[Guilty Gear] Three Degrees to the Right, Part 4
Title: Three Degrees to the Right
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Part: 4/12
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: violence
Notes: In which plans are put into action, and Sol is surprised.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
Three Degrees to the Right
Part IV
"Pleasant meeting?"
The question was, of course, a purely rhetorical one.
Coming out of the office, the kid's expression was deadly calm, the kind of calm that would have made a lesser man duck and run for cover, and Sol could hear several steps faltering, the soldiers in tow understandably hesitant to approach. At least they had good instincts.
Most of the time, the kid was scarily imperturbable, accepting shit for what it was and working around it without getting a hair out of place. Even the rages Sol managed to provoke him into weren't able to compare to when he was truly angry.
Quickening his step, he caught up with Ky, noting the fine thrill that was raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Very pleasant," Ky said, his voice cold enough to make a freezer seem like a warm place, and held a piece of paper out to him.
Sol glanced it over, the politically correct phrasing leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "We could go rip out the bastard's spine and declare him a casualty of war, how about that? I don't think that'd be a morally reprehensible act under the circumstances."
"How much time would it take to get that much shipped out?" Ky was thinking again, no room even for something as simple as the pleasant vision of the bastard strung up by his own balls, when he could use those two seconds saving lives.
"…Depends on where it's stored and how much is left. I've got no idea how much they ended up producing, but they'll most likely have to scrounge it up wherever, if they don't make some more outright. Two days, tops. That stuff is too damn easy to manufacture. A couple of hours to get it shipped here. You're not going to appeal this piece of bullshit, are you."
"No. I'm going for a walk."
"Heh. Want some company on that 'walk'?"
A disheveled blond man with a bruise on his temple fell into step beside them, saluting quickly. "Lieutenant Andreyev, sir. It's a lovely season to see a lovely city. Would be a shame if you never got to see the sun rising behind the Savior Cathedral, sir."
Before Ky could reply, the rest of the group caught up with them, a woman in operator's uniform chiming in. "Indeed, sir. It would be a shame not to see it."
One of the duckling trio bravely piped up, as well. "We could give you a full tour, sir."
Sol smirked. "That's mutiny, soldier."
The boy shook his head wildly. "It's not mutiny if the Commander agrees, sir."
Nods from the entire group, as if they had been hoping for exactly that and were ready to follow Ky into hell, orders be damned. This declaration meant something, something that had very little to do with propaganda or whatever else Sol's inner cynic could come up with. It took a lot more than that to have men willing to commit insubordination in your favor, knowing full well that they might not make it out alive.
With anyone else, Sol would have known that it was what they had been waiting for, would have suspected that this was what they had been trying to accomplish all along. He would have suspected the kid, too, if he hadn't known what to look for-that two-second delay, as the look on his face transformed from the expression of a man shouldering the fate of all into a simple, grateful smile.
Taking one last look at the sheet, Ky wadded it into a neat little ball and handed it to Sol. "…We never saw these orders."
Sol smirked, his fist closing around the crumpled paper, allowing the glow to eat away at it until there was nothing left but ash. "What orders?"
---
"Balanced teams. No assault squads, no magic squads. Restructure existing units if necessary. I want all-round teams that can deal with a beating. Our top priority is to get the civilians to safety."
"Yes, sir."
Both had to raise their voices over the noise, the hangar plunged into a flurry of activity-ground personnel milling about, weapons being loaded, soldiers filing into the airships by the dozen.
The kid was back to being calm, pure efficiency, giving orders and directing troops as if nothing had happened at all; if anything, he only seemed even more determined to make up for everything that had gone wrong.
The Russian lieutenant had straightened his attire a little, his brows knitting as he bent over the map spread out on one of the crates in the airship's cargo bay. Sol was content to remain in the background, studying the proceedings from over Ky's shoulder.
"I want us to aim for the places most likely to harbor survivors. Any kind of structure able to withstand a prolonged assault. Anything that might serve as a hiding place."
