Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Tycho ❯ Tycho ( Chapter 1 )

Tycho- The Last Stand

"Goodbye, the future's sold out

There's no use screaming

Who'd thought we'd ever get this far?"

-Our Lady Peace

Prologue

Rigel VII

03.8.43

2200 Hours

His ribs were broken, he was sure of that. He could feel them pressing against his lungs, sending a crippling pain throughout his chest every time he drew a breath. He was moving as fast as he could, but it was no use. They were just too strong. He tried to remember how this had happened, how things could have gone so horribly wrong so fast, but the blows to his head were making it hard to think.

He had lost contact with the rest of his team, but it didn't matter. He wouldn't have been able to communicate with them anyway. Every breath he drew was agony; there were at least 3 punctures between his two ribs and any noise he made was followed by spitting up a copious amount of blood. All he could do was try and survive, but even that was not likely to happen.

Below him another battle raged, just as terrible and just as painful as his. He was able to catch glimpses of the scene under him as he tried in vain to dodge the series of punches and kicks thrown at him. Tracers were lighting up the night, crisscrossing and shredding the black with their brilliant reds and blues.

Massive explosions from detonating artillery and high-explosive grenades turned night into day, shaking the earth with a fury and intensity that only war could bring. Fightercraft added their share of noise and death to the fray, shredding the blackness with roaring afterburners and rocking the ground with cluster bombs and fusion warheads. He could feel the close air support tearing past him at incredible speeds, flying with precision to their designated targets. But they were still losing.

He was sure now that most of his team was dead. He could no longer sense their energy. Another set of bone-shattering blows returned his attention to the matter at hand. Desperately, he launched a clumsy counterattack of his own that was easily deflected by the creature. It knew no fear. Once it had finished with this distraction it would return to its primary mission. It was nearly done.

It was nearly impossible to breathe now. The pressure in his chest was as agonizing. He was drowning in a sense of helplessness in the same way he was drowning from the blood filling his lungs. He was nearly prepared to embrace his death when he saw her. She was in worse shape than he, not even attempting to dodge the assault that was destroying her body. He saw her golden hair was stained with her own blood, and her right arm hung limply from her body. Her energy was fading quickly, her consciousness was not far behind.

He could not let her die, not while he was still alive. With a sudden influx of power derived from his rage, he managed to evade his attacker and fly to her aid. He delivered a kick square to the side of the head of the alien, taking it by surprise and knocking it back a few feet. He turned to her and looked into her eyes. They knew this was the end. They fell into each other's arms, their golden and white auras meshing.

The two aliens did not care what these creatures were doing. They wouldn't understand it even if they did. They reacquired their targets and continued the assault. The broken creatures were torn from each other's arms and dealt with. The female stared at her attacker, her body no longer registering the pain, and swallowed. The alien moved so fast she didn't even have time to register its movement. When its open palm smashed directly into her face, her world turned black.

He saw her golden aura disappear, and watched her fall to the trembling earth. The alien moved in. It punched the soft creature directly in the gut, doubling him over in agony. Just before his consciousness slipped away, he took note of the brilliant scene below him. He could make out individual soldiers of his own side fighting their own losing battles. All he could think about was how sorry he was he couldn't save them. He never felt the final blow that shattered his white aura and drove him to the ground. The aliens, now sure that these hindrances could cause no further problems, returned to their primary objective.

The sergeant saw the two warriors fall from the sky. He knew who they were, and knew they were the last. He also knew the battle was lost. There were just too many of them. The sergeant took note of where the warriors fell and turned back to his men. They too knew the end was near.

"All right you sorry bastards, listen up!" he ordered. "Higgens, Yasta, Trina, Wervin, Thoth!"

"Yes sir!" the marines returned to their leader.

"We have a change in mission objectives. We have two fallen angels to save, do you understand me?"

"Yes sir!"

"They've fallen somewhere in grid C-321. After rescue and recovery we're gonna call for an immediate extract. I don't need to tell you we owe those two a hell of a lot. "

He didn't.

"Yes sir!" the marines shouted, their hearts filling with hope once again.

"Okay, Yasta, Trina, cover our flank! The rest of you, we're gonna move in formation Tango-3! We will move on my mark! 3...2...1...MARK!"

The marines rose from their position and began their move. Yasta and Trina laid down suppressing fire as the squad moved on. Their powered combat suits made moving much easier, allowing them to cover ground at amazing speeds. Their HUDs tracked the action around them, alerting them to dangers and targets. Their rifles were spitting fire and eliminating red blips from their screen. They could feel the ground rocking beneath them. When they reached their destination they beheld their objective.

The two battered figures lay half dead about twenty meters from each other. The sergeant wasted no time in calling for the extract.

"Actual Three Nine Bravo, this is Echo Eight Two Five, were are at grid C- 231 and request immediate extract. We have Angels One and Three in immediate need of evac, over."

"Request for extract denied, Echo Eight Two Five. You know better than that. Get off the comm and hold your ground, soldier."

"I say again Actual Three Nine Bravo, we have Angels One and Three in critical condition and in need of immediate extract!"

There was a brief pause before the reply came, filled with the muted sounds of war around them.

"We read you. Evac en route. Hang in there, Echo Eight Two Five, over."

"Roger."

The Sergeant gathered the two bodies, one in each hand, and laid them down behind him. He ordered his squad to form a staggered defensive perimeter around them, and to keep them alive at all costs. And so the battle raged around and above, both sides taking horrendous losses, turning the surface of the planet into an artificial hell. The aliens, however, clearly had the upper hand.

For every one that fell, ten more were able to takes its place. The only thing preventing the invaders from a quick victory was the defender's fanatical zeal. For them, there was no tomorrow, and that made them strong. It was a professional army fighting against overwhelming chaos and fire. The sergeant and his squad were among the last survivors, having to rely on their superior training and tactics to stave off the invaders.

Just as he was popping in his last clip, the sergeant heard the unmistakable sound of a dropship approaching. Its thunderous engines could be heard for a mile around. The few remaining strike craft were directed to give suppressing fire around the LZ, causing the aliens to pause in their advance. Exploding munitions were rocking the ground so heavily that it was becoming difficult to stand, but the sergeant ignored this triviality and focused on the task at hand.

Once the dropship touched down and its ramp fell, he ordered his men aboard. He gave the two broken bodies to Thoth and turned to lay down some more cover fire. Just as Thoth turned to signal his Sergeant aboard, a group of dark figures emerged from a blast crater 60 yards out and sprayed withering fire. Their plasma bolts traced a path from the exposed tail to inside the ship itself, then down to the lone marine still outside. The polarized hull plating of the craft dissipated the energy and the shots inside went wild, causing only minor scoring along the wall plating. The Sergeant picked up the enemy as they emerged and returned fire only to be cut down himself. The bolts caught him in the chest, burned through his powered suit and easily through his soft flesh, killing him more or less instantly. The body fell back in a heap, prostrated before the gaping maw of recoiled salvation. By this time the automated turret hanging from the ceiling of the dropship tracked the aggressors and cut them down just as the pilot began her escape ascent into the flashing night sky.

The squad was shaken at the loss of their leader, a man who had been with them since the inception of their unit. But he was not the only man to die that day. Rigel VII fell to enemy forces two and a half hours later. The Galactic Coalition had lost its 4th major engagement with Necron forces. The only hope they had of staving off their black, alien adversaries lay in the two bodies now receiving emergency triage in the dull gray interior of a dropship. They were the last survivors of the Angel program.