Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ An Ancient War Renewed ❯ Chapter 11 and 12 ( Chapter 6 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: the Humble Scribe 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Classic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.03.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.8K | Visits: 126 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Classic | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 04.03.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.8K | Visits: 126 | Status: Completed
11
Bah’rain, although scarred, held itself proudly against the setting sun. Even in the deepening red hues, the smoke plumes still did not fade, still played out the message of a marring in the landscape. With Warzimir’s kindness, the ruins were minimal in appearance, but they still lay as open scars to a terminally threatened city. Unless Quatre appeared, as well as the Maganac line, the city would be destroyed in the night, as Westland bombardment doctrine demanded. Such a doctrine was brutal, and designed to be so, for kindness stands as weakness in war. In no way then could Warzimir give himself to tears, although he desperately wished he could; it was in the belief that the barbarian heritage he hailed from gave him inhuman detachment that the Combined Senate had chosen his kind to stand alongside the First Kind, or the blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall, lean, muscular visions of racial perfection. Although his people were considered the Third Kind, or the brown-haired, green or hazel-eyed, shorter, wiry humanoids that deserved the rank of farm animals or pets, they earned the respect of many soldiers for their ability in war. Therefore, Warzimir felt a need to look upon the destruction as a predatory wolf would--all of these people were to be as pests to him, while his target to be as a glorious stag.
But this predatory nature was a vicious stereotype of his race, not a fact of it. Warzimir never met another like him who had such coldness, such dispassion as the caricature he was thought to be. Actually, only those of the First Kind seemed to have that trait, and in abundance. But speculation of that nature never leads to good things, so all he could do for now was focus upon the cityscape for some form of answer from the Emir, or for the sun to set.
Although the Emir gave no order to do so, several messengers ran out to the desert purporting that he had given those orders. These messengers were, in fact, citizens so concerned with the slaughter about to take place that they decided that the Emirate line could be sacrificed for their sakes. It was assumed that, upon hearing of the message, Quatre al-Winner would heroically surrender and the city would be saved; or perhaps the son would usurp the father and take his place as Emir upon the bodies of the Westland Army. Either way, the city of Bah’rain was in the worst situation now than if either occurred.
Only one of the messengers reached Quatre’s camp, and he only found it by walking into an armor, which happened to be the Sandrock. As the messenger fell, Quatre seized him and held him aloft by the nape of his neck. After setting him back upon his feet, Quatre took off his helmet and held a visage of concern and shock.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, my Emir.”
A slight grimace, “How did you get out of Bah’rain, citizen?”
“Commander Warzimir allowed me to go so that you would receive this message: You must return to Bah’rain, with the Maganac line, and surrender to his custody. If you do not, the city will be leveled and every inhabitant killed.”
“What? That is insane!? How does he believe he can behave with such barbarity?”
“Supposedly, those were his orders from the High Commander. But my Emir, you must do something. Either surrender or fight this menace, but you cannot run from your people now.”
“I know, but Fa…I mean, our Emir al-Winner, gave me direct orders not to appear in Bah’rain.”
“The Emir could not have foreseen this barbarity. Soon, the Emirate will be destroyed, unless you save it now.”
After a moment’s pause, “How long do I have to decide?”
“Until the sun has set, Prince.”
Rashid came to Quatre’s side as the messenger ran back to Bah’rain. The conversation was all whispers, but the facial contortions of Rashid belied the nature of the discussion. The prince locked eyes with his advisor, who finally nodded in deference and marched to the center of camp. While Quatre put his helmet back on and ran in the direction of the mountains west of Bah’rain, Rashid assembled the Maganacs together and issued the order to march deep into the desert and begin rebuilding the fabled Mecca al-Sank to house the soon to be refugees of Bah’rain. Although they resisted not being with their commander in his desperate fight to destroy the sky base, their loyalty to him was best manifested in following his orders. Without the least murmur, the Maganac line uprooted the camp and headed for Mecca al-Sank.
Quatre ran with the grace and energy suitable to the angels themselves, needing to reach the plateau closest to the sky base just before the sun had finished setting so as to have the advantage of the settling darkness but not at the cost of innocent lives. As he reached the mountain range, the sun was just beginning to melt into the horizon. With the gallop of an antelope and the dexterity of the cunning djinni, he made it to the target just before the sun had fully set. The run and leap to the sky base landing platform would have inspired any who looked upon it, but Quatre was not aiming to be seen.
