CHAPTER 37:

Griffin was unexpectedly cooperative. From the moment Marcus pushed the door open he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face that Baird was just itching to smash the butt of his rifle into.

Marcus had sworn he could handle it alone, but Baird and Cole had followed along anyway. As long as Hoffman was busy playing diplomat, making a more formal introduction between Gavriel and Ollivar, someone needed to come along as back up. When Marcus was far enough out of ear shot, Baird had told Cole he only wanted to go along to make sure Fenix didn't snap this guy's neck, too.

Anything he could do to cover up the fact that he was looking out for someone else.

Hoffman and Gavriel had agreed on a place outside of town for the execution. The news didn't take long to spread through the civilian population, though. The walk through town felt like a parade. Nearly everyone had come out of their houses or back from fishing to watch the spectacle.

"Guess this is entertainment, to them," Baird muttered, keeping a close eye on Griffin as Marcus ushered him down the street.

Cole sighed and shook his head. "Shit, there's kids out here. I hope they ain't coming along."

Baird scoffed. "Nothing like a little family bonding over an execution." He quickened his pace for a moment to put himself in a better position to see Griffin's face. The lack of fear was really starting to piss him off. But then he'd been captured by Locust before, and refused to let them see just how close he was to pissing himself. He couldn't really expect someone like Griffin to let a few Gears see how scared he really was.

Or maybe he'd simply accepted death already, and was getting his last bit of pleasure he'd ever have by screwing with them.

But he wasn't really going to get another chance to ask him.

"Hey, asshole. You seem awfully calm for someone who's about to die." Baird didn't bother pulling any punches. Griffin didn't deserve any civility as far as he was concerned. Plus he figured he'd get a better idea of where his head was by his reaction.

Griffin laughed. "Ain't no point in puttin' up a fight. I'm smart enough to realize my odds. But that don't mean I can't enjoy watching you all think you're ending your troubles when the real shit is gonna start as soon as people find out the COG was behind what happened to me."

"I don't know if you hit your head on the way in," Baird started. "But you don't exactly have people to avenge you. Your people are now the happy, smelly followers of that asshole up there." Baird gestured toward Ollivar who was standing next to Hoffman with his arms folded, looking mighty pleased as they approached. "They've moved on. In a few years no one will even remember you."

"Yeah, we'll see." Griffin had his head held high. Even with the swollen lip and bruises he looked way too cocky.

Marcus pushed him forward, causing him to stumble for a step. "Enough talking. Move."

Hoffman and Ollivar, followed closely by Gavriel, strode the last few yards to meet them. Gavriel looked uncomfortable, and he refused to make eye contact with Griffin. Instead he looked to Marcus.

"We've got a place set up. I told everyone to stay home, but I have a feeling some of them are going to follow." Gavriel's face was a mixture of disgust and pity.

"You can stay here, you know," Marcus said. He wasn't the type of guy to let anyone off easy, but it wasn't hard to see that Gavriel was still wrestling with handing over a death sentence.

Marcus' offer seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. He stood up a little straighter and steeled the set of his jaw. "Thanks, Sergeant. But if I can't be a part of it, then I shouldn't be administering it."

There was no arguing with that logic. Marcus gave him a nod before looking to Hoffman with that look that said he was ready to get on with it.

Before Hoffman could say anything, Ollivar leaned in closer to Griffin, meeting his eyes fiercely.

"Colonel Hoffman here agreed to loan me a rifle."

Griffin snorted. "Even the biggest assholes throw their dog a bone sometimes."

"Call it whatever you want. You're just pissed that after all that bullshit, one of us was smart enough to survive, and it wasn't you," Ollivar replied with a sneer.

"Yeah, until he's done using you. Then you'll be in the same boat I am," Griffin said with complete confidence.

Ollivar smiled and leaned back. "Just because you're too wound up in your hatred for the COG to realize a good opportunity when you see it doesn't mean I am. And to think, if you'd just taken a minute to try to work something out with me, this could have been avoided. I would say it could be a learning opportunity, but you won't really get a chance, will you?"

"Go to Hell," Griffin said, his smile finally fading into a bitter scowl.

"You first," Ollivar replied, taking over the arrogant smirk.

"Alright, come on." Hoffman said, tugging Ollivar's shoulder and shooting him a stern look. "The civvies are starting to get squirmy. Let's get this asshole out of here."

Gavriel was right. As they started the slow walk towards the gate, a scattered handful of civilians had fallen in behind them.

