King's Gambit

Appearances could be deceiving.

The farm certainly looked idyllic – a whitewashed two-storey house with a wraparound porch, a large barn painted a stereotypical red with white trim, cows grazing in the pasture, chickens scratching in the dirt of the yard, a horse watching placidly from the open top half of a divided door – but then, the rot he knew to be there was very much beneath the surface. The longer Roy spent staring at the entire scene, the more a chill sank into his spine.

Lowering the binoculars from his face, he dropped back to his seat in the back of the military transport. "This isn't going to be easy. Any place that big, with that many animals, is bound to have at least one dog. And if the dog doesn't send up the alarm that there's strangers on the property, half the livestock will." He looked around at the other grim faces on the rough bench seating. "It looks like our best options are either stealth or speed, but I'm open to suggestions."

"What if we sent Hayate on ahead?" Havoc said, indicating the dog sitting across from him with a lift of his chin. "Let him distract whatever guard dog is patrolling the place?"

Riza was already shaking her head. "Farm dogs are trained to be suspicious of any unknown creature coming onto their property, whether it's a fox, a wolf, or another dog. They would be far more likely to start a fight than start playing, especially if the farmer isn't there to show it's all right."

"With these trucks, stealth isn't likely to be on our side either," Breda said, knocking the knuckles of one hand against the supports that curved up and over the back of the truck. "Too big, and too loud. Either we go in on foot, or we go full speed ahead."

"And if we go in on foot, we sacrifice speed." Running a hand back through his hair, Roy frowned down at the floorboards, weighing the options. Neither were great, especially if their target was as volatile as they all suspected. But, in the grand scheme of things….

"We take the trucks," he said decisively. "If for no other reason than, by leaving them in the yard, they'll give us some good cover if things turn ugly." Reaching out, slapped the palm of his hand twice against the rear of the cab; a moment later, the engine rumbled to life.

"Should we spread out between the trucks, sir?" Falman asked. "That way, we have a wider range of cover should things, as you said, turn ugly."

"Good idea." He paused for a moment, evaluating. "All right. Falman, you and Breda head to the second truck, ride with the soldiers there. Fuery, take the radio and head to the third; I want you on the outside with a clear line in case we need to radio our backup. Havoc, you'll stay here; so will I. Hawkeye…." He glanced her way, and saw her eyes already beginning to narrow. "You'll go with Fuery."

For a moment, as the truck began its ponderous forward motion, the only sound was the thundering of the engine. Finally, Havoc spoke up, though hesitantly. "You, uh… you sure about that, Chief? Wouldn't you rather that Hawkeye and I switch?" When the only answer was a steady stare, he shrugged uneasily. "It's just… you know, she's second-in-command, so you two normally stick together, so I thought –"

"I understand your reasoning, but my decision is still the same," he said firmly. "And we are out of time to have this debate." He turned to the other four, trying to ignore the way Riza's eyes were boring into him. "You have your orders. Hop to it."

Wordlessly, they dropped one by one off the back of the truck and disappeared. Riza didn't so much as glance back at him, which he supposed was for the best. He had crossed a line with her here, but there was a reason behind his strategy, and he knew she would see it. She wouldn't like it – it was already clear that she didn't – but she understood.

"I… didn't mean to question your authority," Havoc said, after a moment. "You just kind of… caught me off-guard. Sorry about that."

"No harm done," he answered mildly. "You were paying attention, something struck you as odd, and you spoke up. I can't fault you for that."

"I guess so." The other man shifted, though whether it was anticipation or unease, Roy didn't know. "Something about it just felt… weird. And not just because Hawkeye's not your backup. Like I've heard you give that order before, and it didn't sit right that time either."

He had to think about that one for a moment. He had given the same order before? For him to divide himself and Riza like this was a once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence, given her distaste for not being able to keep an eye on him. And that distaste had only gotten stronger since – oh.

"It is déja vu," he said at last. "The last time I sent Hawkeye to guard someone else was the night we fought Lust." He grinned lopsidedly. "Given how that turned out, it's understandable you'd be leery about it."

Havoc's first reaction was to laugh, followed immediately by shifting to sit straighter with a faint grimace. "Oh… I think my spine just got sympathetic pain from remembering…." He reached behind himself to rub at his back, before adding, "You're sure Hawkeye will be okay with this, though?"

He nodded. "She'll be all right. Fuery needs guarding too, since he's burdened down with the radio equipment. He can't fight back as well if he comes under fire –" He lifted one hand, wiggling his gloved fingers. "– but I can. You're not here as my guard, either; you're here as extra firepower. Hawkeye understands that; she's not happy about it, but she knows the stance on protecting subordinates."

It was Havoc's turn to nod, this time in understanding. "'Protect your subordinates, they'll protect those under them,'" he said, paraphrasing Roy's own words from what felt like a lifetime ago. He leaned forward, looking through the small window in the rear of the truck cab to the rapidly approaching farm in the front windshield. "That's probably the best way to get through this."

