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Grass Eaters 3 | 31 | Evasion I
🕑 Added 2025-01-03 16:47:01 +0000 UTCCluxta Apartment Complex 25F, Grantor-3
POV: Torsad, Grantor Underground (Department Leader)
“They’re taking off!” Insunt announced, lifting his headset just enough to peer out.
They’d been on the roof for over an hour. Torsad had gotten used to waiting. They did a lot of it on operations. But waiting so high up, exposed, always carried its own danger. They could be spotted by one of the Grass Eaters’ own air vehicles. Or one of their units on the ground.
They’d gotten lucky this time. One of their Marines down there should probably take responsibility for this.
“Did you see him get in?” Torsad asked urgently.
“Yes, one of our guys down at the station saw him, and the medium-altitude drone got a positive identification as he entered the chopper cabin. And it’s the same tail number as the one that went in from the Navy base for sure.”
“Good, track it overhead.”
“Yes, Department Leader.”
“Per their average cruising speed and distance, they should be here in… ten minutes,” she said to no one in particular, repeating the math she’d been working on for the past hour.
It took twelve. Just when she was about to ask Insunt for an update, she heard it.
Fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup.
The rhythmic thudding of the rotary wing that grew louder every second. Then, she saw it. It was flying just above the buildings, and the operatives on the roof all ducked instinctively as it quickly sped past them towards its destination in the Grantor City outskirts.
Torsad checked her equipment one last time before she shouldered it. She looked backwards to make sure there was no one and nothing valuable there.
Though the weapon itself was complicated in its mechanisms, its usage and operation were decidedly not.
They couldn’t be.
This particular model was modified — most of its parts were fabricated on Grantor — but the core mechanisms were designed over eighty years ago on Terra, specifically to be covertly exported to nations that didn’t expect to gain air superiority in an atmospheric war. Sometimes, places where electricity and literacy might not have been universal.
Torsad flipped up the glass electronic sight as the instructions specified, and waited the three seconds it took the battery to activate. It quickly cooled the thermal sensors to their optimal operating temperature. And as the target receded from their building, she pointed the end of the pipe with the big yellow arrow towards the flying chopper.
The weapon made a loud warble for half a second as it acquired the flying entity with its thermal sensors and laser rangefinder. Being almost a century old, its internal chip was not very sophisticated, but its rudimentary digital intelligence recognized that the massive heat signature in its sensor window was quite unlike any target that it had been programmed to attack. Nonetheless, it was flying, it was moving at roughly the speed it expected, it was not hot enough to be the Sun, and most importantly, the drone overhead connected to its network confirmed that the object in the center of the reticle was indeed its intended target.
Woooooooooooo-weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
The warble changed to a much higher, more urgent-sounding pitch, and the electronic sight in Torsad’s face helpfully displayed clear, red letters in her native Granti:
FIRE NOW.
She depressed the trigger without hesitation.
Poof.
Surprisingly, the pipe didn’t throw her back and made only a small pop as it ejected its payload into the sky. A split second later, its engines ignited in a loud bang, leaving behind a thin smoke trail as it went supersonic, tracking its target.
It didn’t take very long.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
POV: Sprabr, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Eleven Whiskers)
As it happened, Eleven Whiskers Sprabr actually was idly staring at the rotary wing’s front instrument panel from the backseat of the transport when it seemed like every light on it blinked emergency red and the alarm blared an urgent tone. For about half a second, he froze in shock as he tried to read the unfamiliar words they flashed before him.
His well-trained pilot did not freeze. She flipped a button on her dashboard that released a cloud of flares out the back. “Incoming! Brace! Brace—”
The countermeasures didn’t work. Not even one bit.
Half a second later, there was a loud, horrendous snap as something violently rattled the vehicle.
Fwup-fwup-fwup-fwup-BANG.
The transport’s engine made a very loud, very unnatural sound, and a cloud of black smoke blew into the cabin. It smelled exactly like fuel.
“What’s going on?” Sprabr shouted frantically into his headset.
The pilot punched a dozen buttons on her avionics panel in rapid sequence. “Eleven Whiskers, we’ve been hit! Surface-to-air, origin unknown! We’ve lost power. Restarting auxiliary power… No joy!”
“Can you land us?” he asked frantically. But she probably couldn’t even hear him in the noise.
“Main engines out. Both main rotors… non-responsive. No elevators. No flaps. No electronic control, trying manual… Nothing,” she said as she flipped a dozen buttons and moved just about every control she had on the panels in front of her. “I can’t autorotate us to a landing. Hold on, we’re going down hard!”
Zdurbu — the five whiskers that State Security assigned to spy on him — reached her paw over to his seat, tightening the restraints on Sprabr’s jump seat with expert deftness even in freefall. “Stay tight in your seat, Eleven Whiskers!” she screamed into his face, her voice somehow carrying itself over the loud cabin noise.
