4/24/22
Hey everyone. Again, I'm sorry about the chapters taking longer and longer to get published. I understand that I've already been on hiatus multiple times on the story and I do have to admit something; I sort-of/kind-of figured out why I struggle to push beyond the 1st arc of the stories I write.
Simply put, I don't like conflict. I don't like suffering. Yet such things are the elements of the 2nd arc, and must be present in order for the story to exist. Otherwise, it'd be boring. And... I hate that.
I want the characters to be happy simply because I'm miserable, and making characters that are good people with good lives makes me happy as well because I too want to be happy, but that's not how things work. It sucks, but that's just how it is!
Anyways, I wasn't expecting this chapter to go through development hell, but here it is! Please enjoy until I can bring myself toward chapter twelve.
Chapter 11 – Little Doll
Safehouse Windmill, 06:00 AM.
Around the table, staring out the windows, Tyv and Coffin waited impatiently.
The air was thick with a fog and an unwelcome anticipation.
The shop-cabin door opened with a jingle…
. . .
Tristan entered, dragging something behind him as Coffin got up and started helping him unload.
Tyv looked over from her spot at the table, still tapping at the static-emitting intercom. It seemed that Tristian had hauled in more backpacks.
Coffin helped lower them onto the smooth cabin floor. She was about to inquire something as she lowered them from Tristan's shoulders, but then decided against it.
Tyv analyzed Tristan's expression: A forlorn, solemn look. It was familiar to her, but she couldn't pinpoint it.
"So, Tristan… Are you okay?" Tyv tried to lighten the atmosphere a little.
"Something's eating at him."
Tristan didn't reply, almost zoning-out before realizing Coffin was trying to help him unload.
Tyv turned her attention to the bags Tristan brought in from yesterday: His clothes, some books, that weird computing device he calls a "laptop", those pen & paper games he brought along with other books; Even if each individual bag was to be lighter than a feather, that mass had to still be cumbersome to haul all the way down here from his place at the top of the hill, yet when he arrived with all that junk weighing him down, Tristan had the biggest, goofiest smile on his now-healed face.
Even when Tyv and Coffin discussed the situation behind his back, Tristan's attitude was just so light and warm – nothing she would've expected from a stereotypical Columbian mercenary – much less, a supposedly retired child-soldier.
"… That situation of having nowhere to go but forward, powerless to change course… because there's no other path to go…"
Tyv gave them breathing space, remembering where she recognized the expression.
"Before I met Jared and the Backwoods Bandits…"
Tyv bit her cheek, trying to hide her expression.
Tristan took one of the packs and started heading toward the basement.
"Tristan."
"Yeah?" He paused before continuing down the stairs.
Pause.
"Never mind." Tyv shook her head.
The moment Tristan was out of sight, Tyv turned to Coffin.
"What's eating him?"
Coffin sighed.
"Guns."
Tyv blinked.
"What about them?"
"That's what's in the bags he brought in. Oh, and a gas mask with some extra filters while he was at it."
Pause.
"Oh." Tyv shrunk into her seat.
Pause.
"… So, why did you call me mistress last night?" Coffin took a seat next to Tyv.
The radio static was quiet, but noticeable – saturating the room with a white noise.
"… Honest mistake, Miss Coffin."
"Okay, what's with the Miss business?"
"You're my boss now. I just always-"
"SHUT UP!" A booming voice echoed from the basement throughout the cabin.
Tyv froze.
"Tristan" Coffin got up and started walking toward the stairs.
"Are you ok?"
"I just have a lot on my mind. Sorry about that!"
Coffin proceeded down the stairs.
Tyv froze. The hairs from her neck down to her tail stood end-to-end.
"For a moment… That voice; if only for a moment…"
She knew that tone better than anyone.
"… Jared."
Coffin sat in silence.
"He sounded exactly like Jared."
. . .
Moments earlier…
Tristan sat down at the base of the basement stairs, propping his backpack against the bottom step.
