand."
"Top of the frame Ma'am, the stream is approaching, I can get up there, get on that stream and hop to the ship. I can shut it down."
"Marvel, you can't hop on that, it's impossible. You won't get a foothold on the water."
"I can, Ma'am, and I will."
"You will stay put, that is an order."
PING! Another bullet ricocheting off Marina's cover. She leaped up, fired blindly until her clip emptied and she hit the deck once more. She turned to Marvel, who was now already halfway up the structure.
"Marvel, what are you doing? I gave you an order."
"I'll need cover fire, Ma'am. It won't take them long to piece it together."
"You are disobeying -"
"We are out of options. I can do this, I hopped twenty metres up Azure Falls once."
"This is not Azure Falls."
"No, this is easier," Corporal Marvel laughed. "You and the men should make haste, Ma'am."
"Corporal, you are -" But it was too late, Ashe had reached the top of the structure. He kept low, crouching and watching the slowly approaching stream of death. Marina ejected her clip and reloaded another from her belt in one fluid motion.
"Ready, Ma'am? In three."
"Marvel...." Marina considered. It was a dangerous play, possibly a suicidal one; but it was the only play they had. She watched as the occasional sparks and puffs of dust started to bounce off of Ashe's armour and the tower underfoot.
"Three...."
Marina relented. She could see no other option. "All units, cover that hopper up above. Await further orders. Good luck, Corporal."
"Don't need it. Two." The stream was mere metres away from the structure. Ashe dropped lower, poising himself for the jump.
"One." He leaped, yelling in a mix of euphoria and terror. His feet
connected with the stream and he never wavered or stumbled. His static field
immediately propelled him along the jet of water as he ran towards the ship.
Marina was up, firing, ejecting and reloading as fast as she could. Aiming in any
direction she'd seen a tider face or gun flash. The cheers of her fellow hoppers filled his ear and Marina couldn't help but let out a
grin. "Well done, Marvel!"
"You're welcome, Ma'am." Ashe leaped from the top of the stream, cresting the bow of the ship before disappearing onto the deck. Marina ducked down once more, checking her ammo belt. Two clips left. sixty rounds.
"Cease fire," she commanded. The sounds of gunfire gradually faded, with only the occasional bang of a tider weapon still audible alongside the rush of the stream. Marina became aware that the city alarm had been shut off, or broken down. She couldn't recall when, but an eerie quiet now seemed to descend on the scene. The gentle rush of water interspersed with the sounds of battle created a clear and steady rhythm. She listened intently, now able to gauge the state of the field far better. A yell over here, a gunshot over there, the clash of a blade over behind.
She watched the stream closely, willing it to cease and at first there was nothing. Then there; a break in the pressure. Then another, and another. The whooshing of the water grew quiet as the pressure quickly failed and the powerful jet of liquid sputtered and began to droop.
"Marvel, fall back now!" Marina yelled. "Squads within ship range, head for the gangway on my mark. We'll be a small target but prepare for rifle fire. All other squads, clean up and take that warehouse. Take them with a force befitting the Capital. Three, two, one. Charge!"
Marina leaped over her piece of wreckage and caught glimpses of a handful of other hoppers following her lead. The chattering of battle cries continued to echo through her head. She zigzagged, her comrades following suit as the ships assault rifles began their steady barrage of fire. Marina felt the sting of ammunition bouncing off of her armour, or embedding itself in it. She held up her sword arm; her armoured bracer protecting her face. She fought through the pain. Never wavering, never yielding. She caught the briefest glimpse of a blue and black blur plummeting from above, narrowly missing the quay's surface and disappearing under the water with a splash.
"Marvel? Marvel?" No answer. "Damn!"
Marina moved with her scattered comrades, growing closer with every step until they were under the range of the assault fire. She tried to assess how many troops he had with her, and counted seven, eight, nine -
- KRA-BOOM -
A mortar exploded directly behind her. Marina was hurled forwards and collided with a stack of shipping crates with a painful snap. She hit the ground hard. She couldn't breathe, her head was swimming, her ears ringing. She collapsed, using the containers for cover. Every part of her body screamed in pain. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't focus. She assumed something was broken and if not for the protection offered by her armour, she doubted she'd even be able to move at all - if the blast hadn't killed her outright, that was.