Upon landing in the gravel bay, Quatre reflexively flailed his scythes to take the head of one soldier and the abdomen of another. Within a moment, three Leos appeared, all bearing crossbows leveled at the Sandrock’s chest. But, in a flash of white and an eruption of crimson, all three Leos were sawed through the torso in one extended arm twirl. Two more Leos appeared, one slashing high with his axe to the neck, the other slashing low to the legs. Quatre responded deftly, using his scythes to cradle each axe, then jerking into a cross motion to take each at his weapon hand. The cross reversed, and two heads flew in a macabre display of unintended grace and artistry. The only break that could have reminded a cosmic observer that this was a battle and not a dance was the pitched screams and cries of horror punctuating the settling night.
Commander Warzimir heard the cries, and quickly sounded the alarm. As a orange flare soared into the sky, every suited Leo gathered at the command tower. The rest of the soldiery either sought cover or joined the massing throng at the tower. The commander himself quickly donned his own armor, a new Aries armor capable of limited powered flight. Although he knew what his armor could do, his suspicions of the power of a true armor quelled any false confidence he might have had. His voice rang with the force of a bloody minded stubbornness, a stubbornness to give the true armor every life upon that sky base in some hope of beating it back. If his troops were looking for his retreat strategy, they were disappointed.
“Our enemy is here. We know how this will end. Give him no drop of blood, make him earn it all! May his Gods turn their faces from him, so as not to see our courage! May your Gods be with you, so that you will give a good account of yourselves in the afterlife. Dismissed, and Huzzah! Huzzah-hai-ha!”
His men retorted with a resounding “Huzzah-hai-ha!” and formed a circle while chanting a bevy of courage songs; some in Westlander tongues, some in barbarian tongues, some in Jinghuan tongue, and some in feverish howls. Quatre stepped into a scene that caused him torment- Would he have to kill every one of these men before him?
He would not have to kill many, for another took his shot at the line and many fell from the raging cascade of fire and steely shards. The Heavyarms had already arrived at the base of the mountains two days before the sky base with the intent to stem the tide farther away from Krai’kor. Trowa was given advance information from some mysterious source, but this source had been right about the advance of the Jinghuan and the plans for Chai’dou. Trowa’s faith in the mysterious informant was again rewarded.
The massed line preparing to be cleaved by scythe roiled in shock as the artillery came streaking down upon them. Many were charred by the napalm-phosporus mixture of the rockets, others were blasted to pieces upon impact, others yet were butchered by shrapnel of stone, steel, and bone. The mass was reduced to four of ten within a moment, but Warzimir did not even flinch. Perhaps there was some truth to the belief that his kind could shut down all grief.
The next sound was Warzimir’s barking order to charge, then his “Huzzah-hai-ha” as he led this suicide run from the fore. Bolts from crossbows flew about Sandrock and Heavyarms, but neither felt a need to move. Heavyarms released a second salvo from the H’wacha launchers, but this only killed more soldiers without blunting the assault. Sandrock took a step forward, using the momentum to cleave wide, crossing arcs. Leos were shorn indiscriminately, infantry were hewn in a breath, and the Aries that soared above him lined a shot to Sandrock’s head. But he was denied his chance as Heavyarms sprinted forward, mounted Sandrock’s shoulders, and bared its blade to strike the crossbow from Warzimir’s braces.
This foe did not recoil in terror as others would. Instead, Warzimir bared his twin Turkish-style knives and jabbed for his enemy’s extended arm. The Heavyarms retracted its arm to avoid the jab, then twirled its own blade in a forward slash. Warzimir did not retract in turn, but flexed his body to line up to his jabbing arms, arcing him over Heavyarms’ slash and giving him a chance to slash the neck. But the Sandrock spotted this attempt, and thrust his left scythe in an upward arc that met the knives. Now caught, Sandrock sent Warzimir to the platform with a vicious smack.
The Aries that fell to the surface twitched for a moment, then rose with a hellish scream of hate and vengeance. Quatre only heard unintelligible howling, but Trowa understood every word. He admonished his erstwhile ally, “Kill him quickly. He will never cease until we die, or he does.” Sandrock swung both scythes to take the Aries’ neck from forty-five degree angles, but he rose his knives to collar his neck and block the death blow. Although his head was not severed, the points of his own weapons pierced his soft neck, into the lower jaw, and Warzimir fell in sputtering and gurgling howls of hatred. Sandrock assumed the Aries’ death, continuing with his bloody harvest. Heavyarms dismounted with a flourish, corkscrewing his entire body with his blade point to land upon the head of a Leo. The Leo fell with a shudder, and Heavyarms hopped to the surface, taking another Leo at the neck as he descended.
