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Chaos Rising	By : TerminusEst Category: +S through Z > Sonic Views: 1284 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sonic The Hedgehog game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 7: Resuming Hostilities
Adrian woke up feeling as if his brain had melted. Every thought was painfully slow. He could hardly see. Memories of the previous afternoon, made fuzzy by alcohol, played in his mind. He remembered meeting Rex, and the conversations he had, and lying in his bed in a stupor. People's personalities change when they're intoxicated. Their inhibitions lower. They say and do things they wouldn't say otherwise. Like getting a foot rub from another man. And liking it. Jesus Christ. He buried his head in his pillows, wishing he could go back to sleep and stay that way forever. Did he really say that he felt an attraction to some guy he barely met? Sure, he liked him. But not like that. "I'm a fucking moron," he mumbled to himself.
He tried to focus more on the things Rex said to him during their conversation at the bar. In the space of two hours, Rex had broken a prejudice he had had for years and helped him be happy for once rather than withdrawing into himself and feeling miserable, and given him some useful advice to boot. Was the embarrassment of knowing that he had enjoyed his presence a little too much such a large price to pay? For all he knew, Rex might have felt the same way.
After a few more minutes, Adrian finally managed to drag himself out of bed. He grabbed his cane and stumbled into the en-suite bathroom. Staring into the mirror, he saw that he looked like a complete mess. His spines were disheveled and pointing every which way, his eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was ashen. He had always been abnormally sensitive to alcohol even for a Mobian, but one drink should not have done this to him.
He splashed water over his face, trying to get that sludgy feeling out of his head. It wasn't working. He hated hangovers. At least this was only a minor one. A memory of spending a morning puking into the toilet suddenly overtook him. That incident where he got slipped a roofie wasn't the only reason he had quit drinking the first time. How did Rex manage to down three drinks without suffering brain death?
He pulled off his clothes and walked towards the shower. Rex was right. He did need to get out more often. Could Rex actually be able to turn his train wreck of a life around?
--
Rex sat in his quarters, wishing he didn't have so much to drink yesterday. The first thing he had felt when he opened his eyes in the morning was a horrible migraine that felt like it would tear apart his head. Of course, Riptos quickly noticed something was wrong with him and interrogated him about what he had done yesterday. He mentioned meeting Adrian and buying him a drink as well as the conversation they had, although he somehow managed to avoid mentioning Adrian's drunken, half-hearted sexual overtures. He didn't want to make Adrian or himself lose face by making that little part public. But that didn't keep Riptos from chewing him out, confining him to quarters, and docking him three days' pay.
He could still hear the older hedgehog's voice in his head. "Rex, you're a goddamn idiot. There's a fucking war out there and you spend a free day getting drunk off your ass when you know you're expected to be ready to fight the next day. You're lucky I don't have you thrown in the brig. Maybe that will teach you not to get drunk during wartime, huh? People's lives depend on you and you drink so much that you can hardly talk the next morning? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He would've placed a call to his wife Connie, but Riptos had disconnected the phone. And the television. And locked up his comic books. There was absolutely nothing for him to do but sleep, but he didn't feel like it. He was pretty sure Riptos knew exactly how horrible it would be for him stuck in his room with nothing to divert him from the crushing boredom. Riptos might have been his friend, but he was also his boss, and the commander took that element of the relationship very seriously. He had even reprimanded Rex in front of the whole squadron to make an example of him.
He was sure Riptos would admonish him again when he got back. He knew his commander wanted to emphasize that he was not going to play favorites by letting him off easy. Rex was sure that if he got drunk on duty again Riptos would put him in the brig without hesitation.
Oh, grow the fuck up, he thought to himself. You were the one who decided it was a good idea to have three drinks in the middle of a war. How could you be surprised at the consequences?
He knew he deserved to have Riptos yelling at him about how he dishonored his squadron and did a disservice to the people he swore an oath to protect and disgraced himself in front of his comrades. But the most cutting admonition of all was when Riptos said, "You're a disgrace to the Navy fighter corps. Fuck, you'd be a disgrace to the jackasses in the fucking Army infantry." Rex hated Army men, with their constant bullshit about how the fighter pilots are a bunch of slackers who spend the day on the golf course while Army soldiers--"real soldiers"--did all the work. To be described as lower than one of them was a deep rebuke indeed.
