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SCL Chapter 17: Beneath the Broken Tower
🕑 Added 2025-04-07 20:28:21 +0000 UTCAugustus stepped out of the transport, only to find they had landed in the ruins of a city. Beneath his feet ran an eight-lane aerial rail loop.
The track hovered over a thousand feet above the ground, threading its way between countless skyscrapers and sky towers that scraped the heavens. Above them, clouds floated so close they looked within reach; below, buildings shrank to ant-like scale, surrounded by endless highways, ramps, and overpasses.
It was daytime, and the sky was clear. Augustus could clearly see a gleaming white sky tower in the distance, grand and imposing. A massive gear slowly rotated around its hexagonal body.
Hanging from the tower was a huge metal billboard: Welcome to Polk's Pride! Salute to courage, to ours pilots, to the Terran Federation!
The tower’s glass had been shattered by the fighting. Scorch marks from fire streaked the white walls, and laser burns crisscrossed the surface.
None of the tower’s floors were lit. From where he stood, all Augustus could see were black voids where windows used to be. Some were clogged with tangled cables, office desks, and wrecked electronics.
The surviving recruits had gathered about thirty yards from the transport. Some lay prone, eyes on the sky, tense and watchful. Others looked at Augustus, waiting.
“Spread out! Five-man squads, now!” Augustus called out, striding toward them.
But most of them didn’t move.
“Who the hell are you? Where’s Lieutenant Warfield?” one of them demanded.
“He’s unconscious. According to battlefield protocol, command falls to the highest-ranking soldier present.” Augustus didn’t stop walking. He headed straight for the stretcher. “I’m Sergeant Augustus, and you lot aren’t even privates yet. If you won’t follow my orders, then come up with a better plan.”
“Wanna die just standing here? Move it!” Jim bellowed. “One ground-to-surface missile from the Kel-Morian Hellhounds and we’re all toast!”
The skeptical recruit fell silent, and the others began following Augustus’s orders without further protest.
Augustus approached the stretcher. The injured recruit lay still, flanked by Zander, Omer, and Ward, who knelt at his side. Painkillers and sedatives had dulled his suffering. His waist was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, and his pale blue eyes stared up at the sky with quiet melancholy.
“We can’t leave him behind,” Zander said to Augustus.
“I would never abandon a comrade,” Augustus replied firmly as he knelt down beside the wounded soldier. He looked him in the eyes and said, “You're going to make it.”
“Sir… I’m not going to make it,” the soldier murmured. His voice was faint but strangely calm.
“I’m no expert,” Omer chimed in cautiously, “but it looks like he's lost too much blood. We need to find somewhere we can get him a transfusion.”
“No kidding. Tell me something useful,” Jim snapped, standing up to scan their surroundings.
“I brought a radio,” Omer said in a hushed voice, leaning closer to Jim.
“Please don’t tell me you brought the wrong one,” Jim muttered, already knowing his childhood friend too well. Omer wasn’t exactly clumsy, but he had a knack for turning simple tasks into chaotic messes.
“It was the only one in the crate,” Omer said defensively as he pulled a black electronic device from his oversized backpack. “But I don’t know if it actually transmits. It doesn’t even have any labels on it.”
It looked like an old radio, modified and worn with age.
“Seems like an upgraded antique—colonial-era stuff. Might still be useful,” Augustus said, taking the pack from Omer. “Good job, Omer.”
When Augustus was a kid, he'd developed a fascination with electronics and smart tech, thanks to both family influence and personal interest. He wasn’t exactly a tech wizard but using a radio like this wasn’t much of a challenge for him.
“A triple-encrypted signal will be sent straight to the nearest command center,” he said, swiftly typing out a message:
This is APOD-1304, quad-engine possum transport. We’ve been shot down. Commander Lieutenant Warfield is injured. Requesting all available support. We need a medic. We have a critically wounded soldier!
The moment Augustus confirmed the message and hit send, two Kel-Morian fighter jets burst through the clouds—sharp-edged aircraft that looked like they could slice the sky apart.
The Hellhound fighters dived toward the Terran soldiers stationed on the skyrail, unleashing their weapons just two hundred feet above. Augustus swore he could hear the metallic hiss of rocket pods opening.
“Spread out! Watch for rockets!” Jim took command while Augustus focused on the radio. Even as a young man, Jim had shown a natural gift for strategy. If Augustus wasn’t around, Jim was the only one who could lead these green recruits.
