(A/N) Hey guys, another fantastic update for you, from the incredible mind of OhSoDeadly, Florida's writer, and, I think you'll all agree, there isn't a better Florida writer out there. :) Also, if you include the prologue, this is our fiftieth chapter! Well, prologue's aside, it's our fiftieth update at least, which is pretty monumental. Forgive us for taking this moment to pat ourselves on our collective back, but we're smug bastards, and we've earned it.
Some big announcements will be made on Saturday, after the launch of RvB Season 11, which I assume you're all just as stoked for as I am. Keep on eye out on the Friday too, we have something special planned for all you readers out there, something big. Something...new.
Anyway, vague announcements aside, let's start this thing! Enjoy!
Chapter Forty-Nine – Guard Duty
Agent Florida
Written by OhSoDeadly
"I told you how to fight but I never told you why to fight."
"I fight for you."
"Yes, but who will you fight for when I'm gone? Soldiers fight for kings they've never even met. They fight when they're told to fight, they die when they're told to die."
"Soldiers obey."
– Achilles and Patroclus, Troy
For the thirtieth time in that hour alone, Florida checked his radio. UNSC E-band, true blue and clear as a bell. There was no interference from enemy jammers or solar flares, no scratchy static of any kind. No-one else was on this channel, except for when the other teams would periodically call in to make reports. And things were duller than ditchwater! Clear skies, no suspicious activity. Things were about as laid-back as they'd ever been, by gum!
Then why did he feel this niggling feeling of dread, creepin' up his spine like a cockroach up a shower drain? Heck, he'd started going to scratch his back to rid himself of the feeling, only for his gauntlet to clank against metal. Darned armour. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning in it. He wondered if for the next op, they could lose the armour, just for a little while. A bit of fresh air and Vitamin D on a mission could do 'em the world of good! A man can get a world of good from fresh air,pa had often boasted, but only if he's out in the world.
Then he considered the chances of a sniper bullet, or a landmine, or dozens of other nasties for that matter, and sighed. They'd have a better chance of gettin' sense out of Al in his sleep. Lately he'd been more chatty than ever, holding conversations with this Moi lady. A girl from back home? Maybe, but Al didn't seem the type to have a girl…his mother, then. That made much more sense. Speakin' of which, he missed his mother. He left himself a mental note to have some fresh flowers delivered to the family plot back on Mars. Flowers for Flowers…ha ha. Try as he might, he couldn't shake off the worried, pursed-lips he was currently sportin'.
Didn't help that he was worryin' about how the new kids were getting on with their sim mission. After California's outburst and the fight between him and Arkansas, he couldn't help but worry that someone was goin' to pull a Penn and wind up with a bullet or two in their chests.
And they mightn't just walk it off like he did.
He needed another distraction, so he made another routine check. "All teams, report in please." Technically they weren't supposed to report in all at the once except for regular hourly intervals, but he was itchin' for something to do. Plus, the others were just plain bored, so they'd probably welcome it as well.
"Front door is solid. Press and other guests starting to arrive. Most of them arriving in vans and buses. Nothing special." That was Carolina.
"Nothing special is right,"came the voice of York, "The average attractiveness of female reporters on Arcite has seriously taken a turn for the-ouch!" Sounded like Carolina had whomped him a good one. Florida chuckled a bit, and continued. "Roof team?"
A vicious grunt, like a big ol' grizzly bear that had just been disturbed from chowin' down on salmon. That had to be Penn. "Everything's fine up here. It was fine an hour ago, and it's still fine, and it's still gonna be fucking fine in another hour. Alright?"
"Don't mind him, he just doesn't appreciate a good view. Adding that to the already-monumental list of things he doesn't appreciate."
Alaska.
"I swear to God if you don't shut the fuck up I'm going to cram this rifle into your-"
Florida decided to mute them at this point-just for the time being, of course. He checked the final team, just wanderin' around the building on patrol. "Ladies?"
