The Fall of Requiem

The Fall of Requiem

"This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not again."

The Requiem’s alarms blared, casting an urgent red glow down the tight smoke-filled corridors of the intergalactic frigate. “ALL PERSONNEL ARE ORDERED TO EVACUATE,” L.O.R.E’s robotic voice repeated through the ship’s intercom, the familiar upbeat tone replaced with an almost ominous sternness.
Yorke’s eyes had snapped open the moment the ship lurched out of hyperspace. He was out of his bunk, half into his green camouflage battle armour, when The Mandate’s first energy blast hit. The second round landed as he laced up his boots. By the third, he was running, fists covered in scarlet blood.
Now he was sprinting through a maze of twisting steel pipes, the Requiem shaking under the assault. The metallic taste of the fumes spilling into the corridors clung to his tongue and clogged his lungs. He coughed and sputtered as he ran, spitting a dark, black glob that splattered against the metal floor. Each breath made it worse as more smoke filled his chest.
Another hit. Yorke stumbled forward, barely catching himself as the hull groaned and split open somewhere nearby.
“EMERGENCY PROCEDURE 7,” L.O.R.E’s voice crackled through the intercom. They must’ve found a viable planet… A second chance. The kind of chance he hadn’t had back then.
He pushed himself up, pressing his gloved hands against the cold steel, forcing himself to breathe. For a moment, he listened to the Requiem return fire and envied the Captain’s steadiness, the kind of calm that kept men fighting even when all seemed lost.
He pressed on, moving like lightning as a cacophony of roaring engines and violent expulsions shook the air, each of the Requiem’s missiles made a howl of vengeance vanishing into the void. His legs ached and burnt as he moved, but he did not stop. He had no choice but to keep going. 
He rounded a corner to find a young ensign huddled on the floor. He was just a boy. His white uniform was tattered, ripped and stained with dried blood. His short blond hair was matted with sweat. The boy looked up as Yorke approached. His eyes were a vivid blue and wide open. Fear and tears were drenched on his face. 
“Who let you out?” The boy could only stutter as he sat there shivering. Yorke ignored the question and pulled the boy up with his blooded hands.
“You need to keep going!” Yorke bellowed over as the sirens shrieked like banshees. He pulled the lad along as they made their way to the Rafts. After more twists and turns through a corridor that was thick with the acrid scent of burning, they found a rank of Rafts. Nine had left already, while one remained, guarded by two marines. 
“We only got space for one,” the closest marine shouted as he pointed his rifle at the pair, “there’s more by the Bridge.”
“Then take the boy,” Yorke grunted as he threw the ensign forward. He moved past the marines as they pushed the boy in and closed the hatch behind them. It didn’t take long for the Raft to launch with a screech.  
Through the hatch window, Yorke watched the Raft vanish into the endless void, where thousands of stars glittered like diamonds on Maria’s black dress. For a fleeting moment, he could almost see her, radiant in the soft light, the memory as vivid as the stars themselves. 
A flicker of hope and relief coursed through him - at least some would survive. Then the sharp crack of The Mandate’s lasers slammed against the hull, shattering the fragile reverie and dragging him back to the cold, unforgiving reality of his own fight to survive.

“The Bridge.”

He sprinted down the corridor and through the mess. Hundreds of tables and chairs had been overturned, half empty meals lay scattered on the floor. A body lay there motionless, the man’s skull was half crushed by a microwave. The smell of the splattered brain was overwhelming. Yorke stepped over the corpse and weaved around the upturned tables and chairs to get to the service hatch he knew was in the back. Hard toast crushed below his metal boots as the rubber pressed down into the half eaten breakfast.  
The ship rocked again as he loosed the latches of the service door, the iron door was stiff, but Yorke managed to get it open. Behind the thick blast door was a ladder. The rungs were cold like ice as he gripped them tight beginning his assent. 
Here in the service tunnel, the sirens were muffled, so he could finally hear himself think. The air was still and pressed against his throat and there was a distinct musk in the darkness, like rot. Each step he took was perilous, he braced himself for impact with each faint sound he heard. Should The Mandate send another round, then he could lose his grip and fall down the depth of the ship.
Somehow, he made it. He pushed open the door to the corridor that would take him to the Bridge. He followed it cautiously. He wasn’t allowed here and Yorke didn’t fancy being arrested again. But he needed to be here, the Bridge had the closest Rafts, the only way to get off the ship alive. There were no sirens here, L.O.R.E knew better than to add to the Bridge Crew’s stress. 
Yorke took a quick glance through a window. What he saw made him shudder, he caught a view of the tactical map being projected on the main screen. Captain Dirk Sauer was staring at it, Yorke could see the three Mandate Battle Cruisers approaching the Requiem. The sight of the little red dots on the pale blue map made his jaw tighten.

“All is lost.”

