Back in the Saddle

Through the HUD of SABER-1, the world blurred in and out, the edges of his vision tinged with red warnings. The once-pristine field of battle was now a grim tableau of carnage and desperation.

His gloved hands trembled slightly as they hovered before him, slick with a mixture of blue Hemacrine gel and crimson blood. He dropped to his knees, the ground beneath him splattered with the remains of Extractants and the remnants of his own injuries. His MK99, battered and scorched, slipped from his grip, hitting the ground with a hollow clang that echoed in his ears.

A sudden movement in his peripheral snapped him back. An Extractant, grotesque and feral, lunged at him, its mandibles glistening in the dim light. His hand moved instinctively, magnetically unholstering his Z9 Plasma Bolt Pistol, and with a hiss of energy, he fired, the shot piercing the creature mid-leap. It crumpled to the ground, smoke rising from the cauterized wound.

His breathing was labored, and the HUD displayed a cascade of critical alerts:

Armor Integrity Failing. Shields Offline. Hemacrine Gel Reserves Depleting.

Shakily, he rose to his feet, his movements sluggish but resolute. His pistol barked again and again, each shot finding its mark as more Extractants charged at him. Their shrieks filled the air, mingling with the hum of his overworked suit systems. A sudden impact from the side sent him sprawling, the world tilting as his armor's gyros fought to stabilize him.

The creature that had toppled him loomed above, its grotesque mandibles snapping hungrily. With a grunt, he drove his foot into its chest, sending it flying backward. Before he could recover, two more creatures appeared, their blackened forms merging with the shadows around him.

A flash of searing pain erupted as one of their pincers pierced through the side of his helmet. His HUD flickered, the once-clear display now fractured and glitching. The world spun, and darkness began to creep in.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The anguished scream ripped through the silence as Icarus jolted upright, her heart pounding like a war drum. Her hands gripped the sides of her bed, and tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, the terror of the dream still clutching at her. She could feel her heart racing, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as if she had just lived the nightmare herself.

The sterile glow of the hospital room greeted her, a stark contrast to the battlefield in her dream. Nurses and fellow patients turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from concern to confusion. She forced a chuckle through her tears, wiping her face hastily. "Ehehe," she muttered, her voice trembling. "Thank God... thank God it was just a dream."

But the more she tried to stop, the harder the sobs came. Her body shook as the weight of it hit her—the vividness of the dream, the horrifying possibility of losing him. She clutched at her chest as if trying to hold herself together, but it was futile. Her tears fell freely, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the blanket.

"I'm never pushing my consciousness that far again," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. "Never."

Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands, the sobs wracking her body. "I thought... I thought I lost him." The words came out in a whisper, but they carried all the weight of her anguish.

The more she tried to rationalize it, to remind herself that it was just a dream, the more the fear gripped her. She had seen him fall, seen the blood, the Extractants swarming him. The image of the pincer piercing his helmet burned into her mind.

The other patients and nurses watched silently, unsure whether to approach or leave her to her grief. Finally, one of the nurses moved closer, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay, Captain Trottle?"

Icarus nodded weakly, though her tear-streaked face said otherwise. "Yeah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm fine." But as she leaned back against the headboard, her tears still flowed.

In the quiet of her room, she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "I can't lose you, Elfy. Not all alone like that."

The discharge process was painfully routine for Icarus—clipboard-wielding nurses, hurried doctors rattling off instructions, and the hollow echo of her boots as she made her way down the stark-white corridors of the hospital. Every step brought her closer to her ship, and with every step, her heart felt lighter. The sun hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the hospital grounds as Icarus exited through the automatic doors. Her freshly issued discharge papers crinkled in her hand, and her boots echoed faintly on the pavement. The staff had been kind, overly so, but it only made her feel more restless.

The walk back to the hangar was uneventful, save for the occasional nod from passing soldiers or techs who recognized her. Some saluted; others gave knowing smiles. She ignored most of them, she did feel bad of course, but her mind focused on her ship waiting ahead. When she finally reached her Thunderbird, her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. The sleek, newly refurbished craft gleamed in the light, its reinforced plating and enhanced engines making it look ready for war. She climbed aboard, the hiss of the ramp lifting behind her a comfort she hadn't realized she missed so much and dropping her bag onto the floor before sliding into her pilot's chair. The moment she reclined back, her body seemed to melt into the seat. She let out a long exhale, the tension slowly draining away.