Massa's nasally voice came through. "We are just fine, Florida. Everybody's where they're supposed to be, and they all get out of our way nice and quick. This building must've cost a fortune. My tax dollars probably paid for that doorknob over there." In the background, he heard Virginia stifle a laugh. "How are the rooftop boys travelling?"
He unmuted them for a moment-
"-and then you'll be wishing I'd thrown you off the goddamned edge-"
"You know Penn and Al, always jousting," he remarked wryly. Massa laughed. "I think the Innies will be too scared of the noise to come round this place. Anyways, Massa and her sidekick out." A burp of static, then back to being quiet.
He sighed, dragging the noise out. Normally he wouldn't do that on account that it was disturbin' to some other folks, but a quick peep around would show anyone that he was totally alone in the cavernous room.
"Everything peachy, old chum?"
Except for Wyoming, that was! He was super glad the director had been nice enough to put the two of 'em together. Usually Wyoming riled other folks up, but he was quite alright around him. Florida turned to face him as the white-armoured agent made his way down one of the aisles between the audience seating. "Seems to be. All the other teams say there's nothing buggy goin' on outside." He went to one of the windows, stared out at the hustle'n'bustle of New Thrace, and sighed again, a plaintive noise that he couldn't help. 'Still…"
Wyoming came to stand alongside him, brow furrowed. He'd left his helmet lying on the stage podium. "I know what you mean, Florida. We've sent those Insurrectionists running with their tails 'twixt their legs, but they're a crafty bunch and no mistake. Did you see the city statistics for bombings per annum?"
Florida shook his head, his disquiet growing. He bet the number wouldn't be small. "A whole lot, I'm guessin'?"
"Too damned many. And that's only the tip of this iceberg. The Insurrectionists on this planet have been some of the worst, old chap. Part of me is hoping this speech falls on a load of deaf ears." He cracked his knuckles with satisfaction. "It'll mean a rather nice and speedy resolution to our little pickle here. And yours truly will be able to wet his feet properly, so to speak."
Now thatsounded none too good. "Open warfare?" he gasped. "Who in tarnation would order that on a whole planet? Think of all the innocents!"
More dead women and children,a voice in his head muttered venomously. And Wyoming would love nothing better than total anarchy. You can't deny it. He's as much told you.
He was glad of the helmet he was wearing, else Wyoming would've seen the distorted expression on his face. He quickly hid it, but already his heart race was increasing. His nightmares had been getting worse as well, ever since that first mission to rescue Carolina and co. He would have to go ask Killian for some pills. He couldn't continue like this. Not in a combat zone, and definitely not on the-
"I say, Florida, did you hear what I said?"
Once again, he reached in deep and plucked himself from his pool of worries and fears. Poetic, Butch."Sorry, pal," he muttered, "Come again?"
Wyoming planted his hands on his hips and shrugged. "I said, it would be unfortunate, but it's been a long time since this little war of ours was fair. By Jove, you've seen what the blighters can do. The sooner we can have free reign, the sooner we can focus on those aliens and carry the day for humanity, no?" He walked away to get his sniper rifle, propped up against the wall.
Florida felt something tug at him, made him follow his teammate. "It ain't as simple as all that," he argued, "You know how easy it is to lose control of things. If the UNSC went past imposing order all the way to firing on civilians, how easy would it be to lose all the things that make us what we are?"
Wyoming turned, and rolled his eyes. "Too much idealism, Florida. Even for you." Picking up his sniper rifle, he pulled the charging lever and donned his helmet. "I'm going to get to my position. Don't be thinking too hard about all this now, you might strain something." Uttering a light chuckle, he headed for a small black door concealed on the far side of the room. It would lead him to an upstairs room overlooking the conference room. Eyes in the sky, inside.
