His stomach pressed flush up against my back. Heat soared between the thin
material separating us. Every pore of my skin fluttered against the
contact, ingrainging an awareness of our closeness indelibly into my brain.
My ears strained to catch the sound of footsteps. Don't mess this up damnit, don't get caught. Breathe slower, ignore his existence, they might hear me breathing fi I'm too loud. Like the rattling inspiration of a ghost, I hear a creak below. Why the hell do I always screw up the simple things? }{}{}{}{}{{}{}}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{{}{{}{
"Twelve guards placed at strategic positions around the barricade, eight at regular intervals and four at the main gate. All guards stand two hour watches with overlapping rotations." CeCe keeps her eyes on the table as she speaks.
Somehow the eyes which once seemed so alive to me have become empty and forbidding, they cast a visible pall over the room.
"Crews are cleaning up apartments as we speak. So long as the trickle of refugees continues to slow, we should have sufficient livable housing by the end of the week."
Dix leans forward, "what we really need are supplies. Our consumable won't last more than a week at this rate, and out medical supplies are practically non-existant."
An expression which might be joy lights my face. I had planned the heist myself with the help of my watchdog. Absorbing myself in a task so well suited to my abilities had been a catharsis.
"As you can see from these blueprints the Narberth Food's warehouse is the ideal candidate for a hit. Originally, the building was situated next to a stream, so that a water-source was readily available for the canning of foods.
Long subterranean ducts connected the stream to various partso f the polant. Since the streambed became to contaminated to use, around sixty years ago, the plant was connected to the cities watermain system and new pipes were installed.
Because a large section of the pipe is submerged, they simply put grates on the ends of the pipes. As it would take even a professional swimmer about three minutes to reach the dry section of pipe, the company is unconcerned with a breach from that direction.
Bad for them, good for us. Now the crates of goods are shipped in watertight cases. A team of ten will handle the "appropriation of supplies from the plant.
Myself and 494 will circumvent factory security using Logan's very reluctantly given intel, and snatch the crates.
Biggs and Kara will be treading water on the other end of the ducts, waiting for us to hook the crates to a tether and float them out.
CeCe and Radly will be waiting in the getaway vehicle, a lovely semi also thoughtfully provided by Narberth Food's, to load the food.
Andy, Frost, Sela, and Kate will be guarding the perimeter. In the meantime, Dix, Mole, and Josh will monitor communications via these nifty two-way ear-pieces.
We leave tonight at 1900 hours. Everybody grab their gear and rest-up. Got it?" Somehow, saying dismissed just seems too tritely military.
Four Hours Later.
"Blue One to Gold One, we have to guards heading towards your position. Over."
"Copy that. We're deploying in two minutes Kate. Over and out."
Chill breeze tingles over my exposed face and ruffles my hair. The air instills a quality of vibrancy which I have been missing since the hostage crisis.
Now I am in my element. Casually, I dip a toe in the tepid, scummy waters. Did I say that I was in my element? Apparently there's far too much feline in me for me to enjoy a lukewarm swim.
A peek at my companion, in a skintight, black wetsuit, does something to restore the warmth to my blood.
"You remember the camera sequences and guard rotations to the facility right?"
A cool, unflappable "Yes Ma'am," is all that I get in return. I wish desperately that I had someone with whom I could trade snide remarks. Someone to calm my nerves. I busied myself double-checking my safety rigging and earpiece.
"Hey Big-Fella, you read me?"
"Official channel oh fearless leader, no small-talk on the job." I huff back at Mole and turn back to my partner. My breath catches messily in my throat. With his head tilted downward and his hair hanging over his brow, I could mistake him for Alec.
He looks up, and his eyes shatter the illusion. I have to hold myself in, keep the boy and the soldier separated. When this is over I'll allow myself to mourn what I lost.
Closing off my feeling like a leaky tap, I straighten up. I can be a soldier when I have to, all of us can.
"Let's go 494." He slides noiselessly into the water behind me. The waters slide sleekly over my wetsuit, and both of us make it to the dry piping before my lungful of oxygen goes stale.
Static scratches my ear as I flip the switch. "We're in." We creep along like twin shadows, so lithe as to be nearly incorporeal.
The boundless crates of food might have been the gold of Persia, so beautiful was the sight of the stuff that would save us. I see the first security camera, focused on an area about a meter ahead.
"Guards only tour the facility every hour, we have 48 minutes of safety. There's only one tv-screen in the guard tower."
Please say how awful you feel for the television-less guards, please be yourself.
"It switches between cameras every 45 seconds. Five cameras, three minutes of safety, 45 second breaks. You'll go down halfway to the waterline and I'll carry the crates to you."
It doesn't seem fair to give him the more dangerous and therefore more exciting assignment; but I don't trust myself to keep track of the time as well as he can, and our survival depends on this mission.