Within a moment that seemed eternal, the last of the enemy fell. Sandrock charged for the control tower, determined to steer the sky base into the mountains and save Bah’rain from the crashing hulk. Heavyarms, content that the sky base would be destroyed, tailed Sandrock to offer assistance as needed. But neither noticed the Aries that still moved, still rolled about to get back on its feet. Warzimir finally found his feet, rose shakily, and turned to attack the true armors anew. But he was not given the opportunity; rather, he was shouldered by two Aries that had arrived upon the scene on orders from Supreme Commander Krushrenada to rescue the most heroic and indomitable survivors. Only Commander Warzimir had survived, and the two Aries saw his performance against the true armors. The Supreme Commander would demand this man to live. But Warzimir protested through his shattered jaw, trying to demand the two Aries fight the two true armors rather than save him. They ignored his orders or threats, for he could not even raise his knives, much less fight them or his enemy.
The night sky west of Bah’rain erupted with a flash of light and a fireball. The mountains were glowing with the flickering of the hulk’s embers, but Bah’rain was only covered by ominous smoke instead of raining steel and phosphorus. The true armors shuffled down the mountain, exhausted by the effort, leaning on each other to maintain balance. The full moon shed its pale light from above, while the embers gave a warm glow from their rear. Both had doffed their helmets, with a blond head streaked in blood and a brunette head bearing flakes of ash. The mountain was littered with the charred, shattered, bloody, and sheared remnants of the army that had opposed them; and Quatre did not care to look upon them. Neither did Trowa, so both surveyed the path down while obviously ignoring the hell they were traversing.
Chapter 12
While Bah’rain was secure for a time, Jinghuan was preparing for its own great battle. Every soldier still loyal to the People’s Republic marched in the streets, some searching for the traitor Advisor Une, while others handed spare weapons such as spears, swords, and crossbows to the willing recruits filling the ranks even in the march. Although bitterness still stained the citizenry, the fear of the Westland Alliance’s conquest buried all such feelings. Even if the Jinghuan could not know the draconian plans of the Alliance’s post-conquest, they could assume that barbarian generals make cruel rulers.
The Umbrum Sanctum agents still in the city split in three ways. One headed for Advisor Une’s last known location, in order to inform her to return to the Westland Alliance forward base west of Bah’rain. The second returned to the People’s Assembly building to personally insure the effective bombing of the People’s Assembly of Councilors. The third ran west to the staging ground three miles south of Jinghuan, carrying a flare to signal the beginning of the assault. By the early evening hours, the flare streaked into the sky, and the shelling commenced. The great battle of Jinghuan had begun.
Against the advice of Emperor Wu San, Wu Fei appeared outside of Jinghuan’s southern wall, striking a sense of superiority over the masses of soldiers, Leos, and volunteers. At first, the masses looked upon the glistening Shen-Long as some mystical leader that had answered the call of the Jinghuan people. Some even chanted aloud some ancestral praises as if these would hold this hero to this plane. After some stir, however, several veterans of the failed Cheng’du campaign recognized the butcher from that campaign and showed obvious concern. Why would Cheng’du care what happened to Jinghuan? Why did they send only their true armor? Was he here simply to take vengeance for the attempt on Cheng’du?
Lucretia Noin, now a general due to her seniority, spotted Shen-Long and approached him with several Leos, all raising their hands in a sign of non-aggression. Wu Fei refused to deign them worthy of a response, which could be expected. Noin signaled to others to stay behind as she approached Shen-Long’s left shoulder. He finally bothered to tilt his head, not losing sight of the Leo with raised arms. Noin spoke first, breaking the tension of the moment.
“Why are you here? To help us?”
No answer.
“Whatever the case may be, the Alliance must be seen as more dangerous to Cheng’du than Jinghuan.”
Finally, an answer, “In this, you are correct. Your forces should hide; they cannot reach the sky base.”
“He has a point, General Noin.”
“I understand that, Commander Po. But we cannot hide; if we do, the people’s will may break.”
Shen-Long broke into a run toward the flashes in the horizon. The general and the commander exchanged a look of relief. If the true armor will attack the sky base, then the enemy might not have the absolute victory they were planning. Even as the first mortar shells rocked the fields surrounding Jinghuan, little scattering occurred as the reverberations of the true armor’s help coursed through the ranks. For the first time in many soldiers’ lives, fear was swallowed by hope. They would stand strong, they would hold on, for they had a chance.