"You're welcome, Ma'am." Ashe leaped from the top of the stream, cresting the bow of the ship before disappearing onto the deck. Marina ducked down once more, checking her ammo belt. Two clips left. sixty rounds.
"Cease fire," she commanded. The sounds of gunfire gradually faded, with only the occasional bang of a tider weapon still audible alongside the rush of the stream. Marina became aware that the city alarm had been shut off, or broken down. She couldn't recall when, but an eerie quiet now seemed to descend on the scene. The gentle rush of water interspersed with the sounds of battle created a clear and steady rhythm. She listened intently, now able to gauge the state of the field far better. A yell over here, a gunshot over there, the clash of a blade over behind.
She watched the stream closely, willing it to cease and at first there was nothing. Then there; a break in the pressure. Then another, and another. The whooshing of the water grew quiet as the pressure quickly failed and the powerful jet of liquid sputtered and began to droop.
"Marvel, fall back now!" Marina yelled. "Squads within ship range, head for the gangway on my mark. We'll be a small target but prepare for rifle fire. All other squads, clean up and take that warehouse. Take them with a force befitting the Capital. Three, two, one. Charge!"
Marina leaped over her piece of wreckage and caught glimpses of a handful of other hoppers following her lead. The chattering of battle cries continued to echo through her head. She zigzagged, her comrades following suit as the ships assault rifles began their steady barrage of fire. Marina felt the sting of ammunition bouncing off of her armour, or embedding itself in it. She held up her sword arm; her armoured bracer protecting her face. She fought through the pain. Never wavering, never yielding. She caught the briefest glimpse of a blue and black blur plummeting from above, narrowly missing the quay's surface and disappearing under the water with a splash.
"Marvel? Marvel?" No answer. "Damn!"
Marina moved with her scattered comrades, growing closer with every step until they were under the range of the assault fire. She tried to assess how many troops he had with her, and counted seven, eight, nine -
- KRA-BOOM -
A mortar exploded directly behind her. Marina was hurled forwards and collided with a stack of shipping crates with a painful snap. She hit the ground hard. She couldn't breathe, her head was swimming, her ears ringing. She collapsed, using the containers for cover. Every part of her body screamed in pain. She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't focus. She assumed something was broken and if not for the protection offered by her armour, she doubted she'd even be able to move at all - if the blast hadn't killed her outright, that was.
Through her blurred vision he could see more splashes of blood, more body parts adorning
the quay.
"...report.." she managed to gasp into her radio. If she got any responses, she couldn’t tell through the ringing in her ears.
She shuffled to the edge of the crates, unable to make any sound other than gasping chokes. The Ocean Ghost was only metres away. The open maw of the gangway almost calling to her.
I can do this. The thought swam through her semi-state of consciousness. If I can get to him, it'll all be worth it. Her hands fumbled clumsily along her belt, her fingers tracing the various pockets and pouches by memory. Where is it? There, a narrow canvas sleeve, she unbuttoned it and removed the syringe from within.
"...Commander....warehouse....looting a load of.....tiders are prepping harness gimbals..."
Marina didn't know who had spoken, nor did she know if it was a radio malfunction or her own disoriented senses that prevented the message getting through. She was only dimly aware of anything else outside of her own pain and personal objective.
She fumbled with the syringe, her hands still unable to properly listen to her head. After several attempts she finally unsealed the package and jabbed the needle into her thigh, pushing it through the fabric between two plates of armour. She felt the rush as the compound of adrenaline and synthetic stimulants entered her system. Her vision cleared, her focus returned, the pain subsided. Her heart rate increased, pumping the formula through her bloodstream and sharpening her reflexes. She had a small window; ten minutes maximum before the effects of the battle-stim wore off leaving her in her injured and fragile state.
"Continue!" Marina yelled. She whirled around once more, quickly assessing the distance and mentally planning her route. "Vessel gangway. Who's with me?"
"Here Commander," Lt. Commander Xiu's voice said in her ear.. He was on the other side of the containers.
