Contingencies
The missiles were heavy, the launcher even heavier. April braced herself against the weight as it settled on her shoulder, and pointedly ignored the anxious face reflected in the shining surface of the blank shell she slotted into the loader.
"Commander, this isn't fair."
April pretended not to hear that. The metal of the missile launcher was cool against her cheek and she softly closed her eyes, imagining how warm it would get once she'd fired a few shots. The launcher was an old favourite of hers, but she'd rarely taken it into combat as close as tomorrow would bring.
"Things are gonna get rough out there once we breach the surface," she warned. "Remember, we need to keep the outside forces outside. The boys and I will have enough to deal with inside without reinforcements piling in on top."
Her insistent guest was pouting. April didn't need to see that bottom lip jutting out to know. The real sixth sense was Motherhood, and hers was as keen as it came.
"Listen, Parker's a great commando - she can lead the third unit in my place." Her visitor's tone of logical appeal quickly gave way to something more demanding. "You can't keep me out of this. You can't."
"I know you'll be busy, but keep an eye on units five and eight, would you?" The missile popped smoothly back out of the loader. April wrenched it out, made a brief pantomime of reaching for a fresh one, testing her aging reflexes for speed. Joints squealed more, these days. Muscles took longer to warm up and could endure less punishment. Time was against her.
"Commander -"
"They have a habit of getting overexcited and straying outside of the mission bounds once they have an advantage. The slightest gap in our formation and we could let something through -"
"Mom."
The word was a gunshot in the Commander's small room. April lowered the missile launcher and dared to look her daughter in the eye. Shadow stood on the periphery of her modest quarters, taller than her mother now but carved thin by a frugal life. The arms folded across her chest were lean with the hard muscle of regular warfare. Her shoulders were hunched belligerently up to her ears and her blue eyes blazed with the ever-present ghost of her father. She wasn't a child anymore - hadn't been for a very, very long time - but then that window where she had been was a painfully short blink in April's life. She, Casey and the turtles had tried to keep the girl young and oblivious for as long as they could, but Shadow was a true O'Neil. She adapted.
In this case, she had adapted to a living memory of oppressive alien rule. Of Foot raid sirens screaming in the night. Of weeping and screaming from ad hoc infirmaries thrown up in any free room at a moment's notice. Of learning how to load a gun instead of learning how to ride a bike. Of a father she hadn't been able to bury. Of a mother who had precious little time to be one.
No school, no college, no dreams or aspirations or freedom to be whatever she wanted to be; Shadow was a war child, irrevocably shaped by the conflict that had raged around her. And here she was, mid-way through her life at just shy of thirty years of age, knowing nothing beyond the walls of this base but hell.
Anger bubbled up and forged a lump in April's throat. With long-suffering fortitude, she swallowed it back down and set the heavy weapon to rest on the bench.
"Shadow, you can't come."
Her daughter's glare intensified. "I saw the tunneller Donatello was fixing up - there's room!"
"It doesn't matter. You're needed where I've put you, to deflect-"
"I don't care. You can't expect me to let you walk into the belly of the beast without me!"
"I can - and do." April's mouth tightened. "This will be the last resistance operation under my command, Shadow."
Shadow unfurled her arms, her hands clenching into tight, determined fists. "Yeah, and I want to be there when you land the finishing blow! I need to see him fall, Mom. For Dad, and Uncle Mikey, and Leo and Raph. For you. I need to be there when you win!"
"If we win. Either way, this will be the last operation under my command."
Her daughter's breath caught in her throat, only dislodged by a furious shake of her head. "No." She paced a few steps forward, achingly toward her mother, then veered to the side, and back again in an agitated dance of misery. "No, don't."
"Shadow … " April sat on the edge of the weapon bench, her hands folded reverently in her lap. "Listen to me. The turtles and I, we … We're an old team, you know? We've been fighting for a long time. Right now, with Donnie back? This is the best we've been in thirty years, and it's going to be our last, hardest damned shot. In the morning, we're going to win. Or we're going to lose. There won't be an in-between."
"So don't go." Shadow's voice trembled. "If I can't go, you shouldn't go either. The resistance needs you, everyone knows that. You … You're the leader."
"A leader who hasn't led us to victory in three decades." April's eyes were soft as she looked up, her face marred by weathering for which age could claim only a small portion of true responsibility. "I've had my time on stage. I know Donatello, and I have faith in his plan - faith enough that I'll go, and make sure he has everything he needs to achieve it. I have to see it through to the end. But if it doesn't work, then …" She exhaled, a great heaving gush of exhaustion. "Then I think it's time for the next generation to try and do what we couldn't. To finish what we started. It's your future we're fighting for, after all."
"You … you liar." A sudden film of moisture made Shadow's eyes gleam like ghostfire. "How dare you. You're not allowed to just … give up! My whole life you've told me, told us all we would win some day. That there was hope no matter what!"
A smile plucked at April's mouth. "Oh, there is always hope, my little Shadow. I'm looking right at her."