CHAPTER 36:
The next morning came quickly. Hoffman had called Ollivar the night before and expressed his desire to wash his hands of the entire Griffin situation, and Ollivar had agreed to be at Anvil Gate, complete with the boats he'd promised, by the early afternoon.
Marcus stood at the end of the pier staring out into the ocean looking deceptively relaxed. Baird was leaning against a low stone pillar on the shore tinkering with Jack impatiently under the curious eye of Cole.
"If he's late, can we start without him?" Baird called. "I'm fine with taking our sweet time about this."
Baird, of course, had been one of the first to volunteer to be part of the firing squad. Hoffman had been certain if he'd put a sign-up sheet in the center of town even some of the civvies would have put their name down. But he tried to put some limitations on it. Sending a message was one thing, but going overboard wasn't necessary to prove his point.
But if it were up to Baird, they'd have buried Griffin up to his neck and let him starve to death. He had already planned on telling Hoffman they ought to start at Griffin's ankles and work their way up slowly, but Cole managed to talk him out of it.
"If he's late, we wait. Part of the deal, remember?" Marcus said without looking back.
"I forgot how much you love to follow all the rules," Baird said, but it was significantly less malicious than the barbs from the previous morning. Apparently a good night's sleep and the absence of a hangover had restored him to his normal sarcastic self.
"And here I thought I was the fun one," Marcus replied.
Cole burst into laughter from behind him. "Baby, don't ever forget that that's the Cole Train's title."
Hoffman was finally making his way toward the pier, unusually alone.
"Boomer lady ain't comin'?" Cole asked, finally puling Marcus' attention away from the ocean.
"She'll be here. She took that damn dog to see the doc. He's getting too old to go chasing after shit," Hoffman said, shooting Marcus a quick nod as a greeting.
"Doesn't seem to stop you two," Baird said, closing Jack's front panel and tucking his tools back into his pocket.
"I may be an old bastard, but don't think that means I can't ruin your day, Corporal," Hoffman replied.
Baird scoffed, but wisely didn't reply. He was sure Hoffman had a sense of humor in there somewhere, but he was only going to push it so far. And he wasn't sure exactly what Hoffman had in mind for reprimands anymore, but he was certain he wouldn't enjoy it.
"No word from our newest ally yet?" Hoffman asked, looking at Marcus.
"Not yet," he answered.
"Think they hit trouble?" Cole asked.
"They are trouble," Baird shot back.
"They should be in radio range by now. They'd call," Marcus said, squinting back out into the distance.
"Yeah, 'cause the first thing they'd do is ask us for help." Baird never missed an opportunity to convey exactly how he felt about this whole truce thing. "If they did call, I'd say it was a trap."
"Ain't anyone ever taught you how to have some faith Damon?" Cole came up next to him and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. "We all gotta learn to make friends. Time to start watchin' out for each other."
Baird shrugged him off. "Yeah, yeah. I'll believe it when I see it."
"Well here's your chance," Marcus said. A series of small figures had finally appeared in the distance. "Looks like our boats are here."
"Make sure you check them for bombs," Baird said.
"You volunteering?" Marcus asked, not leaving space for Baird to answer before reaching for his radio.
"This is Sergeant Fenix calling from Anvil gate. Identify yourselves."
"Relax, Fenix," Ollivar's voice said in their ears. "It's us. Little unnerved by the mysterious fleet on the horizon?"
"Just being vigilant. Figured you'd respect that in an ally." Marcus tried not to sound impatient.
Ollivar laughed. "Yeah, 'respect' is the first word I think of when I picture you."
Baird had come up next to Marcus and watched the boats get closer. "He's hilarious. Maybe we should give him a chance." He crossed his arms, letting every bit of his cynicism fill his tone. "But I see an awful lot of boats out there."
"He owes us half of his fleet. What did you expect?" Cole offered.
"You're right, Cole. It doesn't look like an ambush at all. I'm sure each and every Stranded scumbag driving one of those boats is gonna be perfectly content to squeeze onto one for the long, smelly trip home."
"Can you ever be helpful?" Marcus muttered.