"Just us two, Xiu?"
"It seems so, Ma'am. Are you well?"
"Nothing a shot of battle-stim couldn't fix. You?"
"Bruised, but otherwise able. This is..not good....we should have had the intel -"
"That's for me to shout about Xiu, but right now I need you with me. We board that ship."
"We have no idea how many -"
"That's not an order Xiu. If you're not with me, fear not."
Marina saw Xiu's shoulders slump. He nodded. "Ever forwards. I'm with you, Ma'am"
"Pincer flank, opposition wave, alternate fire. Clear?"
"Aye."
"Now!"
They were up, the two of them running, avoiding the bursts of rifle fire, zigzagging in opposite formations; the rhythmic bangs of their pistols firing into the darkness of the ship's thoroughfare. In her peripheral vision, Marina spotted two of her comrades joining them before dropping – either from being hit or taking cover she couldn't be sure. Her heart raced, the extra adrenaline driving her forward. They were almost there. She was almost there. She almost had him. Marina fired blindly into the gloom, the darkness making it impossible to see anything inside. The rifle fire ceased as they moved under its range; the hum of their mechanical mounts moving and aiming pointlessly continued.
Marina headed up the ramp, keeping low and firing off another shot. She was at the threshold, stepping over it -
WHACK! She was hurled backward in an explosion of pain. She heard another brief crack yet couldn't be sure if it was her nose or breather mask; her entire face sang in a swelling rhythm of agony. She tumbled down the ramp and controlled her roll to position herself in a crouch, the battle-stim keeping her alert and upright, and already numbing the pain in her face. She shook his head, clearing the stars in her vision. She could taste blood. She unclipped her breather and let it hang loose, a healthy stream of crimson cascaded down with it; whether from her nose or mouth she couldn’t be sure.
As her vision cleared she saw Xiu leap at the man who now stood in the doorway. Locke Goodman swung a huge pistol in a vicious arc that clipped the soldier straight in the throat. Xiu fell back, gasping. Locke grabbed him by the scruff of the jacket and pulled him inwards, his sword emerging through the soldier's chest – seeking out a gap in the armour plates with frightening precision. Xiu let out a gurgled scream as the tider captain moved the weapon from side to side, spreading Xiu's ribs and holding him in place as a human shield. A few shots fired from who knew where rebounded off of the dying man's armour.
With a final slimy crunch, the blade was removed and Locke took aim with his pistol from behind Xiu's body and managed to fire off one shot before the weapon was blown from his hand, the shot going wild. Marina, breathing heavily, turned to see Ashe laying on the quay, soaked and bloody. Aiming his own pistol with both hands.
"Told you I could do it, Commander." He collapsed onto the deck. Dead or unconscious, Marina couldn't be sure.
Marina stood tall, her gaze fixed upon the captain; a large, powerhouse of a man. His face was hidden behind a tatty beard, his frame obscured by a long overcoat that had seen many years of ocean life. The shimmer underneath his shirt indicated some sort of chain mail or armour weave, a sign of status amongst his people. Marina knew she couldn't take him one on one.
"Everyone fall back, secure that warehouse, I've got this," Marina said with steely resolve.
"Commander, that's - "
"That's an order. Do it." Marina paid no attention to the protests in her ear. She took aim at Goodman, walking slowly.
"Darius O'Reilly!" Marina yelled. "Tell me what you know."
"What?" Locke hesitated before his response.
"You heard me, Goodman. Darius O'Reilly. Where is he?"
"I ain't never heard that name before in my life," Locke growled, keeping his head and face well behind Xiu's quickly cooling corpse. "That's all you got? Look around you hopper, you got more pressin' issues abound if you ask me."
"That's not what I'm asking. O'Reilly. I want his tribe, his ship, his location. Anything you know. I'll take a death notice if you can give me a lead."
"Well that's what I'm telling you. I don't know no O'Reilly."
Marina studied the man, she could feel the effects of the battle-stim waning, her body slowly starting to cry out in agony once more. She needed to be swift.
"Then you have nothing I need," Marina responded. She holstered her weapon, drew her blade, she was ready to charge. But then -
"...report.." she managed to gasp into her radio. If she got any responses, she couldn’t tell through the ringing in her ears.