Surrounding the Captain were banks of computer control systems. Blue screens operated by men dressed in white, their faces made pale by the glow of the screens. They were frantically pushing buttons while Sauer barked orders. Yorke wanted nothing more than to be in there, but knew there was little he could do, so he sneaked on until he found the bank of Rafts. 
The nearest was waiting for one more, Yorke took his place next to the others. He pulled the straps over himself as the lock closed. 
“This is Wildfyre,” came a staticy voice over the intercom, “are we ready to go?”
The Raft launched from the dock with a great roar that echoed through the compact chamber as its exhausts blasted the pale white flames that propelled it forward. “Please hold tight as we’re expecting turbulence on this flight.”
Wildfyre was right, the Raft jerked and trembled as they flew through the dark void of space, Yorke looked at his fellow passengers, technicians in blue and labourers in green. Not a marine amongst them. He turned his eyes through the airlock window. Very quickly, Requiem grew smaller and smaller, as the Raft flew away, until the great battleship was nothing but a grey speck on a black canvas. 
A searing red laser slashed past, so close it seemed to vibrate the hull. The Mandate’s ships had them locked in their sights, their cannons relentless, tearing through the void in pursuit. Wildfyre wrestled the controls, wrenching the Raft into violent twists and spirals as the deadly beams followed them, each near-miss flooding the cabin in a blood-red glow. Shadows danced in frantic flashes, illuminating wide-eyed evacuees clutching at straps and seats.
Inside, the chaos was deafening. Every brutal jolt hurled bodies against each other, helmets colliding with sickening thuds that sent waves of nausea twisting in Yorke’s gut. Shouts of panic, groans of pain, and the shrill blare of cockpit alarms tangled in the suffocating air. Wildfyre cursed under his breath, white-knuckled hands gripping the controls as he threaded the ship through the barrage, each turn a desperate gamble for survival.
With a final bone-jarring lurch, the Raft shot free of the killing zone, The Mandate’s lasers falling behind as the blackness of space gave way to the hazy curvature of the planet ahead. For a moment, Yorke’s chest eased, his heart hammering as he stared at the swelling atmosphere, their refuge almost within reach. But the sounds of groaning metal kept his mind anchored, his nerves still braced for another strike. Safety wasn't guaranteed.
From the window, Yorke watched the Raft skim over a vast, restless sea, its deep blue expanse churning into great, foaming waves beneath the ship’s wake. The view shifted as they approached a sprawling mountain range, its jagged peaks rising like the serrated edge of a colossal blade. Massive cliffs, carved by ancient winds and centuries of erosion, loomed high above shadowy ravines that seemed to plunge endlessly into the earth. White snow clung stubbornly to the rocky faces, glittering like shards of glass where sunlight broke through the clouds. Icy spires pierced the heavens.
“Brace!” Wildfyre’s voice erupted over the intercom, sharp and urgent. An instant later, something struck the Raft. The explosion bloomed in a surge of blinding blue fire, and the shockwave tore through Yorke, rattling his teeth and sending his head snapping back.
The Raft plunged. Yorke clung to his seat, muscles screaming against the force of gravity as it yanked at his body. Around him, men howled in terror, their cries drowned out by the wailing of alarms. The cabin lights flickered, each pulse of red light stinging like a frantic heartbeat in the chaos.
“We’re—” Wildfyre’s shout was swallowed as the Raft slammed into the ground. It bounced violently, the impact tossing unsecured men like ragdolls through the air. Yorke lunged, desperate to catch one, but his grasp closed on empty space as the ship careened onward, each jarring collision threatening to rip it apart.
The rear hatch tore open with a metallic shriek, and men were hurled into the gaping void, their screams snatched away by the deafening chaos. Yorke’s every muscle strained, his grip a vice on his seat straps, as the Raft’s wild momentum finally bled out. The ship groaned, its twisted frame shuddering one last time before collapsing into a heavy, unsteady silence.
The cabin was still. The air hung thick, the weight of the moment pressing down on Yorke’s chest like an invisible hand.
Yorke felt blood rushing to his head as he rushed to unclasp himself. He fell to the roof of the cabin, disoriented and dizzy, he crawled out of the Raft onto the grass. The air here was crisp like a Sunday morning back on Montana. Before him lay a meadow of grassland, beyond that were great hills. 
Yorke looked back, all the men he shared his escape with were dead. Their bodies sat there mangled, heads split open, blood still dripping from their wounds. His battle armour had saved him once again. 
The Raft’s cockpit had been crushed flat, turning Wildfyre into pulp. Yorke gave what was left a salute.
“L.O.R.E, do you copy?” he said. 
“Hello, Captain.”
“I’m no longer a Captain,” he said, annoyed as he pulled a Burst Rifle from the wreckage.
“I’m sorry. I’m not connected to the data banks. My information may not be correct. Please allow me to scan for an update.”
The A.I began to beep as it scanned for a connection. Yorke began to walk aimlessly towards the hills.
“Private Yorke?” L.O.R.E said. 
“Yes?”
“Mandate landing parties are arriving. I suggest you head to the hills north. There is a Raft there.” Yorke didn’t need telling twice as he began to run across the meadow.
The meadow stretched endlessly, a sea of green rolling toward distant hills in the north. Soft grass and wildflowers swayed with each step, releasing a sweet, earthy scent that chased away the rancid memory of the Requiem’s air. A gentle breeze brushed against Yorke’s skin, and the sun cast golden light, warming the landscape and painting dancing shadows across the endless expanse. “Life forms approaching from behind,” warned L.O.R.E, “bugs.”
Yorke could hear the low hum of their wings and dived down and lay on his belly with his eye on the sky. Soon enough the sky was filled with thousands of bugs. Yorke pressed the scope of his rifle to his eye to get a better look at the swarm of brown beings flying high above. They looked like the Crane Flies that pestered him back on his Dad’s farm on Montana, but seven feet tall and holding energy pistols in their spindly arms. He waited for them to pass before continuing on his journey to the other Raft, in the hope he could find others. If The Mandate was already landing troops he wouldn’t last long out here.
Every few miles, Yorke would look at the sky, beyond the white clouds and the bright blue, he could see pale flashes. The sight of The Requirem still giving a fight filled him with pride.
 