Still miffed about Wyoming's twisty view on things andthat nasty jibe, Florida took to pacing. Despite the immediacy of the conference and by that, their mission, he couldn't help but wrangle with the problem in his head, picking away at it like a woodpecker on a redwood. Was it right or fair for the UNSC to hit back hard, to drop ground-pounders into cities and other civilian areas to hunt down the Innies? He just couldn't see it ending well, necessary or no.
He caught himself just before he sighed, and instead settled for a grumble. This was all beyond him. Why, back on Arcadia, they'd had a few problems with the UNSC, but nothing like this. They'd settled it like decent folk, talking 'stead of shooting, and compromise ensured that everyone went home to their family in one piece. But I suppose Arcadia is a small town compared to this whole darned problem,he thought glumly.
He got back on the radio, this time to Wyoming. "Reg old buddy, are you in position?"
Suddenly a red laser dot alighted on his chest. He yelped and dived for cover behind a chair-
-Wyoming started laughing over the radio. "Relax, old chap, it's only me! The answer's yes, by the by." From a small window up high on the opposite wall, a white-armoured hand waved.
"Yeah, I got that," Florida muttered, standing up and dusting himself off. His sudden tumble had knocked one of the chairs from its spot, and he quickly moved it back into line with the others. Clear house, clear mind,dad had instructed. Wouldn't do to make a mess!
With a burst of static, Carolina's voice came through the radio, curt and…almost worried. Now the boss had a funny feeling? That was no good. "Heads up all teams, the general has arrived. I repeat, the general has arrived. Make ready."
As the teams checked in, Florida felt his heart-rate increase, and his temperature rise. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. Gosh darn it, why was he so nervous? Things couldn't be simpler! The general would come on up, make his speech, then leave. Lickety-split, easy as winking!
He didn't expect this to make him feel better, and it didn't. Letting himself have one last sigh, he went to take his place onstage, about ten paces away from the podium. About five metres. Not far at all, if something bad was to-
Enough.
"General is travelling…" came Massa's voice as he walked up onto the stage, turned and surveyed the room. A pair of ornate double doors at the back, alternative exit doors to his right and left, both leading to stairwells that were well protected with sensors and MPs. An array of chairs before him, about one hundred, one-fifty. And of course, somewhere behind him, Wyoming was on watch. There would be security scans at the door to detect if anyone was carrying so much as a potato peeler, and the general had brought a security detail. The place was sealed tighter than a jar of nuts at a squirrel convention!
He felt sweat drip down the back of his neck, and he forced himself to slow down his breathing. This is new. But it's not that new. We're here to protect the general. Protecting people ain't new. Right?
It might just be,the voice from down deep snarked. Protect? Like you protected your family, you mean?
He was about to rip off his helmet, he couldn't breathe-
-when the double doors opened. Immediately, he stood at attention, hands at his sides, facing forward. A model soldier. He was a model soldier. Alright.
A team of six men, all wearing black body armour and sunglasses, swept into the room. They fanned out, checking under chairs, running their scanning wands over the walls, memorising exits. Eventually one of them spoke into a COM device attached to his lapel. "The room is secure. Bring them in." Four of the men went to form a rough perimeter around the stage, whereas another two went up on stage to stand near the podium, just like him. They both shot him glares before settling their eyes forward.
Why couldn't people just get along anymore? Then again, he reflected, that's why they were here at all. Because people couldn't.
Another group of men walked into the room. Many of them were bearing rifles, some in hands, others slung over backs. They wore face-concealing helmets in the style of the ODSTs, but most likely they were just some marines who had been hand-picked for this assignment. In their midst, impossible to miss, was General Petrarch. He was old, even older than him, and it showed. Bags were under his eyes and his temples were stormy grey, but his eyes were wide open and alert. Good to see,Florida thought approvingly.
Petrarch walked straight as an arrow, up onto the stage. Giving curt nods to his security detail, he let his eyes linger on Florida for a moment before facing forward. It was hard to get a read on him at that moment, but one thing was clear: the general was none too sure about having a freelancer to guard his back, no sir.
