Makita

Sometimes Bahamut doesn't look like a city at war. Today, for instance, the snow is fresh and clean, yet to be churned up by the tread of running boots and the tracks of krawls.

It's one of the many calms between storms, when the city seems at peace because everyone is taking a deep breath in preparation for returning to war. Even n these deceitfully quiet times, though, Bahamut is still a warzone. Soldiers from both sids tread lightly and carefully through the bombed out buildings and burnt bodies, looking for chances to kill one another.

Today is no different.

Makita's breathless laughter proceeds her entrance into the bunker that is the closest thing she has to a home in Bahamut. She glances back over her shoulder to grin up at Proto, "I won, so you have to cook dinner. Really, Proto," she teases, "How are you going to fight off all those Reds if you can't run any faster than that."

The bunker doesn't really deserve the word. It's just the basement of a bombed out apartment building connected by tunnels to other basements in the area. Makita remembers a time when it was cramped with all the people packed into it, but the war has not been kind to the population of the city, and now the space feels almost too large for the two young people who remain.

Makita sits in front of the two graves she dug every day. Sometimes it is only for a minute or two, sometimes for hours, but each time she cries.

But life goes on. It must.

She's been working her way in a slowly-widening circle around the site of the battle, scavenging ammunition and food and equipment from the hulking shells of destroyed krawls and the piles of unburied dead. It's a familiar task and one which, despite her grief, Makita takes an odd comfort in.

Pushing herself to her feet, she begins circling west. A krawl platoon had been split off the main column and ambushed out that way, and she was pretty sure that no one had picked over the area yet.

The ten days since the battle had been enough to purge the air of the scents of combat. Smoke had cleared and blood had frozen and the air was crisp and clean. The familiar streets and a task she knows well will allow Makita to forget, for just a while, what she's lost.

She whistles lightly as she makes her way among the abandoned krawls and selects her next target. There's a body halfway out of the hatch, but bracing her feet on the edge of the krawl and heaving solves that problem. After poking her head in to make sure there are no more corpses inside, Makita drops into the vehicle and begins scavenging.

0:06:14
Her father is in a shell of a building. It may once have been an office of some sort, but it's hard to tell. He's lying back on the ground, propped up against the wall, covered in blankets that are slowly turning red. The medic at his side looks up, "Gently, Makita. Gently."

He looks oddly relaxed. "My child," he smiles, his voice no longer the firm baritone he's always had. "You've made it. Come," he shifts slightly as if trying to lean forward, "Time is short."

"I am lucky," he pauses to draw a pained breath, "Not to die alone." His eyes are full of pain, but still clear and bright as he looks up at his daughter. "I have one final mission for you before I'm gone. I was entrusted with a message, but as you can see, I have failed to deliver it."

"Promise me, Makita, that you will complete this duty for me." For a moment his eyes blaze and she can see him again: firm, proud, constant. "The message you will bear may save our people. Our nation's future! Do you understand? All we've fought for," he grunts at the pain of drawing breath, "May depend on this."

Makita leans forward desperately, "Immediately, Papa! Just tell me where to find--"

"Her name is Antares," he interrupts. "Maya Antares. She is here in Bahamut. We fought together at Al'istaan before the breakup of the Republics. It is your duty to find her, my child. When you do, give her this letter."

His hand extends feebly, holding a single piece of paper. It is neatly folded, and "M. Antares" is still clearly legible on its surface. Makita swallows and makes herself reach and take the letter without allowing her hand to shake. "I will," she keeps her voice from wavering.

Her father nods, relieved. "Take my weapons now," he says as he lifts the hammer and sickle from his lap and holds them out to her as well. She can't look at him as she reaches out to take them from his hand. "Promise me," his voice surges with power. "Promise me that no matter what the future brings, you will deliver this message at any cost."

"I will," Makita chokes. "I promise!"