"The old town, then. Its streets are very narrow. It's hard to get around," Andreyev suggested, circling the locations with a marker. The map wasn't the newest one around, given Moscow's status, but after a Gear assault, they would be lucky to find even a handful of streets that were still the same. "Former municipal buildings. Train stations. Bunkers. I hear some of those were built to withstand even old-world technology."
Most likely missiles, Sol guessed, perhaps a small-scale bomb. It had been the right climate back in the day to build stuff for that eventuality, but then, science had dropped an even bigger bomb.
"And get the freighters ready for lift-off, as well." Ky had turned to address a soldier come to deliver a status report. "We'll need every ship we can get."
"Sir?" The man hesitated.
"I'm aware of the risks, but we don't have any time to waste."
"Understood."
After the officer had left, Ky returned to his perusal of the map, trying to determine the best way to proceed without any actual data.
"I believe the term you were looking for is 'sitting ducks'," Sol pointed out helpfully.
"I think he knew what I meant," Ky said, fingers hovering above the paper, tracing routes and landmarks in ways that only made sense to him. They both knew that the large cannons would be as good as useless out there, dead weights that consumed so much energy that more than two shots in a row would blow the reactors apart. Sometimes, it made him want to visit the think tanks and bust a few heads.
Andreyev glanced between them, before marking a trajectory. "Best route of approach would be from here, sir. This would take us into an area with lots of open spaces… plazas, parks, and the like."
"I want the fleet to spread out over the area," Ky said, circling the districts the lieutenant had been pointing out with his finger.
Andreyev blinked. "But that'd make us vulnerable-"
"We'll be about as invisible as a flying smorgasbord, anyway," Sol interjected, which earned him a dark look.
"I understand your apprehension, Lieutenant. But he's right-this way, we actually stand better chances of splitting the trouble. We'll determine precise landing points once we have more data on Gear activity."
"Commander, sir!" Another soldier was jogging towards them. "We have word from Aleksin base. They'll be sending support our way, five-hundred men plus ten ships."
"What, no pickles?"
The man blinked owlishly, as did the lieutenant. Neither of them could see the warning nudge of the kid's heel against his toes.
"Thank you, Major. Tell them we'll send the landing coordinates on the way." He rolled up the map, handing it to Andreyev. "You have command of the Epifaniy, Lieutenant. Relay our course to the rest of the fleet."
With a salute, Andreyev withdrew, heading towards the bridge to carry out his orders.
Sol straightened, stretching slightly and noticing that the kid was still staring off in the direction the lieutenant had gone, lost in thought.
"Well, that's gonna be a fun trip. You can stop running those tallies, by the way."
"Huh?"
"I know what you're doing in there, and it's ridiculous."
Raising an eyebrow, Ky turned to face him. "Caring about my men is ridiculous?"
"The way you're doing it, yes."
"I'm still responsible for-"
"Bull. They chose this." Sol would've been convinced the kid was faking the concern, if he hadn't witnessed the same spiel dozens of times before.
"…Thanks." His voice was quiet, carrying that strange hint of something that suggested he was taking this to heart and reading stupid things into it.
Sol shrugged. "It's just aggravating to watch."
"Of course." He was almost sure Ky was being sarcastic now, as hard as it was to tell from the deadpan tone.
Against the wall, the intercom beeped, relieving him of a comeback. "Sir, we're ready for take-off."
"Understood. Proceed."
Slowly, the ramp began to close, the now empty hangar disappearing from sight. A distant hum was spreading through the air, gradually swelling until it became a howl, the entire ship vibrating with the force of the thrust. There was that momentary feeling of the earth dropping away beneath his feet, a passing thrill from age-old attunement to living on the ground.
Ky turned to go. "Alright, then. Let's-"
The ship lurched violently, sending both of them staggering. Another lurch, and he caught the kid by the arm before he could fall over, steadying him.