“You show those bastards, Captain.”

As Yorke began to climb up the hills, he looked back at the meadow through his scope. He could see Mandate tanks, floating over the grass heading to the crash site. They were tall, with great arches and curves and painted a metallic red.
“Yorke isn’t it?” came a voice, not as confident as the speaker intended. Yorke turned to look at the speaker. 
“Aye.”
“Harrison,” the marine said, lifting his visor to show his face. The lad’s face was half shaven and covered in blood and mud. His eyes were a dull brown. The marine beckoned Yorke to follow. “Our units been hit pretty bad, fucking Judicators everywhere, man.”
“What’s the status?”
“Of?”
“Everything.”
“Rafts are still landing. L’s looking for an operations site. Everyone’s scattered everywhere. Fuckers were waiting for us.”
“My Raft was taken down by an anti-aircraft position.”
“So are half the Rafts that come down here. Mandate lasers guiding ‘em down here, then the missiles take ‘em down, then the Gollywhoppers finish off any survivors.” The pair reached the rest of the unit that were sitting outside a cave hidden in a heavily wooded area. There were only ten men. “Corps in there,” Harrison pointed to the cave, “you’ll need to report to him. But, be warned.” Harrison paused, “He’s in a bad way.”
Yorke walked past the men, the weight of their stares heavy upon him. Some of them recognised him immediately; their eyes narrowed, shooting daggers of hatred and distrust. The familiar, uncomfortable feeling crept over him — like being back on Requiem. Those eyes, filled with contempt, had followed him everywhere. He could almost hear the whispers in the air, feeling their sharp judgement as he’d been dragged from his chambers for the occasional exercise, a token freedom. The stares had been relentless then, just as they were now — silent accusations wrapped in every glance.
Harrison was right. The Corporal was half man and half corpse shivering under a blanket stained with blood, his head propped up on his helmet. His skin pale from severe blood loss.
“They let you out then?” said Corporal Austin as he forced a smile. 
“Let is doing a lot of heavy lifting,” Yorke smiled back, showing his damaged knuckles, “what got you in the end?”
“Fucking bugs, but we swotted those flys just like back on ‘tana.”
“What’s the mission?”
“There’s a cluster of Rafts trapped in a valley, we’re the relief,” Austin coughed up some blood, “but there’s a hold up.”
Yorke frowned. “Me,” said the dying Corporal, “I can’t move, they’re just waitin’ for me to die. They’re a good bunch to wait for me,” he smiled again, “guess they’re waiting for my rank.”
Yorke looked over his old friend’s weak body. Austin continued, “they’re all kids, non of them can lead. Not really. I’m glad you’re here Yorke,” he coughed again, “I want you to lead them.”
Yorke shook his head. There was no man in The Unified Command that would follow him again. Not after last time. 
Austin pressed on, “they will hate you, disrespect you, but you can whip them into shape enough to rescue those men down in the valley. Then you can go your separate ways.”
Yorke couldn’t believe what he had heard, a position of command again was all he wanted, a chance of redemption, but now that it was here, the thought was daunting. 
“I can’t,” was all Yorke could say, his voice was distant.
“You will,” Austin insisted. Using the last of his energy he handed Yorke his pistol. It was gold plated, a sign of authority. “This will show them who’s in command.” Austin could see the doubt etched into Yorke’s face, “show them who you are, the real Yorke and the real man you are, deep inside. Now go. Go and let me die.”
Outside the cave, the ten men looked on, each with an unhappy grimace etched into their face, no doubt Yorke’s story had spread. “We move out in five,” he ordered. 
A huge man rose up, his frame matched Yorke’s, “what about the Corp?” his accent was thick, Yorke didn’t recognise it. 
“Austin will be dead soon, but not before dark. We have orders to follow. I don’t want to be scrambling down to the valley in the pitch black.”
“You don’t give me orders.” The huge man said. 
“Leave it, Matthias,” said Harrison, grabbing the brute's shoulder, who only shook it off. Yorke raised the pistol that Austin had given him. 
“I have command of this unit and we move out in four.”
L.O.R.E led the unit through a narrow passageway carved between two jagged peaks, their towering, stone faces looming above like ancient sentinels. The air was thin and cold, biting at their skin as they moved along a winding path through the hills. Behind them, the land dropped sharply into a dense forest, the valley below cloaked in a thick fog of battle. The distant whisper of wind rustled the treetops.
As they ascended towards the ridge, Matthias’s muttered complaints were never far behind, his voice low but sharp, just enough for Yorke to hear. "This is bullshit. I’m supposed to take orders from someone stripped of his rank? What kind of joke is this?"
Yorke’s jaw tightened at the words, the old resentment bubbling up. He didn’t turn to face Matthias, but every step he took felt heavier, like the weight of the man's disdain was pressing down on him. “Keep your focus, Matthias,” Yorke said, his voice cold and brittle, tinged with frustration at the private and his constant criticism. “We’ve got a job to do.”
They paused just short of the crash site, taking shelter behind a rock outcrop. Yorke’s breath misted in the air as he scanned the darkening landscape, eyes darting over the jagged cliffs and thickening fog. The silence hung between them, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the occasional rustle of shifting gear or the soft clink of weapons being checked. The unit readied themselves, each man instinctively falling into a tense, practised rhythm as they attached rifle clips to the straps that crossed their chest over their breastplates.  
Yorke and L.O.R.E were taking the men through a tactical briefing when Matthias pounced on Yorke. He’d waited for Yorke to remove his breastplate, using it as a screen for L.O.R.E to project the battle map through his helm.
Matthias was quick. His fingers were soon around Yorke’s neck, strangling the life from him. Yorke flailed his hands around rapidly as he fell onto his back. The men around watched on, some had faces of glee, while others looked on in disgust.
“You bastard!” Matthias seethed as his fingers clenched around Yorke’s neck tighter and tighter. “You got us into this mess!” All the while Yorke could only gasp for air, but no oxygen could get to his lungs. “I won’t let you get me killed, Captain!” The title hurt more than the pain of his throat getting crushed. 
Yorke moved his fingers around the grass looking for something. Then, he found a cold hard stone. It fit perfectly in his hand. His fingers grasped it as he swung at Matthias’ face. The rock made contact and did its job. Matthias grasped his temple in pain. Yorke was able to push himself up. He swung at Matthias. His coiled fist fired like a cannonball into Matthias’ nose, breaking it. Two more punches sent Matthias to the ground where Yorke gave him the boot. 
“Harrison, tie him up. We will hold a court martial when the mission is complete.”
The other men looked on with a mix of disappointment and surprise that Yorke was able to turn the fight around.
“Tie him up with what, sir?”
“Whatever you can find.” Yorke spat out some blood onto the grass. He looked at his men as they grouped together, “anyone else got a problem, or can we get on with the mission?” They all remained silent.
From there, they moved out down the ridge, with Matthias tied up with strips of fabric ripped from a duffle bag. They edged down a pathway leading from a hill into the valley. With each step they could hear the growing sound of battle.
The men spread out through the forest, while Matthias followed Yorke. Controlled bullet fire echoed across the valley while the energy blasts sent reverb down the marine’s spines.
L.O.R.E guided each man through the trees, they were tall like pines, but thick as oak, the branches were long with amber and orange leaves.
 