"… What am I going to do?"
He checked the contents of the pack – all accounted for; 300 total rounds of 5.56 ammunition, four boxes of 10-round 30.06 ammunition for the rifle. This was all including his magazines and clips - empty.
"I need to reload those too."
Tristan took a deep breath.
"So… A misunderstanding! THIS is how you start killing people, is it?"
"Shut up."
"Coffin thinks you're a self-reformed child merc-"
"Shut up!"
"This Rhodes Island company would love people like-"
"Get out of my head!"
"-you; to kill on their behalf, no doubt! You lose your innocence, so they can keep their 'doctor' hands clean!"
"I'll explain!"
"EXPLAIN WHAT?! YOU are the one with weapons! YOU have ammunition FOR those weapons! YOU have books on warfare and tactics, that, no doubt, if this world has access to guns, then aforementioned tactics would prove RELLEVANT! THIS IS YOUR LIFE NOW!"
"SHUT UP!" Tristan rose from his seat, kicking one of his packs.
He clasped his hands over his mouth.
"… Oh [profanity]! I just said that out loud!"
"Tristan, are you ok?" It was Coffin's voice.
"I-" Tristan raised, improvising his response.
"-Just have a lot on my mind. Sorry about that!"
Silence.
Tristan sat back down.
"… I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to kill anyone…"
"Think of it as just playing a video g-"
"THIS IS NOT A VIDEOGAME! IF I DIE, THAT'S IT! IF I KILL SOMEONE, THAT'S IT! NO GOING BACK, UNDERSTAND?! That blood will be on my hands, NO GOING BACK!"
"…So, Ironman mode, then?"
"JUST SHUT UP!"
Without thinking, Tristan punched one of the walls, then reeled back in pain, surprised.
His knuckles were bleeding.
"… This isn't a videogame.
"Coffin, Tyv, those people on the radio, the people on those trucks… This can't be real… I can't accept that this is real…"
Once again, Tristan felt himself slip into a deep, inescapable abyss.
"… I'm not a murderer… I'm not a killer… I'm not even a soldier. I'm just-"
He felt arms wrap around his shoulders, followed by a soft kiss on his cheek.
"How much?"
Once again, Coffin pulled him out from that evil abyss, just like when they first met.
"Too much." Tristan took a deep breath.
"Coffin… I-"
"Hush." She took to dressing Tristan's injured hand.
"Feel better?"
"… Yeah." Tristan held her arms around his shoulders.
*Beep, beep, beep*
"I got it!" Tyv answered the upstairs radio.
Coffin and Tristan continued sharing their moment.
"Coffin."
"Yea?"
"About Rhodes Island…"
Coffin listened closely.
"Do you think I'd look good in that uniform?" Tristan looked at her and smiled.
Coffin yielded a courtesy laugh.
"You'll be fine, Tristan. No bloodshed. Just you and your music."
"… Aye. I want that."
Tyv leaned over from her spot.
"Guys! Situation update! New briefing in T minus sixty seconds!"
Coffin groaned, reluctantly releasing Tristan from her grasp, returning up the stairs. Tristan got up and laid the large packs on the floor.
He turned and saw the mural on the side of the basement:
"May I enjoy my life and practice my art, Respected by all men and in all times…"
"Tristan, are you coming?" Coffin called.
"I'll be there in a moment."
. . .
"Now that we're all here, here's what's up!"
Occphen stood before the monitor screen, delivering his briefing.
"Good news is that we've confirmed the convoy as nonhostile. They're mostly civvies and casualties. Minimal combat personnel. They're not here for a fight. They're on their way to your location."
"And the bad news?" Coffin and Tyv nodded.
Occphen took a deep breath.
"One of the passenger trucks got hit. Suicide drone. The Combat agents of the primary team are staying with the downed truck as the VTOL carries some evacuees back to your location. Once it arrives, assist unloading them and applying immediate medical attention. Once they're unloaded, Tristan is to IMMEDIATELY board the VTOL and link-up with the combat agents and secure the area so we can get more medical supplies funneled into the area. An emergency field hospital is present, but the area is unsecure! Tyv, Coffin, you need to stay and deliver aid for when the other two trucks arrive. Many casualties. Time is short."
