Operation: Home Front - Finale Author: All Active HomeFront Writers Beat. Mitchell was wondering if he'd had such a bright idea. Orders were orders, though, and he'd had indications that there was an opportunity, so he'd taken it. The fighting was going slow, but they were making some progress. This crew had been waiting after the Jihad force broke through a placement of soldiers around the gate away from the main tunnel. The enemy's tactics were curious. Hand-to-hand weapons. Adept at dodging or misdirecting gunfire. You'd think a properly-equipped Jihad force could mow them down, but their leader - a big man, bald as an egg but hard as a rock - had trained them well and led them with precision. Mitchell decided that this guy had to go. He let out a piercing whistle. Members of the 3rd division - his usual assignment - coalesced from the chaos of battle into a unit before him. "We're taking out the enemy commander. You in the front, give us cover fire. Those on the inside, take your time, aim carefully. Let's show him the reason generals don't go to the front line." It was a simple plan. It should have worked. If this Kajj was still entirely human, it would have worked. But he gave a glance at the approaching Jihaddi, and somehow mapped out their angles of fire before the triggers were pulled. He dived, rolled to the side behind a group of his men, called out some code phrase and they turned as one to attack the Jihaddi. Beat. Tableau: A darkened room. To one side, a large, crystalline pyramid. It glows a blue-tinged white along complicated lines and patterns. It is sheathed in continual multi-colored static. Around and about it, standing figures in impeccable robes, fallen figures in bloodstained uniforms. It is difficult to see the robed figures' expressions, but then that is probably the point of the masks they wear. They gesture; they speak. Among the more translatable of their words: "He had this planned all along. This shield is set up to keep out even our works." "He could not know how. He must have had help." "No. No human knows enough, and none of our race would ever help him do this. This is a primitively simple shield, it is but an embodiment of a single trait of humans. Can you not feel it?" "Yes... yes, I can. This is embodied human stubbornness. That is one of their chief traits, perhaps the most basic one, that tenacity and refusal to give in to anything." "Then think. How does one stop it?" A new figure enters, one with a body language screaming command. "You kill them, of course. Or break them. Focus your thoughts on that. Attack it as if breaking a human's will. You've done it often enough." The newcomer turns. "What progress on the more subtle route?" Gesture. Is it some sign of respect? "I must report lack of significant progress. The command files have been damaged, and the means of restoring them is... utterly strange." "Speak more clearly." "Questions are asked. The complex structure of the answer would provide the required-" "What questions?" "'How many sponges... err... would it take to change a light..." The newcomer listened in growing disbelief. Beat. Will and his company moved along the corridors with more speed now than stealth. The floor plan was amazingly simple - the ex-sponge guiding them explained as they hustled along that the upper levels were, for the benefit of sponges who had to move about them regularly, labeled with letters going up in one direction, and numbers going up in the other. Blocks corresponded. Thus, from Block 7-E to Block 4-C was a matter of moving three intersections North and two intersections West. Rhyn had used a small personal troop for several tasks. Their guide was not only one of his personal bodyguards at the finish, but also one of those who had carried Private Merengue to the intense-bombardment chamber. No need to say intense bombardment with what. "Merengue's nice, but I prefer apple...." The guy shook his head, clearing it of a few remaining vestiges of stupidity. Not, Will was afraid, that he'd been incredibly bright to begin with. "Say," said the sponge, "did you guys not worry about the last thing he said?" Will cocked an eyebrow. "Rhyn? What thing?" "Dunno. He always said that no Jihaddi in the world would kill him without giving him last words, and he had some last words so no Jihaddi would ever kill him." "Somehow I don't think Zaphyre and Selene both in a vengeful mood would really wait around for a request of last words. I wonder what he meant, though?" "Dunno. Here we are." "Dang," said Turbo, "I passed this place running from the first guys." The sponge shrugged and reached for the door. Will caught the movement. "No, wait!" I LOVE YOU... YOU LOVE ME... Will slammed the door and started reciting integration formulas to get back into focus. "The integral of a x to the nth is one over n a x to the n minus oneth... no, one over n minus one... no, plus one..." Okay, he felt better. The sponge got a Mathattackicus shot to the face for his trouble, and the Jihaddi were either coming out of it, out of it, or giving a slap or two to those that weren't. In under a minute everyone was fine. But from that cascade of images and chants, he feared Merengue would be completely under. He shoo'ed everyone back from the door and cast Silence and Darkness. Thus cloaked, he entered the room and dragged Merengue out from where he'd seen her, then dropped the dweomers. He