Shore Leave

The Atlantic Depot was a fortified harbor set up by the nationalist forces on the west coast of Africa. It was one of about seven such constructs around the continent, providing much needed supplies to the national forces. Giant turret guns, courtesy of LexCorps, covered all possible entrances to the base. There were three circles of walls. Going outward, the first circle, area three, surrounded the port and airstrip, the second, area two, surrounded the barracks and weapons depot, and the third, area one, surrounded what could be called a primitive city, made up of refugees and serving the soldiers inside the second circle with whatever they could possibly want. In the distance, the ships making up the African blockade could be seen.

The Blackhawk touched down at an helipad on the airstrip and Beast Boy and what remained of his team disembarked. Five men out of an original twelve, but not one of his squad hurt. Damn lucky, he thought.

"Lieutenant," came the voice of a soldier who had met them on the landing pad, "Colonel Wilson and General Randal want to see you, the rest of your team can head to the barracks."

"Roger that," replied Beast Boy, as he made his way towards the command post. Behind him, he could hear his men disembark the helicopter. They had been in Atlantic Depot once before, when they arrive in Africa two months ago. Since then, they had bounced around the continent, trying to disrupt the League's operational ability.


Taylor and Ramirez checked into the barracks, obtaining permission from the commander to leave the base and enter the city area of the base. They had asked MacArthur if he wanted to join them, but the private had turned them down, preferring to spend his down time catching up on sleep. They wandered through the narrow, gravel covered streets. Crowded, makeshift buildings lined the improvised roads. The late afternoon sun reflected off of tin roofs, baking the air above the streets but, their shade provided relief. Walking upright, shoulders thrown back, differentiated the walk of a veteran soldier from a refugee. They trudged around slouched and defeated. Taylor didn't blame them, they were run from their homes by the Wraiths and metahumans. He didn't even blame the soldiers who walked like the refugees after a battle. Those things were frightening.

"C'mon Taylor," grunted Ramirez, "let's get a drink."

"You're the boss" Taylor lightly mocked, giving a mock salute.

Ramirez shook his head but smiled. "Stow it, Corporal, or you'll be cleaning crap from a toilet seat with a toothbrush." With that, he turned into a bar—or the equivalent of a bar—on the side of the road, followed by Taylor. The bar was crowded. There were many refugees, trying to find Eden at the bottom of a dusty beer bottle. Ramirez also noted a group of soldiers, possibly Indian, sitting around a table. They'd been around awhile, Ramirez could tell, they were grim, but not defeated. This was in contrast to the shaking Israeli soldier at the bar. His hands shook as he took shot after shot. Ramirez wouldn't be surprised if he was the only surviving member of his platoon. He shook his head again, poor kid.

He and Taylor slid into an empty table in the corner opposite the group of Indian soldiers.

"He's eyeing your piece," muttered Taylor. Ramirez noticed that also, one of the Indian soldiers was looking at his sidearm. Soldiers were not allowed into the city armed unless they were on patrol or military police. Blackwatch, and some other special operation units were the exception. Ramirez liked to think that it was because he could be trusted more than regular troops, but he knew that it was because he, like many Blackwatch and special operation troops, needed to have a gun close at hand. It made them feel comfortable. Turning, he looked at the Indian soldier, an officer by the rank on his shirt. To his credit, the man did not look away. He stood up and walked over to Ramirez.

"Soldier," he began in broken English, "you are not allowed to be in area one armed."

"I'm Blackwatch, sir," replied Ramirez, "as is my friend."

The Indian officer paused, and then started to talk again. "I see," he began, "I am Captain Dakshesh of the 2nd Mountain Division. Your company saved me and my men a few days ago. Please allow me to buy you men a drink."

"Very well," Ramirez replied, "barkeep, a bourbon for me."

"Just a beer," added Taylor as the man behind the counter nodded. The clink of glasses was heard, and then he walked over and put the drinks on the table. Captain Dakshesh passed some money into the man's hand and walked back over to his table.

"It is amazing," said Taylor, as soon as the Captain was gone, "alcohol is the only thing you can get with any consistency in this place."

Ramirez nodded, "And whores," he added. Taylor looked up and quirked an eyebrow. The women of the night were of questionable cleanliness, but he wasn't about to question his compatriots nighttime excursions. He wasn't about to risk it, but female companionship was few and far between with their missions, so he understood.

"Anything to forget, eh?" Taylor said. Ramirez simply nodded. The two men looked out the dusty window into the darkening streets, drinking in a comfortable silence.

"It ain't San Diego," Ramirez muttered.

"And it ain't suburban Atlanta," added Taylor. Turning to his drinking companion, he asked, "How's the family?"

"Haven't heard anything in awhile, so I guess no news is good news. Sis can take care of the parents for awhile. It's about time she learned to do something besides sleep on the damn beach all day. What about you? Anything from home?"

Taylor shrugged. "Same here, though I wish Cecilia would write as much as the Lieutenant's girl."

Ramirez gave a short chuckle. "Yeah, poor kid is smitten, he's probably doing that right now. But, hell, if it encourages him to kill the damn leaguers to go home quicker, than I'm not going to complain."

Taylor gave a half-smile, "Always so bloodthirsty Ramirez. You know it isn't like he can go into area one. Hell, two is bad enough for the green man. What else is there to do but write home?"

Ramirez nodded again. "Fair enough," he responded. They trusted their commander, but others did not. "And don't say bloodthirsty like it's a bad thing. You're no different from me."

"Perhaps," Taylor said with a shrug. Ramirez raised an eyebrow in skepticism. Taylor sighed, he knew where this was going. He pulled out his combat knife from his boot and stuck it into the table. The side facing Ramirez had six tally marks in it.

"Not bad," replied Ramirez, "see, we're the same." With that he pulled out his knife and stuck it into the table, "Six and six."

"Nope," replied Taylor, "I got one more today, give me your knife." Ramirez jokingly glowered at Taylor, but pulled his knife out and handed it to his table mate. Taylor then took his blade and etched another mark into it. "There," he said once he was finished, "I'm more bloodthirsty than you now." With that, both men gave a quick laugh, raised their glasses to each other, and drank.

There was a clatter as the group of Indian soldiers got up and left the bar. The two men nodded to Captain Dakshesh as he passed by. The Israeli soldier was passed out on the bar, leaving Ramirez and Taylor and a handful of refugees as the only conscious individuals left. Ramirez and Taylor stayed in their corner, enjoying their drinks and the relative quiet of the nearly empty bar. Ramirez decided to smoke, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Taylor, who shook his head. "I managed to buy some chewing tobacco off some guy fresh from Tennessee," he said by way of explanation.

"Two or three?" asked Ramirez.

"Three, poor kid didn't make it, he was the one caught at the LZ by the stalker," replied Taylor. Ramirez just nodded as he lighted his cigarette.

The two continued to sit, smoke, chew, and drink, breaking the silence every once in a while to make small talk. Eventually, they settled into silence, each one enjoying it as a break from their noisy, busy routine. Ramirez had just finished his third cigarette when they both heard an explosion followed by some screams. Sitting up, both men pulled out their firearms.

"Guess our little break is over, eh?" said Taylor with a grim face.


A short chapter with a bit of a cliffhanger at the end. Anyway, on to the reviews.

Peyton Adalyn: I'm glad to return to the story. I hope you continue to read.

Agent of the Divine One: There will be more focus on the Titans later. Now, about that big, ugly thing coming...

That is it. Remember, please read and review. I really appreciate it.

Until next time,

Mors101 (the person who doesn't own any of this)