“It must be autumn here.”

As Yorke crept along, with Matthias behind, he began to hear the grunts, howls and barks that made The Mandate’s common language. 
“On your two,” whispered L.O.R.E. Yorke crouched down and primed his rifle, the systems came online as he pressed the stock into his shoulder. Matthias came close behind Yorke, unarmed, there wasn’t much he could do, but hide. He grumbled about not being able to defend himself, but Yorke ignored the comment. 
Three creatures came out of the strange turquoise foliage too busy hissing at each other to see Yorke and Matthias. These creatures were lizard-like in their figure and skin, but walked on two legs and were about six feet tall. Their necks were long and their tongues even longer. Their skin was mostly covered in pale blue armour, but from what Yorke could see, their skin had brown spiral patterns. 
Yorke waited for the three lizards to pass scanning their armour for weaknesses, then, he pointed the rifle at the closest and pulled the trigger. The rifle shot a burst of three bullets into the exposed spine of the lizard who collapsed to the ground, its orange blood pulsed out of the open wound where the bullets had exploded. 
York rushed from his hiding spot and took out the second lizard as it turned, leaving a gaping wound where its right eye had once been. The third could only hiss, raising its own energy rifle before Yorke shot it in the chest blasting it open.
Yorke took off his helm and wiped the sweat from his brow as his heart raced. “C’mon,” said Yorke looking back at Matthias who was eying up one of the energy rifles. Yorke put the helmet back on and closed the visor. The HUD showed the heat signature of an enemy position.  Both Yorke and Matthias rushed through the woods towards the sound of the fighting which was getting more intense by the minute. 
Here the forest began to thin, and Yorke could see the calamity of the situation. The display showed the soldiers he was here to rescue. They were pressed up against the cold crag of a mountain, while The Mandate below were pressing inch by inch as they moved through the great boulders that lay across the valley. He began to count the numbers he saw.

“Their flank is open.”

