#war's end

DIVIDE AND CONQUER! Rustworms, Insecticlones, and Decepticons, oh my! As problems pile up and Cybertron crumbles from within, can Optimus Prime and the Autobots find a way to fight a war on multiple fronts, or is Cybertron doomed? Join us for a bug hunt in "Radical Time",  now annotated on TFwiki!

CONSTRUCTI-CONNED! The battle of the Sonic Canyons rages on! Uneasy team-ups, unexpected twists, and a truly devastating betrayal all amount to an issue you can't afford to miss-find out what Exarchon's up to right now in the penultimate instalment of War's End, now on TFwiki!

“No survivors.”

Dexia... stared.

The holographic display before her did not move, did not change. Scattered, scorched pieces of nearly eighty warships and over two hundred small craft hovered in space, frozen by a Pause command from one of the younger officers. 

‘Younger’. Every other horrified person in the room stood at least ten years older than her paltry two decades of life. And yet-

“General Dexia,” the ship’s captain murmured, and she flinched, she wanted to protest, she needed to deny it, Lanix and Tenae could not both be gone, the same as Mother and Hefil and Netis, they couldn’t have left it all on her shoulders, with only little Jarin left at home-

“My General,” the captain said again, turning to properly face her, his face gone stark white. “What are your orders?”

Orders. She needed orders, she only held the rank of Sub-Commander over an independent squadron, she should have been at the battle too, maybe then they could’ve- they could have-

-could have what? Snatched a victory from the jaws of total annihilation? None of the massive conflict’s participants yet lived; none of her people, nor any of the four other factions they faced.

The other factions... who surely suffered from the sudden lack of leadership as she herself did.

Dexia swallowed. “Call- call all remaining warships. I want a full accounting of our remaining strengths and resources. Get me the comm codes for all vessels, I’ll need to- make the announcement.”

Announce the loss. But not her grief - Dexia forced her face to smooth out, to hide her sudden terror at being in charge, not only of all continuing war efforts but also their home planet and moons, the orbital outposts, the asteroid mines-

Breathe. In, out.

She held herself still, in body and mind. Impassive. Coolly surveying the room as others leapt to obey her orders, murmuring softly amongst themselves to coordinate who sought what information. Numbers and written details began appearing on other screens; the central holographic display of wreckage remained untouched.

Until.

“General, there’s a transmission incoming...” The Comms lieutenant trailed off, frowning at her personal screen. “I don’t- it’s not one of ours, but the systems are recognizing and letting it through. I can’t tell what-”

Dexia frowned. Others turned to look over as well; mere moments later, every screen and hologram flickered, affected by the sudden data surge. Shouts rang out as officers tried to identify the phenomenon, concerned over attack, sabotage - anything could be about to invade their systems!

And yet, no virus revealed itself. Instead, all the displays settled into an identical image: a young man, perhaps Dexia’s age or a little younger, wearing Solanian armor. Multiple officers snarled instinctively. The Solani forces held direct responsibility for setting off the war, for inciting acts of terror against Dexia’s homeworld, waving off the death and violence as reparation for acts of piracy none of her people ever committed-

“Hi,” the young man on the screen said wearily. “I’d ask you not to terminate this signal, but, you kinda can’t. It’s a new weapon our espionage people have apparently been working on - in another week, it would’ve been used to download digital attacks into all of your fleets, disabling most of them. Maybe it could have won the war for us; or maybe it just would have escalated everything. Either way, I’m saying enough is enough.”

...inexplicably, Dexia leaned closer to the hologram.

“My name is Bentan of House Solnore.” A pause, and then he went on wryly, “Yeah, THAT House Solnore. Before this war broke out, I was, what, maybe fiftieth in line for the Solanian throne? Someone invited to the yearly party events but not much else. Now, because of all the deaths in battle and successful assassinations at home, my first cousin holds the crown. And after him the succession goes to his daughter, his son, then my mother and to me. So, in addition to being the senior-most remaining officer on my space station, I think I have enough civilian authority to say this: we’re done.”

Someone gasped, a tiny, hopeful noise, insignificant but for the otherwise silent room.

