Spearhead

26 – 9 – 2048

Spearhead marched for several days without a set destination, letting the winding roads guide their path. Their journey was not about reaching a goal but savouring each moment as it came. The landscapes, though fleeting, held a paradoxical charm—blurring together yet remaining uniquely distinct. Their pace was slow and meandering, soaking up the various beautiful places they saw: a breathtaking field carpeted with aqua flowers, a magical forest ablaze in yellow and red Autumn hues, lush, rolling hills, and finally, an expansive lake and river that marked part of the border with the old Anglo Empire. It was here, beside these waters, that they unanimously agreed to hunker down and rest, taking shelter in an abandoned concrete pillbox, once used to defend the border.

And now, at the tranquil water’s edge, Hobie and Miles stand in the dimming late afternoon sun, watching as the light shimmers and reflects off the water’s surface. A little further along the shore, Spi-do is frolicking over the rocks, dashing into the water and then running out again, playful like a real dog.

“There’s no gettin’ across this river, is there?” Hobie grumbles, turning to look at the bulky, metallic SP/DR’s parked on a grassy cliff edge, next to the pillbox.

“Nope,” Miles confirms, continuing to stare out into the distance.

Every night, they had seen Legion forces moving across the only bridge suitable for heavy machinery, like a trail of ants. The SP/DR’s, unfortunately, aren’t watertight, meaning they couldn’t simply swim across. And even if they tried, the water was much too deep. So, in essence, this was as far as they could go without running into a massive force of Legion.

“You’re talking about the SP/DR’s, right?” Pav asks, approaching the duo with Phin and Ganke flanking him on either side, their boots crunching softly against the rocky shore.

“I’d rather not get a water burial,” Ganke jokes. “Fish gimme the creeps.”

“Somethin’ tells me that wouldn’t have stopped Heavy and Cam from jumpin’ right on in,” Hobie chuckles.

They all fall silent for a moment, remembering their friends as they listen to the sound of water lapping against the shore.

“Where are we, anyway?” Phin asks, eventually.

“Fucked if I know,” Hobie says with a shrug. “Turned our trackers and whatnot off weeks ago.”

“I can’t believe we managed to dodge all those recon units,” Ganke remarks, stretching his arms above his head. “Thought we would’ve kicked the can on the first day.”

“So, what now?” Pav asks, sounding bored. He picks up a pebble and throws it into the water with a loud plonk. “Freedom is nice and all… but…”

“Do we really need to move forward this minute?” Miles interjects.

The others turn to look at him, soft smiles on their faces.

“He does have a point,” Phin says. “Gotta enjoy our freedom while it lasts.”

“Y’know, I’ve always wanted to try fishing!” Pav declares, optimistically.

“And I don’t think there’s been a better time for me to improve my drawing,” Ganke adds.

“Whaddya say, Hobie?” Miles asks.

Hobie smirks. “Sure, why not, ay?”

Ganke, Pav and Phin begin to walk away, with Pav loudly discussing his plan for making a fishing rod. Eventually, his voice trails away and Hobie and Miles are alone once again, staring across the water.

“Kinda feels like we’re the last five people left alive,” Hobie says after a time.

There’s a sudden, resounding splash as Spi-do cannon balls into the water, having finally worked up the courage to plunge into the water for a proper swim. The water rises up like an explosion, soaking Hobie to the bone.

“Oi, watch it!” he yells, raising his fist in annoyance.

“Careful, Spi-do” Miles calls out to the scavenger unit, fighting a smile. “I don’t think Hobie appreciated that shower.”

“No shit sherlock,” Hobie grumbles, fanning his shirt to try and dry it a bit.

Miles laughs heartily, shoulders shaking, voice laced with a strange mixture of both pain and… carefreeness, as though a strenuous weight has finally been lifted from his shoulders.

Hobie glances at him, slightly puzzled. He doesn’t think he’s seen Miles like this before.

After a while, Miles finally speaks again. “Y’know, it doesn’t really feel like everyone’s dead, but its true that when people die, they simply disappear. Their mind and will don’t stay behind.”

“Like the ones who went before us, yeah?” Hobie asks, lightly.

“Yup,” says Miles.

“How many are there now?” Hobie questions.

“Five hundred and seventy-six.”

“Including your uncle?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask,” Hobie says, tentatively. “Were you able to engrave his name?”

“Yeah, although how I managed to get it is… a question for Spi-do.”

“Damn,” Hobie grumbles, looking to the devilish unit that soaked him, but somehow managed to completely avoid Miles. “Y’all are close.”

They watch as Spi-do charges out of the lake, shaking itself off and rolling on the nearby grass.

“Only question now is how far we can keep goin’,” Hobie says after a while.

“Well,” says Miles, “without resupply, there’s a limit.”

Hobie nods, slowly. “Or, in layman’s terms, a hard cap on how long we can stay alive.”

Miles folds his arms, his eyes looking out over the water. “May as well live it to the fullest,” he says, wistfully.