"My thoughts exactly," Roy said, as the baying of a guard dog started up in the near distance.

By the time the trucks rolled to a stop in the middle of the barnyard, there was a man standing on the wraparound porch. One hand grasped the collar of a barking dog, but he stood silently, his eyes watchful under bushy greying brows. Wild, flyaway grey hair protruded from every side underneath a worn straw sunhat, mingling with the long, grizzled beard that fell to his chest.

His free hand grasped the stock of a well-maintained shotgun.

Standing up on the edge of the truck bed, holding onto the supports for balance, Roy faced the farmer. "Afternoon, Mr. Trebor. I take it you've been expecting us."

The man returned his stare, dead-eyed and menacing. "This is private property. Military can't come on my property unless I say so. And I don't say so."

Roy shrugged. "And ordinarily, you'd be right about that." Looking to his right, he gave Falman a nod. The other stepped forward from his place beside the truck he'd ridden in, crossing the scant twenty feet between the truck and the porch and setting a tri-folded sheaf of paper on the railing before retreating. "However, I believe that search warrant gives us license to search your property, so here we are."

Trebor made no move to pick up the paper; he barely even gave it a glance. "Search warrant, eh?"

From down on the third and final truck came the quiet sound of Riza pointedly clearing her throat. Roy glanced her way and found her eyes steady on the shotgun in Trebor's hand. Like him, she was balanced on the edge of the truck bed, her rifle held unobtrusively down beside her leg – not quite out of sight, but ready for use. A second later, her gaze flicked toward him, and he gave a minute nod; she immediately turned and said something inaudible to Fuery, who began murmuring into his headset. Trebor was armed, and while not actively resisting, could do so at any moment; it was best to be prepared.

"Can't think of what I've done to have the military come calling on a poor farmer just trying to make a livelihood for himself," Trebor said. "I pay my taxes, I keep to myself. Haven't done anything wrong, so far as I'm aware."

Something in Roy's stomach clenched at that, and he had to struggle to keep the anger off of his face. "Well, Mr. Trebor, when your daughter comes into a military police station and proceeds to tell them about the crates of illegal weaponry you've been helping to move to the Aerugonian border with the photos to prove it, I'd say we have cause to at least come out and take a look."

Trebor heaved a deep sigh. "That's the trouble with young people today. No appreciation for their elders' privacy, think they can rule the world if they tell stories to anyone who'll listen."

Roy caught the moment the other man's eyes turned hard, saw his hand give a small heft to the shotgun stock. Riza must have seen it too, because from down the line came the audible ratcheting click of her working the bolt-action on her rifle. It was an auditory cue to the others; there were immediately more clicks as the rest of his men, save Fuery, and the accompanying soldiers readied their weapons.

He was ready when Trebor dropped his dog's collar to take up the shotgun in both hands.

Stepping backward into space, he let himself drop feet-first, putting the truck between himself and the shotgun-wielding farmer, hearing the scramble of boots in dirt and gravel as the rest of the soldiers in the miniature convoy also took cover. His feet hit the ground a mere second before the first blast sent pellets pinging into the side of the truck Roy was now behind.

Roy took a cursory glance down the line for Riza, checking to see if she likewise taken cover… and paused, looking more thoroughly.

She was gone.

"Consider that a warning!" Trebor shouted from the porch. "Next soldier I see stick his head out, he gets a face full of buckshot!"

"Next shot you fire, I'll make sure the next one of ours takes you down," Roy fired back.

"The dog, Chief," Havoc hissed from beside him. He was crouched low, watching the front of the trucks through the undercarriage and tires. "Where's the dog?"

Sure enough, when Roy ducked to his level to check, the dog that Trebor had been holding back had vanished. "Either it ran off scared, or it's getting itself ready to come back here and start biting," he muttered darkly. "And if any of us react to that with shooting, Trebor's going to have grounds to launch a complaint against us."

"Think you can talk Trebor into standing down before that happens?" Havoc asked.

"We're stuck in a standoff. Only thing for it is to try…." Taking a deep breath, Roy raised his voice again. "Trebor, we already know you've been running weapons shipments. The photos your daughter took prove that. If you cooperate, we might be able to work out a deal for you."

"But not one that ends with me coming back here!" was the angry answer. "You'll still do everything you can to put me in jail, and with my age, there's no way I'm coming back out of a place like that in anything other than a body bag. You won't do that to me – either you and your men die on this land, or I do!"

"Could you take him out yourself if you were close enough?" Havoc whispered. "One snap, pinpoint hit, take out his trigger hand or something?"