A large group of Gears, complete with the rest of Delta, was standing entrance to the town. Even Rossi had made the trip. Based on the expression on Alex's face as he leaned heavily on her shoulder, he should have been in bed. But for most of the Gears that had been stationed here it was the chance to watch the cause of all of their problems for the last few weeks be taken care of, and no one wanted to miss it. That seemed to apply to everyone.

Hoffman took the lead, with Ollivar and Gavriel falling in on either side of him. For a flashing moment it reminded Bernie of what she'd called the Triumvirate; Hoffman, Michaelson and Trescu. But Michaelson was dead, and Ollivar would never take his place; sailor or not. And Gavriel was no Trescu.

But the three of them together would form an odd working relationship. They'd have to. It'd be difficult, sure, but what wasn't these days? Bernie could only be grateful Prescott wasn't in the mix to keep it extra interesting. She felt terrible admitting that, even if it was only in her head, but it was true.

It wasn't long before Marcus trudged by, still pushing Griffin along ahead of him, with Baird and Cole to either side. Bernie caught herself smiling at the sight of the three of them. They'd only been apart a few weeks this time, a far cry from the eighteen months they'd spent apart before. It tugged at her heart, like a mother reunited whose sons had come back from the war but she knew they'd be leaving again.

Baird caught her smiling and gave her the classic Baird smirk back. He'd clearly misinterpreted her smile as shared triumph. But it wasn't the time to correct him, or let herself get distracted with irrelevant emotions. So she gave him the steel-jawed nod and fell in behind them. She'd save the senseless worry and dread for another time.

Everyone else fell into the procession gradually. It wasn't long before they'd made it to the dirt road where the old fence posts still stood. Hoffman gestured towards one of them and Marcus began the slow process of securing Griffin to it with the ever vigilant Baird and Cole hovering nearby. Baird put on a show of keeping his rifle readied, but Cole had clipped his to his back to keep his hands free. The idea of firing a rifle that close to Marcus didn't sit well with him.

Hoffman had cut the number of shooters off at eight, but with Ollivar's insistence it had become nine. Hoffman was one of them, of course. Baird and Marcus, too. They each had their own reasons for feeling obligated. Bernie committed too, but only for Cole's sake. She made him promise not to. The poor lad could only take so much more before even he lost that constant optimism and she just wouldn't let that happen. Alex and Sam refused to be made to sit another hard task out. Same with Jace. And the last man they didn't recognize at first, but the night before Bernie had pulled Marcus aside and told them there was a Gear whose brother had been killed when one of the boats sank who had asked Hoffman to allow him to participate as a personal favor to him and his family.

As Marcus finally finished with Griffin's hands he took a step back and gave him a last look that from anyone else would have been pity. But from Marcus it was only grim resignation.

He turned with Baird and Cole and walked back towards the rest of the waiting squad and Hoffman extended his arm, holding a dark, ragged pillowcase.

"Here," he said. "We still have some decency."

"You can keep that shit," Griffin called. "If you don't have the balls to look at me that's on you."

"Have it your way," Hoffman said, dropping the tattered cloth to the ground. He wasn't about to argue with a man who'd be dead in ten minutes anyhow. And who was he to tell someone how they should spend their last few minutes of life. If he wanted to stare them in the eyes until the last moment of brain activity, then so be it. Hoffman couldn't begrudge him that.

Everyone on the firing squad took up their positions and sighted up. The people standing by to spectate ran the full gambit of expressions from trepidation to almost amused. The typical core members of the squad hovered closer than the other Gears, and the few civilians were even further back. Gavriel was somewhere in between looking incredibly isolated, but something in his attitude had permanently shifted and his face was only showing determination.

Rossi was now leaning on Cole, trying desperately not to let the pain he was in show on his face. He stared hard at Griffin, clearly blaming him entirely for the shape he was in. If he were in any shape to hold his lancer he'd have been at the head of the line to volunteer to put a bullet in Griffin's head. Being sidelined for this only added to his agitation.

Hoffman's voice filled the silence that hung heavily in the warm afternoon air.

"Any last words, Griffin?" He wasn't sure why he even asked. He was certain he'd get some sarcastic response meant only to rile people up; a final attempt at an insignificant victory that would make him feel like he could still have some power over the small town he'd had his men terrorize. But something about the situation seemed to call for the question. It was just what he imagined someone in his place would have said.

Griffin's head had dropped briefly as the dehydration and hunger had once again weaved its way into the forefront of his mind. But the voice snapped him right back to reality, and he quickly recovered and managed to hide whatever was actually going through his head.

"Yeah," he said. "Fuck you."