“What are we going to do?” he asked her, panic beginning to set in as he noticed the world outside the windows beginning to move upwards very rapidly.
Again, Zdurbu either didn’t hear or ignored him. She keyed her headset as she fastened her own seat restraints. “Pilot, you know what to do,” she said coldly.
The pilot glanced back at the duo and gave Sprabr a curt nod.
“My life was forfeited to the Prophecy the day I left the hatchling pools,” she muttered into her headset, and Sprabr saw her reaching a paw above her head towards a switch…
Bang.
The main rotor blades above his head separated from the aircraft, and a small explosive detonated an open hole in its roof. A moment later, Sprabr’s passenger seat ejected upward from the dying transport in a violent shudder. He saw stars in his dimming vision as his Marine armor prevented the incredible deceleration from instantly snapping his fragile neck.
It still hurt. A lot.
The rest of the machinery fell away from him, and as he looked down, there was nothing but air between his paws and the ground of Grantor City.
Fwwuuuuuppppp.
A heartbeat later, a bright orange parachute activated, unfurling above him and slowing his descent to a less terrifying pace. He looked around the sky. There was another parachute, just a little away from him: Zdurbu, no doubt.
With its main rotors ejected, the remnants of his transport aircraft ran out of luck and aerodynamic lift. It crashed into the city streets below him seconds later, consumed by a large orange fireball of aviation fuel. He was close enough to feel the wave of heat that followed its explosion in his fur.
As Sprabr muttered the death prayer for the pilot’s sacrifice, he felt his cold rationality returning to him with every meter he dropped.
He activated the radio still attached to his armor. “Navy Dispatch, this is Eleven Whiskers Sprabr! I have an emergency! I’ve been shot down. I need assistance immediately.”
His heart skipped a beat as he waited for the reply, but it came almost immediately. “This is Navy Dispatch, Cottontail Zone. Please provide additional authentication.”
“What?!”
“What is your one-time radio code, Eleven Whiskers? Your voice is insufficient since our procedure change last month.”
“Uh…” Sprabr thought hard. In the swirling soup of panic that was his brain, he couldn’t recall the code. He remembered being briefed on his new code earlier this week, but he rarely had to use it. He never expected he’d have to use it in an emergency.
“We need your code now, Eleven Whiskers.”
“Uh…” The ground was approaching faster now.
Right, the ground!
“My code is— my code is Mountaintop-3-8.”
There was a brief moment of rising panic in his chest as the channel broadcast static. Then, the dispatch’s calm voice came back. “Authenticated, Eleven Whiskers. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“My transport has been shot down, and I am ejecting into the city with another passenger! Activate the emergency response team now!”
“Eleven Whiskers? Is this a—”
He barked into his radio, “This is not a drill! Send the rapid response team to my position now!”
There was another pause on the other end, but his people were disciplined. Rescuing personnel from downed aircraft — from accidents or combat — was not an unfamiliar procedure. “Yes, Eleven Whiskers. We have your location. Sending the team. Estimated arrival, twenty minutes. I take full responsibility for the delay.”
Sprabr looked down at the approaching ground with trepidation, the intricate maze of streets and towering buildings of Grantor City rushing toward him. His eyes scanned for a safe landing spot, but the urban landscape offered few options. He settled for a small flat area — a ground vehicle parking lot, judging by the myriad of fading white lines he could barely spot in it — next to a couple of abandoned-looking buildings.
With a deft tug on his parachute lines, he steered himself toward the open clearing. Best he could anyway; he was a Navy commander, not one of the Marines who trained in infiltration and atmospheric assault operations. The wind buffeted him, but his equipment worked as it should. As he approached the ground, he closed his eyes, relying on his armor to absorb the shock.
Thud.
The landing was rough but not deadly. His armor forced a roll to dissipate the energy, sending him sprawling face-first into the ground. With a painful groan, he turned his face upwards. Slowly getting up on his paws, his eyes flitted to the sky, spotting his companion — his handler — descending toward him on her parachute.
She landed with much more grace than he did. With a small grunt, Zdurbu triggered the quick release on her parachute, hopping towards him as she did without breaking pace. “Are you alright, Eleven Whiskers?” she yelled out as she approached him.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Sprabr coughed out as he moved his limbs experimentally. “Nothing’s broken as far as I can feel.”
“Did you call for backup?”
Sprabr scanned his surroundings. The area appeared deserted since the occupation, but some of the buildings remained in their decrepit conditions. “Yeah, I’ve called for a response team from the base. They’ll get here in twenty minutes or less. Should we get to a spot where they can see—”
“Standard procedure for a Navy response team is to secure the area until they find the downed personnel, right?” Zdurbu asked as she helped him out of his tangled parachute.
