When the original explorers of the Nagano system arrived and laid their eyes upon the verdant jewel that would be named Planet Tomioka, they did not expect it to be torn asunder by war and pestilence and famine in the manner that it is today. The tragedy of warfare lies in its destruction of that which was once held holy and peaceful. Among the azure waters of the planet lay an island of lush tropical greenery and untainted natural beauty. But its serenity was soon shattered by the roaring engines of three fighters, one of Dragon affiliation, and two others of supposed Farmers' Alliance origin. They had engaged in a fierce air battle that raged across the planet's atmosphere, before finally reaching its climactic conclusion over what cartographers referred to as the Date Sea. After the engagement had reached its zenith and ended, the resulting destruction of one Black Dragon and one Katana had sullied the island with their screaming steel and melting fires. The forests were alight with the sparks of war, and animals ran for shelter from the ensuing and engulfing flames.
Then it came. A nuclear mine dropped by the victorious aircraft over the island. It annihilated life within a 1.2 mile radius with its explosive power. Radiation likely followed, and with it the slow destruction of life on the island. Currents in the water and air would carry it further to cause even more damage to the surrounding ecosystems and even human settlements. To anyone there, it seemed the world was dying and no one was helping her.
The lone Dragon pilot whose ship was shot down tumbled to the ground, his parachute cut by the wings of the despicable enemy pilot who had been the source of such destruction. A collection of tree branches seemed to reach out to catch him, and he ungracefully collided with bark as he slowly descended to the dirt below. From the corner of his eye, that distinctive flash of a nuclear explosion could be seen scouring the skies. The sight was terrible to behold, but it was not the worst atrocity the planet nor the pilot had witnessed in the conflict between the Dragons and Samura. Finally landing on terra firma, he rested against a tree trunk, aching in pain and pondering his next move.
Hours passed, hours of burning trees, fleeing animals and the agitated sea calming down.
Then, it was not sure how much time had passed, but the deafening roar of engine turbines filled the air. Becoming louder and loader, it shortly became evident that whatever was flying here targeted the Island - and shortly later, the ships came into sight. The Freighter was heavily modified, with added stabilizing fins, arms at its front and something that looked like a human-sized tube coming out of its right flank. Whoever had experience with warfare was aware what this was - a boarding ship. Shortly after it started hovering over a small patch of land, the engine roar got replaced with the hissing sound of the maneuvering thrusters, as it slowly descended in the burning jungle.
It was a good thing the pilot had ejected with the sample weapons those lovely folks over at Atlantis had provided him with. He doubted their practicality on a strategic scale, but even he had to admit that they were impressive little toys. Their power and penetration ability was absolutely unrivaled by most equivalent small arms, mostly due to the kinetic ammunition provided in the form of tungsten carbide rounds. Made the damn things heavy as hell, though. The pilot checked his bullets, cursing silently when he realized how little he had for the large sniper rifle. In some ways, he had hoped for the Farmers to visit him with backup. It would mean an easy time getting off the island when he could lay his hands on one of their commlinks, maybe even hijack the ship. Maybe five rounds were enough to take care of whatever they sent.
He covered himself in various burnt shrubs, crafting a suit of primitive camouflage under which he had his flight suit covered in various mosses and mud to mask any hint of unnatural color. The flames licked at the forest backdrop behind him, providing an ideal cover for his heat signature. Even the tree trunk felt somewhat heated by the blast, and he sweat like a dog as he sat on a branch with his back to the trunk. Wrapping his gun in similar fashion to his body, he waited silently in the tree, ready for anything that would come.
Day passed into night as the flames continued to twitch at the moonlit sky. Some had already dissipated, but most of the island had continued to smolder. The thunderous sound of a dropship echoed throughout what little remained of the woods, and as it soared overhead, the pilot could make out distinct markings. The same ones on the Farmers' Alliance fighters that had given him so much trouble in the sky above. With a nervous sigh and a slight prayer to whoever was listening, the pilot steeled himself and looked down the digital scope, observing the occupants dropship dropped off. It was curious though that they were apparently Farmers, though. Farmers didn't fly that well or come equipped with marine dropships.
Indeed, what dropped out of the hovering dropship was far from looking like regular farmers. Looking down the scope, it was possible to see what happened below the hovering craft. Even before it actually landed, two Soldiers jumped out, in perfect sync. The drop of seven meters was easily dealt with, they performed a synchronous roll, both in different directions, immediately falling down on one knee and scanning the surrounding area with the scopes of their rifles.