The Westland sky base was not worried about the ants they could barely see. Even if most of the planning had fallen through, these inferiors could not match those of the Westland Elite and their advanced new sky base. The only fear in the hearts of the sky base crew was that some true armor would appear.
Their fear was realized in a shout. Finding a large slope, Wu Fei sprinted up and leapt upon a crag in the lower assembly of the base. Climbing to the surface, Wu Fei caught several Leos unaware. His shout resounded with an almost demonic air, and the pall of doom fell over the base. A trident flashed in the night, and the gurgling of a fallen soldier heralded the attack proper. Leos dashed left and right, trying to center the position of the sudden enemy, but this availed little. The night air, already choking from sulfur clouds and soot, now had the stain of blood mingled within. The sense of panic on that sky base could be described not as palpable as much as obvious. Leos swung blindly and presented little danger to the killer amongst them. Shen-Long did not use the trident at first, opting instead to use a Dragon Claw maneuver to snap necks and keep the panic level up. Another Leo arched his shoulders and crumpled upon himself with only the sound of a faint snap. None of his fellows noticed his death until one glanced over the slumped corpse. His alarm stirred a fresh wave of panic, but no target. The situation was approaching critical; only some act of divine intervention could turn the tide against the true armor.
From above, a flash of white and a massive sword struck at Shen-Long, but he was able to twitch away from the strike. The Tallgeese, repaired from the Chai’dou campaign, was prepared more fully for a true armor battle; his new sword glowed violet from a new quartz blade charge and his bolts were now equipped with similar violet slivers. Wu Fei noticed this immediately, prompting him to grant some respect to this new foe. Trident flashed and prodded upon sword hilt, while Dragon Claw clamped upon crossbow brace. The struggle was for a moment, with Shen-Long gaining the upper hand and forcing Tallgeese to the ground. Tallgeese used his speed to slip out of the grapple and fire a bolt. The bolt hit Shen-Long square in the chest, but the armor did not shatter. The person within coughed up a bit of blood, but was otherwise unfazed. Tallgeese fired several more bolts and sprinted a good distance back to keep his enemy at a disadvantage of distance. His enemy could not keep up, as expected, but Shen-Long did not rashly pursue as expected. Instead, he slashed a Leo beside him and kicked the dismembered torso at the Tallgeese.
If his mission was to provoke the Tallgeese into an attack, he succeeded. The Tallgeese charged the Shen-Long in a flash of violet and white, seeming to teleport to the attack rather than lunge. Shen-Long was not fazed at this, skipping aside the lunge and thrusting the trident in one motion. Tallgeese lost a shoulder plate from this, but no true damage was dealt. Shen-Long used the one moment given to lunge with the Dragon Claw, catching the Tallgeese’s exposed shoulder. Before he could shatter the bone, however, the Tallgeese again spun away, now able to bring the sword upon the palm of his foe. The Shen-Long seized the sword, grasping the pulsing weapon as if it were a mere billet. He twisted, and the sword shattered in an explosion of violet and glinting steel.
Tallgeese, now without his sword, backed away quickly rather than be finished by the Shen-Long. But, to his horror, his speed could not save him; the trident fell upon the crown of his foot, pinning him to the spot. Shen-Long closed the distance in a bound, clamping upon the neck and giving a moment of slack to find a vital to finish the job. This moment was enough for the elite Marquis to jerk backward, severing his own foot and making good his escape. Shen-Long seized up his trident in disgust, muttering over his enemy’s cowardice as Tallgeese flashed out of sight.
But the Tallgeese was not escaping. Instead, even as the pain clouded his vision, Zechs lined up his shot from the shadow in a last bid to take down the true armor. His shot was true, striking the Shen-Long in the temple and sending him reeling. Although this did not pierce to Wu Fei’s skull, he did experience concussive force from the exploding bolt and had to shake off the strike. His sight centered after a moment of ringing chaos, focusing upon the slumping Tallgeese. He gave the Tallgeese a nod of respect as it fell, the occupant obviously unable to cope with the blood loss. The remaining Leos and Aries panicked and flew into a rout, unable to deal with the defeat of their last hope. Another Leo was decapitated even as he ran in full flight, with another Leo tripping blindly over his fallen comrade’s corpse. He also succumbed to death by the trident ripping him from neck to navel. It all seemed lost…this invasion seemed as doomed as the last three.
The battle devolved to slaughter; not one Leo could stand against the onslaught. The dancing limelight of death fell upon armor after armor, with not one offering his defense. But the last command of the base commander changed the course of events against Shen-Long’s favor. He never heard the command, but felt the sky base careen unnaturally.