Finally, the press started making their way in. Once they'd passed the security scans-leading to many rolled eyes, scoffs and angry mutters-the clean-cut civilians filed down the aisles, sat in their chairs and awaited the start of the press conference. Most of them were in teams, with one person ready to listen, and another setting up a camera-drone of some kind. A few were already drifting into the air.
Worried, he clicked the COM. "Are we sure those little guys are safe? What if they had weapons?"
"Not possible. They would've triggered the scanners on their way in."
"Hmm." He wasn't sure about that, but he fell silent.
As the general hubbub died down, Petrarch cleared his throat and spread his hands over the podium. "Members of the press, thank you for coming. This conference has been called in response to the atrocities committed by the United Revolutionary Front across multiple planets under the lawful rule of the UNSC, and what this means for all humanity in our war against the Covenant." Many of the press were using recorders, but a few scratched away on digi-pads, and camera-drones winked red as they filmed.
"General, sir!" A man wearing a suit and enough cologne that Florida could smell it through his suit's olfactory receptors jumped up, recording device held out in front of him. "How do you respond to reports that the URF has made official threats on your life?"
Florida winced. Nobody besides high-ranking military personnel (and the Freelancers, of course) was meant to know that. But Petrarch was a wily one. "I cannot confirm nor deny these reports," he stated tersely, "And they are immaterial to what I have to discuss."
Disappointed, the reporter sat back down. Seeing there were no more follow-up questions, the general continued. "As you all know, the UNSC stands as humanity's only defence against the alien onslaught. Millions have died already, with much of the Outer Colonies destroyed and the Inner Colonies under siege. However, there is no reason to despair. Our brave men and women fighting on the front lines and in space are doing what they do best: fighting the good fight, and fighting it well!" There was a smattering of light applause.
"But," the general said, expression turning dark, "There are those who, despite the threat that humanity faces, will stop at nothing to destabilise our efforts. These misguided people are fools. They claim to ideals of freedom, democracy and the right to their own path, yet in a moment they will turn away from debate and towards violence, bombings and terrorism. Such a thing helps no-one. Not them, not the UNSC, and certainly not humanity."
"Notice how he keeps saying humanity?" Alaska said dryly. "I think he's trying to send a message, but oh my, I can't make out what it is…"
"Stow the chatter, Alaska," Carolina growled. The mouthy young chap fell silent, but not before letting out a petulant snort. He clearly wasn't happy about this whole business.
And, as time went by, neither was Florida, truth be told. At first Petrarch had started off on quite a roll, very inspirin', but now he was just reciting a list of…what were they called? Those things that were meant to sound great and all but came off sounding like…well, if they'd been made of something, they'd be made of cardboard with glitter on them. Flashy to look at, but flimsy as all heck.
Platitudes! That was the word. Yes sir, as Florida stood stock still, resisting the urge to scratch an itch developing between armour plates in his neck region, he felt himself becoming bored. He knew the speech was important, all right, and that it needed to be said, but by gum, it was like a broken record! The righteousness of the UNSC, the brave efforts of their marines, the wickedness of the rebels…it just kept coming. But the press were entranced by the whole deal, listening intently and scribblin' away.
At least his nagging feeling of unease was starting to recede a bit. That was a silver lining.
"Doesn't look like you're having much fun in there, Florida," York's voice chuckled in his radio.
Without moving his head, Florida replied quietly (their helmets were soundproofed, but it didn't hurt to be sure). "Not the most excitin' thing I've ever heard, York old buddy. How can you see what's going on, anyhow?"
"Oh, we've got more security cams on that room than on a celebrity going to rehab.That's the one thing this place has heaps of, anyway. Carrying those drones is one of the reasons I'm not looking forward to a journalism career when I retire. Too much heavy lifting."
Florida laughed lowly. That was their York: a joke for every occasion. "They do pack a lot do they? Heck, I never knew a city had so many gosh-darned news networks and newspapers." There were more patches, banners and emblems than you could shake a stick at! "Arcite News Network, Redwing News Channel, New Thrace Daily, New Thrace Times, New Thrace International News…"
"Yep, they just keep-wait, what?" All the laughter was suddenly gone out of his voice. "What was that last one?"