It was a descent into hell, as flames seemed to try snatching their legs from them. When the dropship finally landed, another three silhouettes left the craft, and it rose immediately. Just low enough to not be seen by usual radar, but high enough to be out of reach - and to provide fire support.
Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing. And they were ever so slowly making gains towards the pilot.
They were definitely not farmers. And they definitely couldn't have been KNF. It left only a few options as to who they were... But investigations would come later. The enemy was ahead.
The pilot cursed silently under his breath, and began assessing the situation he was in. One bullet for each soldier meant he'd have to be extremely careful with his shots. The wind was chaotic and strong from the dropship's descent and the roaring inferno nearby. The intense heat made it difficult to concentrate fully on the targets ahead and the tactical precision of each soldier's movements in that loose formation meant they wouldn't necessarily panic at the first sign of fire. They appeared too disciplined for that.
With tender care and slow movement, the pilot loaded in the first round, a slender and heavy slug of tungsten carbide, into his rifle. A firm pull and push of the bolt ensured it was locked in place, and with the press of a button, the distinctive whir of a railgun's coils powering up filled his ears like the sweetest music. The advanced scope adjusted for all the conditions he had been preoccupied with before in his head, creating custom crosshairs to fire at the first unlucky foe. He looked at the group, trying to pick out which one was the officer. After a couple of seconds, he noticed one of the soldiers, slightly smaller in stature than the others, waving around their hands as if giving out orders. It seemed to be a dead giveaway, and with a pull of the trigger, the pilot took aim at the abdomen of the suspected leader.
The moment the gun fired, the first two soldiers brought up their guns. They couldn't prevent the officer falling to the ground, silently, but they could fire back. Their battle rifles, adjusted for the extreme range, flashed, one shot from the right one, then the left one, and so on. Slowly, but steadily, they emptied their magazines, and their accuracy was deadly. Had the pilot not sought cover immediately, at least three shots would have hit him, and while he was pinned down, unable to see what was happening, the soldiers were retreating. Without even checking on the wounded officer, they sought cover behind a ridge.
For a moment, the covering fire stopped. In the instant it seemed safe to check on the site, hell broke loose. The dropship lit up what little vegetation was left, burning long, ashen lines through the bushes, melting the sand and earth below them. It continued for at least another minute, before the ship launched into the sky again, engines roaring, drawing a line of fire through the night's sky.
"Traitors!"
Hitomi spat on the ground. She knew that the marines of the 53rd had never liked her reign over the exiled fleet, but that Hayashi would go so far as to leave a wounded soldier behind to further his political agenda caught her by surprise. Before the dropship had opened fire, she had been able to get up and into cover, only to see her only hope of escaping this hellhole fly away. They'd pay for that. Dearly. No doubt, and if she'd only live until she saw Hayashi's head on a pike.
As she tried to stand up, she immediately regretted that decision. The pain in her stomach was almost mind-numbing. A loud, angry scream emanated from her mouth, no word, just a scream of pain and anger. The night did not answer.
Alone on a planet full of hostiles, in the middle of a war. Yet again. At least this time she'd not have to fight alongside Bretonians.
She checked the magazine. All fine. Wound was taken care of, at least as best as she could. Now she'd have to lie and wait for that sniper to come and check if his prey was alive, only to find himself to be the hunted. With the grim determination that is unique to people expecting their own demise, she loaded the gun and waited.
Diving instinctively for cover the moment he shot the first soldier, the pilot barely evaded the volley of fire. One laser shot managed to cause a particularily heavy piece of bark to explode, piercing the glass of the flight helmet's visor and slashing at skin above the pilot's eye. Yelping slightly, he threw off the helmet and took cover behind the tree, staying still with his rifle despite his stinging brow. Minutes passed, and the sound of the dropship lowering itself upon the earth rose again. For a moment, when the soldiers paused their onslaught, the pilot felt suddenly safe for all of five seconds. Then the realization that they were not finished with him suddenly dawned on him. He looked down at his shattered visor, noticing his own bloodied reflection in the cracked mirror. With a grunt and a burning desire to survive, Yoshitsune Hideyoshi sprinted away from his position and into a small crevasse near his position. Dropping his sniper rifle in an effort to lose dead weight, he slid into a small cave where he huddled in the corner as the dropship's engines were supplemented by an even worse sound.
