Mission 21.5 - Lights Fading Out, Lights in the Sky Above - Part 2

  "You weren’t divine young man. Those strange powers of yours were no substitute for experience. Your resolution - for what it was - proved mighty fine, admirable even; far more than I thought it would, but it wasn’t enough,” The Bane of Konpei, first ranked of all Remembrance pilots and perhaps all pilots on any side, spoke sadly.

  His words seemed harsh, yet a sorrow laced them bitterly; “If you couldn’t choose who to protect and who to shun in order to do so, then you couldn’t possibly overcome my blade. You were human, just like everyone else. Saving everyone? How could you even try if you couldn’t beat me!!" Kigen roared, half in reproach for himself at the shame and pity he felt for an enemy and half in anger at the pilot for making him feel this way.

  “If only…” that terrible thought was better left unspoken

  Slowly, coldly, Kigen sheathed what little remained of his blade. There were no valiant final words for Chas Collins, no last-minute hero's surge of power.

  The pilot Chas was inferior to the warrior Kigen; that was all there was to it. But the lad hadn’t been half bad, he had to admit. The move Kigen had gotten his title for: it was only the second time he had to shatter a blade; to break his honour so profoundly.

  Shaking his head, the ace returned to the larger battle at hand. He had to overcome this feeling of remorse and the terror of the vision, or everything would have been for nothing. He had to move on, to find a way to turn things around. Otherwise, why had he won while the boy lost?

  TA 419 - 21/04,

  Orbit of Planet Bhaile, Bridge of Remembrance Dreadnaught, ‘His Majesty's Axe’.

  Admiral Agitate was the last Abhialien Admiral. This thought had crossed his mind a shameful number of times over these last five years. It sounded almost romantic, honourable - the last standing of the once great warlords. But he knew better; it was anything but. It was the greatest shame he could have possibly borne.

  He could, of course, promote more admirals if he liked. There was none above him anymore to say no. And true enough, a few like Kigen held ranks of close value, but no - Agitate was the last. The rest had died. Some assassinated, while most fell in battle. A great many at Ghealach; some even got the honour of standing by the King's side at the very end.

  Agitate alone had fled and convinced those few dozen ships to follow him. Agitate alone was the last true Abhialen Admiral.

  ‘Desolate Winter’ said the transmission simply. For hours, his tiny fleet of under one hundred and fifty had fought a force ten times its size as a decoy. But the rocks weren't coming. He could stare out the armoured glass window at the thousand ships that blotted out space before him all he liked, his small solitary figure before that armada was nothing now.

  Even with twice, three times as many Casnels, it would be over.

  The bridge was in tatters. It had been breached by glancing blows twice already. But Agitate was an Abhialen Admiral, and so he still stood at his command console, despite half the windows to either side of him having been hastily sealed, despite half the bridge crew floating in the air lifeless behind him.

  “Go, Reina,” he spoke softly to just the terminal, “Vice Admiral David Yoist, find your way to him and do what you can. …Keep an eye on Oames too.”

  The AI didn't respond. Its logo simply dimmed and then disappeared. It had no emotions or genuine sentimentality after all. Agitate respected that. That was how a true soldier should be; that was his, their weakness. He didn't feel scared, angry perhaps, that his men had waited and now died for nothing, but not scared or sad or regretful - because the time had finally come.

  “All hands,” he boomed, “those who wish to, abandon ship. Those who stay prepare for a final engagement.”

  It shamed him, but he felt excited. He felt a sort of happiness. He was finally going to die on the field of battle, finally going to let go of this unbearable burden of half a decade, finally return to his King’s side and, most likely, his beloved's too.

  How terrible was that? He made for a lousy soldier; that was the truth of it. Even now, there was probably a method of escape open to him. Remembrance would still need its leaders, more than ever. If he understood that, which indeed sending away Reina meant he did, then why give it all away?

  They'd lost today, but tomorrow was still out there. The war itself had still shaken at least some of the public's faith in TSU. Sinking three Platforms wasn’t nothing; there was a grand achievement in that. And yet…

  Admiral Agitate was the last of the true Abhialen Admirals, of the men who'd once, for three long years, brought the solar system to its knees. Who, with a force ten to one as today no less, had all but decimated TSU, only to have it all snatched away at the very end.