“We will complete our mission. For the future, for Oz, send this thing down upon Jinghuan.”
Bah’rain, although scarred, held itself proudly against the setting sun. Even in the deepening red hues, the smoke plumes still did not fade, still played out the message of a marring in the landscape. With Warzimir’s kindness, the ruins were minimal in appearance, but they still lay as open scars to a terminally threatened city. Unless Quatre appeared, as well as the Maganac line, the city would be destroyed in the night, as Westland bombardment doctrine demanded. Such a doctrine was brutal, and designed to be so, for kindness stands as weakness in war. In no way then could Warzimir give himself to tears, although he desperately wished he could; it was in the belief that the barbarian heritage he hailed from gave him inhuman detachment that the Combined Senate had chosen his kind to stand alongside the First Kind, or the blond-haired, blue-eyed, tall, lean, muscular visions of racial perfection. Although his people were considered the Third Kind, or the brown-haired, green or hazel-eyed, shorter, wiry humanoids that deserved the rank of farm animals or pets, they earned the respect of many soldiers for their ability in war. Therefore, Warzimir felt a need to look upon the destruction as a predatory wolf would--all of these people were to be as pests to him, while his target to be as a glorious stag.
But this predatory nature was a vicious stereotype of his race, not a fact of it. Warzimir never met another like him who had such coldness, such dispassion as the caricature he was thought to be. Actually, only those of the First Kind seemed to have that trait, and in abundance. But speculation of that nature never leads to good things, so all he could do for now was focus upon the cityscape for some form of answer from the Emir, or for the sun to set.
Although the Emir gave no order to do so, several messengers ran out to the desert purporting that he had given those orders. These messengers were, in fact, citizens so concerned with the slaughter about to take place that they decided that the Emirate line could be sacrificed for their sakes. It was assumed that, upon hearing of the message, Quatre al-Winner would heroically surrender and the city would be saved; or perhaps the son would usurp the father and take his place as Emir upon the bodies of the Westland Army. Either way, the city of Bah’rain was in the worst situation now than if either occurred.
Only one of the messengers reached Quatre’s camp, and he only found it by walking into an armor, which happened to be the Sandrock. As the messenger fell, Quatre seized him and held him aloft by the nape of his neck. After setting him back upon his feet, Quatre took off his helmet and held a visage of concern and shock.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, my Emir.”
A slight grimace, “How did you get out of Bah’rain, citizen?”
“Commander Warzimir allowed me to go so that you would receive this message: You must return to Bah’rain, with the Maganac line, and surrender to his custody. If you do not, the city will be leveled and every inhabitant killed.”
“What? That is insane!? How does he believe he can behave with such barbarity?”
“Supposedly, those were his orders from the High Commander. But my Emir, you must do something. Either surrender or fight this menace, but you cannot run from your people now.”
“I know, but Fa…I mean, our Emir al-Winner, gave me direct orders not to appear in Bah’rain.”
“The Emir could not have foreseen this barbarity. Soon, the Emirate will be destroyed, unless you save it now.”
After a moment’s pause, “How long do I have to decide?”
“Until the sun has set, Prince.”
Rashid came to Quatre’s side as the messenger ran back to Bah’rain. The conversation was all whispers, but the facial contortions of Rashid belied the nature of the discussion. The prince locked eyes with his advisor, who finally nodded in deference and marched to the center of camp. While Quatre put his helmet back on and ran in the direction of the mountains west of Bah’rain, Rashid assembled the Maganacs together and issued the order to march deep into the desert and begin rebuilding the fabled Mecca al-Sank to house the soon to be refugees of Bah’rain. Although they resisted not being with their commander in his desperate fight to destroy the sky base, their loyalty to him was best manifested in following his orders. Without the least murmur, the Maganac line uprooted the camp and headed for Mecca al-Sank.
Quatre ran with the grace and energy suitable to the angels themselves, needing to reach the plateau closest to the sky base just before the sun had finished setting so as to have the advantage of the settling darkness but not at the cost of innocent lives. As he reached the mountain range, the sun was just beginning to melt into the horizon. With the gallop of an antelope and the dexterity of the cunning djinni, he made it to the target just before the sun had fully set. The run and leap to the sky base landing platform would have inspired any who looked upon it, but Quatre was not aiming to be seen.