Mandate bodies littered the ground, the trapped soldiers had done well to inflict such damage to the enemy ranks. But they were outnumbered and didn’t have much cover, soon it would be over, if Yorke didn’t act. 
“They’re up against it, ten of us couldn't do much to help,” said Matthias as he too analysed the situation. “Way I see it is -”
Yorke raised his hand to stop Matthias, he had a plan, “L.O.R.E, tell the men to cover me. We’re rushing in.”
L.O.R.E beeped to confirm the command. 
“Are you mad?” Matthias questioned, half shocked and half amused. 
Yorke looked at him and smiled, “you’re coming too.” That wiped the amusement from Matthias’ face. Yorke pulled up the visor so he could use his own eyes. He counted fifteen Mandate troops making a push while ten remained at the base of the hill. There would be more on the other side, but he couldn’t see them for the great chunks of rock resting in the ground. 
Yorke sprinted and Matthias had no option to follow. They rushed through the last of the trees and into the open valley. Their boots pressed down onto the strange plants that grew here, petals of vivid crimson and black. 
The rifle was back pressed into his shoulder as York opened fire on The Mandate lizards that stood at the base of the ascent to the crag. Yorke had the advantage of surprise. Startled, the lizards didn’t know what to do. Yorke took down three, before they could organise.
But Yorke was too quick for them, he was already sprinting around one of the great boulders before the lizards could shoot their energy rifles. Yorke knew The Mandate’s rifles well, they were slow to charge and fire unlike his rifle. 
He snaked through the rocks before landing at the lizard’s rear. He looked back, but couldn’t see Matthias. He turned back to face his enemy. There he shot at one of the charging rifles. 
The great blast of blue flame engulfed the remaining lizards. Then Yorke heard a hiss. He turned to see more lizards coming his way, one already had its rifle ready. Just before the creature fired, Matthias came charging from the bushes. His arms were bound but he could still tackle the monster to the ground. His free fingers reached around the beast’s neck. The lizard screamed and hissed doing what it could to push Matthias off, but it wasn’t strong enough. 
Yorke opened fire on the other lizards that approached, but it wasn’t enough. They pressed still, even as their comrades dropped one by one. Then as their rifles were charged, more men came rushing from Yorke’s three. Harrison led the way. The men cleared through the lizards with ease. 
“Unbound him,” Yorke said, pointing to his former prisoner that had just saved his life, the pair’s eyes met and Yorke spotted a brief look of respect in the whites of Matthias’ eyes, “we press on!”
Together the men prepped for the assault up the hill that led to the crag and as a unit they followed Yorke up the hill, each with a look of steely determination on their faces. As they moved, Matthias picked up a discarded energy rifle. It was long, pointy and slotted around the user’s hand. 
The hill was steep, soon the men were out of breath as they climbed, great rocks hid the enemy, so the men needed to snake through them to clear out the lizards. Here they found bodies, lizards and men. The fighting here had been fierce judging by the number of the fallen.
Then, as the rocks began to clear, they found the main Mandate assault, hundreds of lizards behind metal barricades were firing huge blasts of energy bolts to the sheer surface of the crag in the hope to dislodge the rock to send it crashing down onto the men that hid below. 
“What do we do, Corp?” Matthias asked as he crouched next to Yorke. Yorke watched over the sight, unsure of what to do, then he saw it. A Judicator. He pointed to it, “I’m taking that.”
“How?”
“Load grenades.”
The men did as they were ordered. “When I run, launch them, but not at me,” he winked at Matthias. 
Yorke took a deep breath and sprinted to the Judicator, as he ran, his right was lit up by the rounds of grenades launched into the lizard ranks. The creatures screeched and yelled as fiery death consumed them.

“This is madness, but madness kept me alive before.”

The chaos gave him the chance he needed, he darted through the energy blasts doing what he could to avoid them. The Judicator turned to face him. Its smaller cannons at the front began to fire at him. It spewed out small bright blue spheres of energy. Yorke reeled to his left, then sidestepped to his right to avoid the deadly spheres.
Yorke reached his target. He began to climb up the Judicator throwing his rifle aside, its smooth metal made the climb difficult, but the arches and curves made the job possible. The metal of the Judicator grew hot under his grip as nearby blasts exploded against the hill, but he clung on, teeth gritted, ignoring the scorching touch. After a few steps he reached the top, where he knew the hatch would be. 
The hatch opened. A huge hairy beast emerged, it looked like a monster from an adventure story Yorke’s gramps used to tell him about, Big Foot or a Yheti back on Earth. The beast’s hair was grey and hid the thick muscle that was attached to the bone. It shrieked in anger, opening its three lips as wide as it could. The creature’s red eyes gleamed with malevolent focus, and it shrieked, lunging with a swipe that barely missed Yorke’s face.
Yorke punched it in the gob breaking some of its many teeth. The beast reached for Yorke’s face with both its large hands, but Yorke was able to duck down. There, he pulled the gold pistol that was attached to his hip. His legs forced himself back up and pointed the chamber at the hairy beast. Yorke pulled the trigger. 
He pulled the remains of the body from the Judicator and took control. He used the smaller cannons to fire at the lizards. The ground vibrated under Yorke’s boots as the Judicator unleashed barrage after barrage into the ranks. The energy bolts caused devastation as it cleared through their ranks with ease. 
“They have air support!” L.O.R.E warned. Yorke tried to remember his training, looking at the different buttons in the control chamber. Then he found the one he needed, a blue button with an unassuming mark on it. He pressed it in and it lit up. 
He now had control of the main cannon. He pointed it at the swarm of bugs that were filling the sky. He fired a laser right into their centre. The hundreds that were caught in the laser’s beam burst into flame. The rest of the bugs disbursed, but Yorke fired on them anyways, taking out as many as he could before they got close. But they never did, the bugs knew better and retreated back to where they came. 
Yorke regrouped with his men, as the men they had come to rescue came down from the crag. One of them gave a salute to Yorke, “I’m glad you’re on our side.” Matthias gave Yorke a pat on the back. 
One lad from the now rescued unit approached, “Names Cooper, of the 35th infantry, well,” Cooper looked back at his fellow survivors, “what’s left of it anyways. You have our thanks.”
The twelve remaining men of the 35th mingled with Yorke’s unit while Yorke watched the valley waiting for the enemy's next attack. 
“L.O.R.E, what’s the status?”
L.O.R.E beeped as it scanned for information. 
“The Captain has set up an operations centre in an abandoned facility to the north. He is ordering all units to go there. Air support is established. I have called for transportation.”
Yorke relayed the information to the men who were pleased that the Captain was here and was going to give The Mandate a fight while they waited for rescue. 
Static blared through Yorke’s helmet, “Yorke, do you read?”
“This is Yorke reading.”
“This is Gwent, I’m pinging through your pick up coordinates now.” Yorke dropped his visor to see the display. 
“That’s no good, Gwent, we can’t make that before the light dies.” Yorke looked over to the sun that was beginning to set. 
“That’s all we can do, Yorke. Ping us when you get 10 minutes away.”
Yorke told the men that they may need to travel in the dark, until Cooper stepped up, “we have Grizzlys, sir.”
Under the crag, were ten Grizzlys. They were like the pick up trucks Yorke grew up driving on his Dad’s farm back on Montana. But they were made from stronger steel and had a machine gun in the back and one in the passenger seat.
Matthias began to climb into the nearest driving seat, but Yorke stopped him just as he got one leg in. “I drive.”
Yorke led the convoy down the hill and through the valley. As they travelled, they passed pockets of enemy troops that the machine guns made short work of. Yorke looked up at the sky to see The Requiem was still there, slowly descending. It was the last remaining ship of a mighty fleet that left Houston ten months ago. Yorke thought about his own ship, it had been much smaller than The Requirem, but agile.