She shuffled to the edge of the crates, unable to make any sound other than gasping chokes. The Ocean Ghost was only metres away. The open maw of the gangway almost calling to her.
I can do this. The thought swam through her semi-state of consciousness. If I can get to him, it'll all be worth it. Her hands fumbled clumsily along her belt, her fingers tracing the various pockets and pouches by memory. Where is it? There, a narrow canvas sleeve, she unbuttoned it and removed the syringe from within.
"...Commander....warehouse....looting a load of.....tiders are prepping harness gimbals..."
Marina didn't know who had spoken, nor did she know if it was a radio malfunction or her own disoriented senses that prevented the message getting through. She was only dimly aware of anything else outside of her own pain and personal objective.
She fumbled with the syringe, her hands still unable to properly listen to her head. After several attempts she finally unsealed the package and jabbed the needle into her thigh, pushing it through the fabric between two plates of armour. She felt the rush as the compound of adrenaline and synthetic stimulants entered her system. Her vision cleared, her focus returned, the pain subsided. Her heart rate increased, pumping the formula through her bloodstream and sharpening her reflexes. She had a small window; ten minutes maximum before the effects of the battle-stim wore off leaving her in her injured and fragile state.
"Continue!" Marina yelled. She whirled around once more, quickly assessing the distance and mentally planning her route. "Vessel gangway. Who's with me?"
"Here Commander," Lt. Commander Xiu's voice said in her ear.. He was on the other side of the containers.
"Just us two, Xiu?"
"It seems so, Ma'am. Are you well?"
"Nothing a shot of battle-stim couldn't fix. You?"
"Bruised, but otherwise able. This is..not good....we should have had the intel -"
"That's for me to shout about Xiu, but right now I need you with me. We board that ship."
"We have no idea how many -"
"That's not an order Xiu. If you're not with me, fear not."
Marina saw Xiu's shoulders slump. He nodded. "Ever forwards. I'm with you, Ma'am"
"Pincer flank, opposition wave, alternate fire. Clear?"
"Aye."
"Now!"
They were up, the two of them running, avoiding the bursts of rifle fire, zigzagging in opposite formations; the rhythmic bangs of their pistols firing into the darkness of the ship's thoroughfare. In her peripheral vision, Marina spotted two of her comrades joining them before dropping – either from being hit or taking cover she couldn't be sure. Her heart raced, the extra adrenaline driving her forward. They were almost there. She was almost there. She almost had him. Marina fired blindly into the gloom, the darkness making it impossible to see anything inside. The rifle fire ceased as they moved under its range; the hum of their mechanical mounts moving and aiming pointlessly continued.
Marina headed up the ramp, keeping low and firing off another shot. She was at the threshold, stepping over it -
WHACK! She was hurled backward in an explosion of pain. She heard another brief crack yet couldn't be sure if it was her nose or breather mask; her entire face sang in a swelling rhythm of agony. She tumbled down the ramp and controlled her roll to position herself in a crouch, the battle-stim keeping her alert and upright, and already numbing the pain in her face. She shook his head, clearing the stars in her vision. She could taste blood. She unclipped her breather and let it hang loose, a healthy stream of crimson cascaded down with it; whether from her nose or mouth she couldn’t be sure.
As her vision cleared she saw Xiu leap at the man who now stood in the doorway. Locke Goodman swung a huge pistol in a vicious arc that clipped the soldier straight in the throat. Xiu fell back, gasping. Locke grabbed him by the scruff of the jacket and pulled him inwards, his sword emerging through the soldier's chest – seeking out a gap in the armour plates with frightening precision. Xiu let out a gurgled scream as the tider captain moved the weapon from side to side, spreading Xiu's ribs and holding him in place as a human shield. A few shots fired from who knew where rebounded off of the dying man's armour.
With a final slimy crunch, the blade was removed and Locke took aim with his pistol from behind Xiu's body and managed to fire off one shot before the weapon was blown from his hand, the shot going wild. Marina, breathing heavily, turned to see Ashe laying on the quay, soaked and bloody. Aiming his own pistol with both hands.