Rex sighed. It seems every line of thought led right back to the same place. How did the old man make him feel terrible so effortlessly? Riptos could probably make him cry if he tried. He slumped onto his bunk, feeling as if time had slowed to almost a complete stop. Surely this would end sometime.
--
Riptos put his fighter into a gentle turn as he circled the Aldebaran-61 Cygni jump point. His squadron had been sent to patrol the jump point in 61 Cygni, ready to blast whatever came through. Hundreds of Mobian fighters swirled around the jump point like metallic sharks. A few thousand kilometers farther out were over three hundred capital ships, their guns trained on the jump point. Skitz was covering him instead of Rex this time. Deathwish was a better pilot than Skitz, but he was also reckless and arrogant--two qualities that he didn't want in a wingman. His anger at Rex had faded to mere disappointment. He expected better of a comissioned officer who was almost thirty years old. Sure, Riptos himself was no teetotaler--in fact, he probably never met a bottle he didn't like--but he would know better than to drink when he was expected to be able to fight at any time, and he expected the men under his command to know better.
He felt no remorse over the harsh dressing-down he gave Rex. He couldn't let it seem as if he had a soft spot for him. Favoritism destroys the comradeship that holds a fighting unit together. He had to ride Rex's ass just to let everyone else know that he expected everyone in his unit to act responsibly. Besides, there was another reason to be harsh with Rex: He wanted him to be his replacement.
--
Admiral Townswell stood on the bridge of the Arizona, watching the ships of the first strike force prepare to jump. They were heavy assault cruisers, massive ships with huge armored prows with their guns facing forward for maximum concentration of fire. They were designed for breaking enemy formations, delivering as much firepower as possible in as little time as possible. Every spear needed a sharp tip, and these ships were it.
She had done some reading on the Mobian navy commander. Lord Admiral Kryche Akwarus didn't seem like much at first glance--an aged former alcoholic from an impoverished background and a youth filled with trouble. He seemed like an incongruous choice as the leader of the Mobian defense. But she knew better than to underestimate him. The Mobians were not stupid. They would not appoint an incompetent admiral to lead them. She feared that this Kryche Akwarus was soon to cause them a great deal of grief.
The first strike force was now in position. There was no turning back, no respite until the Mobian Federation was subdued. The tides of war had come in, and entire Mobian navy could not hope to stop them. The Mobians were ready for them this time. In Aldebaran they had been blindsided and quickly folded as their command and control fell apart. This would not happen again. They would have to be dug out little by little. And once they were dug out, she would watch Kryche Akwarus hang from a rope.
"All ships of Strike Force Alpha, engage jump drives."
The ships instantly sprung into action on Admiral Townswell's command, disappearing in flashes of white light. Soon they would be in 61 Cygni, and the second round of the war would begin.
"Your move, Admiral Akwarus," she said with a smirk.
--
Riptos felt the adrenaline rise as Lord Admiral Akwarus' voice sounded on his headset. "All units, the Earthers are here, I repeat, the Earthers are here. Fire at will!"
Earth ships emerged into a rain of particle bolts coming from all directions as fighters and capital ships mercilessly pummeled the incoming Earth ships. Several were gone within the first minute, but they were bringing in more faster than they were losing them. The Earth ships dwarfed those of the Mobian defense fleet, and the amount of punishment they could take was nothing short of obscene.
Riptos launched a volley of missiles as Earth fighters streaked towards him. All his years in the navy had led up to this. This was what the sims had prepared him for. This was combat. This was real.
A particle cannon shot from Riptos' fighter slammed into an Earth fighter, blasting a hole through it. Its engines sputtered fitfully as it tumbled end over end before another shot, coming from Skitz, blew it to pieces.
"Oh yeah, I got one, I got one, hell yeah!" said Deathwish a few seconds later. Earth fighter pilots weren't as well trained as their Mobian opponents, and in combat their deficiencies were quite apparent. But there were so many of them it was doubtful if it realy mattered.
Riptos swore as a Mobian capship's beam cannon came within meters of accidentally frying him. He quickly jerked his ship to the side. Staying in the line of fire of a capital ship--friendly or hostile--was a good way to die.
Knowing that their position was untenable, the Earthers were now recalling their fighters and preparing to fall back. They had come to probe the Mobian defenses, ascertain their strength. The Earthers would be back, and next time they would truly mean business.
