The Reign is Over – Part 8
Battling depression means that some days, you must contend with thoughts that no one should ever have to experience. The struggle consumes the day, as the minutes of remaining atop the pile stretch into hours. I won, this round, but that does not change the dark nature of those thoughts.
To those who suffer as I do, know that your struggles are seen. That your story is my story, is our story. It’s not easy, it’s not fun, and it can sap the joy out of even your best accomplishments. We can get through this together, however. All I ask is that you be as patient with yourself as I ask you to be with me.
No bad-brain, no sleepless nights, nor gloom of thought will keep this storyman from his self-appointed posting.
On to the story.
The Reign is Over – Part 8
Lieutenant McNamara led her party of forty veterans in two long lines as they made their way through the spacious right wing of the mansion which was Reignover’s home. He knew they were coming, but the hair on McNamara’s arms were raised in silent alarm as they made their way further inward without impediment or challenge. This was easy, and it wasn’t supposed to be.
Her fears plagued her as the competent men and women of her assault team steadily marched forward. Each room was secured prior to advancing towards the next. No one had been found; as noisy as their assault had been so far and with the ISF Hidalgo laying down the law at the shipyard, everyone who could was most likely hiding in the nearest panic room or hidden compartment. She didn’t have the time to do thorough scans of the structure to find out where they may be, so she simply settled for hasty sweeps and made due with the fact that there might be an ambush waiting to attack within secret chambers.
Slowly, the corridors stopped branching off into one opulent room after the next, and morphed into more utilitarian, if no less stunning, marble and granite. Eventually, they came to one long, massive corridor with a right angle at the end. There were no doorways, no archways, and no reliefs to offer any cover. Corporal Ramirez, one of her companions in Organized Crime who had ridden with her into many dangers, carefully peaked around the corner.
She scrambled back immediately, dropping her weapon while putting as much distance as she could between herself and the corner. A heartbeat after she did, the corner and the stone across the hallway from it melted with the heat of what had to be a ground assault cannon very similar to the one which they had left parked inside Reignover’s entrance foyer. Ramirez had lost most of the hair on the right side of her face, and her skin had been burned badly by the heat of the near-miss. It wasn’t life-threatening, but Ramirez could barely open her right eye around the swollen red flesh. She might not be a casualty, but McNamara had lost the first member of her assault team regardless.
“Corporal Rangappa, grab Corporal Ramirez and help her get back to the assault transport. Use a med-kit to get her as patched up as you can. Signal the Hidalgo to send a medivac and help her in when it arrives. Then you’re to go find Lieutenant Armsworth’s XO and assist her team’s efforts. Corporal Osmani, Sergeant Alanzo, you give them cover there and wait for Lieutenant Armsworth, then head right back here with him in tow.”
Orders given, Lieutenant McNamara spread the rest of her troops out to form a rear-guard against any hammer attempting to crack them upon the anvil of the assault cannon. She keyed up the encrypted, tight-beam officer’s com, and keyed for Lieutenant Armsworth.
“Armsworth, I need Brutus.”
A single word, spoken with the same mixture of eager anticipation and calm competence it had always been filled her com.
“Finally.”
To be continued…
Armsworthfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
