He remembered it mostly because Athena had told him about it. She’d shared it over a campfire after they'd both gone through about three bottles of something alcoholic that had been brewed in his old mech. Once she had recited the whole poem to him, they'd vowed that they would never surrender and would die first.
In this case, he knew they didn't have a choice. They had been tricked, trapped, and drawn into the tunnels where they had no way to escape or fight back. Every inch of him wanted to make sure they would all pay for the lives that had been taken, but he pushed the instinct aside and focused on what he had to do.
Hammerhand climbed willingly out of his mech, and the Knights followed. The rebels needed a little more convincing, but they wouldn’t be able to continue the fight on their own, especially with many of their mechs already too damaged to ignore.
The FEMA City pilots and a few of the Gene Guard exited their mechs. They worked together to surround the survivors, push them to their knees, and tie their hands behind their backs.
The wounded received no treatment and were merely secured and bound like the others.
"They need medical attention," Hammerhand stated and fought to hide the anger that bubbled under the surface. "We surrendered to you and by the rules of war, you need to tend to the wounded."
"And do you think we give a shit about what you people need?" one of the FEMA City pilots shouted. He swaggered to where the Knights’ leader knelt and regarded him with a sneer. "If you wanted medical attention, you should have thought twice about attacking the great FEMA City."
He returned his captor’s stare and once again, struggled to keep his anger at bay. "They need help. Do you intend to simply let them die?"
"I might do. Or I might not. Ask me again when I feel like being talked to by some shit raider."
Hammerhand had no response to that and the pilot clearly didn’t expect one. He laughed as he turned and strolled down the line of prisoners.
"Oy! Laddie! I think you didn't hear what the man said about those in need of medical attention."
There was no mistaking Tinker's voice and there was no telling what purpose he had in mind that involved shouting like that. The FEMA pilot walked to where the old man was on his knees.
"Maybe I heard him, old fuck, and simply don't care what he had to say about our enemies dying a little quicker."
"Well, I think you should listen to him anyway."
"And why the fuck is that?" The man loomed over the mechanic, who returned his stare as if entirely unfazed that he was on his knees and didn’t stand eye to eye with his enemy. "I think you need to shut the fuck up, or you'll find yourself—"
He didn’t manage to finish whatever he intended to threaten Tinker with. There wasn't much in the world that could put the old man down when he was sufficiently riled, but even Hammerhand was surprised when he drove up from his knees and his head pounded into the man's gut to cut him off in mid-sentence. The air rushed from the FEMA city pilot's lungs in a whoosh and the prisoner found his feet.
The mechanic leaned back a few centimeters before he jerked his head forward. A few people winced when the other man’s nose broke with a distinctive crunch. The young pilot fell, clutched his face, and groaned in pain.
Tinker, apparently, hadn’t finished his lesson in manners and the rules of war.
"Fucking prick!" he shouted and kicked the moaning pilot in the gut and the ribs. "Learn some fucking respect, or you'll—"
The tunnels echoed with the sound of a single gunshot that left ears ringing. Tinker stiffened, a look of shock on his face as he fell forward to his hands and knees.
A man wearing a pilot suit walked from the shadows and into clear light. Gustav15 stood over the mechanic with a small sidearm in his hand.
He stared at him for a moment, raised the weapon again, and pulled the trigger. All life vanished from the old man's body and he sagged on the tunnel floor while blood, bone, and other viscera sprayed over the stone.
"No!" Hammerhand roared. He couldn't believe the indisputable evidence of his own eyes. This couldn't be the truth. It simply couldn't be. He surged to his feet and expected the killer to turn his weapon on him but honestly didn't care. The lord captain would manage perhaps two shots before he closed the distance between them, and there was no way those would be enough to stop him from killing the fucker.
When Gustav15 saw the Knights’ leader on his feet, he aimed his weapon at the prisoner who knelt closest to him and stared at Hammerhand with cold disdain.
"He'll die next. Then her. Then him. I have fifteen rounds in here and I'll use them all on someone who isn’t you, Hammerhand."
The brutal assurance in the man’s tone was sufficient to ensure that he didn't take another step. The weight of the threat hung heavily, and he chafed beneath it. Slowly, he sank to his knees again and tried to ignore Gustav15’s smirk.
There was nothing else he could do. His adversary had his measure perfectly. While he didn't much care if he lived or died, the people who were under his command were a different story. He would die for them but never let them die if he could help it.
But despite that, Tinker lay still a few yards away from him. The bleeding from his head had slowed to a trickle and most had soaked into the dust on which he was sprawled.
Hammerhand had expected the old man to outlive every one of the Knights. When they were all dead and gone, the immortal Tinker would have merely started over