“You got any regrets?” Hobie asks, abruptly, watching Miles closely. “The Major asked ya once, anything you wanted to do or see. Did ya ever figure it out?”

“Nah,” Miles sighs. “Still haven’t thought about it.”

“Hmm, that so?” Hobie asks rhetorically, looking back out to the water. For a while, he thought maybe, just maybe, Miles had found an answer. But now… he really isn’t so sure. Not anymore.

*****

27 – 9 – 2048

The old former Anglo Empire town lays in state of disrepair, a shadow of its former self. Nearly every structure—shops, homes and municipal buildings—has either been obliterated to a pile of rubble or left in a state of haunting decay, abandoned by the residents. Walls are charred and crumbling, roofs caved in, and windows shattered like jagged, empty eyes staring out at nothing.

However, once upon a time, it had been a thriving, bustling place. Display items remain untouched in storefronts and personal belongings sit in closets, drawers and other storage places, a solemn reminder that the people who once lived here had to escape from the autonomous onslaught with little time to grab anything. 

Yet, beneath the devastation and ghosts of abandonment, the town's distinctly European aesthetic is still reminiscent. Cobbled streets wind their way through the destruction, the uneven stones worn smooth by centuries of footsteps whilst weeds defiantly grow through the cracks. Rows of intricate storefronts line the main thoroughfare, their once-vibrant facades now faded and marred by soot and bullet holes. Signs in ornate fonts hang askew, swaying in the wind, their messages now meaningless in the emptiness. Homes with steeply pitched roofs and decorative eaves sag under the weight of neglect, their windows gaping like hollow eyes. The town square, once alive with markets and festivals, is dominated by the skeletal remains of a fountain. Its central statue, a proud figure of an old Commonwealth war hero, has toppled, leaving only jagged stone fragments scattered across the ground.

An eerie stillness pervades the air, broken only by the occasional creak of timbers, the distant call of a crow or the intermittent conversations of Spearhead Squadron.

“The good ol’ Anglo Empire,” Hobie chuckles, wistfully to himself. “Gotta ask, does it bring back any memories for ya?”

The Squadron is exploring the border town in search of supplies and also just for something to do. Ganke, Phin, Pav and Spi-do had dashed off down one of the prettier shopping high streets immediately after entering, leaving Hobie and Miles to explore by themselves.

“Nah,” Miles answers. “My dad and uncle were born here, but this is the first time I’ve ever visited.”

They pass a grand old town hall of sorts, with an Anglo Sphere flag still flapping pridefully at the top, although tattered and marred by time and the elements. But still, Miles can make out a few of the various flags that were combined to create it: United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, the West-Coast Pacific States and a couple northern and mid-western ones.

“Y’know, I can’t remember much about my parents, honestly,” Miles says, plainly. “Let alone the country my dad was from.”

“Well, y’know, yours truly immigrated from the UK ages ago, so I’ve got some memories of it,” Hobie scoffs lightly to himself. He gazes at the town hall for some time, remembering the grand, historic buildings of London. The empire had been pretty good, honestly, well, before the revolution against the monarchy. He goes to say more, but Miles has wandered away and now stands some thirty metres off, staring at a tunnel.

“Oi,” Hobie shouts, jogging to catch up. “Don’t go runnin’ off on your own, mate.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Miles says, softly, looking into the darkness of the tunnel. “We’re probably fine. The Legion hasn’t noticed us yet.”

“You can still hear ‘em?” Hobie questions.

Miles nods and turns to face his friend. “Yeah, even more so now that we’re in their territory, but it honestly isn’t too bad.”

Hobie grunts. “You always say that.”

Before Miles can respond, they hear the voices of the others bouncing off the charred walls of buildings. He peers in the direction of a side street.

“Oh, there you are!” Phin shouts, brandishing an armful of loot. “We found some pretty useful shit!”

“What are you two doing here all alone?” Ganke chides. “Why didn’t you stick with us?”

“Are we interrupting a moment?” Pav teases.

Miles ignores them and turns to look at Hobie again. “It’s actually easier now that we’re not fighting,” he says, as though they hadn’t been interrupted. With a gentle smile to reassure Hobie, he starts to walk towards the others. “So don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Hobie sighs, kicking a loose stone on the ground. “Roger that.”

*****

“Bloody idiot!” Hobie exclaims, annoyance thick in his voice. He stares at Miles’ empty sleeping bag in the pillbox. It’s a dreary, early morning. Thick grey clouds had descended overnight, pouring down icy rain. “I told that moron not to go wandering off alone!”

Hobie grabs his assault rifle, which is leaning against the concrete wall, and turns to the rest of the Squadron, who are still bleary eyed with sleep. “Aight, we’re goin’ lookin’ for ‘im.”

Phin, Ganke and Pav scramble to their feet, yawning and grumbling in annoyance. Slipping combat boots and jackets on, they follow after Hobie, descending the muddy hill in search of their Reaper.

Spi-do keenly leads the group, racing up to the front past Hobie whilst the others lag behind, dodging massive potholes on the road into town.

