Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ World on Fire ❯ Exodus ( Chapter 3 )

It had not been an easy day. Forty people - nearly a third of the crew - had contracted lethal radiation poisoning. Although they were still walking and talking, the unspoken truth was they were living on borrowed time, just waiting for the end to come. All they could be given were painkillers while they waited, and it was no surprise that there were many `accidental' overdoses. It would certainly be a more pleasant way to go.

 

More than a few of the crew had taken the news of their fate much better than expected, organising themselves to do the jobs that were too dangerous for the survivors, or would expose them to too much radiation. It was this act of selflessness that Duo would always remember from his time on the ship, men and women condemned to die yet still fighting to help those who could survive.

 

Some were not so noble however, and dealing with the two bodies that were lying by Deathscythe was easily the most painful experience of the whole journey. He had managed to view footage from the events and even without sound it was easy to deduce what had happened. The nameless mechanic had been trying to break into Deathscythe, only to be interrupted by Howard. Howard ended up getting shot, but not before stabbing the bastard in the neck. It had just made Duo respect the old coot even more. He could hardly imagine G stabbing someone with a screwdriver while sporting a bullet wound.

 

The body of the mechanic had been thrown overboard during the cleanup of the ship, but Duo had insisted that Howard's body be kept for a proper burial. He had deserved at least that.

 

“Hey, kid.” The sudden crackle of the radio startled Duo from his nap. He had been napping more and more often, it was impossible to get a good night's sleep in that pilot chair and it usually left him sore and tired during the day. Rubbing his eyes back to the bleary gloom of his cockpit, he lazily raised a hand up to flick a switch on the dash, opening up the comm channel.

 

“Yeah?” He replied, still not fully awake.

 

“We're here; at least, we're by the shore. Don't feel like running her aground just yet, so try and get into contact with your friends and we'll see how this transport option goes.” The voice over the radio was Brian, one of the two bridge officers that he'd been talking to over the past few days and the one that had initially asked for Duo's help. He liked the guy, despite never having seen his face and he hoped that Brian wouldn't be one of the many that would inevitably succumb to the radiation that had already taken so many of the ships crew.

 

“Alright, I'll contact them. Deathscythe out.” The plan, as far as Duo was aware, was that each pilot would land their transport as close to the ship as possible, keeping the transport through re-entry instead of just dumping it into space. Duo would then help them carry the transport back and with a bit of retrofitting from the ships engineers, the Gundams would carry the survivors in the shielded transports.

 

“Sandrock, Heavyarms, Wing. This is Deathscythe.” Duo called out over his long range radio. Over the last day the radiation had decreased significantly. While you still wouldn't want to be caught out in it for too long, it was no longer interfering with communications.

 

Or maybe it was - Duo gave the comm panel a good smack before trying again. “Sandrock, Heavyarms, Wing. This is Deathscythe.” Nothing. Not even static.

 

Hoping his communications system wasn't down, Duo was ready to turn the engines on, to fly out once again to get a clear signal.

 

“......Deat....the?” The short message, drowned in a sea of static came through. “...rock... early... landing... entered early... atmo... five minutes...”

 

Duo leaned back in the chair, making sure that he saved the recording of the transmission. It took him a while before he could piece together the words, but it was plainly obvious that they had already started to enter the atmosphere, something that would easily drown out their communications system.

 

“Hey, Brian?” Duo sent into the internal communications system. “I got a hold of them. Looks like they've come in a bit early. Should land in 5 minutes or so.”

 

“Alright, kid. You better get out there, who knows where they'll end up landing. Good luck.” The transmission had an aura of unspoken urgency about it. They knew that to waste time in getting anyone medical treatment was to risk their lives. Duo was painfully aware of this fact as well, and wasted no time in leaving the hanger, scouting out the best position to see three balls of fire in the night sky.

 

*

 

Floating in space all alone should be a quiet, restful time. But for Quatre Winner, it was anything but. While normally Rashid would do anything that Quatre had asked of him, he had been firmly set against taking in refugees, arguing that while he would be happy to take in Quatre and maybe one or two other pilots, he was not willing to risk the people in the bunker, nor the limited food and water they had.

