Here's Chapter 2 of A New Mission: Ash to Fire
(Na'vi OC art by the talented @quaritchsgirl / @bluekernal 💙)
Link to Tumblr Post of Chapter 1 (story is on AO3 and Wattpad <-click for links. I'm just sharing the smaller, earlier chapters on Tumblr as teasers :)
The three banshees, their injured surviving recombinant riders, and the caravan of lifeboats cruised along for a few more hours before finally setting their sights on the glinting of Bridgehead City's metal buildings and the rocky breakwaters of the Bridgehead City harbor and marina. The boats entered the open sea gate and the three banshees and their riders circled above the water ensuring that the human crew made it to safety. Miles had figured that the boats must have sent in their own communications that they were coming in as large emergency and medical teams were waiting on the metal docks of the marina, ready to service the injured, surviving Sea Dragon crew members.
Miles, though shamed for his mission failure, was a disciplined military man and knew that the appropriate thing to do now was also to call in his arrival to General Ardmore which he could now that he was in communication range. He worried though, given how the mission went. With an almost child-like fear of being scolded by a parent after breaking an object, the Colonel radioed into Bridgehead’s main Operations center while gliding slowly above the harbor, Wainfleet and Mansk flying in circles above him.
Miles placed his fingers to the comms piece on his neck and exhaled through his nose. “Bridgehead Command, Blue one, on arrival. We have suffered heavy casualties and are in need of medical assistance, over.” He got nothing. He paused and radioed again, “Bridgehead Command, Blue One, on arrival. We have—”
“Copy that, Colonel.” the General’s voice said over the radio, monotone. “Medical assistance will be awaiting you at the airfield’s east hangar entrance.” the General followed up.
The East Hangar was where the recom team had secured their banshees for the times that they briefly convened in Bridgehead City with their mounts. First to get special tactical saddles made for them, and also when Miles sought out a ship and aircraft to hunt down Jake amongst the ocean Na'vi clans. At the time, all of the 1st Recom Unit's banshees actually fit and behaved quite contently in the large gunship and aircraft hangar, lofting in the exposed metal structures and rafters of the ceiling. They had to secure them in there as they couldn’t have unsupervised banshees flying over an under-construction human city. At least now there were only going to be three banshees for however long they were there. They didn’t know it yet, but the hangar’s pilots and staff were going to be much happier with three banshees to be aware of and clean up after, instead of seven.
The three defeated and injured recoms landed their banshees inside the hangar, medical staff waiting for them and even had three Na’vi-sized stretchers ready to be moved by SEC-OPS staff on Skel-suits. Miles saw the stretchers and scoffed, but as soon as he tried to get off Cupcake he collapsed momentarily onto one knee. Overwhelmed by the pain and strength it took to try to stand. Mansk, the least injured of the three recoms, who was only briefly knocked out when Jake hurled a guard at him, knocking him back and making him slam his head on a pipe, ran up to assist his Colonel. He grabbed Miles by the upper arm and his back, helping his commanding officer until he was able to stand on his own.
“Thank you, Marine.” Miles said sincerely. Mansk returned a kind nod.
Wainfleet weakly got off of his banshee last, rubbing his head and right shoulder with his left arm, and wincing. After getting beat up by Sully’s woman with her bow, Lyle confronted Jake, and even disarmed him, but was bested and hurled into the water over a railing, but not before slamming into the hull of the ship. Lyle came to when the ship was gone from the surface. He swam to some rocks and his banshee found him in the remaining darkness of eclipse where he then flew off to escort the boats and rafts of survivors.
Mansk, after waking up from being knocked out, found himself floating in the water by some miracle, clear of the fuel fire and the sinking and suction of the ship. Through the cover of fire, he swam for the destroyed remains of a picador boat and whistled for his banshee to get him from the wreck where he would then find Lyle flying with the survivors.