Hoffman just nodded once. No response would be worth the effort it would take to say it, and it would only serve to make him look like a bully to antagonize a man tied to a post about to be riddled with bullet holes.

Hoffman glanced over his shoulder to Gavriel.

Stepping forward, closer to Hoffman and the others, Gavriel cleared his throat before raising his voice enough for Griffin, and the rest of the bystanders, to hear.

"Mr. Griffin, as a result of your actions and the crimes you've committed, you've been sentenced to death. On behalf of the Coalition of Ordered Governmnts, these soldiers will now carry that out."

His voice didn't waver once. Bernie was impressed.

It was Hoffman's turn now to speak. His eyes had that slightly glazed over look that he'd had in the clearing just before they'd executed the other men they'd caught. He was present and absent all at the same time.

"Alright, Gears. You've got your orders. On my count. Three…Two…" He paused for a moment and looked over to the brother of the dead Gear, seeming to get whatever last hint of affirmation that they were doing the right thing, before finishing the countdown.

"One…Fire."

The silence was thoroughly shattered as the bursts of gunfire echoed in the large valley. The typical firing squad execution was done with single shots from each officer, but then the typical firing squad wasn't comprised of people with so much built up anger towards the target. It seemed nearly every person with a rifle had fired at least five rounds in a line from top to bottom. The brother, whose name Bernie had only just remembered was Ryan, seemed to empty half of his magazine before he finally stopped.

As quickly as it ended the silence was back. The ringing would take a moment to fade from their ears, but for a moment time seemed to freeze. Then the scattered applause began. It started with just one man. Bernie turned immediately to see the face of the father of the young Gear and his dead brother. His eyes were glassy, but his face was hard as stone. His wife stood by his side, clutching a handkerchief with tears streaming down her cheek as she followed suit.

Soon it rippled like a wave through the civvies and the Gears leaving only the squad and the rest of Delta standing silent and unmoved. Anya could only see the side of Marcus' face, but his face flickered briefly with disgust before settling on exasperation. She knew he wouldn't be able to get the entire spectacle over with fast enough.

Hoffman turned to face the crowd, his satisfaction getting the better of him. But something about a crowd of people applauding a man's death still struck him as distasteful, even if every person there had earned the right to do it.

He raised his hands to quiet the crowd after a moment, letting them get their peace before he spoke.

"Alright folks, go back to the fort. It's over." He waited for the crowd to disperse, trying not to let anyone see how eager he was to wash his hands of the situation as well.

Eventually nearly everyone had left. Delta remained, of course, along with Hoffman and Bernie.

"Anyone bring a shovel?" Baird asked, desperate to break the uneasy silence. "Or are we leaving him here as a warning to any other assholes that want to pick a fight with the grumpiest old couple in the neighborhood?"

Bernie came up next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and for once he didn't even pretend to hate it.

"I was gonna knit a flag to warn them off, but you think this would work better?" She was trying just a little too hard to be funny, but Baird appreciated the gesture.

Hoffman gestured past the limp body. "We sent some men out yesterday. Hole's already dug. Shovels should still be there."

Baird slid out from under Bernie's arm before reaching out to tap Marcus' shoulder with the back of his hand. "Come on, Fenix. His ass is heavy."

As Marcus and Baird tugged the ropes loose and hauled the body over to the hole, Cole came up next to Bernie and sighed heavily. "Now what?"

She patted his arm lovingly, staring hard at the two men wrestling with the corpse. "Well, sweetheart, now we go home. We get some chow and be grateful that we've got each other because if it were up to that tosser they're throwing in that grave, we wouldn't."

"It's that easy, huh?" Cole asked quietly. He was staring at Baird and Marcus too, but his good nature was really taking a beating today.

"It isn't, Cole," Anya said quietly. It wasn't until then that Bernie realized she and Sam had come up to join them. "But it would have been for him, and that's the difference."

Cole took a deep breath before finally peeling his eyes away from Marcus and Baird as they shoveled the dirt over the grave. He offered Anya a half-hearted smile.

"I guess you're right, ma'am." He started to walk back towards town before turning back to face them.

"I'm not much in the mood for lunch. You mind if I stop by and see that little guy you brought back? I could use some cheering up."

Anya looked thoughtfully at Marcus for a moment. He'd no doubt want to go have a few drinks and she could catch up with him later. She always knew where to find him.

Forcing herself to smile a little brighter than she felt like, she looked back to Cole. Slipping her arm through his in the easy way a friend would, she pulled him along back towards town.

"Sure, Cole. I was heading that way anyhow." She looked back to Bernie one last time. "We'll meet you all in The Mess, okay?"