"What on Earth-?"
They looked up as a groan went through the hull, metal straining against metal. The ship sunk slightly before pushing up again, swaying back and forth in an effort to shake something loose. With some difficulty, Ky leaned over, flipping the switch on the intercom. "Kiske to bridge. What's going on?"
"We don't know, sir. The docking clamps aren't responding… our codes are being overridden! We can't-"
Andreyev's voice broke off, replaced by Gorsky's cool tone. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to endanger the upcoming mission. These ships are needed here, and the Committee wants me to ensure they stay here. This is as far as your little insurrection goes, Commander."
The line went dead, leaving Ky to hiss something under his breath that sounded vaguely French, and vaguely profane.
"Sir?"
"Tell them to keep the ships aloft, and open the cargo bay. I'll take care of the clamps."
"What the hell's the asshole talking about?" Sol demanded, following him down the descending ramp, the gust tugging at their hair and clothes.
Dropping down from the edge, he could see that the entire fleet was in the same predicament, the ships hovering unsteadily, held fast by the massive metal contraptions.
"They've given him top-level access privileges," Ky shouted over the roar of the engines, his face grim. "These codes are a security measure-he can negate lower-level command inputs with those. Only the highest-ranking officers can order a lockdown like this. I don't even know where the Subcommittee got them from-this isn't in their jurisdiction."
"You have one of those things in your arsenal, right?"
"Yes, but if they've given him more than one, the system will think it's two against one, and negate my key."
"Oh, joy. So, do we get to hunt him down and beat the access rights out of him?"
"No time."
"Then-?"
Without another word, Ky extended one hand, a perfect arc of lightning streaking through the air. Three clamps released their hold simultaneously, dropping away into default position in a shower of sparks and smoke.
Sol blinked.
Ky ducked beneath the ship, repeating the procedure on the other side to the smell of melting plastic and metal filling the air. "…Aren't you going to help?"
There was probably a pretty stupid expression on his face, but it wasn't every day that he got to watch the kid toast army property without even the slightest hint of remorse. He was already making his way to the second ship, forcing Sol to catch up with him.
"Hey, wait a sec. Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud."
"I'm not a stick in the mud, I'm practical-and I consider this operation being delayed any longer highly impractical. So you have my official permission to get rid of the delay, if that helps."
Another spell jolted through the fixtures, and Ky turned to look at him, fierce and utterly unrepentant. For a second, something flashed in his eyes that made Sol wonder whether he wasn't enjoying this just the tiniest bit. The thought was inexplicably gratifying.
He grinned, "I hope you're billing the Subcommittee for this," and vanished around another ship before Ky could reply.
Together, they made short work of the clamps. It was so ridiculously easy that Sol had to wonder why they'd bothered with installing a complex security system in the first place, so confident in their assumption that everyone would be good and play by the rules. There wasn't even the slightest anti-magic field to shield the devices from brute force, the spells frying the electronics unhindered.
"See? The therapeutic value of a little destruction," he called as they climbed back into the ship, the closing of the ramp leaving them in relative silence.
Ky chose to ignore him, heading for the bridge at a brisk pace. It was almost amusing to see everyone snapping bolt upright in their seats upon his entrance, all gazes following him with a mixture of awe and shock-judging from the near-perfect view out the panoramic window front, the bridge had probably gotten a good eyeful of their little fireworks.
If Ky was aware of it, he didn't show it, not a hint of bragging in his voice as he addressed Andreyev. "There shouldn't be any more problems. Ready for take-off?"
"At once, sir."
The navigators began pressing keys on their console, but were rewarded with a displeased electronic sound. Frowning, they tried again, the sweat beginning to collect on their foreheads as trial after trial yielded the same result. "Sorry, sir. The gates aren't opening."
"The guy's really desperate to have us stay for breakfast, isn't he," Sol groused. "This is getting tedious."