Upon landing in the gravel bay, Quatre reflexively flailed his scythes to take the head of one soldier and the abdomen of another. Within a moment, three Leos appeared, all bearing crossbows leveled at the Sandrock’s chest. But, in a flash of white and an eruption of crimson, all three Leos were sawed through the torso in one extended arm twirl. Two more Leos appeared, one slashing high with his axe to the neck, the other slashing low to the legs. Quatre responded deftly, using his scythes to cradle each axe, then jerking into a cross motion to take each at his weapon hand. The cross reversed, and two heads flew in a macabre display of unintended grace and artistry. The only break that could have reminded a cosmic observer that this was a battle and not a dance was the pitched screams and cries of horror punctuating the settling night.
Commander Warzimir heard the cries, and quickly sounded the alarm. As a orange flare soared into the sky, every suited Leo gathered at the command tower. The rest of the soldiery either sought cover or joined the massing throng at the tower. The commander himself quickly donned his own armor, a new Aries armor capable of limited powered flight. Although he knew what his armor could do, his suspicions of the power of a true armor quelled any false confidence he might have had. His voice rang with the force of a bloody minded stubbornness, a stubbornness to give the true armor every life upon that sky base in some hope of beating it back. If his troops were looking for his retreat strategy, they were disappointed.
“Our enemy is here. We know how this will end. Give him no drop of blood, make him earn it all! May his Gods turn their faces from him, so as not to see our courage! May your Gods be with you, so that you will give a good account of yourselves in the afterlife. Dismissed, and Huzzah! Huzzah-hai-ha!”
His men retorted with a resounding “Huzzah-hai-ha!” and formed a circle while chanting a bevy of courage songs; some in Westlander tongues, some in barbarian tongues, some in Jinghuan tongue, and some in feverish howls. Quatre stepped into a scene that caused him torment- Would he have to kill every one of these men before him?
He would not have to kill many, for another took his shot at the line and many fell from the raging cascade of fire and steely shards. The Heavyarms had already arrived at the base of the mountains two days before the sky base with the intent to stem the tide farther away from Krai’kor. Trowa was given advance information from some mysterious source, but this source had been right about the advance of the Jinghuan and the plans for Chai’dou. Trowa’s faith in the mysterious informant was again rewarded.
The massed line preparing to be cleaved by scythe roiled in shock as the artillery came streaking down upon them. Many were charred by the napalm-phosporus mixture of the rockets, others were blasted to pieces upon impact, others yet were butchered by shrapnel of stone, steel, and bone. The mass was reduced to four of ten within a moment, but Warzimir did not even flinch. Perhaps there was some truth to the belief that his kind could shut down all grief.
The next sound was Warzimir’s barking order to charge, then his “Huzzah-hai-ha” as he led this suicide run from the fore. Bolts from crossbows flew about Sandrock and Heavyarms, but neither felt a need to move. Heavyarms released a second salvo from the H’wacha launchers, but this only killed more soldiers without blunting the assault. Sandrock took a step forward, using the momentum to cleave wide, crossing arcs. Leos were shorn indiscriminately, infantry were hewn in a breath, and the Aries that soared above him lined a shot to Sandrock’s head. But he was denied his chance as Heavyarms sprinted forward, mounted Sandrock’s shoulders, and bared its blade to strike the crossbow from Warzimir’s braces.
This foe did not recoil in terror as others would. Instead, Warzimir bared his twin Turkish-style knives and jabbed for his enemy’s extended arm. The Heavyarms retracted its arm to avoid the jab, then twirled its own blade in a forward slash. Warzimir did not retract in turn, but flexed his body to line up to his jabbing arms, arcing him over Heavyarms’ slash and giving him a chance to slash the neck. But the Sandrock spotted this attempt, and thrust his left scythe in an upward arc that met the knives. Now caught, Sandrock sent Warzimir to the platform with a vicious smack.
The Aries that fell to the surface twitched for a moment, then rose with a hellish scream of hate and vengeance. Quatre only heard unintelligible howling, but Trowa understood every word. He admonished his erstwhile ally, “Kill him quickly. He will never cease until we die, or he does.” Sandrock swung both scythes to take the Aries’ neck from forty-five degree angles, but he rose his knives to collar his neck and block the death blow. Although his head was not severed, the points of his own weapons pierced his soft neck, into the lower jaw, and Warzimir fell in sputtering and gurgling howls of hatred. Sandrock assumed the Aries’ death, continuing with his bloody harvest. Heavyarms dismounted with a flourish, corkscrewing his entire body with his blade point to land upon the head of a Leo. The Leo fell with a shudder, and Heavyarms hopped to the surface, taking another Leo at the neck as he descended.
