Chapter XX: On the Other Side
Bob groaned, then slowly opened his eyes.
His surroundings were similar to the way he'd remembered. Or, at least, that was how it appeared while he was on the ground.
He stood up and looked around. Other soldiers were beginning to come to their senses after having been knocked down by the mysterious Blast of energy. But beyond that, little was the same.
The Eldar bodies that had littered the ground were gone. Much of the blood on the walls was gone, with only the stains in the carpet indicating that there ever had been blood practically coating this room. That carpet was now covered with a
layer of dust, and small chunks of debris had fallen to settle in amongst that dust.
Outside, the monolith lay silent, smashed in the middle. Its top half lay on the ground, some of its gems broken. The courtyard around it had become overgrown with vegetation. Large weeds that stretched several feet into the sky joined tangles of vines that clawed at the sides of the buildings.
Bob noticed then that there were also occasional weeds inside the building, where the carpet had been torn or riddled with bullets.
The location was the same, but the scene was all wrong.
He walked over to Becker and asked, "Sir, do you have any idea what just happened?"
Becker shook his head, then turned in place, half-limping, to look around. "I have no idea what those Eldar just did."
Other soldiers began to crowd in around Bob and Becker, and even Paul and Bill returned to the room. They were all asking questions, filling the room with a low murmur of voices all competing to be heard.
Becker held up a hand to quiet them. "Okay, okay. We don't have any clue what just happened, so calm down. Much as I can tell, we're all still here.
"I think our best bet is to go outside and find the boys from Celeron, or anyone else who can take us back home. Then we can tell our stories to Intel and let them figure out what happened. Do their job, for once. So form up by squads and let's get going."
The soldiers matched action to words, and soon they were marching through the building to go back into the streets.
Bob halted, with Bill, at the scene of Lisa's death. Her body seemed to have dissolved down to its bones, and dust covered even that. Her rifle, corroded as if it had lay unattended for years, was by her side. Bob silently knelt down and retrieved the rifle, then her bayonet. He attached the bayonet to the end of the rifle, then shoved it into the floor, where it stuck, holding the rifle upright. He then pulled off Lisa's helmet and set it on her rifle.
"A marker by which she can be remembered," he muttered. Bill nodded in agreement, but said nothing.
Bob then looked up and directed others to do the same for the other two killed in the fighting, then turned and began moving back toward the street outside.
Throughout the rest of the building, the scene was much the same as it was in the
courtyard room. The Eldar bodies and weapons were gone, only faint traces of blood in the carpets remained, dust covered all, debris had fallen from the ceilings, and weeds sprouted up in the various holes in the floor.
Once outside, he halted entirely, as shocked as those around him.
The city around them was smashed, buildings broken in cataclysmic fashion. It was as if a large battle had been fought, and then the combatants left,
their only sign of being there a mass of crumbled buildings.
* * *
Sara stared in awe at the smashed buildings, the broken streets, and the ever-present hulks of machinery. That machinery was not only
severely damaged by weapons fire, it also showed signs of severe corrosion. Tattered flags flapped in the low breeze,
signaling what squadron those tanks had originally belonged to, and shattered glass gave testament to the fact that some of these wrecks had once been attack craft, felled by enemy fire.
The platoon walked on, down the street, then
encountered a surprise wreck, one that none of them could even place.
A large aircraft, perhaps fifty meters in length, lay broken in the middle of the street. Its mighty wings, each holding a pair of tremendously large engines, were embedded in buildings, the line of buildings immediately behind it looking as if those wings had scythed through them. Bubbles that had once held glass dotted its surface, with weapons of various sorts protruding from them.
Dimly, Sara heard Becker shout, "Squad three, investigate!"
He didn't have to say any more. They knew what he meant by those words, and they set to work checking out the wreck, looking for signs of survivors or anything useful on board.
Sara brought out her flashlight, attaching it to the end of her rifle. She turned it on, then slowly approached the wrecked aircraft.
In each of those bubbles were the remains of a gunner, and almost every one of them looked to have been burned before he died. The ship showed signs of fire damage all across its armoured exterior, and Sara wondered what the might find inside.
She was able to find out soon, as they entered through a large gash in the aircraft's side. Inside, they could see various instrument panels, computer banks of all sorts, and everywhere, burned crewmen who lay silent and dead, nothing left of them but scorched bones and tattered bits of burnt cloth.
Signs above some of the computers were still readable. Radar. Positioning. Targeting. Weapons guidance. Control.
