Thunderchild
Posted: 2004-07-14 08:03am
No, this isn't a WotW story; although the musical version was a heavy influence on it (I wrote most of it to the soundtrack). It's intended as a prologue (although it can stand as a very short vignette, I suppose) and takes place in a fantasy world, with some elements of sci-fi, where massive aeroships take the place of spacegoing warships and island-like planetoids replace planets proper, all in orbit around a vast centerpiece sun.
But that's not really important here.
------
"Fire!"
The great monstrous airship, orbiting the planetoid Fonsou, belched fire from its many tendrils. Great chunks of metal erupted from the maw of its cannons, shrieking as they overflew the terrified citizens, smashing into the great skyscrapers of the city, once the capital of the great Confederation of Fonsou; now, a tattered, shredded remnant of its former glory. Those that could sought refuge in the underground caverns that made up the lower levels of the cities, crowded with masses of teeming, stinking refugees, terrified of the fate awaiting them at the hands of their fearsome conquerors.
On the surface, some fought on. From the city, an occasional team of rocketeers would leap from the buildings, firing their shoulder-mounted bazookas in vain. It was a hopeless struggle. From afar, the airships could rip the defenders to shreds using their point-defense fletchette launchers and long-range missiles. Wave after wave of Fonsou soldiers threw themselves into combat, bravely but futily, unable to even stem the tide of the invader.
Down in the caverns, the refugees screamed, panicked, argued over the cause of this great, horrific catastrophe. One cluster, several dozen strong, sought shelter in what had once been a tavern, now one of the few places in the city not blown to pieces by the aerial bombardment. Its seats, tables and chairs had been ransacked by fanatical citizens determined to throw up barricades; to “resist the ungodly invader to the death”. The bar was desolate, now, little more than a vast space.
"It's the damn legislaturists, that’s who it is!" shouted one elderly, wizened man, his right arm a groaning, mechanical prosthetic. "They're the ones that embroiled us in this damn fiasco. If it wasn't for their power-mad rampage deciding to go off "liberating" the entire Marian Archipaligo, the Great Powers wouldn’t have gone off on this crusade of theirs and Fonsou would never had been torn, raped, desecrated like you're seeing right now!" And he raised his eyes heavenward, through a hole in the tavern ceiling, to the top of the cavern, where bomb shells splattered and explosions reverberated across the surface.
"You're crazy, geezer”. A shell-shocked but still coherent youth, wearing the uniform of the 188th Fonsou Lancers. “We had to do what we did. If not now, then someday. War was inevitable; we had to be prepared, even if we died trying”. But it was clear he no longer believed what he said; indeed, may not have even realized it, speaking only from indoctrination, unable to let go of the one thing he had left.
The young man was a deserter, and all of the people in that cavern knew it; and nobody cared. The thunder, the chaos of the past months had dulled them. They had seen scores of men, young and old, and women too; then teenagers and finally preteen boys thrown into the slaughter. People had resigned themselves to death; the sounds of the dead, the dying, the chaos raging in the city up above was paid no attention to. Few had the energy to do anything, anymore. Nobody really cared what you had done in life, or what had happened before; all that mattered was that you were here. To live together, to die together. One last time.
“What about you?” the grizzled old man asked, turning to a companion seated on the floor, Ruminating, all but deaf to the encroaching menace. “What do you think of this fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into?” And he smiled, even as a collective shriek rose up from the land above as a missile found its mark, and a great shudder arose throughout the land,
“Me?” The man was covered in filthy rags, yet still managing to exude an aura of dignity that many a well-dressed Fonsou citizen had lost. “I am nobody of importance”. He smiled. “My name is Gongh”.
Above ground, the great airships rose, beautiful, shining servants of the apocalypse, smashing all in their path. And the world ended.
-------
Later that day the thunder ceased; the bombardment stopped. And word was broadcast. The Fonsou government had surrendered to the invader. The people, who up until that moment had managed to affect a modicum of composure, broke out in panic. It would have been a riot, but there was nothing to smash, nothing to destroy, nothing left to kill. So the great pent-up energy, the frustration, the anger, erupted in a great, massive banshee’s wail. The city of Fonsou - or what was left of it - endured a massive, spontanious nervous breakdown. People collapsed, exhausted, sobbing, crying, angry, seeking comfort in what they could. Families huddled together, families rejected each other; people who in normal life could not have stood one another clutched, embraced, in a great, massive display of impotence, of powerlessness, of sheer and utter futility.
Above ground, Gongh clamored through the rubble, climbing to the top of a burned-out steel frame which had once been a building, to watch the airships fly overhead. A massive armada of them, bristling with gun turrets and hidden menace. Their forms blotted out the sky, as they disgorged gliders from their wombs, packed with black-suited, grim-faced soldiers. They landed, formed themselves into groups, companies, regiments; and if there had been anyone left to contest them, they would have been slaughtered where they stood.
But there was nobody left to contest them.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, flew a solitary plane. The troops called out, and Gongh heard their sudden panic, as they shouted into the radio. And from loudspeakers rumbled the voice of the occupiers: “Unidentified craft! You are in violation of the armistice signed which went into effect at twelve this noon! Land now, or be destroyed!”