His face, when she can blink away the tears enough to see it, holds a tender smile. His hand reaches forward to pull her tightly against him and her own arms wrap around him in return. "Your spirit is steel, my soldier," his voice is soft and warm and full of pride. "I know in my heart that you will not fail. There is something else I must tell you about this Maya Antares..." his voice cuts off suddenly

Makita's eyes widen in panic. No! Not yet! She jerks back and stares into his face, "Papa!?"

"Wait..." his voice is soft, but still steady. "The shooting... it's stopped."

Someone nearby yells suddenly, "Furnace overhead! Descending into blast position!"

0:02:51
One of the medics looks up in horror, "That's... that's impossible! They've still got troops on the ground!"

Papa's smile is sad and knowing as he nods slightly, "Most of a battalion."

"The Reds are monsters, but... but even they wouldn't immolate their own men," the medic protests.

"Of course they would."

Makita looks at her father in horror, "Papa..."

He turns to her, and for a moment his smile makes her forget that he's lost too much blood. "My time is done, my beauty," he reaches out to cradle her face in both hands. "Your time begins. Now run. Run as fast as you can, do you hear me? Do not look back. Not one glance. Not one!"

She can't answer, she can't even nod, but her father's rich voice continues. "I'll be watching you from the heavens. Always. And Makita... carry on my will."

0:00:44
Makita runs. She knows that there's not enough time to make it out of the blast zone, but she runs. He had told her to, after all. Men and women around her gaze upward in horror, both the Gorka's and the Red troops. They know there's no escape, that in less than a minute they'll all be incinerated.

War is a brutal thing, but somehow they had each thought that their own end would have some shred of dignity. Now they knew differently.

Makita runs.

0:00:09
There! A krawl. Abandoned but undamaged. There is a chance, not much of one, but a chance that its armor will shield her. She knows that was a lie. It will only delay the inevitable: she'll cook slowly in a metal vehicle instead of burning to death instantly.

She doesn't even hesitate. Papa told her to run, after all. Makita sprints forward, racing the clock. She hears the rumble that signals the skyfurnace's ventral blast. The air around her heats immediately as super-heated plasma pours down from the sky. Concrete and asphalt under the furnace melt, and people simply disappear. She's almost to the krawl.

The heat continues to pour down, and it spreads. A wave of red-hot debris, molten metal and stone, pours across the ground in a wave. It hasn't reached her as Makita leaps onto the krawl and jerks at the hatch, but she can feel her skin beginning to blister from the heat in the air.

She knows that she's dead, but she promised. She throws herself down into the krawl and slams the hatch shut behind her.

0:00:00
Makita stops running.

Mostly cribbed from Red Star Annual #1 "Run Makita Run" by Christian Gossett.

0:26:30
Trust your dropline magnet. It will hold your weight. Still sprinting forward, Makita hits the dropline release on her harness and reaches back to pull the SWORD from her shoulder. The end of the Hydra's barrel arrives and she pours on a final burst of speed and flings herself out into nothing. The line spools out and the catches as designed. Makita's headlong leap slams to a sudden halt and she falls, the line swinging her back toward the barrel. She pulls her legs up and swings into the opening, nearly choking on the gases despite the mask across her face.

0:26:25
Assemble your weapon and prepare it to fire as quickly as possible. Makita's hands fly across the bulk of the SWORD. She's never fired one before, but they're designed for simplicity and it only takes a few seconds to peel back the protective covers on each end and arm the warhead.

If you are lucky, then you will see the light at the end of the barrel as the crew opens the breech to reload. All is dark in the barrel, and Makita wonders if they've already reloaded. If she's about to be launched with the next shell. But no. There is a groaning sound and the breach opens. Men are silhouetted against the glare inside the Hydra.

This is the moment. Fire. The trigger is pulled back and the massive rocket screams down the Hydra's barrel. The fuel-air payload will entire krawl with explosive vapor and then blow the entire vehicle to bits. If it works. She doesn't have time to watch.