Coffin nodded.
"Is Tristan being deployed into combat?"
Pause.
"The area is not secure! The team needs Tristan's ranged expertise to completely secure the area and protect the field hospital. Coffin, there are casualties in the area. We- no. Those people NEED him!"
"I'll do it." Tristan put a hand on Coffin's shoulder.
"My kit can be a semi-auto rifleman, or a sharp-shooter. Which one do you need?"
Occphen nodded his head, sighing in relief.
"Rifleman. Those civilians need protection. Firepower takes priority over accuracy. The killing will be left to the other agents, should it come to it!"
Coffin breathed in relief.
Tristan observed the images and feed on the monitor.
"Who would attack retreating civilians? What evil people could do such a thing?"
"That is classified."
"The [profanity] it is!" Coffin snapped.
"You're sending Tristan into an active combat zone! He deserves to know!"
Pause. Occphen found his words.
"The situation is complicated and convoluted. Kal'tsit and staff are on damage control; there are teams on standby to isolate the incident. There are contingencies ON TOP of contingencies – most of it classified! I literally can't tell you because I literally don't know what's going on!"
"That doesn't make it better! Patch me through to Passenger! He's part of the advance team, right?"
"Coffin, I'm just the fill-in guy. I don't have authorization to link you to anybody! Even if I did, I don't know how to reach them. I'm just the stand-in!"
"Just a rundown, Occphen!" Tristan butted in.
"Give me the sitrep of our Opposing force – the, uh… "OP-4", for future designation! If you can't tell me who, then tell me what."
Occphen nodded.
"Thank you, Tristan! Your enemy is a Light infantry kit, possible fireteam with mixed combined infantry arms. Some units have body armor, others have ranged capabilities. That's why the team needs your help."
Tristan nodded.
"What about the drones? One of them took out a vehicle, you mentioned? Also, is "ranged" an abnormal thing here? I'm used to being engaged at a distance."
Tristan bluffed, but it was all he could do at the moment.
"Yes, but the enemy withdrew it's UAVs after taking out the truck. We're suspecting a possible raid, but we need you to establish an overwatch to fix and suppress. Leave the-…"
Occphen paused.
"Fixing and finishing - " He found his footing again.
"- to your teammates."
Tristan bit his cheek, nodding before sighing.
"Solid copy, Occphen. When's the VTOL arriving?"
"T minus twelve minutes. The people on it are heavily injured, with two combat casualties."
Tyv's ears perked. "Who? Who are they?"
"Well, one is an older lady – some sort of retired knight from Victoria-"
"Iron Maggie?!" Tyv blurted before clasping her hands over her mouth.
Occphen shrugged.
"I don't know her name. Just-…" He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Look! Does everyone have their orders? Any questions?" He finished.
"Let me recap!" Tristan nodded, relieving Occphen.
"In less than ten minutes, the VTOL's gonna arrive. We unload the passengers, then I ride into the AO on it and help set up a defensive perimeter with Alpha team. Neko-girl and Coffin are going to give medical aid, and something about the other two trucks pulling in, but I'm not going to be here for that! Did I get that all right?" Tristan concluded.
"Yea! That works! Any questions?" Occphen threw his hands in the air.
"None. I'll get ready for the VTOL!" Tristan left for the basement to get dressed.
"Well… over and out then, I guess?" Occphen truly had no idea how to close a briefing.
"Dismissed! The word is dismissed." Coffin corrected.
"Yea! That! Dismissed." Occphen properly concluded the briefing.
. . .
His M81 woodland BDU and pants still needed to be washed. Settling for a navy blue BDU and tiger stripe pants, Tristan dawned his olive-green plate carrier, slapping the type IV plates held as his dark-olive, plastic-knuckle gloves took the abuse.