"Told you I could do it, Commander." He collapsed onto the deck. Dead or unconscious, Marina couldn't be sure.
Marina stood tall, her gaze fixed upon the captain; a large, powerhouse of a man. His face was hidden behind a tatty beard, his frame obscured by a long overcoat that had seen many years of ocean life. The shimmer underneath his shirt indicated some sort of chain mail or armour weave, a sign of status amongst his people. Marina knew she couldn't take him one on one.
"Everyone fall back, secure that warehouse, I've got this," Marina said with steely resolve.
"Commander, that's - "
"That's an order. Do it." Marina paid no attention to the protests in her ear. She took aim at Goodman, walking slowly.
"Darius O'Reilly!" Marina yelled. "Tell me what you know."
"What?" Locke hesitated before his response.
"You heard me, Goodman. Darius O'Reilly. Where is he?"
"I ain't never heard that name before in my life," Locke growled, keeping his head and face well behind Xiu's quickly cooling corpse. "That's all you got? Look around you hopper, you got more pressin' issues abound if you ask me."
"That's not what I'm asking. O'Reilly. I want his tribe, his ship, his location. Anything you know. I'll take a death notice if you can give me a lead."
"Well that's what I'm telling you. I don't know no O'Reilly."
Marina studied the man, she could feel the effects of the battle-stim waning, her body slowly starting to cry out in agony once more. She needed to be swift.
"Then you have nothing I need," Marina responded. She holstered her weapon, drew her blade, she was ready to charge. But then -
A flash. Her vision waned, fading before -
Curved walls. Rippling, putrid coloured light. Shadows moving. Marina couldn't hear. She couldn't see anything aside from the brief nonsensical flashes. Worst of all, she couldn't breathe.
It was brief, a second, maybe more, maybe less, but it was enough -
Locke's meaty fist collided with Marina's head, bringing her back to the moment just long enough to realise any potential advantage she'd had had been lost.
She swung blindly, Locke dropped low, avoiding her blade and punched her directly in
the stomach. Marina doubled over, gasping, surprised. Locke's heavy boot
connected with her face this time, driving her back down the ramp end over end.
Marina's sword clattered over the side of the gangway, dropping into the water
below. She reached for her boot-mounted bayonet. She swung it, but her muscles
were now screaming in pain, refusing to move at the speed she desired. A
foot connected again, this time in her ribs. The pain was unbelievable and
Marina could only gasp soundlessly, clutching her torso. She'd found what was
broken at least. She swayed briefly, then dropped onto her face, rolling
over slowly as Locke stomped down on her forearm with full force. Marina screamed, she couldn't hold it in any more. Her eyes rolled upwards in time to
see Locke swing his blade upwards, it's tip pointing straight for Marina's
throat.
BANG! BANG!
Shots fired out from above. Locke ducked away, dashing for cover. Above, Marina could see tiders zipping upwards along the tethers back towards the
ship; propelled along using mechanical harnesses. They had heavy packs slung over
their bodies, no doubt full of loot and equipment. One already hung dead in his straps, droplets of blood falling to the ground as his body was transported
home. Others fired downwards and Marina played dead – watching the scene unfold
from her sprawled position. Around her, more hoppers joined the fray, firing
upwards in futile attempts to sever the ropes; Graves and her group, Marina managed to surmise through the fog of pain and confusion.
"Captain!" a tider yelled down from the deck, he leaned over and signalled with his hands; simple sign gestures coupled with a series of whistles and barks.
Marina knew basic surftounge, but her head was swimming and her eyes were blurred. Without a clear visual of the man’s hands, she had no context and was unable to make sense of the sounds.
"Take her out!" Locke yelled, spinning a hand over his head as he hurried up the gangway, keeping low. He ducked inside as the ramp began to rise. Several yelling, waving tiders ran along the quay to re-board their quickly departing home but were swiftly cut down by the remaining hopper forces.
A long and droning foghorn filled the wharf as the resounding cry of victory rang out from the ship; the sound was ugly and filled with hate. The water underneath the Ocean Ghost began to churn as the ship's engines spooled up. The sails collapsed down, folding and compacting to reduce wind resistance.