The first strike of laser fire from the spacecraft's cannons tore the earth and forest asunder where Yoshitsune had once set himself up. Fragments of organic and inorganic matter alike blew past at breakneck speeds, ricocheting off the cave walls and through the crevasse outside. The seconds felt like minutes, and the minutes felt like hours as the bombardment utterly annihilated what little was left on the island. Eventually the gunfire ceased, instead replaced by the sound of engines boosting away into the ethereal skies above. Sighing in relief, Yoshitsune stood up and brushed off his flight suit, despite the filth already caked onto it by his amateur camouflage. Stepping outside and scanning around him, he cursed silently as the sniper rifle was nowhere to be found. All he had on him was that damn katana that he carried with him into combat. He knew how to use it, but the weapon was always meant to be more ceremonial if anything. It brought him good luck and he made a habit of never leaving for a sortie without it, even when he was still known as Sora Kobayashi.
Yoshitsune shook his head and unsheathed the sword, revealing a shimmering crimson that seemed to illuminate the surrounding area as it bathed in the flames left behind by the dropship and nuclear mine from before. The sword was sharp enough to split the very fibers of even the finest silk. In truth, it was the same weapon he had wielded on Tomioka months before that had earned him his reputation in the first place. Those times seemed so distant now... He closed his eyes, refocusing his mind on the present situation as he walked down to the soldiers' landing site. Even from a distance he could see one glaring difference from before. The body of the officer he shot wasn't there and there was a noticeable trail of blood. They were still around and still alive.
With fury and tenacity burning in his eyes, he readied his sword and crouched, prepared to duck into cover at the first sign of trouble.
No gun. He came with his sword alone. Hitomi admired the courage the pilot had, examining the blood on the ground. It was only now she realized what damage the shot had done. Before she'd meet him, she'd need to react. And she'd need to do it fast. Morphine. Now.
The empty syringe dropped on the ground behind her as she fired her pistol. He had already closed roughly to 20 meters, and that was as close as she would let him go. She was dying. At least she'd take this bastard with her.
The red flash hit the ground an inch before the feet of the Dragon. Drek. She'd aimed for the center of mass. Why didn't that damn morphine work? Was she getting old already? Nevermind. Use it. Make it look like was intentional. Keep the gun on point.
Hitomi emerged from the bushes, still holding her posture. The armor was full of black dirt, ashes and blood, still flowing over her hip. The blade in her right hand ready, pistol in the left hand, pointed right at the soldier. Behind her broken visor, her grim face changed from determination to disbelief.
Him?
"No step further, or you'll get a hole as pretty as the one you made in me... your highness."
So far, her voice was holding. She'd have a few more minutes until she'd pass out. Damn it, if only the visor wouldn't be broken, vital monitor data would've been really useful now. At least he couldn't see her face, which was probably as white as chalk right now.
The blaster bolt came as a bit of a surprise for Yoshitsune. He expected to be fired upon, but he did not expect such a close shot. As far as he could tell, that shot had gone clean through. A brief moment of hesitation meant that he was now stopped in the open, dead in his tracks. He could have died for making such a stupid mistake. But it seemed that fate had allowed him to live a little longer, perhaps just enough to fulfill his ultimate goal. Standing still, Yoshitsune listened to the officer's orders, still retaining a wary expression marred by his spilt blood and unkempt, tarnished hair. The training and tone of the soldiers and this officer indicated they had to be military, and with the usage of Farmers' Alliance vessels...
"Could it be? Exiles on Tomioka? And led by a woman? And using the ships of other Samura slaves? This isn't exactly typical of the area, you know..," he quipped, slowly moving to sheath his blade as if giving a good gesture of faith. "It's not like I would need this to kill you anyhow... You seem to be in pretty bad shape soldier. You planning on shooting me or capturing me with that hole in your belly?"
Everything around her seemed so clear all of a sudden. The crackling of flames, the heavy smell of burning leaves and wood, the red of her blood... All was crystal clear. So clear, actually, that it became surreal. She knew what would be coming next. She'd have to solve this quick, really quick.
"It isn't really typical for the leader of a rebellion to be on a lone island, and without cover as well, don't you think? And yes, I plan to kill you, dragon."
She holstered her gun, gripped her sword with both hands, raising it's hilt slightly higher than her chest.
"I'm going to die either way. I can at least take you down with me. Any last words?"
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