“He didn’t take his SP/DR, so he didn’t leave us behind and can’t be far, right?” Ganke moans, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What about his Para-RAID? Can’t we just call him?” Pav asks.

“He turned it off,” Hobie states, briskly.

“This guy… I swear…” Phin grumbles, her assault-rifle slapping intermittently against her.

“But I thought he was finally content and at peace here,” Pav says, worriedly.

“Yeah, no shit,” Ganke grumbles, almost stepping in a pothole. “After five years of searching for his uncle, you would’ve thought he’d chill out by now. It’s almost like he wants to be alone or something.”

“That’s what’s got me worried,” Hobie says, scanning the road ahead into the town. “Some part of me wonders whether there’s nothin’ left for him now.”

At those sombre words, the group pick up their pace, jogging into the town. Spi-do is still in the lead and seems to have an idea where Miles might be, judging by the fact it weaves through the cobbled streets with purpose. It’s almost like precognition, or maybe as if he were following a scent like a bloodhound.

“Oi, Spi-do,” Ganke calls. “Know where he is?”

Spi-do freezes at the end of a street and turns to face the group desperately trying to keep pace. It beeps loudly and gestures with one of its metallic legs in the direction of an intersection, before dashing off in that very direction.

Shrugging at each other, the group follow after their strange dog until they are face to face with the same pitch-black tunnel Miles had been trying to wander into yesterday.

“In there?” Hobie questions as Spi-do beams its top-mounted searchlight into the tunnel. It’s a dreary, miserable place with cracking walls, large puddles of murky water and eroding bitumen, likely a result of being abandoned with no regular maintenance.

“Oh geez,” Ganke groans, seeing the utter disrepair in front of them. “Can’t believe we’re gonna follow this thing.”

The group cautiously trek through the tunnel in a tight formation, sticking close to each other and Spi-do’s beam of light. Thankfully, the tunnel is only about 100 metres long and they swiftly emerge on the other side. Spi-do immediately dashes off to an exit and guides them to a large, rundown zoo directly off the exit.

Pav, Ganke and Phin all stare at the rusting, wrought iron fence with scrutiny.

“Are you sure, Spi-do?” Ganke asks, placing his hands on his hips.

Spi-do beeps in affirmation.

“Well, we’ve got no other leads,” Hobie says. “I’ll take point.”

Gun raised, he cautiously enters through the main gate, pointing his barrel at any shadow or suspicious sound. The group follow a few paces behind, being sure to spread out in case of an ambush. Spi-do takes point with Hobie and continues guiding them past the rusty, rundown cages of various animals.

“This is awful,” Pav whispers, nodding towards the cages where skeletons of animals lay.

Since the town had been so hastily abandoned, there’d been no time to release the zoo animals. And so, they had just sat in their cages, slowly dying of hunger and thirst, unable to move, to escape.

“In some ways, they’re just like us,” Phin says. “Trapped and condemned to die.”

Spi-do eventually leads Spearhead to an overgrown elephant enclosure. And there stands Miles. Just looking at something. Whatever it is, it seems to be large as he stares up at it. Spearhead break into a jog.

“Oi, Miles!” Phin yells.

Miles ignores her and steps forwards, drawing his handgun.

“Wait!” Hobie barks, pulling Phin back.

He can see what it is. An OCTO-Panther, initially hidden from their view by a concrete wall.

He raises his rifle and charges forwards. “MILES!” he yells. “What are you doing?”

Miles turns to look at Hobie with a bored expression.

“Relax,” he says, turning back to the Panther. “It’s critically injured.”

Sure enough, when Hobie studies the Panther properly, there’s a large, round hole, lined with silver blood, on the Panther’s side. Wires and other mechanical internals spark faintly. It had likely been shot by a high calibre round of some sort and had retreated here. The others still point their rifles at it, just in case.

“I’ve been hearing it for a while now,” Miles explains in a quiet voice. “It wasn’t a scout and it was goin’ in a different direction to us, so I was gonna ignore it. But ever since yesterday, I could feel it callin’ me.”

“So, it’s…” Hobie trails off, lowering his rifle.

“An Eighty-Six,” Miles finishes for him. “It can’t communicate, but I can hear its voice.”

“What’s it sayin’?” Hobie inquires, peering at the Panther with a tinge of sympathy. “What’s its final words.”

“I wanna go home,” Miles states, approaching the shell-hole and cocking his handgun’s hammer back.

The Pather tries to move, tries to get away, but its internals are shot to hell, and it crumbles back to the ground with a dying ‘gasp’.

Miles clambers up its chassis and slides his arm through the shell-hole, pointing the gun at the Panthers exposed central processing unit, where the copy of an Eighty-Sixes brain resides.

“It’s ok,” he whispers. “You can go home.”

And pulls the trigger, silencing the mechanical ghost.

*****

The Squadron is sombre and quiet as they walk back to their temporary home. Spi-do stays close beside Miles, every now and again glancing over at him. A few hundred metres from the pillbox, Miles is the first to break the silence.