Gunshots still echoed in bursts of smoke and powder, more futile attempts by the remaining troops to halt the ships departure - a final chorus of defiance that was almost swallowed up by the relentless blaring of the horn.
With the last of the surviving tiders touching down on deck, safely boarded, the Ocean Ghost released the tethers with numerous snaps and cracks. The ropes whipped around like the tendrils of some wild sea beast before slamming into the ground with water-soaked thuds; the hoppers easily stepping or rolling aside as they watched the vessel depart. The creaking and clanking of old gears signified the anchor rising up from within the murky depths. It filled Marina's ears, making her aching head throb even more. She clawed his way back along the quay's surface and collapsed in a heap, staring up at the sky; beaten, bruised and filled with rage and self-loathing. Parliament Intelligence had failed them and gotten many good men and women killed. Yet still, despite everything that had happened; the deaths, the destruction, the ruination of a city's way of life, Marina's head kept turning towards Goodman. The biggest failure was not that she'd failed to consider a lag in vital intelligence, it was that she’d let Locke Goodman slip through his fingers - another dead end.
Somewhere, the sounds of a ship pulling out of port faded in and out and then, the endless serenity of the sky was interrupted by various heads and masks filling her vision; she saw Graves, her red hair trailing over her face in sweaty strands as she removed her hood and breather. She was saying something. Other people too surrounded her; they were all talking, looking to him for answers. Marina didn't have them. She just wanted to close her eyes. She hurt and she'd failed. Her comrades lay dead around her. But that could wait, couldn't it? Marina closed her eyes, just for a second. She could take a moment too, couldn't she? Of course she could. She drifted into unconsciousness.
"Captain!" a tider yelled down from the deck, he leaned over and signalled with his hands; simple sign gestures coupled with a series of whistles and barks.
Marina knew basic surftounge, but her head was swimming and her eyes were blurred. Without a clear visual of the man’s hands, she had no context and was unable to make sense of the sounds.
"Take her out!" Locke yelled, spinning a hand over his head as he hurried up the gangway, keeping low. He ducked inside as the ramp began to rise. Several yelling, waving tiders ran along the quay to re-board their quickly departing home but were swiftly cut down by the remaining hopper forces.
A long and droning foghorn filled the wharf as the resounding cry of victory rang out from the ship; the sound was ugly and filled with hate. The water underneath the Ocean Ghost began to churn as the ship's engines spooled up. The sails collapsed down, folding and compacting to reduce wind resistance.
Gunshots still echoed in bursts of smoke and powder, more futile attempts by the remaining troops to halt the ships departure - a final chorus of defiance that was almost swallowed up by the relentless blaring of the horn.
With the last of the surviving tiders touching down on deck, safely boarded, the Ocean Ghost released the tethers with numerous snaps and cracks. The ropes whipped around like the tendrils of some wild sea beast before slamming into the ground with water-soaked thuds; the hoppers easily stepping or rolling aside as they watched the vessel depart. The creaking and clanking of old gears signified the anchor rising up from within the murky depths. It filled Marina's ears, making her aching head throb even more. She clawed his way back along the quay's surface and collapsed in a heap, staring up at the sky; beaten, bruised and filled with rage and self-loathing. Parliament Intelligence had failed them and gotten many good men and women killed. Yet still, despite everything that had happened; the deaths, the destruction, the ruination of a city's way of life, Marina's head kept turning towards Goodman. The biggest failure was not that she'd failed to consider a lag in vital intelligence, it was that she’d let Locke Goodman slip through his fingers - another dead end.
Somewhere, the sounds of a ship pulling out of port faded in and out and then, the endless serenity of the sky was interrupted by various heads and masks filling her vision; she saw Graves, her red hair trailing over her face in sweaty strands as she removed her hood and breather. She was saying something. Other people too surrounded her; they were all talking, looking to him for answers. Marina didn't have them. She just wanted to close her eyes. She hurt and she'd failed. Her comrades lay dead around her. But that could wait, couldn't it? Marina closed her eyes, just for a second. She could take a moment too, couldn't she? Of course she could. She drifted into unconsciousness.
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