Riptos watched as the Earth fleet departed. A siege of a heavily fortified star system could take weeks, with feints and counter-feints and skirmishes as the attackers slowly whittled their opponents down. This was only the beginning of the battle of 61 Cygni, a little taste of the violence to come. The Mobians were banking on stopping the Earth forces here, inflicting so much damage that the Earthers simply quit. It was a far-fetched hope. Blood calls out for blood, and the blood of the crew of the Earth outpost was on Mobius' hands.
--
Rex braced himself for another round of verbal chastisement as he heard the door slide open and Riptos' footsteps against the floor.
"Hello, Rex. I hope you have learned your lesson. We had our first combat sortie. Too bad you weren't there."
Rex didn't say anything, just staring at the floor.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Rex. I'm not going to let you wallow in self-pity."
Rex forced himself to make eye contact with him, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find words to say to his commander.
"I'm very disappointed in you. You're a commissioned officer in the Mobian navy. You swore an oath to apply yourself one hundred percent in the defense of the Mobian Federation. You can't just go out and have a few drinks when there's a war going on. I expect you to know and understand that."
"Yes, sir." That was all Rex could say. At least it was an improvement over nothing.
"Furthermore, your laxity reflects poorly on me both to my men and to the commander of this station. How do you think I feel having to explain to Captain Parks why one of my men is too hung over to fly during a time of crisis? If my men won't do their jobs, I can be held reponsible, and what he would do to me is a thousand times worse than what I did to you. Would you like to see me get a court-martial, Rex?"
Now Rex really felt bad. To know that he was not the only one who could've gotten in trouble hurt him. "I'm sorry I let you down," said Rex, his voice cracking as he struggled to maintain his composure. "I regret having done what I did and I will not do it again."
"That's what I wanted to hear. Now I want to see you make good on it. I might be your friend, but I'm not going to give you special treatment. Do you think the other pilots would appreciate seeing the commander's pet get off with a slap on the wrist? You can bet your goddamn dollar they wouldn't! The worst possible sin a leader can commit is nepotism. Giving someone a get-out-of-jail-free card just because you like him makes the other troops resent him and you, make your men respect you less, and undermine your authority. I'm have to be tough with you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Furthermore, I think that, because of your status, you should be held to a higher standard than the other pilots. I didn't assign you as my wingman just because I liked you. People become the leader's wingman to become leaders themselves. I only have two years left before I have to retire and I want you to fill in the void."
Rex suddenly realized that his life was about to get a whole lot harder.
"To be an effective leader, you have to be a moral exemplar for the other men. You have to be on your best behavior, dot your I's, and cross your T's, because if you don't, they sure as hell won't. You don't just have to be a good soldier. You have to be a fucking inspiration for them."
Rex felt his guts tighten inside him.
"When you were in OCS, you had to prove that you would be a good soldier. Now you're going to have to prove that you would be a good leader, just like I had to prove myself before I got my first command. And this time, there are no scoreboards or six-kilometer runs--there's you, your squadmates, and me breathing down your neck. If a leader screws up, all the people under him are fucked. When you're a squadron leader you can't have a little oopsie. You can't get drunk. You can't fuck up, because your men depend on you."
"Why have you chosen me for this?" said Rex.
"Because you're the best pilot in my squadron and I know you can do it. From now on, I'm going to be watching you like a hawk and riding your ass 24/7. I expect you to shine. I expect you to make Deathwish and Pinky and Skitz look like little pissants. This is your chance to prove yourself worthy to lead my squadron. I hope you take it, because the future of all my men is riding on you."
"I'm not sure whether I should be honored or terrified."
Riptos sat down next to Rex and spoke again, in a gentler, almost fatherly tone. "Listen, Rexy, if I didn't think you could replace me, I wouldn't have made you my wingman. I know you can do it. When I told you after your commissioning that you were the best soldier I ever trained, I meant it, and I still mean it. That's why I was so upset when you got drunk. I'm hard on you because I'm fond of you and I want to see you succeed." Riptos put a hand between Rex's shoulders. "You can do it. The only question now is if you're willing to do it. Can you make me proud, Rex?"
"Y-yes, sir," Rex said. He had never felt so nervous in years. Riptos had put his hopes on him, and that was a huge burden.
"Good. I want to see you do it. Now get some rest. You'll need it."
- 7
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- 9
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Chaos Rising