The Reign is Over – Part 14
I’ve been given a rare opportunity to have a day off mid-week. Whenever I have a night where I need to work, I spend most of the day before it asleep. My job has become a constant strain on my body, and the only response I’ve managed has been to get as much sleep as my gracious wife will allow me.
While this new job might be kicking my butt, it has also honed my focus to a razor’s edge. It’s imperative that I strike while the iron is hot, while the fires of my own personal crucible are stoked to maximum burn. I have been hammering away at every writing project I can get my hands on. I’ve sculpted and molded more stories of late than I could’ve ever thought possible. That’s been a consistent theme of this year, working harder than I knew I could, and I intend to keep my forge burning bright all year long.
Along that vein, it’s time for the next part of the journey for The Reign is Over. That next part is becoming a full-length feature. I’ve started working on it, which will continue as the weeks keep going. While I work on new posts, I’m going to be editing for consistency. As such, there are going to be some jarring moments. New characters whom have increased importance. Chances to terminology, to overall story pacing, to tone. These things are done so that I might tighten up the story as I go. I have to work on fleshing out the world, making these brief moments into a more cohesive story. I refuse to make my work the epic festival of poorly edited nonsense that is Fifty Shades of Grey.
I love McNamara and Armsworth. It’s been a joy and a wonder working on this world, and I hate to think that my time with the story on these pages could be coming to a close. It sucks when things end, but it’s more important than ever that I see things through to the finish. To that end, I will keep at this until Reignover lies dead upon the floor.
Onward friends, to adventure.
The Reign is Over – Part 14
Lieutenant McNamara wiped the sweat off her face, then brought the plasma rifle back up to a sighted firing position and resumed combat once more. She swore as a blast came too close, scorched ozone and flecks of melted wall scoring her cheek. She couldn’t turn away; she didn’t even have time to blink away the blast of chemicals as the rifle shot bit into the wall instead of her head. She let the pain and rage vent itself through pure verbal bile as she blasted away for all she was worth.
This latest ambush, the fourth since their rumble in the entryway, was the same as the last three. A sealed crate, or previously secure alcove, would burst forth, spewing plasma fire at her squad. While armor would absorb some of the blows, and while her team was far too experienced to be caught flat-footed twice, each ambush was fresh agony. Where the rifle fire did not meet armor, it chewed through flesh. Amputating, mutilating, killing.
Through gritted teeth, McNamara’s aim found another of Reignover’s mercenaries. These weren’t the loyal sycophants who were present at the first ambush, too stupid to realize they were cannon fodder. No, these were hard-bitten men and women, capable of taking losses without breaking, of retreating without fleeing. Their fire was too disciplined, their aim too secure to be simple thugs. The faces she could see were new, but the tactics were the same: bleed the advancing assault squad, and retreat before McNamara could rally her squad.
Each firefight lasted only a few minutes, enough time to hit them and then ghost away. It was damnably effective, robbing them of the raw stopping power Lieutenant Armsworth and Brutus represented while still allowing them to harry the advancing squad and possibly stop it altogether.
McNamara let out a fierce cry of joyous revenge as the whining growl of Brutus cut through the standard bark of rifle fire. This ambush party had lingered just a bit too long, and before her erstwhile attackers could scramble through whatever hidden passageways existed in the rats nest of Reignover’s shipyards, a barrage of plasma blasts began chewing through them. One, then two, then three, then four. In a span of moments, half the ambushing forces had been removed. Those who hadn’t already been felled by the rifles abandoned reason and tactics and fled before Brutus could find them.
“Report!”
Lieutenant McNamara barked the order, wiping at her cheek in an ultimately futile gesture. The melted wall had done a number, and the burns would leave a scar. Well, scars weren’t exactly uncommon guests, so at least the new ones would have good company. Armsworth appeared as she finally gave up on her cheek.
“We lost Aves. Corporal Bindi is out. He lost a leg right off, but he made them pay for it afterwards. Took out two before Brutus spun up. Americk is dead Mare. I’m sorry.”
McNamara tried to take the hammer-fall with stoicism. Armsworth made an enormous production out of tending to Brutus, checking the reactor readouts and verifying the barrel integrity after he’d dropped that bomb in her lap. The polite fidgeting gave her a chance to squeeze out a few tears as the news hit home.
Lacy Americk served Organized Crime under her. McNamara had worked hard to see that Lacy was recruited by her. McNamara never made time for a family; her family had always been the me and women in uniform who had stood with her when the shit hit the fan. She’d never regretted giving up on regular family life, but Lacy had become the daughter she’d secretly wished for anyway. She was a ruthless, cunning, and cocksure young woman who had Captain written all over her future. Now she’d bought it in this grimy pit where so many other promising lives had ended.
No more smiles. No more laughter. No more drunken evenings together, laughing as they raced each other in stripping down and rebuiling their service weapons while blindfolded. McNamara hadn’t ever lost, but Lacy was always nipping at her heels.
“Do you want…”
McNamara shook her head violently, cutting Armsworth off mid-sentence. She didn’t want to see the body. If she did, she wasn’t sure that she could have found the strength to keep moving.
“Is that all the casualties Armsworth? If so, the usual drill. Swap armor with the fallen and wounded, get everyone fresh power-packs, and lets keep moving. We’re almost to the main Spaceport docks, and I’ll need to call the old man here soon.”
Armsworth had an enormous arm outstretched, but pulled it back at her words. She gave him a grateful look, acknowledging the gesture even though she hadn’t been able to accept it. Armsworth grinned, and McNamara grinned back despite everything that had gone wrong. Even in this personal hell, she had Armsworth.
The twelve of them shuffled gear, and ten made their way forward while Officer Lantz pulled Corporal Bindi’s arm around her shoulders and began making their way back towards the relative safety of the assault transport.
Reignover would pay for Lacy’s death. For all the death he’d wrought on the dedicated men and women who’d come with her.
But for Lacy, she would carve his heart out.
Slowly.
To be continued…
Americkfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