“Sure,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”
“Give me your radio.”
Still confused, he detached his radio from his armor, tossing it to her. Catching it, Zdurbu threw it onto the ground, smashing it into smithereens with her paw.
“What? Why did you—”
“The predators who shot us down will be here soon looking for us. They may be able to track us through those. Better to go without until our troops arrive.”
He nodded reluctantly. “That makes sense.”
“We need to get you hidden.” She drew her sidearm from her holster, then pointed a paw at what looked like an abandoned mall. “Let’s get going and hope they don’t have any Lesser Predators among their ranks if they get here before our people do.”
He followed her lead. “Lesser Predators?”
“Tracking units with their primitive hunting noses,” Zdurbu said with a sniff.
“You think they’ll be able to respond and get here that quickly?!” he asked incredulously.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, but I do know we aren’t just fighting against angry Slow Predators this time. They had to know of your presence, our route, and had the sophisticated equipment to shoot us down. And if they had all that on their own, they would never have lost this planet in the first place.”
“Great Predators,” Sprabr hissed under his breath. He shook his head and stared at her. “There’s no way they knew my schedule. I never transmitted that information, secured or not.”
“Don’t look at me. I didn’t transmit it unsecured either.”
“No, not you, but someone down at your station—”
“Are you casting doubt on the competence of State Security and our station director?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. In fact, I am beginning to suspect that a low intelligence rating is a prerequisite for higher rank in State Security,” he snarled.
She snorted as she cleared the doorway of the abandoned mall with her weapon and pulled him in. “You can levy your charges at an assignment-of-responsibility hearing later, but for now, let’s focus on keeping you alive for the… twenty minutes it’ll take our people to get here.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Despite being kilometers away from wherever the people who shot them down were, it took the predators’ ground units less than ten minutes to find the mall. The pitter-patter of their untrained, unarmored paws gave them away. They started smashing in the windows of the few storefronts that were still intact, turning over furniture… they were obviously looking for the former occupants of the downed aircraft.
“Why aren’t we moving?” Sprabr hissed at his handler as they huddled in the dark, next to a small window.
The duo had taken up position in a corner store on the second floor of the long building. The empty racks indicated that it was some kind of clothing shop before the occupation. Not that such malls existed in the Dominion, but Sprabr’s training was extensive and he’d been at war with the predators for decades. He knew a little something about the savages’ culture; how else could he destroy it so efficiently?
Zdurbu whispered back as she peeked into the window, “They’ve surrounded the building and the block. Some kind of closing net tactic. There’s a roof observation nest in that building across the street, and I bet they’ve got those small flying machines overhead. The second we get out of the building, they’ll spot and dive on us.”
“What are we going to do?”
Click.
She performed a quick functional check on the two magazines she had for her small sidearm. They were full, but that wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. “Pray to the Prophecy that your people get here quicker.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve got?!”
“I called the station down in the city too, before we landed. But they’re not your Marines. State Security doesn’t have a unit on standby for rescue missions like this.”
Sprabr sighed in despair. “That’s it then, I guess. The predators will find us and eat us. Or worse, they’ll take us alive.”
“Well, not exactly. They’ll take you alive. Me, they’ll kill without a second’s thought,” Zdurbu replied nonchalantly.
“Lucky you,” he muttered.
“Hey, keep your ears up. Maybe our people will get here in time.” She pointed down at the noises below as the predators searched for them methodically store-by-store. She snorted in contempt. “They’re called Slow Predators for a reason, right?”
“And if not?” he asked, nervously eyeing the way she held her handgun.
She gave him a thin smile. “Then, I’ve got my directives for preventing your capture, don’t I?”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Grantor City Safehouse Romeo, Grantor-3
POV: “Mark”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
“Their response teams have been activated. Six choppers: two attack and four troop transports, coming for Atilla,” Mark announced as he watched them on the long-range drone surveillance. “They’ve taken off now. I see about… one Bun platoon to each of the transports.”
“Excellent,” Kara said casually. “At least we’ll get our bang for the buck for those new toys we gave them.”
“Make sure we datalink our targeting sensors on the outskirts to them. You know the drill, right—”
“Already done.”
“Good, now mount up.”
“I thought you said we weren’t going to help them.”
“Nah, they can handle it. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit here twiddling our thumbs, does it?”
Comments
Eric E
to be fair, if you need to get there the fastest thats the only option i think. and like they say. their lives were forf.... ect.
AnAbsoluteVillain
Lawn darts are the newest sporting event on Grantor.
Valdis Trautmanis
"The enemy shot our chopper down with a Stinger. Send more choppers to do the search and rescue, we're certain they don't have any more Stingers, comrade" 😅👍