0:26:03
Now it is time for the second jump with your dropline. As before the distance is preset, just hit the release and jump. The distance is preset based on the Hydra's barrel to stop you a meter short of the ground. Give or take a few meters. Makita throws down the empty SWORD launcher, hits the dropline release, and throws herself backwards out of the barrel while the rocket is still in the air. She twists in the air as she falls to find that she's going to land on a pile of rubble that's likely to break something important. Hopefully her dropline is misconfigured to pull her up short.

By now there's so much Stimulant D in her system that it doesn't occur to her to try to land somewhere else, and jerking to a sudden stop a few feet above the rubble is a huge surprise which rips her hat from her head. She hangs there for a moment, swinging bemusedly, before she remembers she's supposed to take the dropline harness off now.

0:25:45
She collapses to the ground, swaying slightly, unable to focus with all the colors swirling in front of her. "Makita!" a voice yells in her ear. "Shake it off! You got through and they've sounded the evacuate. Let's go!"

Two boys about her own age are at her side, one grabs each arm and they haul her to her feet. She tries to run, but her legs don't seem to work properly, so they drag her. Her head lolls slightly as she looks over her shoulder muttering, "C'mon... blow you bastard."

"Listen!" one of the boys says, pausing. "Listen! It's starting to go up!"

The other boy forces them back into motion, "So let's not be here when it does!"

Colors swirl and Makita only half realizes that they're running again as her father's words roll on. If you have survived the unforgiving moments of your duty. And your shot has found its mark. If the dropline has not failed you, leaving you lying broken in the snow. You will hear behind you the thunder of the Hydra's arsenal ripping out it's insides.

0:24:38
There will be, I can say with certainty, a great roar of victory. Two thirds of the anti-Hydra team have been wiped out, but those who survive scream their defiance. Their voices rise in celebration and then are drowned out as the explosions within the massive krawl reaches the primary magazine.

0:24:12
Dushka, little babbling Dushka, survived the Hydra somehow. He's kneeling in front of Makita as her swimming head slowly clears from the Stimulant D. He's saying something and holding out a canteen and her hat (who knows how he recovered it). The words don't register but she snatches the offered water and upturns the container over her head, catching some in her mouth and letting the rest soak into her hair. "Dushka," she interrupts.

"Yeah?"

She lifts her free finger to her lips, "Shhhhh."

He sighs and grins stupidly, "Okay."

"Thanks for the water." She leans forward and kisses him lightly on his grimy cheek.

"You're welcome," he blushes.

She claps the hat back on top of her head. "I gotta go."

0:23:28
Makita runs.

Mostly cribbed from Red Star Annual #1 "Run Makita Run" by Christian Gossett.

0:37:24
Precious minutes had been lost when Proto saved her life, and precious seconds had slipped by as Makita ensured that no one would follow her from the plaza. Too many had passed.

"Last call for the departure. All units assigned to the eastern counter-assault have thirty seconds to brace for departure." The voice rings out while Makita pounds up the stairs that lead to the elevated platform the hanging railcars depart from. Her face contorts and she pushes herself to move even faster, dodging the people who stand in her way.

Makita scrambles to pull out her commlink without slowing down. Her breathing is harsh and ragged as she yells into it, "Dushka! Are you still assigned to station 82?"

"Yeah," a young voice comes back, "Why?"

"I need you to stop the train! Contact the Elder in charge! I only need ten seconds!"

"You're trying to catch the train? Forget it, Makita. It'll be back in an hour, just wait."

"I don't have an hour!" she yells in frustration.

"They won't stop the train. It's packed like sardines already."

Makita slams her commlink back into her pocket in disgust and prays she'll be fast enough anyway.

0:36:54
"The train is moving. Clear all doors and step back from the loading platform. The next train will depart in one hour. Repeat, the next train will depart in one hour."

"Stop the train!" Makita yells desperately as she rounds the final bend only a few feet from the last car as it begins to move forward.

"Hey," a voice calls from the train. "Late trooper! There's always one..." Then, jovially, "This one looks quick. Fifty says she makes it!"

"You're on, Robilov," answers another voice. "Hey, Simko, give her a hand!"