In lieu of a reply, Ky stepped forward to peer searchingly out the window front, before glancing back at him. "How much would a forced exit damage the structural integrity of the ships?"
It was getting hard to keep control of his eyebrows. The kid was usually such a stickler for rules and regulations to the point where he could quote them word for word, but now it was as if someone had taken his morality module offline, leaving him to take out any obstacle without remorse.
"You're not serious."
"Am I ever not serious? How much."
"Point," Sol conceded. "And… minimally. They all come with a triple hull and enforced windshields. The destroyers have additional plating. We should be fine."
"Alright." Ky turned to the radio operator. "Relay this order to all ships. Raise upper forward cannons at a sixty degree angle, fifty percent charge."
"…Yes, sir."
At a few adjustments, the turrets on the forward deck began to emerge from their resting position, restraints releasing the heavy muzzles as they rotated, rising into an upward position. One by one, the lights at the tactical console switched to green. The weapons officer turned to look at him.
"At your word, sir."
"Fire."
Fifty percent power could barely even put a scratch on a Gear-properly injuring, if not killing the beasts took everything the weapons had and then some. The gate stood no chance, however. An array of white-hot blasts ruptured the shutters, sending shards of metal and debris raining down.
Amidst the thinning vapor, the silhouettes of fifteen ships rose slowly and circled once above the hangar, before heading off towards the east, where the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear in the sky.
-TBC-
----
A/N: And we're getting somewhere, little by little. Hopefully >.> Many thanks to raging_tofu for her help. C&C is appreciated.
Notes for the bored:
- Savior Cathedral is actually the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, an insanely pretty Orthodox church. Oh come on, like I'd pass this up. XD
- Russian naming conventions for vessels are pretty interesting. They seem to like mythological/heroic figures and jewels a lot. The Order being what it is, I picked a famous Christian Orthodox monk, Epiphanius (Epifaniy) the Wise.
<< Return to Part III? | Continue to Part V? >>
<< Return to Guilty Gear Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>
Fandom: Guilty Gear
Part: 4/12
Characters: Sol, Ky
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: violence
Notes: In which plans are put into action, and Sol is surprised.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII
Three Degrees to the Right
Part IV
"Pleasant meeting?"
The question was, of course, a purely rhetorical one.
Coming out of the office, the kid's expression was deadly calm, the kind of calm that would have made a lesser man duck and run for cover, and Sol could hear several steps faltering, the soldiers in tow understandably hesitant to approach. At least they had good instincts.
Most of the time, the kid was scarily imperturbable, accepting shit for what it was and working around it without getting a hair out of place. Even the rages Sol managed to provoke him into weren't able to compare to when he was truly angry.
Quickening his step, he caught up with Ky, noting the fine thrill that was raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
"Very pleasant," Ky said, his voice cold enough to make a freezer seem like a warm place, and held a piece of paper out to him.
Sol glanced it over, the politically correct phrasing leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "We could go rip out the bastard's spine and declare him a casualty of war, how about that? I don't think that'd be a morally reprehensible act under the circumstances."
"How much time would it take to get that much shipped out?" Ky was thinking again, no room even for something as simple as the pleasant vision of the bastard strung up by his own balls, when he could use those two seconds saving lives.
"…Depends on where it's stored and how much is left. I've got no idea how much they ended up producing, but they'll most likely have to scrounge it up wherever, if they don't make some more outright. Two days, tops. That stuff is too damn easy to manufacture. A couple of hours to get it shipped here. You're not going to appeal this piece of bullshit, are you."
"No. I'm going for a walk."
"Heh. Want some company on that 'walk'?"
A disheveled blond man with a bruise on his temple fell into step beside them, saluting quickly. "Lieutenant Andreyev, sir. It's a lovely season to see a lovely city. Would be a shame if you never got to see the sun rising behind the Savior Cathedral, sir."
Before Ky could reply, the rest of the group caught up with them, a woman in operator's uniform chiming in. "Indeed, sir. It would be a shame not to see it."