“True Calling they dubbed it.”

When the fleet had been ambushed, he had led his ship to destruction. 

“My fault for not using the long range scanners they said.”

But he had given the fleet a chance to escape. Yorke watched The Requirem fire down on an enemy location hundreds of miles to the east all while Mandate ships still fired on it, breaking off huge chunks of steel from the hull that came crashing down to the earth below with huge explosions. 
“They must be sacrificing the ship to save the ground,” Cooper observed as The Requiem was engulfed in another explosion that took out one of the rear engines, “can’t be long till she goes.” The reddish glow of the fire that burst from the great cracks in the ship’s hull matched the glow of the sunset.
The ground here was bumpy, but the Grizzly’s suspension was second to none and glided over the rough ground with ease. The men reached the drop zone just as the massive Albatross descended, engines rumbling like thunder. It was a huge wide plane painted green and covered in weaponry. Yorke drove into the back as it opened up. 
“Yorke, is this all your men?”
“Aye.”
The ship rose up again with a great hum as the engines kicked into action. “We have a few destinations before we head to the command centre.”
The ship was full of men it had rescued and there was still more to collect. Hundreds were packed in with the Grizzlies and tanks. Yorke took a breath, grateful to have a few more men in the fight. But he knew the next battle waited, just beyond the horizon. But for now, he had the safety of the command centre to look forward to. Yorke took the time to rearm himself, rummaging through the supply crates, he found more clips and pulse grenades. 
Every so often the ship would conduct a bombardment, even though they were ten thousand feet up, they could still hear the low rumble of the explosions as the payload hit its mark. 
Just as the sun was rising once again, The Albatross landed and Yorke led his men to safety, the facility was just up ahead. It was a tall, wide building made from white metal. Huge satellite spires were placed on the flat roof. Yorke didn’t recognise the architecture, it was hard to make out in the dark. 
A small barricade had been erected around the perimeter of the building, but there were no guards, no patroles, no centuries. The 35th were with them, Yorke read Cooper’s confusion at the lack of guards. 
The Albatross flew off taking the rest of the men aboard to a battle in the north. The ship roared like a hurricane as it flew by. Yorke used the opportunity to speak to the A.I.
“L.O.R.E,” he whispered looking at the empty barricades around them, “something’s wrong.”
“I know. I’m scanning for life now.”
“Yo, where’s the welcome party?” Shouted one of the men from the 35th.
“Quiet!” snapped Cooper. 
“The walls are too thick, Yorke. I need to be inside,” said L.O.R.E. 
Yorke and the men moved to the huge blast doors, “open them L.O.R.E.” The A.I did as it was told and opened the doors. They slowly creaked open, as soon as the men saw what was inside they raised their rifles. 
Inside was nothing. No sign of life. No sign of a fight. 
“L.O.R.E,” said Yorke as he moved in, “find out what happened here. Find out where the Captain is.”
“I can tell you what happened,” said Matthias, “everyone fucked off. Fucked right off.”
“And left equipment?” Cooper said, pointing at the storage crates to his right. Temporary tables had been set up in the great entrance way, flood lights illuminated the room. Computers had been half set up. Maps lay discarded on the floor. 
“Yorke,” said L.O.R.E, “Captain is still alive. He’s deep in the subfloors. They found something.”
“Cooper, set a guard here, call for support. The rest on me.” Cooper nodded at the order. “L.O.R.E lead the way to the Captain.”
L.O.R.E led them through the building to the sub passages. These metal corridors were tall and wide, but deadly cold. Yorke could see his own breath under the dim light. There was a deep constant hum from the facility’s engine room. They moved from cold corridor to cold room to cold corridor, taking each step slowly cautious of what could be behind every corner. Each step echoed and sent reverbs down the corridor.
“It appears I turned the heating down.” Said L.O.R.E, “I’ll try to get the lights on then I will put the heat on.”
“Leave the heat off, L” said Yorke, “there’s probably a valid reason why.”
“There’s no sign of anything here,” said Harrison, his voice trembling from either fear or the cold.
“There’s the odd sign,” Yorke pointed to an overturned table made of white metal, “see those dents? They’re from bullets.”
“Where are the bodies?” Matthias asked the question that had been troubling Yorke. They crept further through the deep underground complex as the lights slowly got brighter. 
Then they entered a room, filled with huge glass vats. Yorke glanced at the vats, each filled with twisted figures, unrecognisable lifeforms suspended in murky green liquid, not human nor Mandate. They looked… ancient, alien. 
“This can’t be a Mandate building.”
“Why?” asked Harrison. 
“Where are their gods? The Mandate decorate their stuff with depictions of their gods. Here it’s bare. This must be built by an Elder Race.”
“Must be millennia old.” Said Matthias looking around at the creatures, “a research facility,” he concluded, “wonder if our forefathers are in here.” He tapped the glass of one creature, but it did not stir as he hoped. 
They moved deeper, ten floors down, then eleven, then twelve. On the twentieth floor, down a corridor, they came across a body. A human body, dressed in white. 
“An ensign?” Matthias asked lifting the dead man’s face for a better look at the blood that covered it. But he wasn’t dead. The young officer’s eyes opened, wide and unfocused, flicking from side to side, and Yorke felt a chill creep up his spine. “He’s here,” the officer rasped, over and over, each repetition soaked in fear.
“He’s here.” Is all he could say, over and over again. “He’s here.”
“Rock, keep him company. Try to get him to Cooper. We will go on.”
“No!” screamed the young officer, “no no no no!” He pulled a pistol from under his jacket. “No!”
The bullet got Rock in the leg before Matthias was able to disarm the officer as he continued to scream. Yorke used the butt of his rifle to knock him out. He then turned to Rock who was shouting in pain. Harrison had him and was giving him a painkiller. The needle pressed into the wound and injected the cocktail straight into Rock’s bloodstream. 
“Rock get yourself up to Cooper, Harrison go with him.”
Now eight, the rest of the unit matched through the door the officer was so determined to defend. Here was no different to all the other corridors, apart from the air vents which had been blasted open from the inside. 
Down the corridor they heard a shout. They all recognised the Captain’s voice. They rushed down to reach it but found another room. Empty apart from some broken glass on the floor, and blood. It was fresh, like it had just been placed there.