Popping her helmet on, the HUD flickered to life, and the soft crackle of comm chatter filled her ears. She leaned back, letting the snippets of conversation wash over her as the familiar symphony of military operations played in the background.

"Supplies en route to forward operating base. ETA, 15 minutes.", "Awaken SABER-1? Are you insane? Let the man rest.", "Another Hive uncovered. Marked for demolition. Raptors inbound.", "I still can't believe he cleared that Hive solo. It's like… he's not human.", "Negative, no Extractant activity in Sector 3. Holding position.", "Can you believe it? The city's almost ours. Feels like a damn miracle.", "Command, requesting supply drop at coordinates Delta-5. Ammo reserves are at 30%.", "Transport Two-One, standby for evac orders. Civilians en route."...

Icarus smirked at a few of the conversations, especially the bits of griping about trench work and the disbelief about Seretine's near-liberation. But when she caught the talk about SABER-1, her chest tightened slightly. It was true; he had earned his rest—more than anyone else in this war. Still, the mention of awakening him sparked a pang of curiosity... and longing.

She huffed softly, shaking her head. "Let him sleep, huh?" she muttered to herself before reaching for the comms. "Well, let's see if he'll answer me."

Her fingers hovered over the console, but before she could initiate the connection, a blinking icon appeared on her HUD: Pending Line Request.

Her breath hitched. For a moment, she just stared, her heart racing as she hesitated to accept. Finally, with a trembling hand, she tapped the icon. The screen flickered, and her breath hitched as a live feed powered on. At first, it was dark, faint static filling her ears. A few moments of static gave way to a familiar visual: HUD POWERING ON. The green tint of his interface flickered briefly before stabilizing, showing the dark, shadowed environment around him. Then, slowly, the environment came into view: a dimly lit room, the edges of a battered combat helmet filling the frame. The view swiveled left, then right, pausing briefly on the worn, metallic walls of his surroundings. The perspective shifted up, catching faint overhead lighting, before panning down to His massive gauntlets resting on scarred knees. The hands moved, opening and closing slowly, the faint whir of servos cutting through the static.

And then his voice came through, a voice she hadn't realized she missed cutting through the comms stoic and curt as always. "Welcome back."

To her, it was everything. She felt her chest tighten again, but this time it wasn't from worry—it was from the sheer relief that flooded her.

She couldn't help herself. A grin spread across her face as her fingers brushed the edges of her helmet, forgetting her head was covered. "Yeah," she muttered, her grin widening. "It's good to be back, Elfy."

The faint static crackle of the comms broke the silence as SABER-1's voice cut through, steady and unyielding.

"Is your ship retrofitted for VTOL aerial armaments?"

Icarus huffed, a smug grin spreading across her face as she leaned back in her chair. "Oh, please, Elfy," she replied, her tone dripping with superiority. "As if I haven't already prepared for that. What kind of pilot do you think I am?"

There was a pause. She could almost feel the weight of his silence, a precursor to the verbal dagger she knew was coming.

"Good," he said curtly. "Rendezvous at these coordinates. Time to exfil."

Her heart skipped slightly at his response, not because of the order, but because of the realization she wasn't quite ready yet. Scrambling for an excuse, she chuckled nervously, forcing a casual tone.

"Ehehehe… About that… Uh, can we set the rendezvous for maybe, uh, three hours from now?"

His reply came almost instantly, cutting through her weak attempt at stalling with surgical precision. His tone was calm, but she could feel the subtle weight of mockery buried in it.

"That was the intent," he said, as if stating the obvious. "You have preflight and other predatory checks."

Her right eye twitched. Her cheek followed. Her fingers gripped the edge of the console as her pride took a direct hit. She could almost see him smirking behind that helmet, though he would never admit it.

Bitterly, she cleared her throat, forcing a neutral tone that betrayed none of her irritation. "Right. Of course. Preflight and predatory checks. No problem, Elfy. Everything's under control."

"Confirmed," he replied, his tone neutral but somehow managing to convey satisfaction.

She slapped the console as the comms cut, her cheeks puffing with a frustrated exhale. "Damn it!" she muttered to herself. "Stupid, smug, oversized—Ugh!"

Letting out another sharp breath, she swung her legs off the console and started her checks, grumbling under her breath. "One day, I'll get the upper hand. Just you wait, Elfy. One day."