A resistance warship flies into battle against the Conglomerate, a mecha-company conquering planets for minerals and slave labor. When the ship crashes above the plains, the five people on board battle for survival across their world, pursued by th...
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"Fates," The Gunner breathes, looking shaken for the first time.
Before them, the loam and green mossy expanse of the plains are dotted with bodies and downed aircrafts. Warbeasts are stomping over bones and metal wreckage alike, grinding down calcium and carbon and silicon into pulverized dust. The humid air is clogged with particles of dark dust and the screaming cries of dying, both Resistance and Conglomerate alike. Both die the same in the end.
"How are we ever going to get through all that?" The Recruit says, despair on his young face.
"Forward and onwards," The Pilot murmurs against his neck. "Perhaps quickly," she mutters distractedly, her hazy eyes on the warbeast placidly plodding towards what remains of their ship.
The Mechanic and The Gunner turn and see the great heaving, tusked thing that is lumbering towards them with legs thicker than herin trees, a dark coat glistening with gore and sweat. "We need to move," The Mechanic says grimly.
"Where?" The Recruit's voice is desperate and fearful. They are surrounded by Conglomerate ships winging overhead and infantry from the warbeast will be on their heels once the beast makes it to their ship. Resistance ships flit through the sky but their numbers are trending towards zero. They have lost this battle, there is no denying it.
"The Grasslands," The Pilot huffs. She stumbles against The Recruit, eyes squinting from both the sunslight and pain. "Evac point there," she manages weakly. The Recruit looks at her worriedly, then pulls her arm tighter to him, trying to check on it quietly.
"That's through the Marshes," The Mechanic says tersely, eyes flashing with an unnameable desire. "It's all open land with barely any cover to get to the Grasslands. The Forests south of here would provide cover."
"That's twice the distance it would be to the Marsh edge," The Gunner says, suspicious eyes on The Mechanic over The Captain's shoulders. "We stay on the Plains much longer and we won't need to make a decision because we'll be dead." The Mechanic gives her an unreadable look that she returns with a steady glare.
"The Marshes do offer some cover," The Recruit hazards hesitantly. "Not all of the ground is exposed, some swamp trees could help us, especially where the water is deeper." He gently moves his hand under The Pilot's ribcage when he hears the watery whisper from her lips. She looks like she wants to bat his hand away but cannot summon the strength to do so.
The Captain gives a gurgle, startling them all. The thud of a warbeast's hooves cover the pained sound he makes but his eyes flicker open. "He needs medical attention immediately," The Gunner says, sticky crimson on her shirt that is not her own. "If there is an evac point in the Grasslands, that's his most likely chance of survival. We don't know if there are any Resistance fighters that made it to the Forest."
The Mechanic's steel gaze slides away from The Gunner's at this. Whatever strategy he was formulating has not been successful; his comrades would be suspicious if he insists on the Forest so he acquiesces. He clearly has done the mental calculus and knows that the likelihood of The Captain surviving is slim to none.