Despite knowing full well their weapons couldn’t bring down jets, the rookies on the skyrail scattered and returned fire as best they could.
A few of them struggled to lift a shoulder-fired rocket launcher—clearly designed for soldiers in powered armor. It took several of them just to aim it.
The fighters, perhaps rattled by the sudden resistance, abruptly pulled out of their dive. With a sharp arc, they soared back into the sky.
Then, to the cheers of the Terran rookies, two Avenger-class Terran fighters burst up from beneath the skyrail, streaking past in a blur to pursue the retreating Kel-Morian jets.
“Did you see that? Damn, they’re cool!” Jim whistled.
“So what now? Do we stay put and wait for backup?” Zander asked Augustus.
“Staying here might not be the best move,” Augustus said, glancing at the wounded soldier, whose gaze had grown increasingly vacant. Then his eyes flicked to a mileage marker near the rail’s edge.
“We’re just one kilometer from the nearest maglev station. It’ll offer better cover. If we’re lucky, we might even find a patrol cart the Transit Authority uses for clearing debris. This whole area’s either contested or hotly disputed—no one can guarantee we won’t run into another Kel-Morian squad.”
“We better get moving, fast,” Jim added, worry creeping into his voice. “This place is way too open. No cover, no ground access… we’re stuck between the sky and a hard place.”
Time ticked by second after second, and the once-scattered Federation soldiers gradually regrouped around Augustus. More and more recruits in chestnut-colored uniforms turned their eyes to him, waiting for his command. In the heavy silence, everyone hoped Augustus would speak—bring word of reinforcements, or at the very least, give an order.
Augustus looked at them and realized that these young soldiers had pinned their hopes on him.
Nearby, Benjamin was still trying to wake the unconscious Lieutenant Warfield, whom he carried on his back. But the medical kit had nothing useful left—not a single dose of anything that could help. With no other choice, he gently laid the lieutenant down on a stretcher.
“Form up,” Augustus ordered, slinging the radio pack over his shoulder. Now, with four consolidated squads—nearly fifty soldiers—under his command, their lives and deaths would hinge on his decisions.
“We’ll move east along this track.”
Under the coordination of Augustus and Jim, the isolated and leaderless recruits quickly formed into two orderly columns and began jogging along the elevated loop track. Burdened with four stretchers, several heavy weapons, and critically wounded comrades, Augustus intentionally controlled the pace from the front, making sure the formation stayed together.
The elevated train track once again fell into eerie silence. The warning lights and overhead lamps on either side had long gone dim. Occasionally, strong gusts of wind howled past, sweeping up old Federation pamphlets and announcements that spun in circles at their feet.
Augustus and the recruits moved between the two magnetic suspension rails. With the maglev trains long out of service, there was no risk of being flattened by one racing through.
A kilometer was nothing for Augustus and the others, who had undergone daily high-intensity, weighted runs during boot camp. They soon reached the nearest rail transit station—a towering steel structure that supported the aerial train network. Dozens of elevated train and vehicle tracks, crisscrossing at different heights and sizes, passed through the station’s steel framework, forming a vast and intricate web that was both chaotic and awe-inspiring.
The loop track they were on was the highest of them all, located at the very top of the iron tower. They stopped on the section of the track running through the tower and climbed onto a reinforced concrete platform that had been built onto the steel beams. Beyond the platform were the train waiting lounge and the rest area for maintenance technicians.
Two vertical aerial elevators connected the top of the tower all the way to the ground. A barren platform and a decommissioned landing signal tower nearby hinted that this place had once served as a helipad.
Out of caution—and drawing from what he’d learned in boot camp—Augustus sent out two recruits with portable radios to scout ahead. These two were from his own squad: the fearless and bold Hank Harnack, and the calm, collected Amy Brandon. He chose them not only because he knew and trusted them, but also to avoid stirring resentment among the other squads.
Once the scouts reported back, Augustus led the group onto the platform and had the wounded placed in the empty waiting lounge.
In the maintenance garage behind the lounge, Augustus found a few barely functioning cargo trucks, an old spaceport shuttle stripped of its engine and left with only its frame, and piles of rusted seats stacked to the ceiling, taking up half the warehouse. The trucks could still run—but with barely any fuel in their tanks, they wouldn't get far.
Augustus inspected the elevators, only to confirm they had long since broken down.