 

Of course, Quatre had not been able to say “no” to the people on the ship asking for asylum, so he had told them that they would be accepted into the Maguanac's underground base. It had been a day of intense worry and debate over the issue, during which time Quatre hadn't slept, not knowing how he could tell Duo, or the people on the ship that he had lied and they would not be accepted after all. During those moments, it felt like he was killing the people himself, keeping him awake and staring at the ceiling of his dull transport, wondering if Rashid would feel the same way about leaving these people out to die.

 

Fortunately it seemed that Rashid shared his worry, assuring Quatre that he would let them in - on the condition that they were subjected to a full quarantine. Quatre had been so relieved at the news that he wished he was already down there so he could hug the giant of a man. But that was not the only issue he had to deal with, and soon he had to wrap his head around the problem of transporting the survivors hundreds of kilometres through Palestine, Israel and Jordan before they would get to the base. Despite many hours of thinking, he could not come up with a better plan than dragging the transports full of people behind their Gundams.

 

Yet despite all the progress he had made, when the time came for the pilots to drop out of orbit he was second guessing himself - what if Rashid was right, that taking in these people would kill the people on the base as well. What if he couldn't save them anyway? The only comfort on his way down was that he still firmly believed that he would rather die trying to save these people rather than live knowing that he let them die.

 

*

 

Trowa had very few doubts himself on the way down. All that mattered was the now, Sandrock could worry himself to death about what the future would bring. For now, he would survive and the more allies he had in this goal the easier it would be. It had been a comforting thought, knowing that there were other pilots like him on the same mission. The news that had accompanied it was less than comforting, but at least he had allies, and Trowa always felt more at home when he was in a `pack', to use the animal terminology. While he rarely would speak or socialise with his comrades, their physical presence was a welcome support.

 

It was this fact that had made the past five days so insufferable for him. He was physically alone on the transport and the only company he had was to talk over the radio, something he was not prepared - in every sense of the word - to do. So the past few days had been spent in restless boredom, trying to help with ideas for the evacuation of the survivors but unable to do so. Trowa hated the constraints of solitude, usually when someone was coming up with a plan he would immerse himself in the group, intently listening to everyone talk. His stoic silence was thoughtful, running their ideas through his head before he could come up with a plan of his own to present - a pack, not unfamiliar voices over a radio transmission. But this solitude was driving him so mad he couldn't think, almost wishing he had a pet or something so he could at least feel a presence beside him.

 

At least it would be over soon, as they had decided to drop out early in anticipation of the ships arrival. Any time they could save would be welcome to the passengers and the actual entry into the atmosphere would give Trowa something that he badly needed to do. Sandrock had insisted on trying to contact Deathscythe, but when their communications ended in silence they all decided to drop anyway - they would be able to contact him once they had landed.

 

The actual task of piloting the craft from orbit into Earth was harder than it seemed, if you got the trajectory wrong by the slightest margin at the outset you would find yourself either missing your target by thousands of kilometres or burning up in the atmosphere at too steep an entry angle. Television and movies liked to make a drama of the shaking and fire during an atmospheric re-entry with the pilot wrestling bodily with the joystick, but the truth is that once the initial course was set, there was really little else to do but hang on and enjoy the ride. Perhaps it was the need to feel in control that would lead some people to yank on the joystick while the ship appeared to be coming apart at the seams, but to Trowa it was a pointless comfort, one he didn't need. Any course corrections at this time would be doing more harm than good.

 

Once he had breached the atmosphere and the airflow was washing over the aerilons and fins of the transport, then he turned back to the task of navigation. Deploying the parachutes to slow his descent, he angled the transport so that it would glide itself down on the soft sand somewhere near the ship.

 

The next part was, if Trowa was forced to admit it, the scariest part of the whole process. The transport didn't have engines that would work effectively in the atmosphere so his entire landing procedure was done without any additional thrust, just gliding into the Earth and using the parachutes to slow his descent. The line between a controlled and an uncontrolled fall was thin, thinner than he would be if he didn't get this landing right. It was also extremely hard to tell between the two until he got to that one tense moment when it was too late to do anything to save yourself. Then, once everything was out of his hands, he'd get to find out if he was going to live or to die.