  There could only be one fate for such a man. With greatest shame, with all the pity in the world for his daughter, Agitate ventured forth one final time, feeling glad to have reached that final delayed destiny.

  TA419 - 21/04,

  Orbit of Planet Bhaile, Remembrance Decoy Fleet, Rear Line.

  Kigen gripped his fists, bared his teeth and breathed shallow breaths as he grappled with his emotions. The first battalion had returned home to devastation. The flanking units all wiped out, the main fleet in pieces. Well over half the ships had already sunk, and Vijiaks were scattered, barely in any sense of formation as they fended off TSU raids. Even now, the enemy fleet continued to bombard them, Platform 1’s massive cannon included, though its fire was wildly inaccurate with just the Grand Admiral inside.

  His Majesty's Axe had taken some of the worst blows of all. The massive Remembrance dreadnought was barely hanging on. They’d lost; it was over. The meteorites weren’t coming; their forces were being overrun in real-time before his eyes. It was the Battle of Gheleach all over again; TSU bearing down on them, their achievements, everything it had taken to get here, collapsing once more.

  “I’ll,” Kigen paused a moment to get his tone of voice under control; this was no time for weakness, “I’ll lead a charge. The remaining ships that are able should retreat,” the first-ranked said across the command channel, his calm and authoritative voice returning.

  “The hell do you mean?! We need you more than ever. I’ll lead the charge!” The Scarlet Scourge, herself only having just returned, yelled over the line.

  Kigen almost laughed, “You and what mech?”

  Scarlet, either too exhausted or without a reply, didn’t answer. Kigen contemplated it himself. He should run, Scarlet wasn’t wrong, and yet.

  Looking at the tattered fleet, fire pouring in from the enemy all around them, did he not have a duty to see at least some of them made it home? Or was that just an excuse, he wondered.

  “I’ll come with you,” Admiral Agitate announced.

  Kigen was about to protest but stopped short. Not only would it have been hurtful to do so, but what other choice was there? The flagship was in ruin; it couldn’t escape, and the Admiral would never abandon his ship. Besides, how could he deny his old friend this, “Very well, Sir. It’ll be my honour, one last time.

  “Y-you, you can’t go! What will be left of us if you do?” Scarlet faltered.

  It struck Kigen that it was just the three of them on this line. Anyone else with clearance was either too far away or…or already dead, even Sesha.

  “As long as a single one of us lives on, then Remembrance will never die. As long as just one person remembers our cause, I know we'll make it somehow. Scarlet, will you…” he paused, afraid again of weakness when right now, without the utmost strength, there really was a risk of total wipeout, of there not even being that single person to fight on.

  Kigen had held feelings for Scarlet once; he thought of her as beautiful and brilliant. A woman tougher and more caring in equal measure than any other. Since her return to Remembrance, he’d begun to feel those feelings again, but it wasn’t to be. Someone had to stay behind, the faces from the vision, Oames, someone would have to guide them, and it couldn't be someone as terrified of them as him.

  He couldn’t help but think of them as a little family. Scarlet and Sesha both had been like sisters to him for a time, and he could at least take some sort of pride in saving one of them.

  But deeper still, a different thought clawed at his mind that he was truly shameless beyond belief. Scarlet had been at the Battle of Ghelahech five years ago too. She’d had to shoulder the same guilt, dishonour and pain as himself and the Admiral. What possible right had he to inflict it on her again while running from it himself, to make her spend another five or ten or who knows how many years waiting for the next chance?

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  And yet… It was an arrogant selfishness, he knew, but some part of him felt she could do it, that Scarlet, unliked him, had fight still left in her. There was also that.

  “Kiyo I… You should know–” The woman in question stuttered.

  ‘Ah, that.’ It had vanished from his mind until that blasted vision - an old mystery of sorts. They’d fought side by side at Ghealach, no question of that, but right before it, The Scourge had gone on a single mission as a member of the Knights Brigades, its very last mission.