“Hobie,” he says, thoughtfully, pausing in his stride for a moment to fall into step with his comrade. “If there are any surviving countries, anywhere besides the Republic…”

“Yeah, there’s been rumours,” Hobie says, looking at the mountains in the distance. “Beyond the old borders, well past where Legion go, you’re probably wonderin’ whether there are any survivors, right?”

Miles nods.

“Well,” Hobie continues, starting to laugh, “I can’t imagine us all livin’ in peace, even if those places do exist.”

Phin, Ganke and Pav have been silently listening to their conversation. They all seem distracted and unusually subdued. Phin, in particular, keeps thinking about the skeletons in the zoo. All those poor animals, forgotten and abandoned.

“Is that how we’re gonna die as well?” Phin asks. “Like those zoo animals?”

They all stop walking and stare at each other. No-one knows what to say.

At that moment, Spi-do beeps loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. It purposefully marches forwards, head held high, then pauses a few paces later, turning back to see if Spearhead is watching.

Hobie chuckles. “Stop talkin’ and keep movin’ forwards, it that the idea?” he asks.

Spi-do nods and beeps happily.

“Ok, that’s weird,” Ganke says. “He’s definitely not a dog.”

“I’d argue he’s more than a dog,” Pav laughs, running to catch up with Spi-do and patting his metallic head.

“So, you gonna cross that river alone?” Hobie asks Miles, turning to him. As usual, Miles remains characteristically stoic and silent. Hobie sighs to himself in annoyance. “Forget I asked, yeah? Let’s go into the beyond.”

Miles smiles and takes a step forwards.

*****

The next morning, they gather their things into Spi-do’s containers and say goodbye to their temporary home. They cross the bridge over the river without any trouble and continue north at a steady pace. When they reach a fork in the road, they choose the more scenic route that runs parallel to the river, enjoying the spectacular sight of the sun glistening off the surface of the serene water. But all too soon, the tranquillity comes to an end.

“Guys, direction 320.” Miles voice suddenly cuts through the resonance. “Rain incoming.”

Sure enough, on the distant horizon, the ocean blue sky is quickly being smothered by a blanket of shining purple. OCTO-Flies.

“Bugger,” Hobie says. “Can we dodge ‘em?”

“Negative,” Miles says immediately, focussing intently on the crackle of Legion voices. “The main force is coming from direct north. Seems like they’re gonna clamp down on us from two sides and push us against the riverbank.”

“Oh man,” Pav cries. “Why did I insist on taking the pretty road?!”

“It was bound to happen at some point, Pav,” Miles states plainly, sounding unbothered.

“Can anyone see a good defensive position with high ground an’ all that?” Hobie asks, spinning Anarchist around to look at their surroundings.

“Nope,” Phin responds, after a while. As the team’s designated sniper, she has the keenest eye for advantageous terrain. However, the terrain in their immediate vicinity is as flat as a desert.

“If we deploy to direction 274, we can take up positions on that tree line and fight a little more on our terms,” Miles says, spurring Undertaker towards the small patch of forest within eyesight.

The rest of Spearhead follow, spacing out in case they get fired on early and negating the chance for Legion to get them all at once with artillery.

Within two minutes, they’ve taken up a defensive formation on the tree line and wait with bated breath. Even though the Legion are still a few kilometres away, they can already see them. The ground is so flat, the metallic, silvery snake can be seen for miles around.

“Spi-do,” Miles orders. “Hang back. We can’t afford to lose our supplies.”

The scavenger unit had been sticking close to Spearhead, dutifully bringing up the rear. But now, it beeps sadly, wanting to help, but loyally obeying Miles. Reluctantly, it pushes further into the small, wooded area behind them.

“I’ve got eyes on the lead Panther,” Phin states, squinting through her gun’s optics. “Permission to engage?”

“Fuck ‘em up,” Miles says, coldly.

Phin squeezes the trigger and sends an APFSDS round streaking across the landscape. It slams into the lead Panther’s side armour, immediately causing it to erupt into a brilliant fireball. The Legion seem to be taken by surprise. Clearly, they were expecting to engage the enemy head-on. Regardless, they turn to face the oncoming threat stoically, returning suppressive fire in the general direction of the tree line and marching straight towards Spearhead.

Panthers push forwards, using their heavy armour to shield the weaker units behind them and fire HEAT rounds into the tree line.

Spearhead clap back, their 57mm’s roaring.

“We can’t camp here for long,” Miles says, briskly. “Those HEAT rounds could cook these trees.”

“So, they’re trying to burn us out?” Hobie scoffs. “Thought they’d use a more effective round.”

“It won’t be long before they call in incendiary munitions,” Miles says. “Which is why I’m gonna take the fight to them.”

Hobie smirks. “Roger that.”

“Deploying smoke,” Miles says, firing off his air-burst smoke cannisters.

Thick, white smoke obscures his position to the far left of Spearhead as he spurs Undertaker forwards in a wide arc. The Legion force is reasonably small, meaning he’ll be able to easily wrap around them and hit them from the flanks.

