Pride of Boke

The APOD four-engine short-range transport trailed black smoke from its tail. Although the pilot did their utmost to maintain the craft's balance, the transport still pitched and yawed like a rag doll falling from the sky, slamming toward the earth thousands of feet below as gravity dragged it toward death.

"We are about to land, hold on tight!" Warfield shouted over the intercom.

At the final moment, the transport managed to regain some stability. After gliding smoothly for a few dozen seconds, the passengers braced for the first impact. The belly of the ship struck the ground first, and Augustus felt as if he had slammed head-first into solid granite; his internal organs felt as though they had been crushed into a single mass.

For a fleeting moment, the fear of death consumed Augustus's heart.

The transport skidded across the ground, leaping high and crashing down hard every time it hit a small, solid protrusion. Augustus was completely unable to speak, let alone scream; he felt as if his very bones were about to shatter.

It was several minutes, perhaps longer, before the transport finally came to a halt. Fortunately, they had not slammed into a ridge or any other obstacle that would have finished them all off.

Alarm sirens blared incessantly, and warning lights flashed a dangerous red. In his daze, Augustus saw a pair of hands reaching out toward him.

"We need to get out of here, fast." It was Raynor's voice. "This ship is a sitting duck on the ground. Damn it, where are our gunships? Are they all pigs?"

Augustus quickly regained his senses. He unbuckled his safety harness and stood up, leaning on Raynor's shoulder. The situation was dire; bright red blood was flowing across the cabin floor. Augustus looked around—some had struggled to their feet, but more remained slumped in their seats.

"Shake them all awake!" Augustus shouted.

"The Kel-Morian are right above us. One heat-seeking missile and we'll all be meeting God." He saw Harnack and Zander had already stood up. "Hank, take a few men, open the cargo bay, and get the weapons out. Max, you and the others get everyone here awake."

"Open the hatch and get everyone who's still alive out! Move! If you don't want to die, get moving!"

"Omo, go to the comms bay and find the radio transceiver."

Because they were all recruits, the training camp officers had remained behind at the main base on Turaxis. Everyone was panicked and at a loss, as the drill instructors had never taught them how to handle a situation like this.

At this moment, no one but Augustus stood up to command these recruits. Even though the other squads were not very familiar with him, there was no time to question him in this life-or-death crisis.

"Jim, Benjamin, come with me to find Warfield." With that, Augustus pushed through the crowd toward the cockpit. Warfield had not spoken again, leading Augustus to suspect that he might have met with misfortune.

The two followed Augustus in silence. The cockpit door, which had been locked tight, was now bent and damaged from the impact. At Augustus's signal, Benjamin slammed his shoulder into the door again and again until it was severely compromised. After Augustus's heart skipped a few beats, the door finally gave way.

The moment he stepped into the cockpit, Augustus stepped into a pool of blood, and his heart sank to the bottom of his chest. The cockpit windows were covered in spiderweb cracks. The pilot, Warfield's adjutant, had been pierced through the chest by shards of glass and was no longer breathing.

The adjutant was a young man not much older than Augustus, with brown curls that looked messy despite having clearly been groomed, and bright dark-brown eyes. The rank on his shoulder straps indicated he was a staff sergeant. Before he stopped breathing, the officer had kept his lips tightly pressed together, his eyes staring fixedly into the distance.

"He's gone." Raynor's face was grim; this was the first time they had seen such a bloody scene.

"The Lieutenant is still alive!" Benjamin saw that Warfield was still breathing. There was a gash on his forehead with blood streaming down, but he had not yet regained consciousness.

"Carry him out." Augustus told Benjamin while grabbing the C-14 Gauss pistol from the staff sergeant's belt. Augustus had no time to close the dead man's eyes in mourning, nor would he risk the delay to recover the body; Kel-Morian fighters were surely circling above them at this very moment.

"Move!" Raynor helped Benjamin hoist Warfield onto his shoulders.

When they returned to the troop cabin, only Harnack and Londerstein remained. Each was carrying two C-14 Gauss rifles on their backs and holding an SR-8 shotgun.

Seeing Augustus emerge, Harnack handed him a Gauss rifle and said, "Two poor bastards in the third squad broke their legs, and another guy has a huge hole in his stomach. God knows what happened."

"What's the specific situation?" Augustus took the rifle and ran toward the open hatch, asking as he went. This was clearly outside Harnack's area of expertise, and he stammered, unable to give an answer.

"A penetrating wound; he was hit by shrapnel from the engine explosion. We moved him out on a makeshift stretcher," Londerstein answered in Harnack's stead. He spoke clearly and without panic. "There are a few M-1 medical kits in the cargo bay. I tried using nano-coagulant to stop the bleeding, but it didn't work well—the wound is too large. If we can't get him to a field hospital or a medevac ship, he's as good as dead."

Augustus stepped out of the transport and was shocked to find that they had landed in a city ruin. Beneath his feet was an eight-lane circular track for a sky-train.

This circular track was suspended over a thousand feet in the air, weaving between hundreds of towering skyscrapers and sky-towers. Looking up, the clouds felt within reach; below lay ant-like houses and countless highways, ramps, and bridges.

It was daytime and the weather was clear, allowing Augustus to see a majestic, snow-white sky-tower not far from them. The tower was imposing, with a massive, slowly rotating gear encircling its hexagonal prism body.

A giant metal billboard hung on the sky-tower, reading: "Welcome to the Pride of Boke! A salute to courage, to the pilots, and to the Terran Confederacy!"

Due to the war, almost all the glass on it had shattered, and the white walls were covered in black scorch marks from fire and the furrows of laser beams.

There were no lights on any of the floors. From his angle, he could only see black holes where windows should have been, some piled high with cables, desks, and other damaged large electronic equipment.

The recruits who had already escaped the transport gathered a few dozen yards from the ship. Some were prone on the ground, staring nervously at the sky, while others watched Augustus.

"Spread out! Spread out in groups of five!" Augustus walked toward them.

But at this moment, most did not immediately obey his order.

"Who are you? Where is Lieutenant Warfield?" one recruit asked, looking at Augustus.

"He is still unconscious. According to field regulations, the highest-ranking officer present assumes command." Augustus walked straight toward the injured man on the stretcher. "I am Recruit Sergeant Augustus, and you lot aren't even privates yet. If you aren't willing to follow my orders, then come up with a better plan."

"Are you not afraid of dying? Move! The Kel-Morian Hellhound ground-attack missiles could wipe us all out in an instant!" Raynor shouted at this point.

The questioning recruit was left speechless, and the rest followed Augustus's instructions.

Augustus walked to the stretcher, where the injured recruit lay. Zander, Omo, and Ward were kneeling beside it. The wounded man was calm; the painkillers and sedatives had taken effect. His waist was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, and his light blue eyes looked up at the sky with a melancholic gaze.