He pressed his finger back to his ear. "Should I be checking your men for weapons as they hit the pier?"
"You can do whatever you want, Fenix," Ollivar started. "But if we're working out this trust thing, you should give them a pass. They're only along because I can't pilot a dozen boats on my own. In the interest of honesty, though, I did tell them they could stay to watch. I assume that won't be a problem?"
Baird couldn't resist. "Oh no, we've got plenty of room. But the popcorn won't be free."
Marcus shot him a steely glare and Baird just shrugged. Just because Marcus still liked to cling to the assertion that executions weren't a spectator sport didn't mean Baird couldn't get his own enjoyment out of it.
The boats were rapidly closing in and Baird was getting that sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. There was an animal instinct deep inside trying desperately to engage the fight-or-flight part of his mind. But since he'd never been much on 'flight' all he could do was stand there with his boots planted firmly to the boards and watch another possibility of death float towards them.
As the lead boat came within clear sight range, Ollivar stepped out from the wheelhouse onto the open deck.
"At least someone's willing to start that trust ball rolling," Cole said, consistently trying to be helpful.
"As long as that ball doesn't flatten out asses," Baird said under his breath.
"You gonna weigh in on this too, Colonel?" Marcus asked.
"If we're all still alive in five minutes, I won't need to," Hoffman replied, sounding much calmer than he should have. He'd come up to join them at the end of the pier and had his arms relaxed at his side. Only years of knowing him let on that he would be able to pull his pistol from its holster in under a second if he had to.
Baird gave him a knowing look. "Hope your reflexes are as sharp as they used to be, sir."
After all the years they'd been together, everyone knew the more jokes he cracked the closer he was to shitting his pants. Everyone had their own way of dealing with it. Baird's just happened to be the most annoying.
"Afternoon, gentlemen. Sorry we kept you waiting. My luxury cruisers aren't what they used to be." Ollivar wasn't bothering with the radio anymore. He only had to slightly raise his voice to be heard over the engine now.
Hoffman slowly scanned the rest of the vessels and shook his head. The sorry state of repair they were in made him wonder if the deal they'd made was even worth it. But then he really should have specified who got to choose the boats.
"When I said 'half', I did mean a working half," Hoffman said, keeping a loose hold on his aggravation. He wasn't expecting pristine condition, but most of the boats before him looked worse than the one they'd sacrificed during their search for Griffin.
"They work just fine, Colonel. Got us here, didn't they?" Ollivar stepped across the gap between the deck and the pier and extended his hand to Hoffman. It was an unexpected, but welcome, gesture. "Trust me; we left some behind for a reason."
Hoffman took his hand but he didn't hold on for a moment longer than he felt was necessary. "Really putting our trust to the test, huh?"
Ollivar flashed him his easy grin. "I do what I can." He looked warily to Marcus for a moment, seemingly debating on extending him the courtesy of a handshake.
Deciding against it, he settled on the safer bet of a quick nod before turning back to Hoffman.
"So where do you want your new boats?" he asked, eager to get on with the formalities and reach what he assumed would be the high point of his day.
"Have your men tie them off along the pier. We'll send a crew down for them when we get back to the fort." Hoffman said. "You can leave two here as a guard, if you want. Or we can wait for me to call someone down."
Ollivar gestured to the boat he'd stepped off of to go up towards the shore before waving the rest of the small fleet in. "Nah. I can spare two. The sooner I get to go see my old buddy, the better." The grin he'd had morphed slowly into a wicked sneer, like he was reliving the moment Griffin had ousted him from his cushy position of leadership.
"Fair enough," Hoffman replied. He looked to Marcus, Baird and Cole. "You three stick around until they dock, and keep your radios open. We'll go pay a visit to Griffin before I track down Gavriel and figure out exactly when he wants to do this."
Hoffman and Ollivar walked off, keeping a safe distance between them. No matter what level of trust they established, instinct and history would always keep them from getting too chummy. Only time would change something like that.
But at least now there'd be time.
"You really think he's not giving us the shittiest boats he had?" Baird said quietly, waiting to switch his channel to open. The last thing he needed was Hoffman overhearing something that would just piss him off.
