Hammerhand couldn't fathom the sheer amount of time and energy that would have gone into building something as massive as this, and especially during a time of war. Most people would have pushed for all resources to go into readiness for the war against the Invaders, with only a few having the presence of mind to start preparing for what would come after.
He grasped his weapon a little tighter as they left the cooler sections and entered a larger tunnel. Rail lines ran to massive steel doors that were so cold the fog drifted away from it in small rivulets. It was all well-lit and gave them far more room to move through.
Pillars were carved out of the rock to support the roof of the cavernous tunnels, struts designed to look like statues, although the original designs were impossible to make out. A hand and a foot could be seen here or there but aside from that, most of the pre-war architecture had turned into a vague and distant memory.
Hammerhand couldn't help but feel a little sad to see what had once been a display of the ingenuity of the great minds of the world slowly began to disappear. They were now little more than the last remnants of what had been.
"This tunnel leads directly into FEMA City," Gustav15 explained and gestured ahead with his rifle. "I doubt they'd even guard it. It hasn’t been used in decades."
"We should remain on our guard anyway," Hammerhand muttered. "There’s no need to make things too easy for them, after all."
He cut the comm line and motioned for the group—who had taken a moment to appreciate the architecture of the subterranean corridor—to keep moving. They couldn't lag too far behind lest the Prophet's troops be forced to take the brunt of the defenses.
Hammerhand moved toward the front of the lines but held himself in check and tried not to act on the violent impulses that rose from the pit of his stomach. They told him to rush them forward into battle, but he knew this wasn’t the time for that kind of tactic.
Windchime organized the troops into squads and made sure that at least one of the Knights was in every troop of the Auburn rebels, hopefully to keep them organized and in control. It was important to prevent them from being too exposed.
Tinker, finished with his part of the planning, jogged his lighter mech to where Hammerhand led the advance through the tunnels.
"How do you plan to swing that big fucking hammer of yours in these tunnels, laddie?"
He could only shake his head. "There’s not much room to do that with any effectiveness. No, I'll use the shield to push the rest of the line forward and let you dumbasses time your shooting for when I have to drop it. Until we get our asses out to somewhere a little more open, anyway."
"Do you think you want me to fit you with something that can shoot in these tighter corridors?"
"If we had time, I would ask. But as of right now, we need to strike fast and hard. With that in mind, the shield will have to do and you assholes will have to watch my back."
"I've always got your back, laddie. You've always earned it."
"I hope that doesn't change now."
"Don't be like that. We have something going here. We can all feel it. There's victory in the air, and we'll taste it. All the lads can feel it. Well, except those Gene Guard fuckers. You can't tell a damn thing about them."
"Never mind them. Keep moving the teams forward and we'll get it done. Nothing's won yet."
"That's the fucking spirit."
Chapter Sixty-One
He had learned many things since he had arrived in this place. The desert was a brutal environment, the kind that didn't forgive or forget.
People in the grasslands were less harsh, which was reflected in their environment. The land always made the culture. That was what he had been taught back in the day.
They called him the Prophet because they believed he saw into the truth of things more than others did. And maybe he did, but in the end, they followed him because they thought he had answers.
And while he did have some, they were for the desert. Maybe not for these grasslands, though. Hammerhand had been cut from an altogether different cloth, of course, and so had most of his Knights. They were all fighters to the core, but a different kind than those who followed him into battle. For one thing, they were more forgiving and more helpful instead of feeling that their actions were ordained.
It wasn't that he envied the Knights’ leader’s position, of course, and the man's morals made it difficult to live in a harsh world. But there were some who were able to come to terms with morals like his and stand by them.
And having an Excalibur mech didn't hurt matters either.
His teams advanced through the tunnels at a decent enough pace, and the Prophet steadied his nerves as the darkness began to close in around them. Spending most of his time out in the desert meant his days were lived in the open with the sun shining on his face and a breeze touching his skin.
Being confined in tunnels like this had to be one of his least favorite feelings, especially as it felt like they grew darker with every passing step. He didn't like it but damned if he would let any of his men see his hesitation. They believed in him and his ability to lead them through anything, which included a long dark tunnel. It wouldn't do to have that confidence shaken in any way.
If he wanted to lead them forward, he would need to be the first one to step into the darkness.
As they continued to move, the lights