looked up. "Um... did I do something wrong dispelling my Darkness?" After a moment, he heard a voice. "Don't think so, sir, I just think the base power went out." Relief came as emergency lighting kicked in. "Oh, good." That would have been a really apprentice-level mistake to make. He turned his attention to Merengue. Good news. She wasn't sponged. Bad news. She wasn't alive. Or, since she wasn't exactly in rigor mortis, in some kind of stasis. "Yer momma's not gonna be best pleased, honey." He hoisted her onto his shoulder, then changed his mind and took advantage of command to hoist her onto some big strapping Ensign's shoulder. The guy looked like he pumped iron, he could probably carry her better anyway. "All right, let's scram. Which way to the front doors?" The sponge mutely pointed, and everyone ran. Beat. The mask shifted in a way that indicated the Lyran might have been smiling, but no one was looking. It contacted its comrades and informed them where the latest hunt could be found if they weren't occupied in trying to defeat the barriers around the Jihaddi-altered Generator, now a super-unmindlocking system, or in the hunt for the traitor Rhyn, or in herding the stronger of their creations... oh. It looked like none could be spared from those tasks to hunt Jihaddi. Fine. The kill would be its own, then. Lightning was always good for a start, it impressed primitives no end. And scared them, of course. And killed them, of course. He plucked a container of electric spiders out of his robe. They wafted on the breezes of the base, drawn towards the smell and heat of humanity. Their tiny strands of web were barely noticeable as they floated through the hallways after the fleeing Jihaddi, accelerated by his conjured wind. Anytime someone tried to brush off one of the creatures, it responded by jolting him or her with a painful shock, conducted throughout the clinging strands. It was so wonderful to see a group catch on, and just stand there terrified as the creatures wove an otherwise perfectly harmless web. The smile dropped. But he could not afford the luxury tonight. He sent his own charges down the conductive strands, lighting the halls like a strobe, current arcing towards the nearest body, more than half the time an ex-sponge but none the less sweet. Next, he thought, fire. Barriers sprang up around the hunt area, wide enough to enclose all the fleeing humans but narrow enough to make the hunt easier. Beat. Mitchell was finally making headway. This front-line general he was fighting had sufficient contempt for modern battle tactics that he had trouble refuting a force that would strike and run, strike and run, always with weapons from a distance. The prospect of splitting his force hadn't appealed at all, but not only were they succeeding in casualties, here and there a unit seemed to make it through, penetrating behind the lines. They were moving off, as ordered, to find the Generator and try to disable it. Once again, he cursed the radio interference that was apparently a regular security feature in this base. Once again, he gave the same set of instructions to fifty or so men and moved them off. Just then, the halls blacked out. Emergency lighting activated. The battle continued. Beat. "Fire again?" A wall of flame had barred their way for three intersections now, and the Jihaddi were getting tired of it. Will strode forward, pointed at the base of the fire, and raised his hand with five cupped fingers pointing upward. A dome of vacuum rose over the flames, which continued burning. "So. Magical." He dropped the vacuum and attacked the construct. It refused to budge. Scowling, he tried again. Nothing. "May I, sir?" It was Cecrops. "By all means." The Trooper activated his Shield, then laid it down over the burning area, flattening the flames. "Good work. Everyone, move!" Single file, they all passed over the clear area. Beat. "Enough of this! Destroy the thing! You, forget these games! You, begin an Intaking! I will focus your pathetic energies with discipline." The Lyrans now almost crowding the room formed a semicircle facing the Generator, their commander at its center. Power begin to flicker back and forth between them, occasionally being transmitted from the one at its peak to their leader, who tried methods of surpassing deviousness to break past this ill-begotten shield. But, like a child who refused to believe humans existed until it saw one, it stubbornly resisted all attempts to move it. Beat. "Your attention all." It was Rhyn's voice, in a rather pleasant mood. But he was dead! Beat. The Lyrans hunting, herding, or trying to destroy the Generator froze in their tracks, listening. Beat. Jihaddi cocked an ear, but continued running for their lives or just hustling out. Beat. Mitchell finally heard. The battle suddenly lulled, even the sponges they were fighting on some kind of momentary standby. Rubato Rhyn's recorded voice spoke calmly and clearly. "If you are hearing this, one of a few things has occurred. Most likely I am dead, have for some reason created a simulacrum of my own death charactype, have activated a self-destruct mechanism, or have destroyed a device that usually kept this base's fusion reactor from going haywire. I fervently hope it is one of the latter, and that I am activating this device from afar, but after all there does need to be a credible threat for this to be effective in keeping me