Bernie shot her a quick salute. "Yes ma'am."

Once Cole and Anya had all but disappeared from sight, Marcus and Baird had come back to join the rest of the squad.

"So who's up for a drink?" Baird asked, wiping the dirt on his hands off onto his pants. Realizing he'd gotten a lot more blood on him than he realized, he groaned.

"A celebratory drink, or a sorrow drowning drink?" Bernie asked.

"Why can't it be both?" he replied, doing a quick scan and realizing Cole was gone.

Bernie caught the question in his eyes before he'd had time to form it into a coherent thought.

"He went to the med bay with Anya. Off to see the baby. He figured it'd perk him up a bit."

Baird scoffed, turning his attention back to the blood stains on his pants and hands. "He's a sucker for the kids." It was just as well that he wasn't worrying about Cole waiting for him with a cold drink; he could use a hot shower and a change of clothes.

"It's that funny little thing called a heart, Blondie," Bernie said. But she didn't miss the shift in his attitude. "Go get yourself cleaned up. I'll save you a seat." She looked to Marcus, ensuring he understood she was talking to the both of them.

Marcus met her eyes with an ice cold, vacant stare. His mind was clearly elsewhere. Bernie assumed it was still on the events that had just transpired, but knowing Marcus it could be anything. She tilted her head in silent question, but he seemed to ignore it.

"First round's on me," he said, trying to divert her attention.

"Yeah, I'll just put it on your tab," she replied.

As they went through the gates of the fort, the rest of the squad split off towards The Mess as Marcus and Baird turned towards the old barracks where the fort showers were.

"Shit," Baird muttered.

"What?" Marcus kept his eyes fixed ahead as he asked.

"I don't think this shit's coming out." Baird was staring thoughtfully at the largest bloodstain on his pants leg.

"Maybe Hoffman can get you some new ones," Marcus said, still obviously distracted.

Baird picked his head back up, deciding to push his luck with Marcus.

"What the hell's got you so pissed off? Not that it takes much, but I mean, come on. We just got rid of the guy who was ready to start a whole new war. You can't tell me you have a problem with that."

Marcus slowed his pace for a half-second, and Baird decided he must have caught him off guard. It wouldn't matter though. He knew Marcus wasn't going to answer him. Just as they made their way through the doors into the old stone building Marcus finally responded.

"Are you coming back to Azura?"

Baird came to a complete stop and couldn't stop his jaw from falling open for a moment. Not only was Marcus not the type to ask personal questions, but he couldn't remember ever mentioning anything about it anywhere around him.

He groaned. "Lemme guess; a woman with a big mouth told another woman with a big mouth."

Marcus shrugged before settling back into his typical thoughtful frown. "That's not an answer."

"Are you gonna try to tell me where to go, too? 'Cause I gotta tell you, I'm pretty sure Byrne's persuasion would be stronger than yours."

"Just asking," Marcus said. "We could use you back there. The scientists and staff are all dead. Someone's gonna have to decode all that shit."

"And you think that's my job?" Baird asked skeptically.

"I think you're an asshole," he replied, completely matter-of-factly. "But you know what you're doing, and if anyone's gonna figure most of that shit out, it's you."

It was one of the only compliments he could ever remember Marcus giving him. Suddenly he was feeling like the world really was going to end.

He rubbed the back of his head, awkwardly trying to settle on an acceptable response. He knew Marcus would never be one to point out the socially acceptable behavior that he should be using, but he still felt obligated to provide him with some sort of gratitude.

"Thanks, Fenix," he mumbled.

Marcus nodded. "Just give me an answer soon. We can't stay here forever. Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?" That caught Baird's attention more than anything else.

"We can't live on that island forever. The Stranded haven't found it yet, but with the maelstrom gone and no grubs to slow them down it's only a matter of time. We need to get a presence back on the mainland."

Baird nearly dropped his jaw again. Are we really talking about the future, now?

"So why rebuild the resort?" Baird asked, still trying to wrap his head around the conversation.

"No sense in living in a shithole. Besides, someone will always be there, even if it's not Delta," Marcus said.

So Marcus intended on keeping the squad together. Baird wondered how long it would last. When they'd split up the population after leaving Vectes they kept saying it was only temporary. So was this just the completion of that dream? Trying to get everyone closer and closer together. Trying to recreate the security and closeness they'd initially had in Jacinto.

Baird saw how that story ended before. But he couldn't fault him for the idea.

When he really thought about it, and this thought scared the shit out of him; If it were up to him, they'd all be back together anyhow.

Now he just had to figure out how to help Marcus and the rest of them make that dream a reality.