Grit and Determination

The Northwestern front was a maelstrom of chaos. Tanks rumbled forward, their heavy treads grinding over broken terrain, the earth scorched and torn from countless battles. Infantry units darted between the smoking wreckage of buildings and the jagged remains of Extractant carcasses, their movements a coordinated dance of survival and aggression.

"KEEP MOVING!" shouted Captain Marek over the comms, his voice cutting through the deafening roar of gunfire. "We're halfway there! Don't let up now!"

A 56th Battalion "Bullhammer" tank rolled to a stop, its turret swiveling with mechanical precision. The massive barrel unleashed a thunderous shot, the shell detonating in the middle of a charging Extractant swarm. The explosion sent twisted limbs and black ichor flying into the air, but more creatures surged forward, undeterred.

"Reload! NOW!" the tank commander barked, the crew scrambling to chamber the next round.

Infantry units flanked the tank, their rifles chattering in controlled bursts as they took down smaller Extractants attempting to exploit weak points in the armored column. Private Keller paused to reload, sweat pouring down his face despite the cold, acrid wind that swept through the battlefield.

"Where the hell are they all coming from?" he muttered, slamming a fresh magazine into his rifle.

"Doesn't matter!" his squad leader yelled back, firing his grenade launcher at a group of spindly, spider-like creatures scuttling along a ruined wall. "Just keep shooting!"

Overhead, an F17-Dragonfly swooped low, its dual autocannons raining destruction down on a hulking Extractant that had begun to charge the front line. The creature let out a guttural roar before collapsing, its carapace shredded by high-caliber rounds.

"Air support is thinning them out! Push now!" Captain Marek commanded, his voice laced with urgency.

The line surged forward, tanks and infantry working in unison to maintain momentum. They had already covered an impossible distance under the circumstances, driven by the sheer will to reach SABER-1. His command to regroup on him had been audacious, almost suicidal—but it had also galvanized the men and women of the Northwestern front like nothing else could.

"Keep your eyes open!" Lieutenant Darrow called out to his platoon. "We're not stopping for anything until we get to him!"

The soldiers pressed on, taking down as many Extractants as they could while still advancing. A squad of infantrymen paused briefly to set up a portable missile launcher, targeting a towering Extractant with jagged, bone-like spines protruding from its back.

"Locked!" the gunner shouted, and the missile streaked toward its target. The explosion rocked the ground, the creature letting out a hideous screech before collapsing in a heap of ichor and shattered bone.

"GO! GO!" the squad leader barked, motioning for them to rejoin the advance.

The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning flesh. The battlefield was a cacophony of gunfire, explosions, and the guttural cries of Extractants dying by the dozens. But for every creature they felled, more seemed to pour out of the ruins, as if the horde itself was infinite.

"Halfway there, my ass," Keller muttered, firing at a leaping Extractant that was aiming for one of his squadmates. The creature crumpled mid-air, a clean shot through its skull.

"Eyes up!" Marek's voice boomed over the comms. "You want to give up now, or do you want to stand with the man who's keeping this city from falling?"

That question alone reignited their resolve. They pushed harder, their movements sharper, their aim deadlier. Each soldier knew the stakes. SABER-1 was their beacon, the immovable force holding the line, and if they could reach him, maybe—just maybe—they could turn the tide.

The front continued its brutal march, leaving a trail of Extractant corpses in its wake. The closer they got to SABER-1's position, the fiercer the resistance became. But they didn't falter.

Every soldier had the same thought driving them forward: If SABER-1 can stand alone against this, the least we can do is fight our way to him.

The control room was silent, save for the crackling of comms and the occasional murmur of updates from analysts. Every screen displayed the chaotic feeds of the Northwestern front as they clawed their way toward SABER-1's position. Despite their relentless efforts, progress was painfully slow, and the Extractants were unrelenting.

"Patch me through to SABER-1," came the grim voice of Commander Harlow from the 9th Infantry Division. His tone carried the weight of desperation, a man faced with impossible choices and dwindling time.

The feed flickered as the patch connected. The control room personnel froze, their collective breath held as they listened in.

"This is Harlow, 9th Infantry. We're at critical mass here," Harlow began, his voice strained but steady. "Our forward progress is bottlenecked. Extractant numbers are overwhelming, and unless the armor division leaves us behind, they're not making it to your position. We'll do what we can, but we won't make it."

The words hit the control room like a physical blow. Grim faces turned toward the screens, and whispers began to ripple through the room.

"They can't leave the 9th behind…"

"If they stall, none of them will make it."

"Why isn't he saying anything?"

All eyes were on the comm feed. But SABER-1, as always, was calm. His voice came through the line like cold steel, cutting through the tension with a detachment that sent shivers down spines.

"Understood."

The room went silent again. No one dared speak, their attention riveted to the unfolding conversation.