“Well, come on lads,” Hobie laughs through the Resonance. “Don’t wanna let him have all the fun now, do we?”

The rest of Spearhead move tentatively out of the tree line, dodging and returning fire to cover for Miles.

The sky is now completely smothered with purple as Miles makes first contact with a Sparrow using his high-frequency blades, dispatching it immediately. Not even pausing, he continues his charge, hacking into them with malice. He’s now fully locked in, completely focussed on wiping out the mechanical demons in front of him, his gaze marking certain death.

Isolated completely from the rest of Spearhead, he can no longer see how their own fight is going, the only sound in his ears the mechanical screams and roars of explosions and gunfire. Wordlessly and with ruthless efficiency, he blasts away at Wolves and Panthers as they slowly narrow in on the tree line.

Across the battlefield, things aren’t going so well. While Miles disrupts and causes chaos amongst the Legion’s battle line and cohesion, his friends find themselves taking the brunt of the bombardment by the Wolves and Skorpions.

As Miles had predicted, the tree line is swiftly obliterated by air-burst incendiary munitions, reducing the cover to charred stumps and craters filled with ash. The SP/DR’s, stripped of their meagre advantage, are exposed to a relentless onslaught. Each machine scrambles desperately across the battlefield, dodging precision artillery strikes and evading the Panthers head-on fire.

“Damn it! Left actuator’s gone!” Ganke yells, followed by a screech of metal as Trollface lurches to one side, dragging a mangled leg.

“Just maintain cohesion!” Hobie orders, his voice strained as he wrestles with his SP/DR’s controls. The mech groans in protest, heat warnings blaring like an angry swarm of hornets.

A fresh barrage of artillery lands just behind him, the shockwave slamming his mech forwards.

Pav and Phin race to his side, covering for him as Anarchist recovers shakily. The next moment, a round streaks across the battlefield and slams violently into the back-half of Tinkerer, almost splitting it in two.

Phin’s vision goes black.

She has no idea how long she’s out for, but…

When her consciousness finally starts seeping back through, voices yell in her ears, muffled and incoherent.

She has no idea how she’s still alive.

“Damn it, it won’t move!” Ganke cries.

“Same,” Pav yells. “I’m bailing out!”

Phin blinks in confusion. When did Pav lose his unit? How long has she been out?

“Hide behind your SP/DR!” Miles orders. “They’re still blasting y’all to bits!”

“Phin!” Hobie yells, noticing her Para-RAID come back online. “You still with us?”

Groaning in pain, she briefly checks to make sure she isn’t missing any limbs, before forcing herself to get back up. She unstraps herself from her seat and clambers out of the SP/DR’s cockpit as the intermittent grunts and shouts of Spearhead fill her ears.

“Oh, fuck my life!” Hobie shouts in annoyance. “Is this really how it fuckin’ ends? What a bloody piss poor way to go!”

Phin wipes at the blood trickling from a cut on her forehead and her vision slowly clears. She’s greeted with a fucking awful sight.

Panthers and Sparrows are no more than 50 metres away, whilst Pav, Hobie and Ganke sporadically return fire with their assault rifles, taking cover behind their crippled SP/DR’s. Spi-do is nowhere in sight, although the containers have been jettisoned about a hundred metres back.

The only one still standing is Undertaker, who continues mercilessly carving up Legion with his high-frequency blades. Hacking and slashing at anything that gets too close.

But he won’t be able to keep it up for long.

Already, the Legion are closing in and surrounding him from all sides.

Just as he charges a Sparrow, cutting it in two, a Panther ambushes him from behind.

“MILES!” Phin yells into the Resonance.

Miles gasps in surprise and turns.

But it’s too late.

The Legion fires almost point blank.

But then… from out of left field…

Spi-do dashes from behind cover and leaps in-front of Undertaker, taking the shell for him with its thick steel chassis.

Spi-do jumps so quickly, he rolls on the ground. Landing on his feet, he tries to get back up… but his internals are shot to hell.

He slumps to the ground with a pained beep.

Miles glares at the Sparrow. “You are fucked,” he says coldly, charging at it.

The Sparrow fires again, but Miles deftly dodges and leaps upwards.

Firing his grapple lines, he latches onto the Panther’s thick armour and bursts forwards, high-frequency blades whirring.

And cuts it to pieces in an instant.

*****

Once they reached the retreat threshold, the Legion forces had finally fallen back as the Flies descended deeper into OCTO territory. Once again, the sun shines, glinting off the smouldering wrecks of hundreds of destroyed Legion.

Miles solemnly places the green ammunition box on the front of Spi-do’s metallic corpse. He has carried the box for years, from unit to unit, but now… now he knows the end is near. This is as far as he’ll be able to carry them. This will be their final destination.

“You sure about this, mate?” Hobie asks, standing a respectful distance away as Miles lowers his head over Spi-do’s burnt-out hull.

“It’s not like we can take ‘em with us. It’s the least we can do,” Miles says, trying to stop his voice from breaking. “And besides, we won’t be goin’ much further ourselves.”