The train is still gathering momentum as Makita leans forward and forces herself to ignore her screaming lungs as she sprints for the train. A chorus of voices ring out as Makita pounds forward. "C'mon soldier! You can make it!" She's moving faster than the railcar itself as it steadily accelerates. "Ha-hah! C'mon Simko, grab her!" She passes the rear of the last car, she's almost to the door and the hand extended back toward her. "Sonofabitch. That girl is quick."

"C'mon girl! You're--" her hand extends desperately, fingers brushing against the helping hand reaching for her-- "Almost--" another brush, but she can't quite get a grip. "C'mon! RUN!" And she does, but it doesn't matter. The railcar is going faster than she is by now and she's rapidly running out of loading platform to run down.

0:36:39
Makita's legs tremble in exhaustion and she stumbles to a halt before sinking to her knees and resting her forehead on the cold metal of the platform. Her breath shuddered in and out of her as she tried to calm her oxygen-starved system and suppress the urge to break down weeping.

Then her head snapped up as a booming roar shook the station. Something hit the rails and dislodged the entire string of railcars in a massive explosion. They fell hundreds of feet to the ground below, burning all the while.

Makita's head snaps up and she spots the source of the explosion.

Hydra-class Super-krawl.

0:36:25
"Dushka!" Makita fishes her commlink back out, "Come in, it's me."

"Makita!" Dushka's voice has risen several octaves, "You're alive!"

"I missed the train," she answers softly.

"Have you ever seen a Hydra-class before? Holy shit! The Elders are mustering an assault team to take it out, you'd better get down here! Oh, and Makita--"

"I know," she cuts him off. "I know. Don't be last."

0:36:18
Makita runs.

Mostly cribbed from Red Star Annual #1 "Run Makita Run" by Christian Gossett.

0:56:18
It takes precious minutes to half-scramble, half-fall from her vantage point to the street. And then Makita is running. Her legs flash in long strides and her new boots crunch through the snow. The world shrinks around her. Details fade out until nothing exists but the repetitive rhythm of her her steps and the harsh rasping of her breath in the freezing air. And her father's words echoing in her mind: "nowhere to fall back to" "not going to make it" "mission I'm giving you" "run, Makita. Run!"

She runs.

0:49:48
Becoming too focused in a warzone is a dangerous thing. As Makita pounds through the ruined city of Bahamut all her attention is on going just a little bit faster. By the time she realizes that she's out in the open it's too late. A Red ground support fighter screams out of the sky and there's nowhere to take cover.

Makita's face pulls back into a helpless grimace. She knows she's dead. She had promised Goldy she wouldn't get herself stupidly killed, and now she has. She'd promised Papa that she'd make it in an hour, and now she's not going to. She'd promised Proto-- "Makita!" A voice cuts through thoughts, "Get down!"

She doesn't think, she just throws herself to the ground. An anti-air rocket flashes over her head, she can feel the heat of its exhaust on the back of her neck and then the shockwave as it slams into the Red fighter. Noise and shrapnel rain down as she keeps her face buried in the snow.

When she glances up there's a chuckle from behind her. "Hey, pretty girl," Proto smiles as she turns around, "Have you forgotten everything I taught you already?"

Makita's answer is to leap lightly up onto the fast attack vehicle he arrived in and grab his shirt. "C'mere" she says breathlessly as she pulls him close enough to kiss. It's desperate and frightened and she doesn't want to let him go, but she has a mission.

She pulls back slightly, "Proto! Papa's in trouble. Can you take me to station 82? I can make it from there."

Proto's smile makes it hard not to kiss him again, "Of course! 82's only two clicks from here."

As she took a breath to thank him properly another voice interrupted. "Hey, hey, that forget!" came a thickly accented voice from inside the vehicle as the driver stuck his head out. "We have it more duties, Proto. Is more enemy ships all over. All over the city! We have to go at the speed of light!" Makita blinks as she tries to work through the accent and the terrible grammar, "I mean, yeah, Maki's cute, but you want we tell commander Gurka we are making to play taxi?" The driver shakes his head in answer to his own question, "So love scene is about ten second left, okay?"