"We'll hold them as long as we can," Harlow continued, his voice dropping into a quieter, resigned tone. "You'll have to hold for longer than expected, SABER-1. I—" He paused, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry if we fail you."

SABER-1 didn't even hesitate.

"You won't fail me."

His words weren't spoken as reassurance or comfort. They were simply a statement of fact, devoid of emotion as if he were reading a weather report.

"And if you do," SABER-1 added, his tone as steady as ever, "that's fine. I'll hold as long as you need."

The control room collectively exhaled, but the weight of his response lingered. It wasn't indifference—it was certainty. To SABER-1, this wasn't a catastrophic development. It was just another variable, another obstacle to navigate.

Back in the control room, someone whispered, "How does he stay so calm?"

Another answered quietly, "Because he has to."

Icarus sat motionless in her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the console. She wanted to feel relief at his steady voice, his unshakable confidence. But it only made her chest tighten.

"Damn you, Elfy," she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling, even though she knew the answer, the question still slipped out. "Why do you always have to carry everything alone?"

The Colonel's gaze didn't waver from the map. "Route the remaining reserves to the 9th and 140th we can't afford to fallback," he ordered sharply. "And keep the artillery focused on their path. They're not out of this fight yet."

As personnel scrambled to execute his orders, the faint sound of SABER-1's MK99 roared through the comms, each shot a reminder that he was still standing, still fighting.

The control room buzzed with a nervous energy as another request crackled over the comms:

"Resupply pod. Authorization: Priority One. Package Beta-7. Coordinates updated."

It was his fourth request. The fourth incendiary strike since the fighting began. The live drone feed on the main screen focused on SABER-1, his hulking figure stalking through the battlefield with calculated precision, almost as if he was leading the horde away from their previous target. The towering iron doors he had once defended were now far behind him, obscured by smoke and chaos.

The Extractants followed him in waves, their grotesque forms writhing and shrieking as they charged. The drone's audio feed carried their horrifying screams, a guttural cacophony that set everyone's teeth on edge. The creatures were relentless, driven by some primal urge to destroy the lone figure cutting them down.

And yet, SABER-1 remained an unyielding force.

The feed panned upward as the resupply pod descended from the heavens like a fiery comet, streaking through the sky with blistering speed. SABER-1 didn't stop to acknowledge it. He was too busy.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

His MK99 barked out thunderous shots, each round finding its mark with deadly precision. An enormous, crab-like Extractant lunged at him, its claws snapping in the air, only to crumple as a round punched through its twisted carapace.

When the magazine clicked empty, he seamlessly holstered the weapon and drew his Z9 Plasma Bolt pistol. The smaller firearm hummed with energy as bolts of searing plasma lit up the battlefield, burning through flesh and bone alike. The Extractants screeched in agony, their bodies reduced to smoldering husks as they fell, one by one.

But the horde kept coming.

When the Z9's energy cell overheated and failed, SABER-1 discarded it without hesitation. His hand moved to his back, gripping the handle of his chainsword. The weapon roared to life, the revving of its motor almost drowned out by the rising screams of the Extractants.

The drone zoomed in, capturing the horrifying spectacle in grisly detail. The chainsword's spinning teeth tore through the creatures like a scythe through wheat, ichor spraying in every direction as SABER-1 carved a path through the swarm. Limbs and heads fell away, the weapon's teeth gnashing and chewing through bone and sinew with brutal efficiency.

But even the chainsword had its limits.

After what felt like hours of relentless use, the motor sputtered, the once-lethal blade dulled and caked with gore. SABER-1 tossed it aside like a broken tool, his stance unwavering as he waited for the next resupply.

Above him, the resupply pod streaked closer, its tail of fire glowing brighter. The Extractants, oblivious to the impending strike, surged forward, their screeches growing louder as they closed the gap.

The pod hit the ground.

The resulting explosion was cataclysmic.

Flames erupted outward in a tidal wave of destruction, engulfing everything within a hundred-meter radius. The Extractants caught in the blast were incinerated instantly, their shrieks cut short as their bodies disintegrated into ash. The heat warped the air itself, and even through the drone feed, the intensity of the inferno was palpable.

The control room watched in stunned silence as the flames momentarily obscured SABER-1 from view.

"He… he's in the blast radius," someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe and horror.

The flames began to die down, and through the thinning smoke and fire, his figure emerged.

SABER-1 stood at the epicenter of the inferno, his armor glowing faintly from the heat. Blackened scorch marks covered his once-pristine olive-green plating, and ichor and ash clung to him like a second skin. He moved forward without hesitation, his steps deliberate and unhurried, as if the flames had been little more than an inconvenience.

The resupply pod lay open before him, its contents gleaming in the firelight. SABER-1 methodically reloaded his MK99, slid a fresh energy cell into his Z9 Plasma Bolt pistol, and retrieved a pristine chainsword. The motor purred as he tested it, the blade's teeth gleaming wickedly as they spun.