  Despite being its leader at the time, Kigen had never known the details of that mission. He’d not thought much of it, presumed it was ‘clean up’, documentation destruction, the shutting down of an outpost, the disposal of no longer appropriate assets. It could have been any number of mundane things. But what, just what if–

  The vision had been over so fast, the faces so blurry, but he had known one of them - probably when they were no more than a babe. What if the final mission of the Knight Brigades had been wholly more honourable than any he had carried out? What if they’d been moving someone? Some small part of their legacy was something other than blood and, fear, and pain inflicted upon others.

  Perhaps that was just another excuse. No, it definitely was. It was the fate perhaps of all warriors to die in battle, however shameless and ignobly. He could feel it deep in the core of his person; this was his time. A solution, a way to turn this around? How foolish had he been to think that possible for even a moment. He was no more capable of protecting everyone than that young man had been.

  “You have something, right?” Kigen replied with a sad smile, “I don’t know whether it's something you have a duty to return to or just a secret you need to pass on, but giving it to a dead man like me is a waste, don’t you think?”

  “If you knew, then maybe you’d change your mind. There has to be other ways than this!”

  Kigen shook his head, “My time is up, Scarlet. The pause on my life these last five years is due; I can’t run any longer. I just, I don’t have the strength left anymore. I’m sorry…”

  There was a strained sound on the other end of the line, but The Scourge said no more. She likely felt no different; she likely wanted to finally rest her weary body, but there was no choice right? Since when had there ever been choices?

  “--Look after them for me, would ya Scar? The next generation, it turns out, I was all talk. I can’t change the future; all I can do is try to make sure there is still a future for you to protect. Will you take that cruel request of mine, protect the future for me?

  I’m going to betray you now, my dear friend. I hope you don’t hold it against me. I’ll be sure to keep you a warm seat in the next life, eh?

  …Cya around Amy.”

  With that, battalion one and a small assortment of barely functional ships began to advance into the maelstrom. The flagship rose a flag, the flag of old Abhaile.

  The enemy formation was firing a barrage stronger than ever. Within moments, a mech was dashed to the rocks, speared with a searing energy bolt twice its size. Before long, a ship went down.

  Onwards, they charged.

  ‘Sorry kid,’ Kigen mused to himself, ‘Seems I killed you for nothing but my pride.’

  The enemy before them was a swarm, nearly a thousand ships, upwards of five times that in mechs. The battalion and ships charged towards it dauntlessly.

  Kigen had acquired a belt of Calabar blades; he had no doubt he’d need to use them all.

  With his first, he cleaved an MBT in two at the waist, then swung the blade back around into an overhead slash, as good as bisecting a second.

  His men were all pulling off similar feats. Lt.Benson was nearby wielding his Konpesh’s blades akimbo, swirling gracefully like a sword dancer in space - decapitating one mech before stabbing an arc staff deep in the heart of another.

  A Remembrance frigate with no functioning guns left simply rammed straight into the nearest TSU vessel. The two ships buckled and crumpled into each other, metal scrunching like paper.

  They were few in number, but they were pushing ridiculously hard, constantly moving forward, until the TSU forces started having to move backwards. Each person in that final charge felt a terrible sense of calm, a sort of clarity stolen from them five years ago - each felt that they were right where they belonged, right where they had always been headed. None felt it more keenly than Remembrance's Supreme Commanders.

  Before long, the TSU forward line and middle lines blurred. Warships fired upon each other at point-blank range, and friendly fire among the TSU forces began to grow.

  Then it happened. Just one rock was what all this had bought them, but it did not disappoint for just one. In the distance, TSU Defence Platform 1 had loomed over the charge, the megastructure that represented all TSU’s strength - now it buckled.

  The meteorite crashed across the sky faster than the eye could hope to follow. It impacted straight into the circular cross station and out the other side in seconds. A ball of unbelievable light engulfed everything. It backlit the kamikaze's last stand and gave the dying fighters a last breath of motivation.

  Kigen’s blade was ripping into ships now. He found one outdated vessel with a raised bridge and dug his blade into it, eviscerating the command staff.

  He stabbed another blade deep into the hull of a boxy little grey destroyer class, striking an engine and causing the whole vessel to explode. It broke his sword but barely phased the Casnel.

  Yes, that was the Chevalier’s truest strength. Other than another Casnel, it was nearly invisible. Bullets scraped off it, lasers failed to burn through it - but for how long? Could he beat them all, take down a thousand ships with one mech?