With his civilian-grade semi-auto AR slung into a frontal carry and his 1911 at his thigh, he double-checked the mags and clips in his carrier.
Standing outside the front door of the cabin, he could hear the VTOL long before seeing it. He was only able to get two out of three 5.56 magazines loaded. The .45 clips were still loaded from yesterday, but the rest still had nonetheless to wait.
"You ready?" Coffin came up and adjusted Tristan's baseball cap.
"I replaced some of my kit with extra medical supplies. Still getting used to my radio's latest upgrade." He pointed to the headset strapped to his left ear. The details laid underneath the cap. Tristan grabbed the radio bound to the right strap of his plate carrier.
"Radio check. How do I sound, Tyv? Over." A gentle *click* could be heard from inside the cabin.
"You're good!" She reported back, revealing a thumbs-up from the window. The earpiece and radio were both working perfectly.
"That doesn't answer my question." Coffin crossed her arms; stern yet concerned.
"Are you ready?" Coffin asked again.
Tristan paused before answering.
"No. Not really. No." He was truthful.
Awkward pause.
"Hey, I want you to have this." Coffin took what at first looked like an oversized dark green scarf and dressed it around Tristan's neck.
"It's called a Shemagh scarf. I had a friend from Sargon tell me that it keeps the sand out of your face and lungs whenever it's kicked up by wind or helicopters." Coffin finished dressing it around Tristan's neck.
"Aw, thank you!" Tristian smiled.
"Who is he? I'd love to meet him!" He asked.
"He was a good friend. This scarf is it." Coffin replied.
It was the only evidence she had that he existed.
Silence prevailed for another moment before Tristian got the message.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know." He frowned, getting the basic memo, but nothing beyond that.
"It's not your fault." Coffin comforted him, finishing up the knot.
The VTOL was getting louder.
"Oh! And take this and down it with this!" She handed him a pair of… vitamins? And a cup of what Tristan assumed to be water.
"Performance vitamins for your brain! Operators take this stuff all the time – filled with good stuff you can't always get from a diet of pancakes." Coffin remembered her Columbian-dialect Victorian as best as she could.
At first, Tristan wanted to argue "winners don't do drugs" but by the time Coffin told him, he had already downed the pills and drink.
"Vitamins aren't exactly drugs, so I'd look kind of stupid saying that!" Tristan played the card of reason in his head.
The VTOL was approaching, getting louder.
"Also, you forgot your safety glasses!" Coffin spoke louder, taking the protection eyewear and slipping it onto Tristan's face.
"Wait, I forgot my employment papers! Don't I need to give those to the pilot?"
"Don't worry – I'll hand them over to you when we get these people unloaded! You got the medicae for them, Tyv?"
"Right here!" Tyv stepped out the front door, joining her team.
"Everything's ready. Let's do this!"
The three of them waited in the parking lot, watching the VTOL descend.
The doors opened, revealing an elderly woman clad in a knight's armor with lion-like regalia.
"Maggie!" Tyv recognized her immediately.
The Vtol landed and the trio helped her out.
"Maggie! What happened?!"
The Lady knight motioned for the passengers to exit, assisting Coffin and Tristan.
No response.
Coffin and Tyv continued helping people out.
"Maggie, I saw lights from the city! Jared, Timber, Zipper, Bawls! Where are they? What happened?!" Tyv took her to the side.
"Zipps-…" Iron Maggie froze.
"Maggie?"
"Little Zipps..." Something was in her voice. She turned to Tyv.
Maggie's expression left Tyv speechless.
"To the Cabin! Medical supplies are waiting!" Coffin and Tristan were assisting as best they could.
"Daddy!" An injured girl dropped her crutches and lunged for Tristan with a stuffed doll in her hands.
"Find my daddy!" the child pushed the doll into Tristan's shoulder, bawling her eyes out.
"Wait! Wait! What happened?!" Tristan led her to the cabin, settling the girl down.