With a sigh Proto nods, "All right, all right, Turko. I hear you."

"You do?" Makita asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, they put me with Turko because I can understand him. And he's right. I'm screwed, sorry."

Makita nods, "I can run." She leans forward for another hungry kiss before pushing back to leap from the vehicle.

Proto calls after her as she lands on the ground, "Oh, Makita. I built that ramp for you." As she turns to take off again he yells over the sound of the rumbling engine, "And be more careful out there, will you?"

0:44:17
Makita runs.

Mostly cribbed from Red Star Annual #1 "Run Makita Run" by Christian Gossett.

Makita was really glad that Goldy suggested handing out comm gear. Now she can check up on the scattered ambush team and get everyone heading back to the Bar.

"Makita here, everybody check in," gets broadcast across the radio system.

As the last of the team files through the door Makita closes it firmly behind herself and leads the way over to the window. Down in the square below twelve people move purposefully through the snow.

The six women are mostly unremarkable. One stands out as being exceptionally tall, one is short enough to almost look like a child, and hair of various colors and lenghts and styles can be seen escaping from their warm hats. The six men, however, stand out. The smallest is six and a half feet tall and looks to weigh at least 270 pounds. All twelve of them move with the smooth grace of practiced killers.

Makita doesn't bother whispering as she points them out, "See how they move in pairs? Each sorceress has her Guardsman a few paces behind her. You can see that even in a group they're thinking in twos. When we hit them, I want us to concentrate on splitting as many pairs as we can. They operate much less efficiently when their teams are broken up."

"There's another square like this a few blocks down. If they're headed of our HQ, then they'll have to go through it. If we move fast we can get there first and set up." She shoulders her rifle and looks at her team again, "Let's keep it fast and quiet."

So saying, Makita leads the way out the door, heading toward the rear fire escape for the building.

The storm should be breaking sometime in the next 48 hours. Most squads stop working and try to spend the last day or two of peace relaxing in their own way; for some of them it's the last chance they'll ever have. Papa operates differently. They work right up until the snow stops falling and the Reds start gating back down, that way more of them will live to have another chance to relax. He also pushes out scouts in the last day or two to make sure that the Reds haven't tried dropping troops behind the lines.

Everyone knows Makita's one of the best scouts in the city, so she gets tapped for the duty. She doesn't mind, really. Of course she'll miss Proto and papa, but that separation was coming soon anyway. So she packs up her gear, shoulders her pack, gives the two of them a quick kiss goodbye, and wanders into the snow. She'll report by telepathic signal protokol when she's finished her sweep.

Most squad leaders don't bother with pre-storm-break sweeps because it's nearly impossible to find anything. Visibility is down to a dozen meters and the blowing snow covers any tracks that might be made in minutes. Most squad leaders don't have someone like Makita available to them either. It's not that she's an especially good tracker, she doesn't have any training in that, really. Rather she has an eye for terrain and a knack for getting inside the other side's head. Her ability to zero in on infiltration paths and temporary camps is almost uncanny.

The trick, she's found, is to make a simple assumption: the enemy is as good as you are. They are as stealthy, and as good at picking the best routes to take and the best places to hide as you. So finding the enemy is simple: just look for them where you would hide yourself. And it works.

Makita slips across the trail three hours into her sweep. The tracks indicate about a dozen troops, and the fact that they're visible means that they're no more than half an hour away. She checks the direction and does some quick calculations, then heads to cut them off. Time to get a look at what the Reds have sent down this time.

The answer is not a good one. This isn't some recon team, it's not even a commando team. Looking through a broken window into the square where they are breaking for lunch, Makita knows exactly what this is. Six black-clad sorceresses with their attendant guardsmen. Enough firepower between them to take out a reinforced battalion. And headed deeper and deeper behind the lines.

This is an assassination team.

And she can't use a TSP this close to them, one of the sorceresses would notice. She can't afford to lose track of them either because she might never find them again. She needs to get ahead of them.

Makita opens the door leading into the hallway and steps through...