The plane came on, grimly, inexortabily, and the massive armament of the aerial warships went into actions. The sky literally filled with metal; shrieks of guns, bullets, fletchettes, flashes of electrical arcs,, erecting a wall of destruction before the kamikaze. The pilot never had a chance. His plane disappeared, literally and utterly, from the sky. The invasion was well and truly over.
And Gongh smiled, grimily.
But that's not really important here.
------
"Fire!"
The great monstrous airship, orbiting the planetoid Fonsou, belched fire from its many tendrils. Great chunks of metal erupted from the maw of its cannons, shrieking as they overflew the terrified citizens, smashing into the great skyscrapers of the city, once the capital of the great Confederation of Fonsou; now, a tattered, shredded remnant of its former glory. Those that could sought refuge in the underground caverns that made up the lower levels of the cities, crowded with masses of teeming, stinking refugees, terrified of the fate awaiting them at the hands of their fearsome conquerors.
On the surface, some fought on. From the city, an occasional team of rocketeers would leap from the buildings, firing their shoulder-mounted bazookas in vain. It was a hopeless struggle. From afar, the airships could rip the defenders to shreds using their point-defense fletchette launchers and long-range missiles. Wave after wave of Fonsou soldiers threw themselves into combat, bravely but futily, unable to even stem the tide of the invader.
Down in the caverns, the refugees screamed, panicked, argued over the cause of this great, horrific catastrophe. One cluster, several dozen strong, sought shelter in what had once been a tavern, now one of the few places in the city not blown to pieces by the aerial bombardment. Its seats, tables and chairs had been ransacked by fanatical citizens determined to throw up barricades; to “resist the ungodly invader to the death”. The bar was desolate, now, little more than a vast space.
"It's the damn legislaturists, that’s who it is!" shouted one elderly, wizened man, his right arm a groaning, mechanical prosthetic. "They're the ones that embroiled us in this damn fiasco. If it wasn't for their power-mad rampage deciding to go off "liberating" the entire Marian Archipaligo, the Great Powers wouldn’t have gone off on this crusade of theirs and Fonsou would never had been torn, raped, desecrated like you're seeing right now!" And he raised his eyes heavenward, through a hole in the tavern ceiling, to the top of the cavern, where bomb shells splattered and explosions reverberated across the surface.
"You're crazy, geezer”. A shell-shocked but still coherent youth, wearing the uniform of the 188th Fonsou Lancers. “We had to do what we did. If not now, then someday. War was inevitable; we had to be prepared, even if we died trying”. But it was clear he no longer believed what he said; indeed, may not have even realized it, speaking only from indoctrination, unable to let go of the one thing he had left.
The young man was a deserter, and all of the people in that cavern knew it; and nobody cared. The thunder, the chaos of the past months had dulled them. They had seen scores of men, young and old, and women too; then teenagers and finally preteen boys thrown into the slaughter. People had resigned themselves to death; the sounds of the dead, the dying, the chaos raging in the city up above was paid no attention to. Few had the energy to do anything, anymore. Nobody really cared what you had done in life, or what had happened before; all that mattered was that you were here. To live together, to die together. One last time.
“What about you?” the grizzled old man asked, turning to a companion seated on the floor, Ruminating, all but deaf to the encroaching menace. “What do you think of this fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into?” And he smiled, even as a collective shriek rose up from the land above as a missile found its mark, and a great shudder arose throughout the land,
“Me?” The man was covered in filthy rags, yet still managing to exude an aura of dignity that many a well-dressed Fonsou citizen had lost. “I am nobody of importance”. He smiled. “My name is Gongh”.
Above ground, the great airships rose, beautiful, shining servants of the apocalypse, smashing all in their path. And the world ended.
-------
Later that day the thunder ceased; the bombardment stopped. And word was broadcast. The Fonsou government had surrendered to the invader. The people, who up until that moment had managed to affect a modicum of composure, broke out in panic. It would have been a riot, but there was nothing to smash, nothing to destroy, nothing left to kill. So the great pent-up energy, the frustration, the anger, erupted in a great, massive banshee’s wail. The city of Fonsou - or what was left of it - endured a massive, spontanious nervous breakdown. People collapsed, exhausted, sobbing, crying, angry, seeking comfort in what they could. Families huddled together, families rejected each other; people who in normal life could not have stood one another clutched, embraced, in a great, massive display of impotence, of powerlessness, of sheer and utter futility.
Above ground, Gongh clamored through the rubble, climbing to the top of a burned-out steel frame which had once been a building, to watch the airships fly overhead. A massive armada of them, bristling with gun turrets and hidden menace. Their forms blotted out the sky, as they disgorged gliders from their wombs, packed with black-suited, grim-faced soldiers. They landed, formed themselves into groups, companies, regiments; and if there had been anyone left to contest them, they would have been slaughtered where they stood.
But there was nobody left to contest them.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, flew a solitary plane. The troops called out, and Gongh heard their sudden panic, as they shouted into the radio. And from loudspeakers rumbled the voice of the occupiers: “Unidentified craft! You are in violation of the armistice signed which went into effect at twelve this noon! Land now, or be destroyed!”
The plane came on, grimly, inexortabily, and the massive armament of the aerial warships went into actions. The sky literally filled with metal; shrieks of guns, bullets, fletchettes, flashes of electrical arcs,, erecting a wall of destruction before the kamikaze. The pilot never had a chance. His plane disappeared, literally and utterly, from the sky. The invasion was well and truly over.
And Gongh smiled, grimily.