"The way he's talking, I might have to. But I can't get that kind of accuracy from here; I need to actually be able to see him, and I like my face buckshot-free." Roy gritted his teeth. "But we're rapidly running out of options for a quick resolution." He glanced off down the line; still no sign of Riza, and he was even more loath to do this without her to watch his back, but as he had said… options were slim. "All right; I'll at least try to keep him talking. Cover me. And pass the word to Breda to find out where the hell Hawkeye disappeared to."

Raising his hands above the top of the truck bed – and praying he wouldn't be rewarded for the action with pellets in his palms – he called, "Hold your fire, Trebor, I'm coming into the open so we can talk through this like civilized people."

"Not with those gloves on, you're not! Take those off, then come out."

Mouthing a rather vehement curse, Roy had no choice but to comply. Hands still raised into view, he pulled off one glove and then the other, pitching them into the truck bed. "Keep a very good eye on him," he muttered to Havoc, edging out from behind cover. "If he so much as breathes wrong, put a bullet in his foot."

Havoc shifted nervously. "Will do, but… Chief, I'm good, wouldn't you rather hold off until Hawkeye can cover you? She can't be far."

"Exactly why I'm going out there." He was committed now; to step back into cover would be seen as cowardice, would weaken the already untenable position they were in. "She can't be far, so she'll know if there's trouble. It's a risk, but it's a calculated one."

He took his next step forward as Havoc muttered, "You must be a lot better at math than I am…."

He made it five feet in front of the truck before Trebor spoke. "Ah, ah, that's far enough, Colonel. You don't need to be any closer than that to talk." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Though I've already told you how this ends. What could you have to say? Try to change my mind? Beg for the lives of your men?"

"I'm curious, mostly," he said, as casually as he could manage. "Curious as to what makes a, by all accounts, previously law-abiding farmer turn to gun-running as a hobby." He looked around the farm, keeping his expression politely inquisitive to hide the tension constricting his chest. "Crops all seem to be growing well, livestock all look healthy and strong… why would you need to start supplying illegal weapons to the border conflict?" He paused, allowing time for Trebor to answer, but was met with silence. "What's the money for, Trebor?"

For another long moment, there was nothing but more silence… until a window on the second floor opened and a teenage girl leaned out. "Dad's got a gambling problem,'' she said, her voice clear in the still afternoon. "Normally, we could sell a couple cows off to cover the debts, but none of ours are old enough or big enough to cover the costs this time."

"You little –" Trebor stomped forward onto the porch steps and turned to glare up at the girl. "You mind your own business! Get back inside!" He turned back to Roy, re-aiming the shotgun. "And as for you… I'm done talking."

So. The gamble had failed. Roy felt something perilously close to panic clench the muscles of his stomach as he watched the double barrels centred on his chest. His only remaining bet was whether Trebor's trigger finger would reflexively tighten when Havoc inevitably shot him. Roy was far enough away that the buckshot pellets might not kill him, but he would definitely be in the hospital. With any luck, he wouldn't get hit in the face….

A sharp, two-tone whistle sounded from some distance behind him. Behind… and above? He saw Trebor's eyes track up and away, and – since he might still be shot anyway – turned to look himself.

Standing in the open exterior door of the barn's second-floor hayloft, Trebor's hound dog panting contentedly at her feet and her rifle raised and aimed, was Riza. Even at this distance, Roy could see the hard determination in those brown eyes, the set of her mouth that meant she was ready and more than willing to fire at the slightest provocation.

"So that's where she got to," he said out loud, mostly to himself.

Behind him, Trebor snorted dismissively. "A lady with a gun? How good a shot can she really be?" he said, just loud enough for Riza to hear.

Her response was immediate. An infinitesimal shift of aim, and a bullet went burrowing into the dirt a scant inch from Trebor's right foot. He jumped sideways, the shotgun barrels dipping toward the ground. Riza recovered her aim almost immediately, that same deadly intent in her eyes never wavering.

Slowly, Trebor lifted one hand from the shotgun, and raised both arms over his head.

—

He watched a pair of soldiers assisting a handcuffed Trebor to climb into the back of one of the trucks, the teenage daughter off to one side being questioned by Falman and Breda. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of blue as a figure stopped a pace to the side and back.

"Is there a reason you deserted the post I assigned you, Lieutenant?" he asked, not turning. "I sent you to guard Fuery, not take matters into your own hands, or to make friends with a farm dog."

"Yes, sir." Her voice was glacially calm, without a hint of remorse or concern. "I made the decision based on several factors. Given the type of weapon that Trebor had, it was evident he would need to reload after every second shot. I judged that, after firing on the truck, you would be the primary target, so I took up a new position that would allow me to guard Fuery as you had instructed, but that would let me watch your back as well."

There was a slight pause, and then she added, more quietly, "And if I may, sir… perhaps it's a good thing I did take that initiative, given how your gamble on getting him to talk worked out?"

"Perhaps it is." He glanced back over his shoulder with a smile. "Thanks. For watching my back."

Her return smile was smaller than his, but held no less meaning. "Of course, sir. I have a promise to keep."