It suddenly became apparent to her that this aircraft was one mighty flying beast, designed to have a pivotal role in a battle.
She
silently moved toward the back of the plane, with the rest of squad three. There they encountered more dead crewmen, and a large enclosed area that held a warning above its door:
"Caution! Explosives within!"
"It's a bomber," she whispered. A high-altitude one, by the looks of things. But when fighting the Eldar, high-altitude was just a figure of speech, as the Eldar could reach any altitude with equal ease.
She turned and began walking back toward the front of the bomber, not bothering to see if her squadmates were right behind her. As she passed the computer banks, she found another door. This one had no cautionary sign, so she reached out and
opened it. As she did, the handle fell off, its connection to the door rusted. The door threatened to fall off its hinges as well.
Sara ignored it momentarily and stepped forward, through the open doorway. Within, she could see a large viewport, situated in front of three men, all of whom were slumped in their seats. They seemed to have met the same fate of the other crewmen, and their seats were little more than metal frames left after the padding and covers had been burned away.
She turned, not wanting to see any more of this, and quickly ran out of the bomber. Her stomach threatened to expunge its contents rather violently, but she somehow managed to hold it down. The rest of squad three soon followed her, having found nothing of use.
Together, they returned to the platoon, to make their report to Becker.
* * *
After squad three returned, the platoon began to move on again.
Bill looked around at the streets as they walked. The roads were broken, torn up by constant shelling, explosions, wrecks. The buildings were much the same.
One building had obviously been a library. It had a picture of books and datacomps hanging on the outside, riddled with
bullet holes and slices that were the signature mark of shuriken fire. The walls were shattered and the inside
was a mess. Bill approached as the platoon walked past, and noticed some books on the ground, along with a few datacomp cards. He picked them all up, quickly
shoveling them into his pack for later investigation. Then he rejoined the platoon.
They also passed what had once been a bar. Its sign hung low on only one chain, the other long ago snapped either by gunfire or corrosion. The remaining chain was a ruddy brown, signaling that it too was mostly eaten away with rust. Inside, under sheets of debris which had once been the building's ceiling, stools and
tables lay strewn about, some splintered, some still in decent condition. Glasses were evident all around the ruin,
most of them shattered.
Mel walked up beside Bill and said, "I just bet, somewhere in there, there's a wonderful old scotch that's just aged perfectly, and is waiting with my name on it."
Bill shook his head. "You want to look for it, be my guest. If there's a bottle that's still in one piece, it's probably buried."
"Yeah, you're probably right. But it was a nice thought."
"Nice thoughts don't last long in the real world," Bill replied.
Mel kept silent, knowing that there was no way for him to reply to that comment.
Bill kept walking along, noticing vendor's carts, street signs, and all manner of debris laying about in the midst of what once were salons, diners, stores, boutiques, drinking
establishments, and all manner of city buildings. Apartments lay in ruins. Offices
were smashed. Families had lost everything, somewhere in that mess. But it was so different from how he'd remembered it, just days before.
Something had happened, not just to the soldiers, but also to the whole city, when that monolith had gone off. And Bill was afraid of what the answer might be.
* * *
Jim saw the streets, so familiar but yet so different. He'd been through these streets numerous times. They were too familiar to have just been a passing-by notice of his.
When he saw the doors to the building in front of him, he understood their familiarity. He was looking at the old hotel that had served as a barracks. The area they were in had once been their compound, temporary holding for the platoon and the rest of Charlie Company.
The soldiers entered the platoon, each of them intent on one thing, seeing if their personal belongings were still in the building. They walked up stairs to the second floor, mercifully still in condition even though the upper half of the building had been demolished.
Jim made his way to the room he'd shared with Sara, stepping in just before she did.
He walked to the bed they had shared, and looked down the dresser. On it was a picture of his family. The glass was shattered, but the picture still appeared to be in good
shape. He slid it out of its case and put it in his pack, then began to collect his other belongings.
Sara did the same, and neither spoke while they did it. They realized they were probably lucky to find their belongings still in relatively good condition. There was no point in complaining about good luck.
Once they were done, they assembled again in the hall with the rest of the platoon, who were just finishing trickling out of their own rooms. Becker, who was already finished, looked pale as he stood, his left leg shaking.
Jim's attention was suddenly caught by a groaning, then a crashing sound. The rest of the platoon looked up. Becker swore, then shouted, "Everyone finish getting your stuff and let's get out of here! This place could be coming down any minute!"