“A trap.”

From every vent, they poured in, thick vines as black as pitch. They lunged at Yorke’s squad with terrifying speed, wrapping around limbs and torsos, squeezing, dragging. Carter screamed as one wound around his ankle and yanked him upward. “Shoot!” Yorke yelled, barely ducking as another vine whipped past his face.
As the bullets hit the vines they retracted, dropping Carter to the floor. A great rumble came from above and below. A beast was stirring. 
“The fuck were those things!?!” Shouted Matthias as he looked around frantically. More vines came. This time they were quicker. Yorke saw they were coming from the vents. Soon there were hundreds of them. One stuck Yorke in the chest which sent him flying through a window into a huge cavan.
Yorke lay on the cavern floor, dazed, the sounds of gunfire echoing from above. He forced himself up, clutching his side. His men needed him - he had to find a way back, fast. His men were tens of feet above him, he desperately felt along the dark cavern floor looking for his rifle, but could  not find it. 
The vines came for him. They wrapped around his feet and pulled him back to the ground, from there they dragged him across the floor through tight tunnels and over ravines. 
“L.O.R.E what is this thing?!?” L.O.R.E had no answer. The vines dragged him to another cavan, this one as huge, bigger than any cathedral, every sound echoed off the sharp and jagged rocky walls. In the centre of the cavan lay a huge mass of something. It pulsated, stretched and shrunk. Vines grew from the great tumour, one huge thick vine moved close to Yorke, at the end was an eye, unblinking it studied Yorke, its iris was black as the monster’s skin. 
Then another vine came, on its end was the Captain. The Vine was handling him like a sock puppet. Captain Dirk Sauer’s skin was grey, his eyes were black and small vines grew from his nose and down into his mouth.
 

 W H O  A R E  T H E E ?

The voice came from Sauer’s unmoving mouth, but the voice sounded like it came from within Yorke’s own ear. The voice was like a whisper but it was as loud as any banshee. He said nothing, unable to speak from fear of what he could see.

W H O  A R E  T H E E ?

It asked again, its voice was flat, neither curious nor angry. Yorke gulped. “Corporal Yorke of The Requirem, who are you?”

 I  A M   B L I G H T,  I  A M  S C O U R G E, I  A M  T O R M E N T.

“You must have a name.”

M Y  N A M E  I S  L O N G  F O R G O T T E N.  M Y  D E E D S  A R E  L O S T  W I T H  T I M E.    

  
“Spare my men.”

I  S P A R E  N O U G H T.  N O  T R E E.  N O  R O O T. N O  G A L A X Y.  N O  L I F E F O R M.

“Yorke,” said L.O.R.E, it was a relief to hear that robotic voice again, “I’ve decoded the facility’s reports. This creature is bad news. We need to destroy it.”

“No shit.”

I  A M  D E V O U R E R. I  A M  W O R L D  E A T E R.                 F R O M  T H E  S T A R S  T O  T H E  D I R T. I  T A K E  A L L.   

“Listen, dickhead!” Yorke addressed the monster as it grew and pulsated in front of him like a beating heart. “I don’t know nor care what backwater fuckhole planet you came from. I don’t care what test tube you grew in while you were prodded and poked. But let me tell you this. I’m going to kill you, Mr Longforgotton.” 

I  A M  O B L I V I O N. I  A M  Y O U R  D O O M.

He pulled his pistol and took a shot at the creature’s eye. It exploded sending thick black gunk over Yorke as the vines retracted to protect the creature’s body. He fired a full clip into the core of the beast. It’s thick goopy black blood squirted out of each wound. 
“L.O.R.E, get me out of here!”
Yorke rushed through one of the cave corridors, following the A.I’s directions. Vines came at him from every direction, thick, pulsating, they slithered along the jagged walls like demonic snakes, but the pistol scared them off. Soon he was back inside the facility, he crawled through a hole ripped out by the creature.

Y O U  W I L L  F E A R  M E. I  A M  Y O U R  P A I N. I  A M  Y O U R  W R A T H.  C A P T A I N  Y O R K E.   

The creature tried to mock Yorke, but he ignored it. He needed to get to the engine room. “Lead me to the engines. I’m going to overload them!” 

Y O U  L E D  Y O U R  S H I P  T O  D E A T H. 