“I’ve been briefed on more projects for mass annihilation in the last ten minutes than I’d ever heard of in my life before,” Bentan of House Solnore continued. “And I’m not about to use any of them. A bunch of folks could give me plenty of reasons to, all the same things that got us into this war in the first place, but- enough is enough. We could ALL come up with reasons to keep fighting - attacks, accusations, thefts, murders - dozens if not hundreds, all piled up for dramatic effect.

“But you know what’s more dramatic? The wreckage of almost three hundred ships hanging in empty space.”

The silence, somehow, deepened. Bentan’s dark eyes stared down whatever device he was using to record and transmit his message, daring all those who watched to contradict him.

“So we’re done,” he said softly. “I’m pulling what’s left of our fleet back to Sola. All the war stations, too. If any one wants to attack, we’ll still defend ourselves, but there will be no more retaliatory strikes coming from Solanian forces.

“Of course, trying to rebuild while still watching warily over our shoulders seems a bit counterproductive, so- if anybody would like to discuss a peace treaty, I’ll be taking myself down in a small craft to Toll-Four in a few minutes. Coordinates are attached.”

For a few moments, he only stared down at whatever console sat before him, gaze distant.

“We’ve all got plenty of reasons to keep fighting,” the young man murmured, finally lifting his eyes again. Dexia felt as if they looked straight into her own, a perfect echo of the same terrifying responsibility looming overhead. “But I hope each of you can think of at least one good reason to stop. Before all that’s left of any of us, is wreckage.”

The display flickered, and went out.

“...we could be at Toll-Four in an hour,” the ship’s captain spoke into the silence. “Even if it’s a trap, we could take out-”

“No,” Dexia stated. All eyes snapped towards her. “We will go. I will listen to this Bentan of House Solnore. Afterwards, we will either prepare to face our remaining enemies, or return home. But that decision is only to be made after.”

“...yes, General.”

---

"It is over. Really over?" Claire asks Mary. She can't believe it. Peace seemed more of a dream then the bloody war is.

"Yes! It is over and we are finally free!"

"Jamie!" His name is jerked out of her mouth without thought.

"Yes, you can go find Private Fraser and I can go home."

They hugged fervently. It was hard to believe they would soon be apart after bonding over five years of hell.

"You will write?" Claire asks.

"As soon as you write me and let me know where you are."

"Oh right."

"Be happy Claire. God knows, you deserve it."

"Oh Mary. Thank you. So do you."

She left that day on the first train out of Paris. Anxious to get to Scotland, Lallybroch, and Jamie's arms.

"Excuse me lass. Is this seat taken." The Scottish accent got her attention. But, of course, it wasn't Jamie. The man who stood by her was tall, sandy haired, in the uniform of the British Army.

"No, join me. I am Claire Beauchamp. Served as a nurse."

"Verra nice to meet ye lass. I am Ian Murray served as an officer in his Majesty Army. Left me leg in a field in Germany." He lifts his pant's leg and revealed the artificial leg.

"I am so sorry Ian."

"Dinna flash Claire. A leg is nothing."

She nods thinking about some of her patients and, worse, those who didn't get to her. They talk as the war ravished country-side goes by. They don't talk of the war but of the time before. Claire tells him about growing up around the world in the care of her Uncle Lamb. He tells her of his childhood in the Scottish Highlands.

"And then I meet Jenny. Ah lass, she was a spit-fire. A funny little thing. Stands barely five feet. A head full of bonny brown curles. I knew her, ye ken. But, seeing her as.lass of 16 twas different ten a lass of ten."

Claire laughs. "Yes. I understand."

"She took me home to Lallybroch, to meet her parents. I wanted.."

Zelink Month Day 25!

Week 4: It’s Dangerous To Go Alone

Day 25: War’s End

“Oh Hylia.”

Zelda stopped dead in her tracks as she stared down at the Sheikah Slate in shock. The knight by her side was immediately on high alert, hand on the hilt of his sword and scanning the area around them.

“What?” he asked.

“We haven’t taken pictures of a Hateno Cow, a Highland Sheep, or a Hylian Retriever.” She looked up to see Link scowling at her. “What?”

“I thought something was wrong,” he sighed, dropping his shoulders as they continued walking. Having just made their way back to shore from the island, the two had fought through a group of lizalfos on the beach, trudged through the sand, and were now wearily making their way up the hill back to Hateno Village. They were tired and in dire need of rest, but Zelda now felt a newfound drive coursing through her.