Neither Miles, Mansk, nor Wainfleet truly needed the three provided stretchers, though Miles certainly didn’t feel the need to scoff at them being brought out anymore. The hangar’s giant main doors closed slightly, enough to allow in light and Pandoran air, but would encourage the three banshees to stay inside. Their mounts flew up to loft in the ceiling, slightly startled by the large mechanical movements and noise of the doors. The three recombinant Marines figured they would be fine, and the RDA workers would be alright so long as they made no sudden or offending movements. The base caught plenty of fish from the harbor to feed the Bridgehead population and scientifically exploit the Pandoran wildlife in numerous other RDA ways, so he figured filling the bellies of three banshees would be easy work. He wasn’t sure whose responsibility that was though… he didn’t care, not his primary thought at the moment.
The three recoms were led across the airfield by medical and security personnel to the Operations Center where the Medical Bay was located, a non-insignificant distance from the hangar. He understood the reason for the stretcher now. Eventually, they made it inside the OpsCenter and the three Marines were given breathers as they entered by the medical staff. Once inside, they felt like they still had too long of a distance to travel to find relief.
Miles was limping, wincing and baring his teeth, ears pointed back every time he took a step and had to duck under human-sized doors. Jake had done a number on him, as did practically drowning. Few areas of his body were lacking in pain. Even his lungs and diaphragm hurt with every breath, thanks to the water and spasming for air while he was drowning. Still, he realized his human body could have never taken a beating like that, and that his recom form was strong, and was slowly healing and recovering in real time.
Wainfleet and Mansk walked behind their Colonel and the medical personnel, quiet, sunglasses atop their heads, capturing and holding onto the defeated mood of their leader, taking long breaths from their breathers behind him. Finally, the three made it to the Medical Bay, this clean-looking, sterile, high-tech space and each sat on a white bed for assessment. They weren’t Na’vi-sized, but anything would do right now. Wainfleet and Mansk were each immediately tended to by doctors. Miles, however, was directed to a private room down the hall by a lead medical doctor. He winced in getting up off the bed, the sweet relief and comfort he felt for a moment in sinking into the bed frustratingly vanishing. The next one, he thought. Just another moment.
In the private room he would get no relief, however, at least not full relief. General Ardmore was in there waiting for him, as was her young, assistive lieutenant, Lieutenant Korman, and two corporate RDA administrative goons in their stupid ties. Who wears ties on an alien planet? Miles thought to himself. As soon as Miles made eye contact with the General, though he tried to hide his fear of reprimand, his ears bent back about as far as they could go, and his tail went completely down to its lowest possible position which would have given his fear away to anyone with an acute eye for basic animal behavior. He tried to distract from his fear by breathing from his mask.
“Colonel. Take a seat.” remarked the General, sternly.
“Yes, General.” said Miles. Finally, at least getting that soft seat that his injured body had been longing for since being saved by Spider was something he could take away from this bound to be awful moment. Flying on a banshee for a day while injured ain’t exactly luxury.
General Ardmore carried a neutral face about her. The suits looked disappointed and angry. Lieutenant Korman was looking at his holo-tablet.
“You failed your mission Colonel. You didn’t get Jake Sully, and a whole lot of people died. You also lost young mister Socorro, who was a valuable asset in his knowledge of Na’vi affairs.” said the General, an air of disappointment in her voice.
“Not to mention RDA losses in the billions,” remarked one of the corporate suits in the white shirt and tie.
Miles remembered this man as Charles Stringer, the top-ranking administrator of Bridgehead whom he had briefest correspondence with in the Ops Center command floor the first day he and all of his recoms arrived at Bridgehead from the Venture Star, and then once more when they were interrogating Spider. But he didn't care who he was at this moment. The callous, uncaring remark made Miles want to snarl. His Marines were dead. He didn't care how much they 'cost.' But Miles held in his anger and just remained silent, his golden eyes fixed passed the General, sitting up, stoic and imposing despite being in extreme pain and despite the fact that he hadn’t been received an ounce of medical attention yet.
