The Grey Chronicles Part Two: Under Siege.

Chapter 25: Carnage.

Nephilim encampment on Apostle Nine, planet's surface, January of 360 BL.

He lost his footing, leaning against the door of the shuttle and sinking to the floor as the full meaning of those words came to him. Perseus, Octavian, Aela, their child, were still in the camp that was about to be bombed into rubble, and he couldn't go back for them. They were dead, and it was his fault for not waiting for them.

The shuttle took off, hovering in place as it rose into the sky, then drifting off towards the rear of the camp. Augustus lost track of time, his mind occupied with what he had done by ordering the pilot to take off. It was too late, everyone on the shuttle would die if they went back, he could hear the bombs ringing in his ears. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be able to hear them, but nonetheless he did. He heard the bombs falling, he heard the shells exploding and showering the camp in napalm. Their cannons were primitive but effective; an empty shell packed with napalm and a small charge, a hammer tap on the tip would set them off. His friends would die in the blaze, the smoke and the smog would suffocate them long before their bodies burned. There would be nothing left for him and Salem. His brother would be crushed, and they would be alone again.

The pilot went wide, steering clear of the airspace over the camp. The sky was filled with flashes of red where some of the shells went off prematurely, raining hellfire down upon the camp. Fire broke out all over the encampment, he could see figures running towards no-man's-land, Nephilim trying to escape the burn. He flew towards the other side of the battlefield, to where he knew the Machinae camp was located. He tried the radio, calling out on an open channel to announce their arrival. He prayed they heard him, otherwise he was afraid they would shoot him down.

"Mayday, mayday," the pilot said into his mouth piece. "Anybody listening? This is pilot Samara Kabalda, I am flying a Titanus shuttle into your airspace. I have over a dozen prisoners that have been freed from the encampment you're firebombing. I repeat, can anyone hear me?"

His prayers were heard; one of the operators heard his mayday and informed Caesar. They cleared a place for the shuttle to land near the hospital, doctors and soldiers lined up around the marked area to care for the prisoners. The pilot landed, his knuckles white and his hands shaking on the stick as he killed the engine and lowered the ramp. He didn't have to fly those monsters around anymore, he had escaped. He was free.

Augustus didn't notice when the ramp lowered. He didn't notice when the prisoners rushed past him into the welcome, loving arms of friends and doctors. He was alone, consumed by grief until his father shook him from it.

"August," Caesar called him by his birth name; his mother had named him after the month he was born, but when he was a child he had added the "us" to the end because he thought it sounded cool. It stuck, and he went by Augustus for centuries without hearing his real name. "Where..."

"Salem is in the camp, the Shepherd has him," Augustus muttered to his feet, ashamed of himself.

"And the others?" Caesar asked, fearing the worst.

"They, they didn't make it. We took off before they made it onto the ship, we left them behind." Augustus looked up, his eyes filled with tears as they met his father's. "I left them behind."

"You did all you could," Caesar knelt beside his son, setting an arm on his shoulder. Augustus lurched forward, wrapping his arms around his father. "You did what you could, all of you would be dead if you hadn't left."

"T-they're dead, she's dead," Augustus sobbed into his father's chest, "She's gone, she's gone."

"Shh, if anyone can make it, it's those three." Caesar rubbed his back, fighting his own tears. "You know her, she's too stubborn to die. They all are."