One of the duckling trio bravely piped up, as well. "We could give you a full tour, sir."
Sol smirked. "That's mutiny, soldier."
The boy shook his head wildly. "It's not mutiny if the Commander agrees, sir."
Nods from the entire group, as if they had been hoping for exactly that and were ready to follow Ky into hell, orders be damned. This declaration meant something, something that had very little to do with propaganda or whatever else Sol's inner cynic could come up with. It took a lot more than that to have men willing to commit insubordination in your favor, knowing full well that they might not make it out alive.
With anyone else, Sol would have known that it was what they had been waiting for, would have suspected that this was what they had been trying to accomplish all along. He would have suspected the kid, too, if he hadn't known what to look for-that two-second delay, as the look on his face transformed from the expression of a man shouldering the fate of all into a simple, grateful smile.
Taking one last look at the sheet, Ky wadded it into a neat little ball and handed it to Sol. "…We never saw these orders."
Sol smirked, his fist closing around the crumpled paper, allowing the glow to eat away at it until there was nothing left but ash. "What orders?"
---
"Balanced teams. No assault squads, no magic squads. Restructure existing units if necessary. I want all-round teams that can deal with a beating. Our top priority is to get the civilians to safety."
"Yes, sir."
Both had to raise their voices over the noise, the hangar plunged into a flurry of activity-ground personnel milling about, weapons being loaded, soldiers filing into the airships by the dozen.
The kid was back to being calm, pure efficiency, giving orders and directing troops as if nothing had happened at all; if anything, he only seemed even more determined to make up for everything that had gone wrong.
The Russian lieutenant had straightened his attire a little, his brows knitting as he bent over the map spread out on one of the crates in the airship's cargo bay. Sol was content to remain in the background, studying the proceedings from over Ky's shoulder.
"I want us to aim for the places most likely to harbor survivors. Any kind of structure able to withstand a prolonged assault. Anything that might serve as a hiding place."
"The old town, then. Its streets are very narrow. It's hard to get around," Andreyev suggested, circling the locations with a marker. The map wasn't the newest one around, given Moscow's status, but after a Gear assault, they would be lucky to find even a handful of streets that were still the same. "Former municipal buildings. Train stations. Bunkers. I hear some of those were built to withstand even old-world technology."
Most likely missiles, Sol guessed, perhaps a small-scale bomb. It had been the right climate back in the day to build stuff for that eventuality, but then, science had dropped an even bigger bomb.
"And get the freighters ready for lift-off, as well." Ky had turned to address a soldier come to deliver a status report. "We'll need every ship we can get."
"Sir?" The man hesitated.
"I'm aware of the risks, but we don't have any time to waste."
"Understood."
After the officer had left, Ky returned to his perusal of the map, trying to determine the best way to proceed without any actual data.
"I believe the term you were looking for is 'sitting ducks'," Sol pointed out helpfully.
"I think he knew what I meant," Ky said, fingers hovering above the paper, tracing routes and landmarks in ways that only made sense to him. They both knew that the large cannons would be as good as useless out there, dead weights that consumed so much energy that more than two shots in a row would blow the reactors apart. Sometimes, it made him want to visit the think tanks and bust a few heads.
Andreyev glanced between them, before marking a trajectory. "Best route of approach would be from here, sir. This would take us into an area with lots of open spaces… plazas, parks, and the like."
"I want the fleet to spread out over the area," Ky said, circling the districts the lieutenant had been pointing out with his finger.
Andreyev blinked. "But that'd make us vulnerable-"
"We'll be about as invisible as a flying smorgasbord, anyway," Sol interjected, which earned him a dark look.
"I understand your apprehension, Lieutenant. But he's right-this way, we actually stand better chances of splitting the trouble. We'll determine precise landing points once we have more data on Gear activity."
"Commander, sir!" Another soldier was jogging towards them. "We have word from Aleksin base. They'll be sending support our way, five-hundred men plus ten ships."