Within a moment that seemed eternal, the last of the enemy fell. Sandrock charged for the control tower, determined to steer the sky base into the mountains and save Bah’rain from the crashing hulk. Heavyarms, content that the sky base would be destroyed, tailed Sandrock to offer assistance as needed. But neither noticed the Aries that still moved, still rolled about to get back on its feet. Warzimir finally found his feet, rose shakily, and turned to attack the true armors anew. But he was not given the opportunity; rather, he was shouldered by two Aries that had arrived upon the scene on orders from Supreme Commander Krushrenada to rescue the most heroic and indomitable survivors. Only Commander Warzimir had survived, and the two Aries saw his performance against the true armors. The Supreme Commander would demand this man to live. But Warzimir protested through his shattered jaw, trying to demand the two Aries fight the two true armors rather than save him. They ignored his orders or threats, for he could not even raise his knives, much less fight them or his enemy.
The night sky west of Bah’rain erupted with a flash of light and a fireball. The mountains were glowing with the flickering of the hulk’s embers, but Bah’rain was only covered by ominous smoke instead of raining steel and phosphorus. The true armors shuffled down the mountain, exhausted by the effort, leaning on each other to maintain balance. The full moon shed its pale light from above, while the embers gave a warm glow from their rear. Both had doffed their helmets, with a blond head streaked in blood and a brunette head bearing flakes of ash. The mountain was littered with the charred, shattered, bloody, and sheared remnants of the army that had opposed them; and Quatre did not care to look upon them. Neither did Trowa, so both surveyed the path down while obviously ignoring the hell they were traversing.
Chapter 12
While Bah’rain was secure for a time, Jinghuan was preparing for its own great battle. Every soldier still loyal to the People’s Republic marched in the streets, some searching for the traitor Advisor Une, while others handed spare weapons such as spears, swords, and crossbows to the willing recruits filling the ranks even in the march. Although bitterness still stained the citizenry, the fear of the Westland Alliance’s conquest buried all such feelings. Even if the Jinghuan could not know the draconian plans of the Alliance’s post-conquest, they could assume that barbarian generals make cruel rulers.
The Umbrum Sanctum agents still in the city split in three ways. One headed for Advisor Une’s last known location, in order to inform her to return to the Westland Alliance forward base west of Bah’rain. The second returned to the People’s Assembly building to personally insure the effective bombing of the People’s Assembly of Councilors. The third ran west to the staging ground three miles south of Jinghuan, carrying a flare to signal the beginning of the assault. By the early evening hours, the flare streaked into the sky, and the shelling commenced. The great battle of Jinghuan had begun.
Against the advice of Emperor Wu San, Wu Fei appeared outside of Jinghuan’s southern wall, striking a sense of superiority over the masses of soldiers, Leos, and volunteers. At first, the masses looked upon the glistening Shen-Long as some mystical leader that had answered the call of the Jinghuan people. Some even chanted aloud some ancestral praises as if these would hold this hero to this plane. After some stir, however, several veterans of the failed Cheng’du campaign recognized the butcher from that campaign and showed obvious concern. Why would Cheng’du care what happened to Jinghuan? Why did they send only their true armor? Was he here simply to take vengeance for the attempt on Cheng’du?
Lucretia Noin, now a general due to her seniority, spotted Shen-Long and approached him with several Leos, all raising their hands in a sign of non-aggression. Wu Fei refused to deign them worthy of a response, which could be expected. Noin signaled to others to stay behind as she approached Shen-Long’s left shoulder. He finally bothered to tilt his head, not losing sight of the Leo with raised arms. Noin spoke first, breaking the tension of the moment.
“Why are you here? To help us?”
No answer.
“Whatever the case may be, the Alliance must be seen as more dangerous to Cheng’du than Jinghuan.”
Finally, an answer, “In this, you are correct. Your forces should hide; they cannot reach the sky base.”
“He has a point, General Noin.”
“I understand that, Commander Po. But we cannot hide; if we do, the people’s will may break.”
Shen-Long broke into a run toward the flashes in the horizon. The general and the commander exchanged a look of relief. If the true armor will attack the sky base, then the enemy might not have the absolute victory they were planning. Even as the first mortar shells rocked the fields surrounding Jinghuan, little scattering occurred as the reverberations of the true armor’s help coursed through the ranks. For the first time in many soldiers’ lives, fear was swallowed by hope. They would stand strong, they would hold on, for they had a chance.
The Westland sky base was not worried about the ants they could barely see. Even if most of the planning had fallen through, these inferiors could not match those of the Westland Elite and their advanced new sky base. The only fear in the hearts of the sky base crew was that some true armor would appear.