He matched deeds to words and began running for the stairs, then down them. Becker lost his footing, sliding down half a flight of stairs, then quickly regained his footing and continued on down the stairs. Jim followed, hurrying to leave the building.
All of the soldiers made it to the outside of the building without fuss. They all held bags containing their lives, their portable home-away-from-home. Most were leaning over, or resting
against a building. They had been worn down a lot lately.
Barely five minutes after they'd vacated the old hotel, a rumbling that sounded like an angry god rose up,
signaling the collapse of the building. Jim watched sadly as it collapsed in on itself, raining debris on the street
immediately around it, and leaving only a volcanic-looking shell of a building where once had stood one of the grandest hotels in the city.
* * *
Bob cursed, then turned to Becker. "What now? There goes our living quarters."
Becker nodded. "Yes. But there wasn't much there for us anyway, beyond what we had left behind."
"So what do we do for a place to rest?"
Becker half-smiled. "There's only one building I know is structurally sound."
Bob shook his head in surprise. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"
"Yes, Sergeant, I'm saying we should go back to the monolith building. Unless you know a better place for us to hang our hats for the night?"
"No, sir," Bob replied. "I'm afraid I don't."
Becker nodded. "Okay, then it's agreed. With your permission, then, I'll tell my platoon."
Bob smiled sheepishly. "Permission, uh, granted, sir."
"Thank you." Becker turned and shouted out the order to the rest of the platoon. Wearily, the soldiers began marching again.
* * *
Becker pulled his blanket up over himself, content to get at least some rest from the fighting. In the morning, he'd take the platoon out once more and try to find some sign of Imperial military on the planet.
He was annoyed, not so much at the lack of success in finding those fellow soldiers, but more in the inability to use his commlinks to do so. There was some kind of atmospheric interference, and that meant there was no way for them to call out.
As well, his leg was getting no better. It was getting weaker slowly but surely, and if it kept up he'd have to request aid from one of the soldiers. That was not very good for morale.
He had to be tough and fight off the pain, and hope the leg held until he could reach some medical care.
He looked around, saw his soldiers sleeping, with looks of relief that they had been
given a chance to rest on their faces, and he slowly willed himself to sleep.
* * *
And sleep he did, until he felt a sharp jab in the side. Groggily, he woke up, swatting at whatever it was that was poking him.
His hands encountered an autorifle, and he groaned, "What is it, soldier? Do you know what time it is?"
"Yes," came a female voice. "It's after eight in the morning, and this is your wake-up call."
Startled by the unfamiliar voice, Becker quickly threw his blanket off and reached for his rifle. He was halted by a boot kicking it away.
"Wouldn't do that if I were you," grunted a soldier. He was dressed in the uniform of a Median soldier, but the patch on his shoulder indicated the second regiment, not the fourth.
Becker tried to get to his feet, and instantly regretted the action as pain shot up through his leg. He felt back to the floor with a sigh and a groan, then looked up at the people now pointing rifles at his soldiers.
They were nearly a company, and more seemed to be outside. A Commissar, a female at that, stood above his, glaring down angrily. She appeared to be the source of the voice Becker had heard earlier.
"What are you guys doing here?" he
asked.
"That question should be asked of you, Lieutenant. We're here to check out the anomalous readings of life forms in this area, who appear to be you. Now, what are you doing here?"
"I'm not sure
myself. We were dispatched to take on a small Eldar force, came here, went after some Eldar psykers while the Celeron II held off a pretty good sized Eldar force, and were hit by some psychic power after we destroyed that black hunk of stone you see right out those windows."
The Commissar nodded, then said, "What unit are you with? And why are you making up| these stories?"
"They're not stories," Becker growled. "They're very real, as my soldiers can tell you. As for my unit, I am the leader
of One Platoon, Charlie Company, Fist Battalion, Median IV."
"Impossible!"
"It's not only possible, Commissar, it's the truth. And just who the hell do you think you and these men are, anyway?"
"The men around me," the Commissar began, "are the Median II, here to take over this operation. My name, if it concerns you so much, is Star Amber Becker."
Becker stared, not wanting to believe his ears, and then noticed a resemblance to a woman he's loved dearly. A thousand thoughts swam through his mind, competing for space, but they all failed, leaving him
speechless and feeling dumbstruck.
If this woman was right, he could well be looking at his own granddaughter!
End of Chapter XX
Continued in Chapter XXI: Getting Caught Up
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