alive. The likelihood of a Jihaddi executing summary judgment so fast that I don't get the chance to tell them is pretty small. Whatever the case may be, though, I want all hearing this to know that I exercised control over your life, am the cause of your death, and otherwise am generally a god among insects. Please enjoy the remainder of your stay in my base. Security lockdown commencing." Bridge, to the sound of blast doors closing, walls reinforcing, and other such large, heavy, metallic measures. Will turned to the sponge. "How low is that reactor?" "Oh, pretty far down, I'd say. They deliberately made it far enough that you could drive or fly away from it above ground, but the base, uh..." "The base," said the Lyran hunter catching sight of them, "will be quite completely destroyed." A Lyran. Oh, Grimace. Will thought very, very fast. It continued speaking. "We knew of this device, we did not care. The fusion reactor will be tamed or allowed to run its course, as we wish. You will not have the luxury of knowing its demise, however." Will prayed it was true that Lyrans could see through illusions, and whipped up the simplest thing he could think of. Nothing. Holy moly, it worked. "Quick, everyone, scatter!" The Lyran gazed about in disbelief. There was obviously an illusion about him, his senses could detect it. But of what? He could not see! No human being could possibly create an illusion he could not penetrate! He hardly noticed the humans scattering in his preoccupation with this problem. He essayed a spellbreaker, and the illusion shattered like dust, leaving behind... ...exactly the same thing. It had been an illusion of the hallway EXACTLY as it actually looked. Hm. The Jihaddi had a mage, and one with some low cunning at that. This would be more fun than he thought. "Fire?" "That's what it looks like to me, ma'am." "Extinguishers?" "None in the area." Selene hung her head. *I can't believe we've come this far to be stopped by a lousy fire, Zaph.* *Well, it /is/ magical.* Her head snapped up. *Is it?* *Yes. Have something in mind?* *What's it burning?* *Nothing, as far as I can tell. The floor, maybe. Why?* *Just give me strength...* Selene extended claws once more, and knelt on the floor in front of the flames. Heat pounded at her from the raging but impossibly thin blaze just inches away. She pulled back her arm and plunged claws into the floor. The analogues of feet made for perching on mountaintops, driven by as much as possible of the strength of wings meant to lift a huge body into flight, plowed a respectable distance through the creases between stones. She repeated the process with the other hand, then started the toughest curl of her life. *Come on, come on, you WEAKling GIRL, you can do this lousy lift! Push! Push! If you can't save your own life, what are you doing in an army?! HEAVE!* "Nnnnaaaagh!" A flagstone lifted up, then fell end over end. There it lay, a piece of stone impossibly still spurting out fire from beneath it, but a clear path several feet wide above it. The drill sergeant in her mind flashed a cocky smile and promised to hold off on the "weakling girl" comments in the future. She was about to tell them to get going when they heard the sound of troops arriving from behind. Everyone scattered to cover, but the new troops were Jihaddi. Selene stepped forward. "Will!" "Merengue all rescued, too. Well, almost. Where's the rest of your team?" "We split up. I'm sure they heard the announcement, and we were all on our way out, anyway. We're leaving." "They'll have to get through this wall of flame, though... and there's only this one way out, it seems." "Well, I really can't see an alternative. Radio contact's out, and we can't just yell. There' a Lyran hunting us, and he's picking off small groups like flies." "I know, we've seen him. Dammit, we can't stay in bits and pieces like this. JIHADDI! RALLY! JIHADDI, RALLY HERE!" Everyone stood there shocked, silent. Except for Selene, who roundly berated the stupidity of this action in words not fit for a family-oriented newsgroup. The Jihaddi back at the intersection where they met up were almost as flabbergasted that someone would give away their position so. They did at least realize that they needed to regather all the troops which had scattered, but... "Don't worry," said Will. "I've got a plan." "A /plan/?!" yelled Selene. "With all due respect, Commander, you're off your rocker. Plan or no plan, nobody but a Feral kills a Lyran." "Just listen to me." He raised his voice, for the hearing of the Jihaddi rushing towards them. "We've been getting nickel-and-dimed by this Lyran, and if it keeps going we're going to get creamed. I think it's time we showed him we can bite back even if he thinks we can't. "So we're gonna play a little game of baseball. Listen carefully, now: I don't you to aim for the strike zone. Not inside it, not outside it, and not a slider, either. Way over home plate. Got it?" He looked around. A few confused faces stared... he raised his palms up and pumped, and the most of the rest got it. "Good. On my signal. On second thought, hell with signals. As soon as you see him. We need a way out, too -" "Got one," said Selene. "And we've got our people. Enough for a battle situation, anyway. Come on." They ran. Oddly, no one caught sight of the Lyran. It was only when they were about to run through the break in the fire wall that the alien