 

Some people would say that luck was on Trowa's side today, as he landed flawlessy, the transport digging up a trench of sand as it ground out to a halt on the beach - right in the sight of the ship. Trowa would not be one of those people, however. He would say that it was all down to skill, and as for landing right by the ship? Well, he was just that good.

 

*

 

Heero undid the straps holding him in place with a grimace. No matter how graceful the landing was, it was going to hurt, especially since the harness seemed to be designed in such a way that the entire crash landing from orbit was stopped by his testicles. He probably wouldn't be able to walk straight for days - why couldn't it just be a normal car seat belt instead of this stupid five point harness?

 

Giving the harness another glare, Heero leaned over the computer console, trying to look over any relevant information. The radiation count was dipping low, while it was still enough to be wary of, it wouldn't be anywhere near deadly and should be stopped by simple radiation suits.

 

Of course, not having radiation suits made things a bit more interesting and none of them were about to go out in radiation that had been described as “well, I wouldn't call it safe, but it's not deadly”. Heero may not have been planning to have any children, but he'd rather prefer not to rule out his options just in case. Well, if the harness hadn't already taken that option away from him.

 

Heero opened up the lid of his Gundam, sliding inside and strapping himself into the command chair. At least this hardness, while still being of the five point variety, was fastened around his chest instead of his crotch. He'd been in a few simulations and it was actually a very comfortable restraint to be thrown around in. Flicking a few switches on the dash of the cockpit, Heero powered up the engines and started the procedure for getting out of the transport. Although it was designed to be able to jettison the mobile suit at a moments notice, that procedure was rather destructive to the transport itself and detonating the explosive bolts now while half the transport was buried in sand would probably be an unwise decision.

 

Accessing the suits computer, he linked in with the transports own computer and sent the command to open the rear hatch. All that came back was a flashing red light and an error - it would seem that the rear hatch had been buried in the sand and become completely stuck. It was at least something that he had foreseen, and Deathscythe would be along in a short while to come and assist him with the stuck hatch.

 

*

 

It felt to Duo like he wasn't even needed at all. Two of the Gundams had crawled out of their transports and were busy dragging the massive machines down to the shoreline to carry over to the ship.

 

"Deathscythe, I can't open the rear hatch. Please assist." The voice that came over the radio was hard to identify, he hadn't had that much contact with the other pilots. At least there was only one transport it could have possibly come from, so gunning the engines Duo took Deathscythe into a short leap to the shore, landing with a rough thud just south of the stricken transport.

 

Taking a closer look, he could see that the transport shuttle had gone nose-up during the landing, giving it a much smoother ride but having the effect of the rear end digging sharply into the sand, blocking the only exit it had. It occurred to Duo that the shuttle had dug so far into the sand that even if the explosive bolts were detonated, it wouldn't do enough to free the pilot from the wreckage. He would have had to rip apart the transport from the inside using the Gundam.

 

Manouevering the suit closer to the dug-in craft, he took a brief look at the situation before he proceeded. The transport was definitely dug in quite far, that much had been obvious from a distance - what he could just now see was that it must have hit a rock or something hard on the way in. There was a small tear on the side of the rear hatch, rupturing the hull and allowing sand to pour into the transport. Hopefully the pilot had done the smart thing and stayed in his Gundam on the way down, so he would be protected from the radiation coming through the hull breach.

 

"Yes." Well, that wasn't exactly a response filled with gratitude, but it was better than nothing. Positioning Deathscythe so that the suit was kneeling down in the sand, he carefully worked the arms around to grab at the sides of the craft. While Duo was excellent at graceful movements in battle, sharp turns and sweeping strikes, he was still rather inexperienced when it came to the more delicate movements of his suit, finding the minute adjustments required to make the Gundam picking up an object rather than crushing it difficult at best. He had gone through nearly a cartload of watermelons in that training exercise. It wasn't particularly pleasant being forced to clean it up afterwards.