He peers out into the distant, rolling green hills, his eyes briefly catching the glint of sunlight reflecting off the train tracks nearby. They go off into the horizon, but then… abruptly stop.

“I’m just stunned that Miles’ SP/DR is the only one still operational,” Ganke says.

He unloads a small, cardboard box laden with supplies and piles it on the ground behind Undertaker, whilst Phin and Pav work together to attach the single storage container Ganke was unloading to Undertaker, using a tow hook Spi-do had laying around. Since the SP/DR only has one seat, this will serve as a makeshift backseat of sorts.

“Well, we’ve also got rifles and guns…” Pav trails off, failing to find anything else positive in this situation. 

“But not a lot of ammo,” Phin says in annoyance.

“Losing our containers was the big kicker,” Hobie grumbles, peering at Spi-do. Without him, they’d be unable to bring with them all the supplies Peni had packed. “Lost pretty much all our food, ammo and fuel.”

“We’re all done here,” Phin says, slapping the side of the container, having successfully attached it to Undertaker.

“Same,” Ganke says, as he finishes unloading the last of the supplies from the container.

“Aight,” Hobie says. “Let’s get movin’ chaps. Don’t want the Legion up our bum again already.”

“Who’s gonna pilot?” Pav asks, suddenly concerned. “It can’t just be Miles.”

“A rare flash of brilliance, Pavi,” Hobie teases. “We can take shifts and if we encounter Legion, the person piloting at the time will fight.”

“If you want—” Miles says.

“Oh, man,” Ganke whines, cutting Miles off. “Why did it have to be Undertaker that survived?”

“What’s the problem?” Phin asks, confused.

“Piloting that thing is a fucking nightmare,” Ganke moans. “Miles’ settings are so heavily optimised its frightening and his limiters are turned off.”

“Well, I can do it,” Phin says briskly, jumping into Undertaker’s cockpit and strapping in.

“Huh? Wait up! I didn’t say I can’t do it,” Ganke says, suddenly offended.

“After all that bitching?” Phin laughs. “Hell nah. And besides, I lost my SP/DR first, so I’m the freshest right now.”

Ganke glares at her with a dead inside expression, as if to say ‘really?’. “I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” he grumbles, sarcastically.

Once everyone is seated in the container, Undertaker sets off through the fields, heading north. They all look determinedly forward, trying not to think about Spi-do, left all alone in the field with their SP/DR’s smouldering wrecks. The long hours blur together as the scenery flashes by. Nobody really talks. They spend the time either sleeping, watching the view or shouting at Pav whenever he starts singing in Hindu to ‘lighten the mood.’

Eventually, Miles’ icy voice cuts through the Resonance with authority. “Phin. Stop.”

The sudden words jolt everyone out of their bored daze.

“What’s up?” Phin asks, stopping Undertaker’s movement.

Miles doesn’t respond but swiftly sits up, peering around the countryside. A large, grey cloud descends slowly, rain pelting the rolling hills in the distance. It seems it will start pouring down over them soon, muddying the ground and making travel impossible for the SP/DR. They’ll need to find somewhere to shelter very soon.

Eyes scanning the countryside, Miles spots a hill in the distance with what appears to be a cave of some sort.

“Ten o’clock,” he says, sharply. “Seems to be a cave. Head over there.”

“Roger,” Phin replies, turning Undertaker in the desired direction.

“And make it quick,” Miles adds.

They have been inside the cave for less than ten minutes when a torrential downpour starts falling from the heavens, soaking the ground and creating large puddles of water. Phin remains inside Undertaker, which was just able to squeeze inside the cave. The rest of Spearhead watch the downpour stoically, assault rifles at the ready, lying on their stomachs on the ground at the entrance to the cave.

Phin’s hand quivers slightly on Undertaker’s trigger.

A massive Legion force passes by, not even 100 metres from the cave entrance. So that’s what Miles meant about being quick…

A day later, they’re back on the road, the sun once again beaming down upon them, like they were being given their final blessing from a deity. Perhaps it was, in all honesty. Nobody says it, but today seems to be the day. The air hangs thick with tension as they sit boredly in the container or cockpit of Undertaker.

Spearhead is no longer savouring the journey. After so long on the road, all the scenery has started to feel much the same - yellow and red forests, lakes, rolling hills and lush, green fields.

Freedom is certainly good… but it sure is boring, Miles thinks to himself.

The others have the right idea, dozing off when not on driving duty. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have that luxury. He can hear the crackle of the OCTO-Legion’s ghosts in his ears even more than before. The mechanical screams are almost deafening now. It’ll be soon. There’s a large force up ahead, unavoidable by all accounts. As Undertaker ascends a winding road dug into the side of a large hill, Miles’ voice suddenly cuts through the Resonance, betraying nothing.

“Pav,” he says, casually. “Why don’t we swap places now?”

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” Pav asks from Undertaker’s cockpit. “We weren’t meant to swap over until after lunch.”

The rest of the Squadron, all travelling in the container with Miles, start to wake from their naps, looking confused and concerned.