"New Thrace International News? I've never heard of it either, but-"
"It's not that!" York sounded…urgent. Almost panicked. The bad feeling was coming back again. "Are you sure it isn't New Thrace News International?"
Florida, his hackles rising, used the 2x zoom in-built for his helmet, and read the logo on a camera floating above the crowd. "No, I'm sure as can be, that's New Thrace International News. Maybe they're just another news network?"
"We're not taking that chance Florida!"Carolina was on the line all of a sudden, and she sounded even more panicked than York. "Find the owner of that camera and arrest him! Tell the general to get out of there! We're on our way!"
"Right!" He contacted Wyoming and winked a red acknowledgment light. Red meant everything was about to go off the rails. Red meant trouble. Red meant potential disaster. Red meant-
Stow it!He moved forward, and went to tap the general on the shoulder. But before he could, one of the secret service types grabbed his arm, which would have been rather brave under other circumstances but right now was just a pain in the gut. "What do you think you're doing, merc?" the man whispered harshly.
"I'm not a merc, sonny Jim!" Florida whispered back, trying to keep it quiet. Even now, members of the press were starting to murmur, seeing the spectacle going on behind the general. "And you need to get the general outta here ASAP. Something bad's about to happen and-"
The young chap just rolled his eyes and snickered. 'Oh, sure, whatever you say. Just because you've got a funny feeling, merc, doesn't mean we're calling this conference off. In fact, I think you should leave right now." He grabbed his arm and tried to steer him away, but by this point, Butch had had enough of this hooligan.
Stiffening his arm, he yanked it out of the man's hold and drove an elbow into his stomach. As the security guard went down, gasping, he knocked him out cold with a swift rabbit punch to the forehead. He collapsed without a sound. His buddy gaped, and pulled a gun on Florida. "Hands in the air! Hands in the fucking air!"
The general turned around, fists clenched and red with rage. The press were gasping, asking questions, making an all-around hubbub. "What the hell is going on here?!" he roared. "Explain yourself, freelancer!"
For the first time, Florida didn't feel particularly proud or anything like it when the general used that word. But no time for that. "Sir, I've got intel that-"
And all of a sudden he was moving forward, pushing past the other security guard, past the general himself. Because he'd seen, among the mass of journalists and civilians, a figure moving with intent. One with ice-blue eyes and a stare full of hate. One that was fixed on the general. He was assembling something in his hands. It looked exactly what Florida expected it to look like. He'd had a microphone, but he had tossed it away.
Time slowed down then, as silly as it sounded. When he looked back, Florida was just glad his training took over, and not the fear. The general was the target. He'd found the assassin. No-one else had realised yet. It would take too long to draw his rifle, pull back the charging lever and cut the rebel down.
So that left-
He dived forward, just as the gun went off. It sounded like a thunderbolt in the confined space, and the screams started up almost right away. But Florida was having trouble hearing this. He was having trouble hearing anything over the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded ridiculously loud. Had someone turned up the volume on his bloodstream? He giggled at the thought. He couldn't stop giggling as warmth blossomed under his chest.
Trying to get up, he found he couldn't. Oh well. He could use a nap now-
Anotherdarned thunderbolt! This one even louder. It sounded familiar. He couldn't place it though. He didn't want to, anyway. It was all too loud, and his giggle turned into a grumble. Why did they all have to be so noisy? He saw a woman, mouth wide open but nothing coming out, scrambling back from him as quick as she could. What was the matter? Was there a spider on his helmet? Maybe it was glowing. Ha ha.
A shadow fell over him, and he struggled to look up, but a white-armoured hand kept him from doing it, and a voice murmured to stay still. Then it yelled. "Medic! Florida's been hit!"
Oh. So that's what had happened.
