Jolen’s parents and he hadn’t spoken for the five years leading up to his death. Rennin never met them, but he hated them then, and still does now. He’d cross the street to spit on them if he saw them. The cruel things Rennin says in jest, those people meant literally. Jolen was a gentle man, a truly beautiful soul. They rejected their son because of his sexual orientation. Rennin can’t believe there are still people who quibble over such things.
Rennin begged his sergeant to be the one to deliver the news and the flag to Jolen’s parents. Of course he didn’t go. He left the condolence letter in their mailbox and took the flag to Jolen’s husband. That was the hardest thing Rennin has ever done. He hadn’t dealt with the death of his best friend until he had to tell Jolen’s widower. The expression on Raymond Jolen’s face when he delivered the news reflected the grievous wound that Rennin was trying to hide. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He hadn’t cried since his family died.
He finds himself almost gasping for air briefly as a tear rolls down his face. “I miss you so much, man, you fucking arsehole.”
He feels Drej’s knife vibrate again and the sensation shivers him upright. He’s suddenly aware of the calls for help coming through the radio from all over Raddocks Horizon. Judging from the torrent of chatter it would appear that every single unit is under siege.
He glances at the throttle but can’t will himself to move at the moment. When Sabre and Jawa took Bulldog out and he realised he was alone he just fled without thinking about it. Perhaps it was some kind of despicable reflex, he isn’t sure. He’s on the verge of falling into a new inward conflict when another call for help comes over the radio. “Is anyone in East Fortescue? I need retrieval! My unit is gone and I’m pinned down on a rooftop,” the soldier calls over the sound of shooting in controlled bursts. “I’m letting off a green flare!”
Fortescue centre is half a kilometre from Rennin’s current location. “Ah, Jesus,” he says wiping the bloodied drips falling off his nose with the back of his hand.
“Can anyone see it?” his voice is getting desperate. No one has answered him. His shots are more random already.
Rennin sits rocking slightly in his seat for several painstaking seconds. They feel more like hours. His inner turmoil only gets worse when he looks downwards from the cockpit and can see the flare burning with his own eyes. “Oh come on!” he says looking back at his reflection.
“I’m atop the old recording studio, there’s dozens of them! Lighting another flare!”
Rennin looks down again wincing as he watches the green light glow brighter. He didn’t have to light a second one, the first is still burning brightly. The soldier is panicking. Rennin can tell this because his can hear the soldier’s ragged breaths as clearly as if he is standing next to him along with the evermore random gunfire. Another voice finally answers. “We hear you, trooper, we’ll have someone en route,”
Fuck, I could kiss you, crosses Rennin’s mind. It sounds like Commander Jorge Croft.
The soldier cries back, “It’s bad down here, I can’t hold them.”
“Just hang on five more minutes, son, we’re coming.”
There’s a slight pause. “Copy that,” says the soldier quietly with a slight stammer.
Five minutes! Rennin is shaking his head, that kid’s got one at best. Commander Croft, who Rennin temporarily thought was a godsend, is nothing more than a band-aid for a bullet hole. Might as well have told the kid they were coming next year.
Images flash across Rennin’s mind again of Veidan latched onto the outside of the Possession escape pod, his armour scorched and streaming with flames. He looks like a burning guardian angel.
Veidan’s later words to the throat-crushed tactician in the Crucible’s medical bay echo through his mind: There’s precious little humanity in all of us, including you, and Rennin clicks on the communicator, we should not bury what little we have. “Kid, you still there?”
“Yes, sir, who is this?”
“This is Gunship Dead Star, I’m twenty seconds out and inbound.”
The soldier’s enthusiasm skyrockets. “Which direction?”
“Right above you,” says Rennin cutting the thrusters, sending the gunship into a near nosedive. Warning lights in the cockpit turn the interior red but Rennin pays no heed. Something comes alive inside of him. He’s going to save this soldier. If he can save this soldier he might be able to save himself. “I don’t have any gunners or troops in here so I’m going to come in low, you’re in and we’re gone, got it?”
“Yes, sir!” replies the soldier in a very determined tone.
The roar of the wind through Dead Star’s engines reminds Rennin of the ancient Jericho trumpet that caused the piercing scream of the incoming Stuka bomber. The ground is approaching so fast that Rennin slams on the reverse rockets, jolting him forwards in his seat forcing what feels like all his blood into his head in one massive rush. He wills himself not to black out, while shaking away the stars in his vision to see he is only two storeys above the soldier. “Get ready!”
“I can see you.”
“Don’t look at me! Stay alive!” says Rennin making his final approach. The rooftop is covered in contaminants, both dead and undead. Rennin opens the side doors less than a metre from touchdown. The soldier’s helmeted head faces the gunship, then the charging contaminants, his legs bouncing all the while, staying ready to make a break for it. Rennin pulses the thrusters causing dust and smoke to fly everywhere and it’s just enough to surprise the contaminants.
“Run, kid!” he cries.
The trooper drops his weapon and sprints towards the gunship. Rennin spins around in his seat so he can see the rear interior of the Dead Star. The soldier dives in, arms outstretched like Superman, with almost enough momentum to slide across the floor and out the opposite side. “I’m in!”
Rennin presses the button to close the doors, using almost enough force to break his finger and blasts the thrusters making Dead Star climb to safety. When high enough he swings the ship around. “Guess what, boys and girls?” he yells at the rooftop crowd while letting off four rockets, firing them line of sight. Two miss but the other two destroy the rooftop and the contaminants with it. Rennin turns Dead Star away and back towards Horizon Stadium. No sense doing things half arsed.
Sindaris Tessol careens into something headfirst that floods his vision with stars. He bounces off it and hits the ground in a daze. Almost immediately hands are all over him, pulling him up, asking him questions. He can’t shake off his dizziness quickly enough to see that he’s being taken indoors. The voices sound muffled, he notices, shaking his head feeling the sting of blood as it enters his eyes. He grunts and fights his arm free of one pair of hands and stumbles into a wall as the others release him.
He looks up to see nothing except a blur. The blood dripping into his eyes is causing them to water. He can see hazy people-shapes huddled around a fire of some kind in the middle of a floor. He also notices something that smells very nasty to him, but to the others it smells so good he can feel their joy. He realises he can feel their psyches.
They’re infected!
He bites his lower lip hard to suppress his rising panic, barely managing to force his mind to picture a vast snowy mountain where he used to ski as a young man. Then again he is a young man.
One of them speaks but the sound is awkward, somehow forced. “You… look like you could use some… help,” says a female voice.