“I’m bored,” says Miles, keeping his voice even.

Spearhead bursts into relieved laughter.

“You had me worried there!” Pav laughs, shaking his head and wiping tears from his eyes. “I thought you must have heard something!”

“He’s got a point,” Ganke yawns. “Not complaining or anything, but I think there’s a certain point where someone can have too much free time.”

Miles ignores their menial chatter and jumps out of the container. As Pav opens the cockpit to swap over, Miles jogs to the edge of the road and looks up to the cliff. It appears to be unstable thanks to the rain the day before. Pav clambers out of the cockpit and flops into the container, happy to nap for a while. Miles takes his place in the cockpit, pulling it closed. As he fiddles with his settings one last time, he looks down at his feet darkly with guilt and sadness.

“We’re all good back here!” Pav says happily through the Resonance, stretching out as much as he can in the cramped container.

Sighing softly to himself, Miles spurs Undertaker forwards. But the container doesn’t move with it. Instead, the hook snaps off with a metallic ping!

Quickly, before anyone can react or protest, Undertaker fires its grapple lines at the cliff face and pulls down a large chunk of rocks and dirt, completely blocking the road, and cutting it off from the container.

“The current pilot fights,” Miles states, icily. “We all agreed, didn’t we?”

“You fucking wanker!” Hobie yells, leaping out of the container and dashing to the imposing barricade of rubble. “This was your plan right from the start!”

Miles ignores him. “There’s a unit up ahead that we won’t be able to dodge,” he explains. “So, someone has gotta fight.”

Realisation starts to dawn on the faces of the rest of the squadron.

“So, when you told Pav to swap over…” Phin gasps.

“This isn’t fair!” Pav cries, jumping after Hobie, who is now trying to dig away some of the rubble with the butt of his rifle. It’s a useless action… but desperation is quickly setting in. “You can’t do this to us!”

Miles ignores him. “The four of you need to keep going. It’ll take them ages to find you if go south-west into the forest. And if you keep heading in that direction, their voices will fade.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Ganke yells, joining in the digging effort, scraping at the rocks with his bare hands. “You can’t just play decoy by yourself; this is complete bullshit!”

“We were supposed to go out together!” Phin cries in disbelief, frozen to her spot in the container. “You’re really gonna leave us all alone at the very end?! THAT’S NOT FAIR!”

Miles’ end of the Para-RAID goes dead. They can hear the rumble of Undertaker’s engine fading into the distance.

“Fucking asshole!” Hobie shouts. “I’m going after him!” Gripping his assault rifle, Hobie begins climbing the rubble.

“Wait!” Pav yells. “We’re coming with you.”

Ganke and Phin nod in determination, reaching for their own weapons.

Hobie looks at his troops with pride. “You sure ‘bout this?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. “Not too late to back down.”

They all shake their heads.

“Fuck no,” says Phin.

“Up the fuckin’ Spearhead Squadron!” they all shout in unison.

And begin their climb.

*****

A shell fired with lethal intent narrowly misses Undertaker. That one was so close; he could hear its violent scream as it whizzed past him.

Legion hammer his position with every piece of ordnance in their arsenal, trying to smother the nimble SP/DR with a combination of heavy tank rounds and machine gun fire. They haven’t gotten lucky even once.

Miles continues pushing Undertaker to its limits and takes the fight to the OCTO-Legion, charging into their lines and cutting them up with his high-frequency blades. The move may seem suicidal, but it’s all part of his plan. There are so many Legion firing blindly, that rounds slam into and hit their own friendly units.

Undertaker takes full advantage of this chaos, ducking and weaving amongst Legion with the precision of a ballerina, slipping behind Panthers and blasting their weak spots. He’s saving his ammo for them and using his blades to take down the smaller and less dangerous Sparrows.

He charges and weaves again in a chaotic strafe as he dodges another Panther’s shell and slides in behind it, before blasting it point-blank with his 57mm.

The Panther explodes brilliantly, in an enormous fireball. It seems he ammo-racked it.

*Ammo-racked – When the ammunition stockpile has been hit and explodes. --ED.

Sensing his aggressive tactics, the Sparrows begin falling back whilst supressing his last known position. Meanwhile, Wolves move in to intercept the lone SP/DR, their own high-frequency blades itching for a fight.

But then, they suddenly back off.

And Miles hears it.

His SP/DR-Sense triggers.

He jerks his controls to try and dodge but—

A massive shell bursts through the Flies purple fog and explodes in a massive, concussive blast right next to Undertaker.

The shockwave launches him across the battlefield, and he lands harshly some distance away from the impact point.

Miles groans in pain, his body shivering. He looks up to the gap in the sky.

“The same long-range arty that slaughtered us months ago,” he hisses in anger, feeling a distinctly metallic taste in his mouth. Blood trickles steadily from where he bit his lip when the round landed.

But then it suddenly doesn’t matter. He hears a voice. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard.

“I’LL KILL YOU,” the voice screams with crazed bloodlust. “I’LL KILL YOU ALL!”