 

When it came time to act though, Duo was confident in his abilities. The strong gundanium fingers gripped around each side of the transport, squeezing it just enough to put small dents in the metal hull of the ship. Deathscythe shifted just slightly as its arms were lifted up, bringing the transport with it in a horrible groan of bending metal and scraping sand.

 

With one last push he managed to pull the transport free, lifting the heavy weight out of its self-dug trench and dragging it slowly back on to the beach. Possibly the most difficult task of all was trying to get Deathscythe to move backwards while positioned on its knees. Once he was satisfied that the transport was pulled out enough that it wouldn't slip back into the hole it had created, he let go of the transport, giving a sharp knock on the top with Deathscythe's fist.

 

"All done here. Try it out." Duo spoke into the radio, before awkwardly moving Deathscythe back to its feet and shifting away from the hatch.

 

The whole thing clunked, before opening up with a grinding whir that did not sound mechanically healthy at all. Duo winced, hoping that it wasn't him that had caused the damage to the transport - and especially hoping that it could be fixed, there wasn't that much use to the people on the ship if the doors couldn't close.

 

Like an awkward parody of a mechanic under a car, the Gundam inside slid itself out of the transport, gripping the lip of the hatch and dragging itself bodily out. Duo just stood watching in awe as the massive construct pulled itself up with surprising grace before turning to face his own suit, the same blank mechanical stare looking through to him, just as he knew Deathscythe's own face would be glaring back at his fellow pilot.

 

"Hey Deathscythe!" A happy voice called over the radio while Duo was busy gawking at the fellow Gundam. Despite having one of his own, they were still awe inspiring to see in the flesh... so to speak. "This is Sandrock. Er, not the guy you're looking at, but... ok. I'm the one with the sickles." Duo turned his suits head, spotting a black and white Gundam with two sickles attached to it. "Heavyarms I'd say would be the guy with the giant gun attached, so the one you helped must be Wing."

 

"Is this necessary?" A calm voice reprimanded, Duo had trouble telling if it was Heavyarms or Wing, both of them he hadn't heard much from, and both of them sounded completely laconic.

 

"Hey, we need to know who's who here." Duo interrupted. He was already getting tired of the grouchy nature of some of his other pilots. He was definitely hoping that at least when he got to meet them in person, they were going to be more sociable. "You know, need to know who we're giving instructions to."

 

"Thanks, Deathscythe." Duo could almost imagine a sweet smile coming from the pilot of Sandrock, a look of gratitude for coming to his defense. It made him wonder what the actual pilots looked like. He'd already made some brief assumptions and guesses, but it was still tweaking at his curiosity.

 

"Sandrock, move." Deathscythe stated, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

"What?" Quatre replied, adjusting the cameras to view the other Gundam. He was just about to query the other pilot further when a hideous crunching sound filled the cockpit, forcing him to take quick evasive manouevres to get Sandrock out of the way as the massive Sweeper shift crashed into the beach, spilling sand in a large solid wake as the bow cut into the beach.

 

Luckily the boat got itself stuck quickly, leaving Sandrock overbalanced and hanging on to the prow, clinging to the railing on the deck to keep from falling over. It occurred to him that maybe the railing wasn't strong enough to hold the weight of his Gundam just as the railing bent and snapped, causing both Quatre and Sandrock to fall backwards and hit the sand with an undignified thud.

 

"Shut up." Quatre fumed into the radio, not appreciating the laughter coming through the communications system. What was worse was he didn't know who was doing the laughing, so he didn't know who to go up and thump for it.

 

Grizzling to himself, he pulled the suit back upright, just glad that he hadn't got crushed underneath the weight of the ship. The armour could probably have taken it, but it was an experience he wished to avoid regardless.

 

"Ok, Deathscythe, are the engineers ready?" Quatre asked, tilting Sandrock's head to the other suit.

 

"Nah, shouldn't be." Deathscythe replied.

 

"Then I'd like to take a quick check of the area and have Sandrock get in touch with the base. We might as well make ourselves useful.”