She looked bruised everywhere. She had cuts all around her arms, something was wrong with her legs, and she had a bandage around her throat with something poking out. Another passenger showed up and gave the crutches back to the poor girl.
The noise of everything was almost drowning. Tristan could barely hear her cries.
"He looks like dolly! Please find my daddy!" That was all Tristan could hear.
He took the girl's hand into his own.
"Wait! Where is he? Where's the last time you seen him?"
The crying girl shoved the doll into Tristan's chest.
"He looks like dolly! Take dolly! Find daddy!" The girl wept.
Tristan gently took the doll from her cold hands and nodded.
"I'll come back with your daddy! I promise! I swear! Where is he?"
"He-…" She choked out.
"He stayed behind! He's hurt! Daddy is hurt!" The little girl gagged out from her tears.
"Don't worry! I'll save him!" Tristan took the doll and put in his pouch – the one he complained about making him look like a hick from before.
"Please, save my daddy!" The girl cried again.
Her words hit Tristan in the stomach. After securing the doll, he ran back to the VTOL.
"Coffin! How's-"
The moment he asked, one of the passengers struggled to exit – a young kid, younger than Tristan. Bear-ears poked from the discolored bandage on his head. He was clutching onto his shoulder when Tristan reached forward to offer him his hand.
The kid looked at him, then motioned at his shoulder again, revealing a bloody stump.
There was no arm to take Tristan up on his offer. He froze, paralyzed by the sight.
"Tristan! Snap out of it!" Coffin helped the Ursine kid down and got to dressing his wounds.
"This-…" Tristan blinked as he looked at the casualties: Kids with burns and permanent injuries, injured fathers and mothers comforting their kids as they yelped in pain and panic. Some simply arrived alone and depressed. There wasn't a single arrival that wasn't injured.
"Balkans… Rhodesia… Armenia… Where the *[profanity]* even am I?"
The VTOL was successfully evacuated.
He turned and saw the weeping girl from earlier. Tyv was still trying to get answers from that knight lady, and Coffin was-
"Tristan! Papers!" Coffin handed over the employment papers and some extra medical supplies.
"For when you secure the area! I don't know if the field hospital there has enough!"
"Got it!" He nodded, boarding the VTOL.
He looked back at the bandages around the girl's throat. Something was poking out of it – black, sharp.
It looked like Coffin's-
"Come back safely!" She shouted, snapping Tristan out of his train of thought once again.
"I will!" Tristan shouted back.
The doors closed. The VTOL took off. Tristan went up to the cockpit.
"Hey! Am I supposed to hand these to you?" He offered the pilot the papers.
"Yeah. I'll get these forwarded to HQ proper. Take a seat, new guy."
Tristan nodded. Once he took his seat, he cut a strip of paracord from the spool in his fanny and tied the doll to one of the straps of his carrier.
"Will arrive at the AO in T minus four minutes!" The pilot yelled.
"Solid copy! What's the team frequency for comms?"
The pilot handed him a slip of paper.
"Program this into your radio! Safehouse Windmill will be briefed with new intel and establish communications shortly."
Tristan took a seat and got back to loading his mags for the time being.
The image from the LZ appeared in his head again. He slipped another 5.56 round into the mag.
Oof.
Ok, so this was supposed to be a wholesome chapter to give me a break, but as you have read, that obviously didn't happen.
EDIT:
Thank you all very much for the encouragement and support to take another break. This fiction is taking way too long to get out the door, but I need it. I need to take another extremely long hiatus.
I'm not abandoning this. I've just been fighting my own war against my writer's block, and I've been loosing.
For me, it takes tooth and nail just to get at least 500 words on screen over several weeks, and with needing to re-write on top of it because it just so-happened to rain eggshells, it's just too high a risk of burning out again.
I kinda wish I saved this chapter for the one-year anniversary coming up, but hopefully by then the writer's block will give me a narrow chance to have something ready!
After that, it's going to be another long hiatus.
Again, thank you.