Miles gasps. A searing vision flashes through his mind.

A crumbling fortress.

Federacy soldiers.

A lone Anglo Soldier.

A blood-crazed last stand.

He’s getting ammo dumped.

But keeps fighting.

It’s absolute carnage.

“NOT JUST THE MEN, BUT THE WOMEN, THE CHILDREN, THE ELDERLY, THE NOBLES AND THE PEASANTS, I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU, ANYONE AND EVERYONE WHO THREATENS THE PRINCESS!”

A bloodied revolutionary flag.

A red-haired princess.

Two more rounds streak down from the heavens, slamming into the earth with bloodlust and mania, shaking the ground like an earthquake.

Miles tries to move further away from the bombardment, but it’s useless. Undertaker’s legs spark and smoke, screaming in protest, before snapping off.

“Fucking damn it!” Miles yells. “Not now!”

Undertaker sags to the ground with a jarring jolt. Miles feels more voices pulse in his head, approaching him. He looks up, seeing a Panther and hordes of Legion approaching him from nearly every angle, but not firing.

“I get it now,” Miles states icily. “They’re after my head…”

He places his hand on his pistol’s holster, the cool butt of the gun a soothing sensation.

The Panther raises its leg.

And swings down.

Cutting off Undertakers front legs and high-frequency blades.

Suddenly, from across the battlefield, Miles can hear people shouting his name and the crackle of small arms fire.

The Legion completely ignore them.

“COME ON YOU WANKERS!” Hobie yells from a hill, firing down onto the Legion. “LOOK AT ME, YOU FUCKTARDS!”

Miles’ consciousness fades in and out. The blow from the Panther had savagely thrown him against his metallic coffin’s walls. Now, light slowly trickles in as a harsh shrieking sound joins the shouts of his friends. The Panther is peeling the top of his cockpit off.

The gun sits on the floor beside his feet.

Miles smiles delusionally. His fate is sealed. Yet, for some reason, his friends still scream his name, begging for him to get back up. But there’s no silvery voice now.

“You idiots…” he mumbles. “You can’t beat them with weapons like those.”

The screech of metal becomes deafening, and Miles squints his eyes, now face to face with the Panther.

Self-propelled mines charge at Spearhead Squadron’s defensive positions with their cold, single-minded fury. His friends continue firing, trying to take down as many of the horde as they can. But the situation is hopeless.

“Shit, I’m out!” Ganke yells, firing his last bullet. He reaches for another magazine, but there’s nothing. He’s all out.

Mines charge up his defensive position.

Ganke tries to turn tail and retreat.

But they explode in a brilliant fireball.

“GANKE!” Phin screams, seeing her friend disappear into an orange cloud of shrapnel and fire.

Ganke slumps to the ground, his back charred, and glasses mangled.

His side of the Para-RAID goes dead.

“FUCKING HELL, CUNTS!” Hobie roars, continuing to fire into the fray. They’re getting completely overrun and overwhelmed. Mines now charge up the hill, barely ten metres away.

But in the end, it doesn’t even matter.

Skorpion artillery has honed in on their position.

Shells start to land one by one, slightly too far to the left. But the barrage is thick, and each shell lands closer and closer, until Phin, Pav and Hobie are all consumed in a large explosion that lands almost point blank.

The shell kicks up large plumes of smoke, dirt and debris, peppering them all with shrapnel.

And everything Hobie sees turns to black.

Across the battlefield, Miles and the Panther are alone. He hears the thunderous final explosion in the near distance as the Resonance goes silent. Once again, the Reaper has been left all alone.

“Idiots…” he mumbles to himself, sadly. “You really are idiots… I tried to save you…” He smiles bitterly, opening his eyes to stare directly down the Panther’s barrel. Sensing the fight is now over, the Panther moves forwards.

“When I’m part of the Legion,” Miles thinks to himself. “Whose name will I call out?”

He already suspects he knows the answer, as orange light consumes him, before fading to white.

*****

On a distant northern battlefield, so far from home, just as winter’s icy hand starts to grip the land, the headless Reaper lies alone.

Eyes shut, face peaceful.

Hair dampened by blood.

The Reaper’s head sits.

Meanwhile, Miles G Morales suddenly finds himself in a room of white. He sits up in surprise, his shadow blood red.

He isn’t big Miles anymore. He’s… young again.

Sitting across from him is Aaron, clutching a book he used to read to Miles, his own shadow blue.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I kept calling you, man. I made you come all the way here.”

Little Miles stands, a bright smile on his face. He shakes his head.

Aaron smiles softly. Then, standing slowly, he drops the book onto the floor.

It’s little Miles’ favourite.

The story of the skull knight, the headless knight.

But little Miles loves his uncle more.

And now, Aaron stands there, dressed just like the knight, donning purple and black.  

Little Miles grins.

Aaron smirks. “Let’s roll,” he says softly.

Aaron extends a hand, and little Miles takes it without question, letting himself be guided into the light.

Whilst…

In the darkness…

A headless body lies flat…

In a pool of its own blood.