Through the pain in his chest, he strung together, “I’m sorry, General. I take full responsibility for how the events unfolded. And for my failure to apprehend Sully,” the memory of Jake’s woman holding Spider at knife point flashing across his frontal lobe. Such a foolish weakness that he should have never allowed himself to have. He was so close to getting Jake. He had one cuff on already, the threat upon his eldest daughter working. Yet, Miles had true terror when he saw Spider under Sully's woman's knife, the recollection of the memory causing his heartrate to tick up. And of course, after that he remembers the rage, chaos, water, and the darkness that followed.
General Ardmore paused, pursed her lips slightly and said, “Colonel, upon interviewing some of the surviving crew on their approach, including Captain Scoresby and Dr. Garvin—”
Miles' ears perked up. He was surprised to hear that they survived. The last thing he remembered was the both of them going out to kill the Tulkun before all hell broke loose. He wasn’t very fond of Scoresby, but the Dr. seemed like a fine enough guy. For a science puke. Both Miles and Garvin were equally fed up with Scoresby’s antics, Garvin even moreso of course considering Garvin worked with him permanently.
“It seems that there were many circumstances outside of your control.” said the General.
Miles’ eyes looked down at her and he squinted slightly, his head tilted a bit, confused in a more or less unnoticeable fashion.
She continued, “I was led to believe that the ‘tull-kuhn’ were virtually harmless, yet apparently one breached onto the Sea Dragon, incapacitating and distracting your SEC-OPS forces enough for Jake Sully and some of his new friends to mount an attack. Can you confirm, Colonel?”
Miles, in disbelief that somehow this was not all falling on him nodded and said, “Yes General, and...”
General Ardmore interjected, “You asked me for a ship. I gave you a ship. In the end that was my call, my mistake, Colonel. That’s a resource fulfilling a specific task that I should have never allowed you.”
Miles glanced forward. This lack of a full reprimand didn’t make him feel any better. It was rather backhanded, as if he were a child allowed to play with things he technically shouldn’t have been allowed to play with.
The General continued, "However, we also learned that Mr. Socorro attacked the ship's helmsman and caused the Sea Dragon to become disabled."
This one shocked and stung Miles, his eyes widened, ears retracted and tail flickered on the bed. He had no idea that this is what caused the ship to crash. He was highly engaged with Sully in the air as this happened, and barely had a chance to register the catastrophe, let alone whatever the hell caused it. He felt great guilt at that moment, feeling as though he bore responsibility for the event, given the lack of supervision and the fact that he brought Spider along. Miles was also further saddened at his own son working to undermine his task in such an extreme way, especially after all they'd been through together. He knew that this also made Spider a great enemy to the RDA now and didn't want to ponder what that could mean for Spider if he ever got captured again. His turbulent thoughts of his son were interrupted by the General.
“That said, Colonel, you and your recoms have inadvertently been successful. In a sense.” General Ardmore continued, observant of Miles' guilty, pensive eyes.
Miles took a breath from his mask and his eyes moved curiously to all four personnel in the room.
“Jake Sully has been driven from his main base of operations and has not mounted an attack, with the exception of this Sea Dragon incident, in four months now. Four months of peace. Effectively, the Na’vi insurgency is stalled. So I do have a good bit to thank you for Colonel,” the General finished.
Stringer and the other RDA suit standing in the room looked less than pleased by the last statement. Odd, surely they knew what she was going to say. Clearly they were more concerned by the loss of money than the loss of life and were eager to pin it on someone. Miles nodded slightly and glanced down at the floor, unsure of what to make of what was happening. He then rapidly inferred that the General likely had a great deal of respect for the Colonel, all things considered. He, or rather his past life after all was the RDA’s Head of Security for fifteen years. It was an illustrious, almost famous position. She likely progressed through her own military career on Earth hearing and reading about the hardened Marine Colonel who fought jungle aliens on a distant moon. He knew that’s how people saw him, but in the moment that’s not what he felt like. Those memories still growing in conflict with his new self. Present, familiar, but foreign. Again, he suppressed his feelings, pushing them deep down.