Yorke ignored it as more vines tried to get him, but he was too quick. He sprinted down corridors and up endless staircases. 

T E N S  O F  T H O U S A N D S  A R E  D E A D  A T  Y O U R  H A N D S. 

Yorke didn’t stop running, even when his legs began to burn. Evan as his lungs struggled to bring in air. He carried on. 

I  W I L L  T A K E  T H E  R E Q U I R E M. 

Yorke barged into a room full of generators that cast a purple glow. Here was Harrison, leaning against one of the generators as it hummed. “I’m glad to see you,” Yorke said, gasping for air. Harrison opened his mouth to speak, but only thick black vines came out. 
Harrion’s fingers wrapped themselves around Yorke’s neck as he lifted him up high. The black vines began to slowly move into Yorke’s nostrils. 

T E L L  M E  O F  Y O U R  H O M E. T E L L  M E  O F  Y O U R  P E O P L E ’ S  S Y S T E M S. T H E Y  W I L L  B E  M I N E.  

   
  Yorke didn’t want to do it. But he had too. He shot Harrison in the face. The young marine’s head burst open as he dropped Yorke. The vines still went for him. Yorke shot them away. 
“L.O.R.E what do I need to do?”
“Set a charge,” said the robotic voice “and get out of there.”
Yorke pulled the pulse grenade from his utility belt and set it. “You’ll have three minutes to get out, Yorke. Good luck.”
Yorke primed the grenade and the countdown began. He sprinted out of the room following L.O.R.E’s directions. He twisted and turned to avoid the vines. Fire began to shoot from the air vents. The A.I’s work no doubt. 
“Tell the others to get out!” L.O.R.E beeped confirming the command. Up more flights of stairs he ran and the ground below began to tremble. He looked down to see the black mass oozing below, using the vines to pull itself up. 
He sprinted through more corridors, but these ones he recognised. He lept over an overturned table and was soon in the great entranceway. Cooper was there, with his men. Engaged with the vines. 
“Run!” Yorke bellowed as vines quickly wrapped around him and tried to drag him back below. Yorke grabbed the doorway, holding on with everything he had as the vines tried to drag him down. A blast of fire from a vest caught the vines. 
“Thanks, L” Yorke muttered as he got up and rushed to Cooper and the last of his men. “Get out, get out!” Yorke urged them. They didn’t need telling twice.
They sprinted down the hill, the vines snapping and writhing at their heels like hunting beasts. "Hope you’re far enough away," L.O.R.E’s voice buzzed in Yorke’s ear, tinged with urgency. Then came a low, bone-deep rumble from beneath the earth, swelling into a violent tremor that buckled the ground beneath their feet. The survivors were thrown to the dirt, their cries lost in the deafening roar. Behind them, the facility erupted with a shattering boom, a massive plume of purple fire tearing into the night sky like a violent storm. The explosion rippled outward, followed by bursts of red, white, and blue flames, each detonation more ferocious than the last. The fiery columns rose like vengeful gods, their heat scalding the air and illuminating the hillside in a hellish glow. Shrapnel rained down, and the ground quaked violently, sending ripples of terror through Yorke's chest as the apocalyptic spectacle unfolded behind them. 
“L, call for transport.” Said Yorke as he watched the explosions. 
“Already on it, Yorke.”
The Albatross came quickly. Yorke, Cooper and his three surviving men loaded in the back. As the ship rose with a thunderclap. 
“What happened here?” the pilot asked as the back door closed, but Yorke saw something emerge from the fire. 
“Open the doors again!” Yorke demanded. As the doors opened again, he saw a figure running to the transport, his arms flailing. “There’s another!” 
The Albatross lowered down, enough for the survivor to jump in. As the figure got closer, Yorke saw it was Matthias. Alive and well, only slightly burnt. He pulled him in. 
“What is that thing?” Matthias muttered as he regained his breath.

“Is? Was surely.”

 
Then a great black mass grew from the hole where the facility had been. It was long and winding like a snake. Yorke watched it grow a jaw and teeth. Big enough to swallow the Albatross whole. 

I  A M  H E  F R O M  T H E  V O I D. I  A M  D E A T H. I  A M  R E Q U I E M.

Yorke rushed to the cockpit. “Engage!” He yelled at the pilot, who aimed the ship’s firepower at the creature. “We can’t let it on The Requiem!”
The Albatross fired rockets, lasers and napalm to no effect, it only slowed the creature down as it snaked up in the sky trying to reach The Requiem. 
“L.O.R.E, can you blow The Requiem?”
“Not usually. But given the circumstances I can, but you’d be executed on the spot for giving such an order.”
“So be it.” 
What was left of the great battle cruiser began to change direction. Its main cannons began to fire on the creature. They were able to cut out huge chunks of the monster, which slowed it down as it healed. 
Once The Requiem faced the creature head on, it charged. The front of the ship cut through the creature with ease, then in a matter of moments the whole world went white as The Requiem crashed into the earth exploding in white flame.
The Albatross blasted away before the reactor exploded. The explosion of thousands of nuclear reactors engulfed the world in flame and as soon as it started, it was over. 
For hours the Albatross circled the site looking for any sign of life, but found none. 
Much later Matthias found Yorke sitting on a supply crate. “You did good,” he said, “L reckons you’ve saved thousands.”
Knowing that was some comfort, “and yet they’ll kill me anyways.”
“There’s a few hundred here that saw Requiem fall from the sky.”
“Maybe.” Yorke looked down at the pistol that Austin had given him. “But let's get off this rock before we start worrying about anything else.”