"What, no pickles?"
The man blinked owlishly, as did the lieutenant. Neither of them could see the warning nudge of the kid's heel against his toes.
"Thank you, Major. Tell them we'll send the landing coordinates on the way." He rolled up the map, handing it to Andreyev. "You have command of the Epifaniy, Lieutenant. Relay our course to the rest of the fleet."
With a salute, Andreyev withdrew, heading towards the bridge to carry out his orders.
Sol straightened, stretching slightly and noticing that the kid was still staring off in the direction the lieutenant had gone, lost in thought.
"Well, that's gonna be a fun trip. You can stop running those tallies, by the way."
"Huh?"
"I know what you're doing in there, and it's ridiculous."
Raising an eyebrow, Ky turned to face him. "Caring about my men is ridiculous?"
"The way you're doing it, yes."
"I'm still responsible for-"
"Bull. They chose this." Sol would've been convinced the kid was faking the concern, if he hadn't witnessed the same spiel dozens of times before.
"…Thanks." His voice was quiet, carrying that strange hint of something that suggested he was taking this to heart and reading stupid things into it.
Sol shrugged. "It's just aggravating to watch."
"Of course." He was almost sure Ky was being sarcastic now, as hard as it was to tell from the deadpan tone.
Against the wall, the intercom beeped, relieving him of a comeback. "Sir, we're ready for take-off."
"Understood. Proceed."
Slowly, the ramp began to close, the now empty hangar disappearing from sight. A distant hum was spreading through the air, gradually swelling until it became a howl, the entire ship vibrating with the force of the thrust. There was that momentary feeling of the earth dropping away beneath his feet, a passing thrill from age-old attunement to living on the ground.
Ky turned to go. "Alright, then. Let's-"
The ship lurched violently, sending both of them staggering. Another lurch, and he caught the kid by the arm before he could fall over, steadying him.
"What on Earth-?"
They looked up as a groan went through the hull, metal straining against metal. The ship sunk slightly before pushing up again, swaying back and forth in an effort to shake something loose. With some difficulty, Ky leaned over, flipping the switch on the intercom. "Kiske to bridge. What's going on?"
"We don't know, sir. The docking clamps aren't responding… our codes are being overridden! We can't-"
Andreyev's voice broke off, replaced by Gorsky's cool tone. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to endanger the upcoming mission. These ships are needed here, and the Committee wants me to ensure they stay here. This is as far as your little insurrection goes, Commander."
The line went dead, leaving Ky to hiss something under his breath that sounded vaguely French, and vaguely profane.
"Sir?"
"Tell them to keep the ships aloft, and open the cargo bay. I'll take care of the clamps."
"What the hell's the asshole talking about?" Sol demanded, following him down the descending ramp, the gust tugging at their hair and clothes.
Dropping down from the edge, he could see that the entire fleet was in the same predicament, the ships hovering unsteadily, held fast by the massive metal contraptions.
"They've given him top-level access privileges," Ky shouted over the roar of the engines, his face grim. "These codes are a security measure-he can negate lower-level command inputs with those. Only the highest-ranking officers can order a lockdown like this. I don't even know where the Subcommittee got them from-this isn't in their jurisdiction."
"You have one of those things in your arsenal, right?"
"Yes, but if they've given him more than one, the system will think it's two against one, and negate my key."
"Oh, joy. So, do we get to hunt him down and beat the access rights out of him?"
"No time."
"Then-?"
Without another word, Ky extended one hand, a perfect arc of lightning streaking through the air. Three clamps released their hold simultaneously, dropping away into default position in a shower of sparks and smoke.
Sol blinked.
Ky ducked beneath the ship, repeating the procedure on the other side to the smell of melting plastic and metal filling the air. "…Aren't you going to help?"
There was probably a pretty stupid expression on his face, but it wasn't every day that he got to watch the kid toast army property without even the slightest hint of remorse. He was already making his way to the second ship, forcing Sol to catch up with him.
