A War with No Victors, Only Survivors

[Kikinchikin]

New fic, enjoy!

Prologue: A War of Anonymity

'I have the power. I am like a god. My finger controls the lives of those below me. I make the decision of who will die and who will live.' Rick Amstead pondered his "power" as he gazed down the scope of his bolt driver, perched on a hill, hundreds of yards away from the base of Eisa. Beneath him he could hear the faint sounds of gauss rifles, jackhammers, lashers and pulsars as the New Conglomerate attempted to defend their newly claimed territory. He shivered and brushed off the soft, fluffly snow from his deep purple uniform. And then he saw a target. Atop the wall, a man bombarding nearby soldiers with thumper fire. He squinted into the scope, aimed and fired. The man's head split in two as the bolt drove straight through his left eye. The thumper dropped limply to the ground. A clean kill, he was clearly dead. But that man would see no more sunrises, nor would he feel the soft touch of the wind in the evening. It would be expected one would be shaken after taking the life of another. But the Vanu soldier simply reloaded and recocked his rifle. He was desensitized by now, serving over two years in combat. However, he did wonder, as he searched for another target, if that man had any family, maybe a nice house, a pet. How would his wife and son react when the telegram came the next day? They would collapse into a pile of grief, a lieutenant offering them a shallow comforting. The man's body, if it was recovered, would be buried into the ground and marked with a small hologram. There would be no funeral, no ceremony, no mourning by anyone but the wife and son. And even they would forget. Then what would become of the man? He would vanish into anonymity, no one remembering him. It was then that Rick, who had squared up another target, lowered his rifle. 'He was no one to them... Am I... no one to the Vanu?' He dropped his rifle all together then, and turned towards the south. The evening was beginning to set in, as a dazzling red sun continued to lower into the ground. He stood gazing at the sun, struck dumb it would seem, for around 15 minutes, taking in deep breaths of the clear, winter air, when suddenly he heard a crunch. Turning around, he reached for his beamer, but his efforts were futile. A MAGcutter drilled into his stomach, opening a deep cavity from which blood began to flow out. Rick collapsed to his knees, and then his hands. The infiltrator, which he now knew was the cause of this, glided away down the ridge in search of another victim. Rick fell to his back, in extreme pain. But he did not scream. He did not yelp. He simply lay there looking at the sky, and the twinkle of the first stars. And he sobbed. Hot tears flowed down his cheeks, but quickly began to freeze. 'I don't want to die a nobody!' his mind screamed inside. 'I want to be remembered!' Then Rick's vision went black, and he suddenly went into a state of peace.

[Roswell34]

woot woot going to read it right now

[Roswell34]

woah, now thats what im talking about, mind numbing desriptions, HFS kick ass must write more

[Corsairsn]

yaaaaaaa write more

[Kikinchikin]

Chapter 1: Red Wave

"Scratch one more bogey!" said a muffled voice over the com as a blue and gold reaver plummetted helplessly to the ground. "Damn, Jon, that's your 12th one today," said an envious soldier. "What can I say? I'm just too damn good." Jon Rockwood stabilized his reaver from a barrel roll and made another low pass over the hotly contested Gunuku. Streaks of gunfire and their tracers, as well as smoke from tank shells littered the lower atmosphere. "Man our armor column really is on today," said Jon. "They've already pushed into the courtyard." Beneath his soaring airship, a red wave of prowlers were sweeping into the courtyard, guns and cannons blazing as a staggered army of New Conglomerates began to fall back. Jon's eyes fell upon a random vanguard. As his reaver continued on in autopilot, he watched as the tank spewed gunfire. Two shells slammed into the turret, dislocating the main barrel from the armored hulk all together. Wounded, the tank tried to maneuver away, but another shot caught it in the tread, tearing it from the tank. The gears dug into the firm earth beneath, immobilizing the tank. Jon knew what the outcome would be, but for some reason he couldn't tear his view away. Another shell smashed into the front of the tank, and from what Jon could see, it had struck deep enough to disintegrate the driver. The tank gunner flipped the battered turret door open and emerged from the cockpit, missing an arm. Apparently that shot that tore the main gun off had also taken his left arm. He jumped off, took a few steps and then fell again from a shot to the leg. But the man half walked, half crawled to a piece of wreckage, avoiding fire as he went. New Conglomerates fought on both sides of him, each targeting the advancing fire ants known as the Terrans. Jon for some reason felt the urge to head into this soiree, and angled his airship around a tree ahead, doubling back. Ahead he could see that the one-armed man was actually holding a gauss rifle now, and, bracing it against a piece of metal, was firing desperately ahead of him. 'I'll give that guy credit, he don't give up,' thought Jon. Suddenly, as though the man had heard his thoughts, he turned around and opened up on Jon's reaver. The shots missed for the most part, but one hit the cockpit of his ship. The bullet embedded itself into the padded seat Jon sat at. "Ow! That thing scorched my shoulder! Well you sonofabitch, it's time to die!" Jon's fingers reached for the trigger. He pulled it. Nothing. "Damnit! Out of ammo!" Jon pulled out of his dive and headed back east towards Wele, as there were no air towers nearby. As he flew further and further away, and the sound of gunfire died down, he began to notice an odd feeling in his stomach. His mind was on the one-armed soldier. 'I should have taken him out... Bah, it doesn't matter, someone else will get him, not like he'll ever be a threat or anything...' But Jon's thoughts didn't comfort him, and he failed to persuade himself that not killing the soldier was not a costly error. That man would stay in his thoughts for the rest of the flight back.