Twenty crates later I was getting bored. It was almost with a sense of relief that I heard a blaring alarm sound. Why, oh why do I always screw up the simple things?
My ears strained to catch the sound of footsteps. Don't mess this up damnit, don't get caught. Breathe slower, ignore his existence, they might hear me breathing fi I'm too loud. Like the rattling inspiration of a ghost, I hear a creak below. Why the hell do I always screw up the simple things? }{}{}{}{}{{}{}}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{{}{{}{
"Twelve guards placed at strategic positions around the barricade, eight at regular intervals and four at the main gate. All guards stand two hour watches with overlapping rotations." CeCe keeps her eyes on the table as she speaks.
Somehow the eyes which once seemed so alive to me have become empty and forbidding, they cast a visible pall over the room.
"Crews are cleaning up apartments as we speak. So long as the trickle of refugees continues to slow, we should have sufficient livable housing by the end of the week."
Dix leans forward, "what we really need are supplies. Our consumable won't last more than a week at this rate, and out medical supplies are practically non-existant."
An expression which might be joy lights my face. I had planned the heist myself with the help of my watchdog. Absorbing myself in a task so well suited to my abilities had been a catharsis.
"As you can see from these blueprints the Narberth Food's warehouse is the ideal candidate for a hit. Originally, the building was situated next to a stream, so that a water-source was readily available for the canning of foods.
Long subterranean ducts connected the stream to various partso f the polant. Since the streambed became to contaminated to use, around sixty years ago, the plant was connected to the cities watermain system and new pipes were installed.
Because a large section of the pipe is submerged, they simply put grates on the ends of the pipes. As it would take even a professional swimmer about three minutes to reach the dry section of pipe, the company is unconcerned with a breach from that direction.
Bad for them, good for us. Now the crates of goods are shipped in watertight cases. A team of ten will handle the "appropriation of supplies from the plant.
Myself and 494 will circumvent factory security using Logan's very reluctantly given intel, and snatch the crates.
Biggs and Kara will be treading water on the other end of the ducts, waiting for us to hook the crates to a tether and float them out.
CeCe and Radly will be waiting in the getaway vehicle, a lovely semi also thoughtfully provided by Narberth Food's, to load the food.
Andy, Frost, Sela, and Kate will be guarding the perimeter. In the meantime, Dix, Mole, and Josh will monitor communications via these nifty two-way ear-pieces.
We leave tonight at 1900 hours. Everybody grab their gear and rest-up. Got it?" Somehow, saying dismissed just seems too tritely military.
Four Hours Later.
"Blue One to Gold One, we have to guards heading towards your position. Over."
"Copy that. We're deploying in two minutes Kate. Over and out."
Chill breeze tingles over my exposed face and ruffles my hair. The air instills a quality of vibrancy which I have been missing since the hostage crisis.
Now I am in my element. Casually, I dip a toe in the tepid, scummy waters. Did I say that I was in my element? Apparently there's far too much feline in me for me to enjoy a lukewarm swim.
A peek at my companion, in a skintight, black wetsuit, does something to restore the warmth to my blood.
"You remember the camera sequences and guard rotations to the facility right?"
A cool, unflappable "Yes Ma'am," is all that I get in return. I wish desperately that I had someone with whom I could trade snide remarks. Someone to calm my nerves. I busied myself double-checking my safety rigging and earpiece.
"Hey Big-Fella, you read me?"
"Official channel oh fearless leader, no small-talk on the job." I huff back at Mole and turn back to my partner. My breath catches messily in my throat. With his head tilted downward and his hair hanging over his brow, I could mistake him for Alec.
He looks up, and his eyes shatter the illusion. I have to hold myself in, keep the boy and the soldier separated. When this is over I'll allow myself to mourn what I lost.
Closing off my feeling like a leaky tap, I straighten up. I can be a soldier when I have to, all of us can.
"Let's go 494." He slides noiselessly into the water behind me. The waters slide sleekly over my wetsuit, and both of us make it to the dry piping before my lungful of oxygen goes stale.
Static scratches my ear as I flip the switch. "We're in." We creep along like twin shadows, so lithe as to be nearly incorporeal.
The boundless crates of food might have been the gold of Persia, so beautiful was the sight of the stuff that would save us. I see the first security camera, focused on an area about a meter ahead.
"Guards only tour the facility every hour, we have 48 minutes of safety. There's only one tv-screen in the guard tower."
Please say how awful you feel for the television-less guards, please be yourself.
"It switches between cameras every 45 seconds. Five cameras, three minutes of safety, 45 second breaks. You'll go down halfway to the waterline and I'll carry the crates to you."
It doesn't seem fair to give him the more dangerous and therefore more exciting assignment; but I don't trust myself to keep track of the time as well as he can, and our survival depends on this mission.
Twenty crates later I was getting bored. It was almost with a sense of relief that I heard a blaring alarm sound. Why, oh why do I always screw up the simple things?