“So Colonel, we have a new mission for you and your recoms.” the General said. Miles' ears perked up towards her, as high as they’ve been in this conversation, and even his tail ticked upward a bit while seated on the soft, white bed.
“General?” he asked, his eyes narrowed with curiosity.
She continued, “These last few months, we have been in contact with a tribe of Na’vi called the Ash People. It’s what they call themselves after translation. Unlike other Na’vi, they seem more… intrigued by our operations. They are not openly hostile to us. They inhabit an active volcanic island chain 1400 klicks to the southeast of here. We have had a few interactions with them, very positive. Even trading simple tech.”
Miles tried to picture this and wound up confused at the idea of any Na’vi on Pandora not being openly hostile to humans. Additionally, Na’vi using human tech was certainly a confounding thought.
“Your new mission is to go learn these people and see if we can make them our allies.” said the General.
And there it was. There was the punishment. Exile, but not exile. The exact same type of shit assignments that Marines back on Earth would get when they messed up. Some faraway likely futile mission in some shithole. In this case, sending the failure Colonel recom off to go exist with who he skeptically assumed would be likely enemy strangers. Lieutenant Korman pulled up the location on his holo-tablet and showed it to Miles.
Miles, not entirely hiding his disappointment and borderline anger with this mission's prospects and not thinking about his pain in the moment, lightly snatched the tablet from the Lieutenant, startling him slightly—the candid strength that this deeply injured alien-human hybrid clone still had. Miles, realizing his light transgression, gave the young Lieutenant a look like sorry kid, but said nothing. Miles toggled through some photos of the Ash People’s home environment. Lush, unique jungle like most areas of Pandora, but also desert plateaus, rocky cliffs and canyons, dark volcanic soil, and some active lava flows here and there. It looked like Hell. Even more of a hell than Pandora already was.
The Colonel was tasked with going to take the initiative. He couldn’t help but chuckle in his mind through the disappointment that he was being ordered to do the same thing he asked Jake Sully to do in his past life, some fifteen years ago. His mission would be better though, Miles thought. He was more disciplined thank Jake, would have others with him, Wainfleet and Mansk, as well as full and unwavering open support from the RDA’s highest leaders. Still though, this was not at all a mission that Miles wanted. Going to live with some Na'vi?? How could he get his revenge on Sully? Get his son back? At least he knew Spider was safe wherever he was. Probably. Jake and his batshit crazy wife be damned. He then asked an interested question, to help put off that he was greatly dismayed in this assignment.
“Do they have relationships with the other Na’vi?” Miles asked.
“As far as we can tell, no. They may even be considered hostile to other clans. Clans that have been hostile to us.” replied the General.
“Outstanding.” said Miles.
“We will let you regroup here for a few days, as well as give you the full mission brief. We’ll also tell our people already in the area to notify them that you are coming." said the General.
“There are people there?” asked Miles inquisitively.
She answered, “Yes, in and out. Some miners, geologists, and geographic surveyors. That’s how we met them. They'll be back soon.”
“Alright, General.” said Miles.
“That’ll be all Colonel. Get patched up.” remarked the General in a straightforward fashion.
Miles gave the Lieutenant back his tablet, saluted the General from his seated position, and gave golden dagger-eyed looks to Stringer and the other RDA suit which they barely registered, neither of them caring enough to even look up at him in his eyes. The four of them walked out and medical staff who had clearly anxiously been waiting outside the private medical room hastily rushed in to tend to his wounds. Miles, through all his exhaustion, both physical and mental, finally laid down on the soft white, undersized bed, unfazed by his legs hanging off the edge. Not minding the poking and prodding of the doctors and the cutting away of his clothing, he placed his mask over his face, let his eyes shut, and the pain, weight, and screaming of his world pulled him to sleep. He was out.
Posting all A New Mission: Ash to Fire related things under the hashtag #ANMAF.