Two hours later-

"Gunuku's secure. All the smurfs have either retreated or were eradicated. No bogies in the perimeter," came a report on the Wele base com system. The Terran Republic had taken Gunuku, and the Red Wave was steamrolling into Kaang now. Upon hearing orders from command, the Terrans began moving out, to join their brethren at Kaang. At last, the last few stragglers boarded their transports and headed out, leaving the base, that had recently been a hotbed of activity, a ghost town. Wreckage smoldered all over the courtyard, causing a heavy black cloud of smoke to hang over the base, seemingly signifying that this was the site of yet more deaths in a war with no end. Corpses lined the walls, many missing body parts. The stench of death was so strong that it could be smelled all over the island. But the base was entirely silent...except for the faint shifting of metal. Near a bullet riddled wall, a giant piece of sheet metal was stirring slightly. Stained red, the sheet finally flipped over and landed with a thud. Something emerged from beneath the metal. Staggering to his feet a soldier limped out of the smoking pit of vanguard remains. Freeing himself from this wreckage, the soldier trudged on towards the exit. His pace was slow, but even has he limped, he did it with an air of determination. His sweat matted hair hung down in his face, which was scarred and covered in fresh cuts. His uniform was tattered, the left sleeve of his jacket gone. Around his neck hung a set of dogtags, one sporting a shotgun pellet. They read: Mark DuPaul- Vanguard Gunner- New Conglomerate. He continued north to Ekera, walking alone with nothing but the wind and the approaching night to keep him company.

[Roswell34]

nice, really nice, you've got the skills, more =D

[Kikinchikin]

Just figured I should put this foreward about my stories out there since I use a different system of death than I think anyone else. In my stories there are no respawns, once you die, you die. Also medical applicators and terminals save people from death and stabilize their condition, but surgeons and doctors are needed to repair damage. Basically my stories use RL conditions.

Anyway my main fic will be reaching its climax soon, so make sure you check it out too. Thanks.

[Roswell34]

yea thats cool, makes it a ton more realistic, nice

[Boomer]

like it.

[Kikinchikin]

Chapter 2: A Morbid Ritual

"Casualty count for today is now posted in the main hall," said a dull voice over the com system of the New Conglomerate Sanctuary. This morbid line was uttered every day, and had become a daily ritual of all three empires. Soldiers that had returned from their tour of duty began flocking to the building. They had by now accepted the fact that any day their husband, wife, son, daughter, father or mother could be on that list, but still each had a nervous feeling in the pit of their stomach each time they entered the building. As the mob moved toward the wall with a long list of names in green hologram text, the first cries of sorrow, sounds of weeping, and the slamming of fists became audible. A few collapsed to the ground, sobbing. Among the mob was First Lieutenant Alyssa DuPaul, trying to part the sea of people that stood between her and the wall. Alyssa had just finished a tour on Esamir, that lasted 3 months, and ultimately failed. Finally, after several minutes of pushing and shoving, she made it to the front and began searching for the D's. Jim Donald... Alex Dorn... Pete Duhan... Mark DuPaul... She tore her eyes away from the board, but they couldn't stay there. She pressed close to it and stared at the name. 'He's... gone,' her mind told her. She pushed through the crowd and collapsed into a corner and began to sob. She sat there for ten minutes, not noticing how others had sat down only a few feet from her, compelled by the same purpose. By now the crowd had thinned and everyone was exiting aside from those sitting. Then another voice came over the com. "Wounded from Tour 532- Forseral and Tour 266- Cyssor have arrived at Liberty Memorial Hospital. Alyssa heard this, but only vaguely comprehended it, still dumbstruck by her husband's death. But Alyssa stood up and began moving out of the building. She knew that some of her and Mark's friends may be at the hospital. She got into her enforcer, parked outside, and drove towards the hospital, located in the east side of the main city.