Their fear was realized in a shout. Finding a large slope, Wu Fei sprinted up and leapt upon a crag in the lower assembly of the base. Climbing to the surface, Wu Fei caught several Leos unaware. His shout resounded with an almost demonic air, and the pall of doom fell over the base. A trident flashed in the night, and the gurgling of a fallen soldier heralded the attack proper. Leos dashed left and right, trying to center the position of the sudden enemy, but this availed little. The night air, already choking from sulfur clouds and soot, now had the stain of blood mingled within. The sense of panic on that sky base could be described not as palpable as much as obvious. Leos swung blindly and presented little danger to the killer amongst them. Shen-Long did not use the trident at first, opting instead to use a Dragon Claw maneuver to snap necks and keep the panic level up. Another Leo arched his shoulders and crumpled upon himself with only the sound of a faint snap. None of his fellows noticed his death until one glanced over the slumped corpse. His alarm stirred a fresh wave of panic, but no target. The situation was approaching critical; only some act of divine intervention could turn the tide against the true armor.
From above, a flash of white and a massive sword struck at Shen-Long, but he was able to twitch away from the strike. The Tallgeese, repaired from the Chai’dou campaign, was prepared more fully for a true armor battle; his new sword glowed violet from a new quartz blade charge and his bolts were now equipped with similar violet slivers. Wu Fei noticed this immediately, prompting him to grant some respect to this new foe. Trident flashed and prodded upon sword hilt, while Dragon Claw clamped upon crossbow brace. The struggle was for a moment, with Shen-Long gaining the upper hand and forcing Tallgeese to the ground. Tallgeese used his speed to slip out of the grapple and fire a bolt. The bolt hit Shen-Long square in the chest, but the armor did not shatter. The person within coughed up a bit of blood, but was otherwise unfazed. Tallgeese fired several more bolts and sprinted a good distance back to keep his enemy at a disadvantage of distance. His enemy could not keep up, as expected, but Shen-Long did not rashly pursue as expected. Instead, he slashed a Leo beside him and kicked the dismembered torso at the Tallgeese.
If his mission was to provoke the Tallgeese into an attack, he succeeded. The Tallgeese charged the Shen-Long in a flash of violet and white, seeming to teleport to the attack rather than lunge. Shen-Long was not fazed at this, skipping aside the lunge and thrusting the trident in one motion. Tallgeese lost a shoulder plate from this, but no true damage was dealt. Shen-Long used the one moment given to lunge with the Dragon Claw, catching the Tallgeese’s exposed shoulder. Before he could shatter the bone, however, the Tallgeese again spun away, now able to bring the sword upon the palm of his foe. The Shen-Long seized the sword, grasping the pulsing weapon as if it were a mere billet. He twisted, and the sword shattered in an explosion of violet and glinting steel.
Tallgeese, now without his sword, backed away quickly rather than be finished by the Shen-Long. But, to his horror, his speed could not save him; the trident fell upon the crown of his foot, pinning him to the spot. Shen-Long closed the distance in a bound, clamping upon the neck and giving a moment of slack to find a vital to finish the job. This moment was enough for the elite Marquis to jerk backward, severing his own foot and making good his escape. Shen-Long seized up his trident in disgust, muttering over his enemy’s cowardice as Tallgeese flashed out of sight.
But the Tallgeese was not escaping. Instead, even as the pain clouded his vision, Zechs lined up his shot from the shadow in a last bid to take down the true armor. His shot was true, striking the Shen-Long in the temple and sending him reeling. Although this did not pierce to Wu Fei’s skull, he did experience concussive force from the exploding bolt and had to shake off the strike. His sight centered after a moment of ringing chaos, focusing upon the slumping Tallgeese. He gave the Tallgeese a nod of respect as it fell, the occupant obviously unable to cope with the blood loss. The remaining Leos and Aries panicked and flew into a rout, unable to deal with the defeat of their last hope. Another Leo was decapitated even as he ran in full flight, with another Leo tripping blindly over his fallen comrade’s corpse. He also succumbed to death by the trident ripping him from neck to navel. It all seemed lost…this invasion seemed as doomed as the last three.
The battle devolved to slaughter; not one Leo could stand against the onslaught. The dancing limelight of death fell upon armor after armor, with not one offering his defense. But the last command of the base commander changed the course of events against Shen-Long’s favor. He never heard the command, but felt the sky base careen unnaturally.
“We will complete our mission. For the future, for Oz, send this thing down upon Jinghuan.”