"Wouldn't you?" Marcus asked, doing his own slow scan of the boats. But there was an intensity that said he wasn't just doing a simple examination of them.
It only took Baird a moment to realize what Marcus was doing; he was trying to add up in his head just how many men were on each boat. Instead of gloating that he was finally starting to figure the guy out, he took a moment to do the math in his head as all three of them switched their radios to transmit hands free.
Each boat presumably had at least two men. That meant at least twenty three men were going to be on the docks in a matter of minutes. Those odds weren't favorable no matter which way you looked at them.
Like a voice from Heaven Bernie's voice suddenly filled their ears.
"Don't look over your shoulder, Blondie, but you've got some cover fire if you need it."
He swore the woman was a mind reader sometimes. In reality it was just her years of experience that taught her that if things could go wrong, they probably would.
"Don't tell Vic, hmm? He won't be too pleased with my dishonesty. Or my borrowing ten Gears for the afternoon. But if this goes south, don't be shitting yourself about the bullets coming from behind you."
No matter how unpleasant the scenario sounded, she made it sound like just another operation that she had entirely under control. The Sergeant in her would never fade.
"You'll be an easy bunch to miss," Sam cut in. "Considering you're twice the size of those buggers."
"Yeah, as long as your arm holds up," Baird muttered as the first few boats pulled up to the dock and the crews started to disembark.
"Want me to practice, blondie? 'Cause I've got my crosshairs on your ass," Sam replied, sounding as over-confident as usual. The fact that she didn't say anything more, leaving it to the typical over-compensation, meant she was feeling just fine. He would have been more concerned if she'd kept talking, but he was relieved that she had a sarcastic comeback, otherwise he really would be scared.
"You know, I can almost hear Major Stroud in my head telling us to maintain radio discipline," Bernie said, sounding uncharacteristically wistful.
Baird caught Marcus tensing up from the corner of his eye, but thought better of pointing it out. He guessed any time he heard the name 'Stroud' he involuntarily flinched. It didn't matter which one the speaker was referring to.
As the boats filed in slowly, it became apparent that most of them were operating with two man crews. Only one man was climbing down from each craft to tie the boat down as the engines cut out one at a time.
But none of them were willing to give in to hope just yet.
The last boat engine cut out, leaving the dock in relative silence. There were quiet murmurs as the pairs from each boat gave each other instructions or continued conversations from the trip.
The lack of conversation between the two groups was almost comically awkward. It wasn't until every last vessel was tied down before one of the younger men finally spoke up.
He looked over the three Gears carefully, trying to determine who he'd get the best response from. He settled on Cole, despite his overwhelming mass, simply because his beaming smile was the only welcoming expression.
"So, uh, we'll stay here, I guess," he said slowly, gesturing to another young guy as he avoided making too much direct eye contact. If Ollivar had been expecting a fight, he certainly hadn't brought a strong crew for it.
"That's what I heard," Cole said, friendly as ever. "The rest of you are welcome to come along. We ain't got much in the way of spare food, but I'm sure we can fix you up with somethin' while we're waitin'."
Baird fought to keep himself from telling them to stay the hell out of the town. He really would have to get used to this diplomacy thing. But no amount of acceptance would ever make him happy about it.
"Thanks, man," one of the other guys said. And he looked like he meant it.
The massive group of them made their way towards the town, but the progress was slower than anyone was happy with. It was hard to maintain a steady pace when everyone was busy trying to watch everyone else. But eventually they made it.
At the gates to the town they passed a dozen Gears heading past them. They exchanged quick salutes before going their separate ways.
Hoffman was standing in the center of town, still talking to Ollivar. Baird could swear he was smiling.
He bumped Cole with his elbow.
"Guess those two are getting along."
"Good," Marcus said from his other side. "No sense starting up another war just for the hell of it."
Hoffman caught his eye and waved them over.
"No time like the present, Fenix. Ready to go drag our captive to the post?"
"Uh huh," Marcus muttered, staring up towards the storage area. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see us."
A/N: Here's the update, as promised! Happy belated Thanksgiving :-)