"Just... a little... bit further," groaned Mark DuPaul. His battered body had reached the warpgate after 6 hours of walking. Twice he had been forced to find cover as Terran patrols went past him, but now he was safe. He entered the center beam and in the blink of an eye found himself back at home in the NC Sanctuary. One of the gate guards stationed at the warpgate, noticed Mark out of the corner of his eye. "Joey we got a guy here! Call a transport to the hospital!" The guard sprinted toward Mark, who had now collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Three minutes later a white sunderer with a red cross arrived, and after Mark was secured inside, sped off towards the hospital. Inside the vehicle EMT's were working frantically, pumping blood into the drained soldier. "He ain't gonna make it..." said one. "Shut up! I ain't giving up on him" "Shit we lost a pulse!!" The men flipped their medical applicators onto a third mode: shock, and began trying to jump start Mark back into existance. The sunderer finally reached the hospital, the stretcher was lowered and Mark was rushed inside. A woman was knocked down by the frantic medical staff on her way in. Alyssa caught a glimpse of the body on the stretcher, mainly his chest and right arm, both scorched with burn marks and covered with blood and cuts. 'Damn, it's a wonder that guy is still alive...' she thought as she slowly headed inside.

[Terran Sniper]

Oh. Fucking. Snap. Write more, you idiot!

[Kikinchikin]

Thanks, glad you guys like it so far. I'm back from vacation today, so expect a few new chapters in this fic, as well as an update to "Lance" tomorrow.

[Roswell34]

woot woot

[Ghandi90]

Genious

Edit: BTW nerf the sigbot

[Kikinchikin]

Chapter 3: The Agony of Grace

Complete peace... white light all around... no pain at al- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" A bloodied soldier woke screaming in pain. Sweat poured down from his face, diluting the blood all around him. The man began convulsing and twitching wildly, his limbs flailing helplessly all around him. A few other Vanu stood around him, most with their faces turned away, choosing not to witness the horror of a revival. After about 20 seconds, the man's seizuring ceased and he lay motionless on the cold snow. His breating was heavy and ragged as he caught his breath. Finally he managed to utter some words. "Wha-What the hell happened to me?" A tall Vanu with a medical applicator knelt down next to him. "You were just revived from death. Your body will be back to normal shortly. All these symptoms you are experiencing are normal for a revive." The man then gave the revived soldier some water, which he gingerly sipped. The man, now feeling better, was, with the help of others around him able to move into a nearby galaxy. The revived soldier sat down with a look of confusion and astonishment on his face, gazed at the floorboard. The tall medic, as if reading his mind, began filling him in on what happened. "Apparently you were killed by a knife wound while sniping. Our galaxy was cruising above you about when you fell to the ground. We had some men hotdrop down to try to revive you and kill the cloaker. Obviously we were able to resurrect you, but the cloaker wasn't found." The galaxy cabin was filled with silence for the next couple of minutes. Then the revived soldier muttered something. "The pain... it felt like I was being pierced by a thousand knives..." "I know... I was revived once too. That day actually caused me to become a medic," said the tall soldier. He paused before continuing. "It is ironic that such excruciating pain comes from an act of salvation..." The cabin was filled with silence once again. Only the noise of the jet engines taking the airship to a destination was heard. The medic broke the silence this time. "I'm sorry I never even introduced myself or my comrades. The name's Ryan Millar. These guys are all in my outfit, Seekers of Truth." "Very very glad to meet you then, Ryan," said the man in a lighter tone than before. Ryan squinted at the dogtags around the man's neck. "Rick...Amstead, is it?" "Yeah, that's it," replied Rick. "Well Rick, we're heading to Jarl, guess that's where you get off." "I guess... I don't really know what my orders are any more, since I don't have an outfit." "That's no good!" exclaimed Ryan. Then after pausing to think for a moment, replied, "Would you like to join us?" Rick gave it a short consideration, before nodding with a smile of graciousness. "Well then, welcome to the Seekers soldier!" Cheers echoed throughout the frigid air as the galaxy headed towards the horizon.