After sending off the message to his Warlord, Castor needed better clothing. He stalked his way through the corridors of the bunker fortress. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for - a taccy guard nursing a drink alone in a darkened side room. The man was obviously slacking off.
Castor approached, friendly at first. "Hiya mate, look I got a bit turned around. I'm looking for my work crew, you don't happen to know where they are at all?" Castor offered the man a bunch of folded papers like they meant something.
As the man approached to take the papers, Castor dropped them and punched the man in the throat, leaving him gasping for air.
"Look, I'm awfully sorry about this, but you're in the game, same as me." He dragged the man deeper into the side room, closing the wooden door behind him. He pulled his pistol out on the man. "Strip. I need your uniform."
"I have a family, please. I have kids and a wife. They need me," the guard begged for his life.
Castor gave him a settling wave. "If you don't force me to kill you, I won't."
The man relaxed slightly. He now knew he wasn't dealing with a mad man, and complied with the order, taking off his gear. Once stripped, Castor threw the guard his own cuffs, "put these on, behind your back."
Ripping a section of clothing from his worker uniform - he gagged the man. Following that he bound his legs tight and tied that knot to the cuffs, leaving the man like a stuffed pig on the floor. It wouldn't keep forever but it would take the man a while before he loosened the gag to make enough noise to attract help.
After dressing up in his clothing, Castor surveyed the guard. "You're happy like this? Or do you want me to mess you up a bit, make you look like a hero?"
The guard hesitated for a moment before nodding his head slightly and then braced. Castor gave him a couple of shots to the face, just hard enough to cause some bleeding and leave some bruises. "Good man, looks like you fought hard now. Good luck! I hope you don't catch me." Castor gave him a smile and a wave before leaving the man in the dark.
Feeling much more comfortable in tac gear, Castor walked through the fortress like he belonged. He had the guard's rifle slung around his shoulders, even though it would be totally useless for him due to the user lock.
He remained in communication with Quanta, who was giving him feedback about his drones positions. It was less efficient commanding them remotely. Without him in the pilot seat, his drones would rely on their basic directives, which would be easily countered by any knight worth his salt. But it was better than nothing.
Then suddenly the whole bunker fortress became aware of his signal feed, aware of him.
Fuck.
He bolted for the roof, trying his best to look like a guard searching for... well himself. Finding a ladder he pulled himself up onto the roof of the bunker fortress hanger.
Having called the scout drones that was carrying his old stuff. He found it waiting at the roof, he grabbed his rifle from it and scanned the runway outside the bunker. The girl was being dragged by two infantry drones. Quickly taking aim, he punched holes in the both of them. The girl now free, was running back to the hanger doors.
ETA 30 seconds till his striker-bombers. He heard the surface to air missile turrets screech and twist as they locked onto his aircrafts.
He fixated on the floating bulbous form of the Bastard Sons Jump ship and opened his communication channel with Quanta.
"Quanta, you got a lock?" He fed the position of the jump ship through the remote command unit nailed to the back of his neck. Quanta pinged back an affirmative.
"Grid fire, 3 shots."
The striker-bombers screamed overhead, dropping the munitions and lighting the world on fire. A beam of haze then appeared on the side of the Jump Ship. Quanta's grid fire cannon, the projectile immaterial, until it wasn't. It snapped back into existence inside the jump ship, tearing a giant exit hole out the far side of the hull. The jump ship started to list. Two more beams of haze appeared, one went through the engines and the other through the head. The jump ship's colossal hull started to fall from the sky as its engines failed, raining fire and twisted metal on the ground below.
Castor ran back inside the hangar. He left an order with Quanta, for it to get aboard a transport drone and approach his position. He went looking for the girl and found her with the Knight, who was helping her to safety, rather than getting to the protective enclosure of his Warlord. The man really was a savior. Stupid. Castor took a quick look outside. The Warlord of the Bastard Son had survived the hellfire by covering itself in a dome like energy shield.
"Tsk," Castor grunted.
He joined Lillian and Sir August, helping the knight move the wounded girl. He then took his pistol and pressed it against the knight's head. "How about a 5 minute head start?" he asked.
The knight turned on him, his face a mask of rage and indignation. "What?!"
"I've been paid to take the girl to safety. I'm Castor, a merc. I think for the moment our goals align, no?"
Sir August's face softened slightly. "I..."
"Look, I get it, it's politics. You can't openly go against that arsehole." He gave the man what he hoped was a reassuring grin. "All I need you to do is drag your heels, maybe run a little interference. I'll take the girl, get her off world. Everyone's happy."
The knight put all the pieces together and realised that, through luck or divine intervention, this plan would save the girl without ruining his family. He nodded to the mercenary.
Castor lowered his weapon to the knight's chest plate. "Sorry, this is gonna suck, but gotta make it look real." He set his weapons charge release to subsonic and fired a couple of rounds into the knight's chest.
The knight collapsed to the floor. The shots hadn't penetrated the plate, but the force probably cracked some ribs.
Castor gathered up the wounded girl. A quick assessment showed that her arm was fucked, but as messy as it was, the gash on her leg wasn't too bad.
"You good girl?"
She nodded and together they raced away from the bunker fortress. The remaining half of his striker-bombers had swept around and were making another run. Castor sent out a vector to them through his remote command unit so the striker-bombers could provide cover fire.
The bombs hit behind them. Some of them struck the hanger doors, making it that much harder for Sir August's forces to follow them.
But they had other problems. The forces of the Bastard Son, who had managed to escape or survive the destroyed jump ship, were chasing them now. And machines move faster. Castor reached out to his artillery units. It was danger close but they were kinda fucked right now. He gave the order and pushed on harder, dragging Lilian behind him.
The artillery fell behind them. He didn't expect much damage to Vels forces, but it was confusing enough that he was able to pull Lillian into a ditch and throw the guards cloak over them. It wasn't as good as the camo-cloak he had come in with, but with the noise that his artillery was putting down it should be enough to mask their position.
They moved along the ditch, slower and more carefully now. He did not dare open a channel with Quanta, but he trusted in his Warlord more than anything else in this galaxy.
After a few more terrifying minutes of dodging drones and artillery, his transport units arrived, flying close to the tips of the trees. He dragged Lillian to a clearing and the transport units circled overhead, finding positions to land.
Infantry drones dismounted and took the girl from him, quickly pulling her aboard the transport unit they came from. He commanded them to make a quick escape back to the Jump ship. It took off and arced away, the few remaining striker-bombers he had left positioned as an escort.
He ran to Quanta, who had already dismounted the other transport unit. The hatch popped and it grabbed him in its front hands that hung near its head, shoving him into the pilot seat. An emergency mount like this was always painful. Castor could already feel that his ribs were bruised.
He connected with his Warlord, sensors became his senses, it's body part of his own. Quanta was harder than most Warlords to interface with - having six legs was a very alien experience for the human mind. But Castor was used to it, plus he was a better pilot than most.
Sensors flared and warning messages flashed in his mind's eye, pulling his focus. Another Warlord was rushing towards them. An elongated mech of black metal and mist.
The warlord of Vel Marrilion, the Bastard Son.