"Hey, wait a sec. Who are you and what have you done with Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud."
"I'm not a stick in the mud, I'm practical-and I consider this operation being delayed any longer highly impractical. So you have my official permission to get rid of the delay, if that helps."
Another spell jolted through the fixtures, and Ky turned to look at him, fierce and utterly unrepentant. For a second, something flashed in his eyes that made Sol wonder whether he wasn't enjoying this just the tiniest bit. The thought was inexplicably gratifying.
He grinned, "I hope you're billing the Subcommittee for this," and vanished around another ship before Ky could reply.
Together, they made short work of the clamps. It was so ridiculously easy that Sol had to wonder why they'd bothered with installing a complex security system in the first place, so confident in their assumption that everyone would be good and play by the rules. There wasn't even the slightest anti-magic field to shield the devices from brute force, the spells frying the electronics unhindered.
"See? The therapeutic value of a little destruction," he called as they climbed back into the ship, the closing of the ramp leaving them in relative silence.
Ky chose to ignore him, heading for the bridge at a brisk pace. It was almost amusing to see everyone snapping bolt upright in their seats upon his entrance, all gazes following him with a mixture of awe and shock-judging from the near-perfect view out the panoramic window front, the bridge had probably gotten a good eyeful of their little fireworks.
If Ky was aware of it, he didn't show it, not a hint of bragging in his voice as he addressed Andreyev. "There shouldn't be any more problems. Ready for take-off?"
"At once, sir."
The navigators began pressing keys on their console, but were rewarded with a displeased electronic sound. Frowning, they tried again, the sweat beginning to collect on their foreheads as trial after trial yielded the same result. "Sorry, sir. The gates aren't opening."
"The guy's really desperate to have us stay for breakfast, isn't he," Sol groused. "This is getting tedious."
In lieu of a reply, Ky stepped forward to peer searchingly out the window front, before glancing back at him. "How much would a forced exit damage the structural integrity of the ships?"
It was getting hard to keep control of his eyebrows. The kid was usually such a stickler for rules and regulations to the point where he could quote them word for word, but now it was as if someone had taken his morality module offline, leaving him to take out any obstacle without remorse.
"You're not serious."
"Am I ever not serious? How much."
"Point," Sol conceded. "And… minimally. They all come with a triple hull and enforced windshields. The destroyers have additional plating. We should be fine."
"Alright." Ky turned to the radio operator. "Relay this order to all ships. Raise upper forward cannons at a sixty degree angle, fifty percent charge."
"…Yes, sir."
At a few adjustments, the turrets on the forward deck began to emerge from their resting position, restraints releasing the heavy muzzles as they rotated, rising into an upward position. One by one, the lights at the tactical console switched to green. The weapons officer turned to look at him.
"At your word, sir."
"Fire."
Fifty percent power could barely even put a scratch on a Gear-properly injuring, if not killing the beasts took everything the weapons had and then some. The gate stood no chance, however. An array of white-hot blasts ruptured the shutters, sending shards of metal and debris raining down.
Amidst the thinning vapor, the silhouettes of fifteen ships rose slowly and circled once above the hangar, before heading off towards the east, where the first faint streaks of dawn were beginning to appear in the sky.
-TBC-
----
A/N: And we're getting somewhere, little by little. Hopefully >.> Many thanks to raging_tofu for her help. C&C is appreciated.
Notes for the bored:
- Savior Cathedral is actually the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, an insanely pretty Orthodox church. Oh come on, like I'd pass this up. XD
- Russian naming conventions for vessels are pretty interesting. They seem to like mythological/heroic figures and jewels a lot. The Order being what it is, I picked a famous Christian Orthodox monk, Epiphanius (Epifaniy) the Wise.
<< Return to Part III? | Continue to Part V? >>
<< Return to Guilty Gear Index | Return to Fanfiction Index >>