mage appeared before them, blocking their route of escape. No games this time - powerful energies cascaded between his hands, to strike and kill. The Jihaddi, as one, aimed their weapons. Many of them were even hidden by the Lyran's own wall of flame. He contemptuously raised a shield which no normal Jihaddi weapon could fire through. Indeed, not a single shot hit him. But then, the shots were all aimed for the roof. As it collapsed or exploded down on him - no one there could ever say for sure - he looked up briefly. In the cloud of dust and the jagged pile of rocks remaining, it wasn't clear whether his body was there and they didn't stop to search. In the halls coming up on the main exit, the fleeing Jihaddi turned a corner and groaned. Masses of spongies blocked their way, still functioning and turning in surprise. The weary group readied itself for another battle, but a shout of greeting rang over the clash and Captain Mitchell's troops, now with a more focused point of attack, made quick work of the spongies standing between the two groups. Mitchell hurriedly caught them up. The bald Wyrm-Minion - Kajj, they had heard him called - had been in full retreat since Rhyn had died. He and a little guy in a white lab coat, maybe overhead to answer to "Arill," looking weaselly and scared but who commanded a veritable army of unusual mechs that it had been impossible to get through, had vanished into the recesses of the base, leaving behind the main force of spongies as a delaying present. But once those had been disposed of, there was a more serious problem, which they saw as they made the main hallway. The first troops assigned there still held to their posts. The last of the base's defenses, dogged and fully-aware mercenaries kept under cover of the base's blasted doors and held the Jihaddi's escape. Reasoning was futile, killing them difficult, bribery against their twisted code. Precious time passed as the Jihaddi tried to wear down the soldiers crazed with war, and with their fee. Suddenly, cries erupted from their position. Somebody had caught the mercenaries in a crossfire. In seconds, their exposed rear had been decimated. Colonel Sanford stood up. "Forbes?!" Lt. Forbes put a foot on a casualty. "Your wish is my command, sir. You wished we were here, so here we are." "The _Lydia_?" "Your chariot awaits." "Then," said the Colonel as he turned to Selene and Will, "to coin a phrase, let's blow the joint." Will turned to the Jihaddi. "Everybody, get to your vehicles and run like hell. I have no idea how much blast will make it out of the ground." He turned to Sanford. "Colonel, Selene winged here as a dragon, and I and Merengue teleported. Would you be so kind as to give us a lift?" "Gladly, sir." Jihaddi piled aboard whatever transport they could find. By land and air they made for points remote. High above the Earth's surface, Will and Selene watched - sheltered from the effects, of course. Merengue lay on a bed in the background. Will murmured, "Maybe the Lyrans decided not to let it blow." "It's a pretty valuable base, but we blew it wide open. I don't think -" From the viewpoint of an innocuos Kansas plain, white light seared the horizon. The earth waves, the aerial blast, were more than anything anyone in the area had ever experienced. But not, thank goodness, as much as had been feared. Midnight came and went, and the Generator failed to spongify or despongify the world. Perhaps the Lyrans had successfully destroyed it, then decided that the base be made unsalvageable behind it. Perhaps, and this was the more popular theory, they had been unable to breach the defenses, and had allowed a fusion bomb to do what they could not. The newspapers were full of the "meteorite impact" the next day. Jihad Intel(say rather, an enterprising young rockhound) even obligingly provided a few shards of meteorite, deliberately selected to minimize any more-than-ordinary scientific discovery in the journals. The small amount of radioactivity in the area was obviously the product of some catalyzed reaction, as the meteorite itself was only slightly radioactive. The levels weren't dangerous, fortunately. The site was declared a disaster area by the Emergency Relief Fund, a park area by the Department of the Interior, and all in all by the time things were sorted out ownership was a little hazy but clearly not theirs and nobody had any plans to mine, farm, buy, or otherwise use such an otherwise clearly uninteresting area. Obviously. The newspapers had mentioned a few deaths from the tremors. A slight rise in violent incidents in cities around the nation had been noticed over the weekend the meteorite impacted, but of course nobody would ever connect two such disparate events, except maybe the more crackpot members of the conspiracy fringe. A few clerics might have been seen wandering about the site for a few days, quietly consecrating the ground for those who lay within, according to various religions and ways. Some rockhounds hung around the place for a while, and some extremely annoying tourists messed up the entire place for any kind of scientific work. There were the usual nondescript military-looking police or emergency personnel, of course. But nobody would think to ask them what they were doing. --------------Fin-------------- Individual writers may or may not create personal Epilogues, but here ends the main plot of Operation: HomeFront.