  “Heh, heh heh,” Kigen laughed at the notion. Even so, he could take down five, maybe even a dozen warships, and who knew how many mechs. Perhaps that would be enough? Maybe that would mean something?

  The rest of the battalion was starting to falter. Rifles began to jam; blades shattered. Energy ran dry. His closest subordinates were falling one by one. The ships that had charged with him were all gone but for His Majesty's Axe. The dreadnought, the last of its kind, was missing entire chunks now, yet it kept on advancing. A sparse few cannons across its semi-circle shape, still firing endlessly.

  A Vijiak-Special stabbed an arc staff into Benson’s mech, “Ben–” Kigen shouted but was cut off, “I’m quite alright, Sir!” the old man replied over the short wave comms.

  His mech impaled through the small of its back, managed to turn and gouge a line into the Special. Then, another slash and another.

  As it killed one, another came up behind the old batman. A second arc-staff surged forward. Benson’s machine moved at the last moment, yet the blade still lodged into the sternum of his mech.

  “Is that all you have?!” the old man roared, tossing the beaten corpse of the first Special at this second foe.

  Had the rear retreating forces gotten far yet? How long had this charge lasted? How many of his men yet lived?

  The Chevalier - its head bald, having lost its helmet, one of its layered shoulder guards melted to a strange slush - turned to stare at what lay before them. The Defence Platform was still a magnificent orb of light far ahead; as though space was on fire, it took up the view as much as the moon could have. All around it, at a safe pre-planned distance, were dozens upon dozens of warships and mechs, most no longer firing now that the kamikaze force had forced the front line into this brutal melee, but they were no doubt waiting.

  They’d pour in as their allies fell, restart the barrage if a clear shot should appear. These were the forces they had planned so long to destroy. A shower of meteorites should have been colouring his view, ships falling out of the sky in droves. Instead, there they were waiting.

  Their Platform lost could be seen as Remembrance’s victory, but not at this cost. This wasn’t how it was meant to be; this couldn’t be it. Destroying three Defence Platforms and a couple hundred depots and refineries? That meant nothing if no one lived on to carry it onward. The rumours would spread, and faith in TSU as protectors would waver, but enough for a true space rebellion?

  Nothing had changed. The people of Abhaile remained under occupation, their cities in ruin, and their kin enslaved. TSU would keep building, making more and more ships and Platforms and wretched Casnels.

  Two more blades had entered Benson’s mech and yet somehow it was still fighting, so were all of Kigen’s remaining men.

  Outpost 28. before they’d stolen the Chevaliers, he’d gone to a small outpost and had to abandon its men in an ambush - this was that lesson one final time - one slip up, one mistake, one gamble too big and they would all die, over and over and over again; war after pointless war.

  His Majesty's Axe sallied forward. It was on fire, as much so as you could be in space. Kigen watched somewhat distantly as it quite literally bowled over enemies in its wake. The left side of the crescent split apart, taking out a smaller TSU cruiser in the process.

  The tumbling centre and right ‘wing’ began to list; control had surely been lost now. It charged deeply into the TSU lines, and then, it exploded. It took a great many enemies with it, and the blast was impressive, if not overshadowed by the Defence Platform’s still glowing mass.

  Dumbly, Kigen brought one hand up in a salute. Would it be different for those myriad of young faces in the vision? If this was the death of old Abhaile, kept alive on life support for five long years, just to fall all the same as their fellows had - could the next generation succeed?

  How long would it take, he wondered. Another five years, ten? A century? Could people really keep fighting, keep picking themselves up setback after setback? He imagined, if they did, if they someday succeeded, what that world would look like?

  Benson’s mech had stopped moving, impaled seven times. It was somehow still standing, a sword in either hand, it floated. Enemies around it looked genuinely scared to approach, but Kigen could tell; even if the engines had somehow not been pierced, the pilot inside that lonely mech had finally passed.

  He couldn’t see any of his other machines anymore. The debris of His Majesty's Axe was floating out, red pieces of metal strewn out in waves from the explosion point, the last evidence the dreadnaught had been there at all.

  Why did anyone fight? For what reason did they claim the lives of others? Through what strength did they find the will to stand up again over and over?

  Kigen had no answer to those questions other than to draw another blade from the belt and charge yet again.