Chapter 12
"Careful bastard isn't he?" thought Rotterdam to himself.
He'd been at his laptop in his flat for at least four hours. Trying to find some case of deception by Shinra in the war. So far he'd been unsuccessful, and it was near midnight.
He was in the archives of the official Shinra newspaper. He'd gone back at least two years, looking for some headlines that might give him a clue. But President Shinra didn't leave such things out in the open. The only thing he had was Shinra's objective in this war.
Which was pretty good, but you have to have some very strong supporting facts before you went and accused the biggest company in the world of being, murderous, distrustful and greedy. By the time this thing was over probably a couple thousand people would be dead. All for what? The damn material fields in the back of Da Chou, a Wutaian mountain. Greedy bastard.
With a slight smirk he realized if anyone ever heard him talk about Shinra like that he'd be out looking for a new job the very same day. The only person who shared his sentiments was Reeve, good kid right there.
As he scanned back to more recent articles he stopped at one, which mentioned Reeve. The headline read: "Head of Urban Development Declares That Pilots Must Find New Training Field After Fatal Accident."
As he read on it came to him. This was only a few weeks old. The fighter jocks had been training in some open areas on the outskirts of Midgar, close to some new construction happening, one of Reeve's new projects. And a couple of weeks ago the exercise had gone wrong, destroying vital progress and killing pilots from, Eclipse Squadron it said.
A link was given to a related story. Three pilots were admitted into Eclipse to fill the slots, Highwind, Clifton and Winters. As he investigated further he found their profiles.
Clifton status K.I.A., combat missions one, one kill. Winters status Ready, two combat missions, three kills, and oddly enough he was only 15 and 5'4". The last was the most impressive. Lieutenant Highwind status Ready, one combat mission, six official kills, two unofficial, third ever recipient of the Honorary Shinra Flight Bravery Medal. And he'd only been a combat pilot for six days, 4 of those days being listed as incapacitated.
Rotterdam's eyes bulged out slightly at this one, who the hell was this guy?
Something was definitely up with this little chain of events. He wasn't quite sure what or why. But when he found out Shinra better be ready to take one massive beating.
****
As Sephiroth looked at the map spread across the table he smiled. Blue and red checker like pieces were scattered across the map, representing different units. Blue being Shinra the "friendly" forces, and red the Wutaian "hostile" forces. Although many would agree that those two designations should be switched.
The Wutaians had stupidly moved their forces into a bottleneck of sorts between the mountains, and placed their staff headquarters right in the middle of it. Over the past few days General Sephiroth had moved his forces around the Wutaians' encampment. Hiding in the mountains, behind the mountains, sometimes even inside them. This formed a rough circle around the Wutaians, leaving them somewhat stranded.
For it was hard to get supplies or reinforcements in when enemy troops guarded every entry point. Especially when these enemies had tanks and other heavy weaponry. Already the Wutaians had begun to spot these scattered elements of the Shinra army. So action had to be taken soon, or else Operation Diamond Edge would be for naught.
But sadly the fighter jocks were a key part of this operation. And Sephiroth had been trying to reach their base for the past half hour with no response. Something did not seem right, but he knew that it wouldn't immediately affect him just yet. So he ignored it for the moment.
Suddenly there was an orderly in the doorway.
"General Sephiroth sir. There is someone on the visual comm. For you."
"All right, dismissed."
Once the orderly was gone he slowly rose from his stool and headed over to the visual comm. tent.
As he walked down the dirt road running down the middle of the strip of tents he gave a silent nod of approval. His orders had been carried out perfectly. Both the visual comm. tent and his personal tent looked exactly like all the others, if not even more inconspicuous. There were absolutely no signs of marking on either, and they were exactly the same size and shape as a normal barracks tent. So if the enemy came looking for some easy targets, nothing would stand out.
Another orderly stood guard at the door, he wasn't sure if it was the same one from before.
The visual communications unit itself was a fairly new addition to Shinra's army. A little larger than an average classroom chalkboard, it allowed people to communicate, and see each other at the same time. Something Sephiroth enjoyed quite a bit, for he liked to see the plump little executives wither under his gaze.
A comfortable chair was set out for him. Normal protocol was to stand when using the viscom, but he didn't follow Shinra's rules. Sephiroth gave a nod to the orderly, indicating he was ready. With the touch of a few keys he was on, and the orderly quietly left.
The word "Waiting" was the sole occupant of the screen, all else was black. Instantly the plump, ugly, bearded face of Heidegger replaced it. A much less pleasant picture compared to "Waiting".
"Good morning General Sephiroth. How are things on the front?" grunted Heidegger.
"Everything is under control, Operation Thunderclap shall commence soon."
"Thunderclap?" asked Heidegger, puzzled.
"Yes, the predecessor of Diamond Edge. The dissolution of the Wutaian Army."
Fool.
"Yes of course. When exactly will this happen?"
"When the time is right. No sooner, no later."
He noticed that Heidegger was standing. Good, the man should get the impression he was reporting to Sephiroth, not the other way around.
"Do you have any news from the fighter base?" Heidegger asked, expectantly.
"No. I was not able to communicate with the base." Said Sephiroth impatiently.
"Well as long as they're out killing some of the enemy we'll be fine. By the way have you sent many of those Wutaian scum to the grave yet?" he asked, with a hint of evil in his eyes.
"We have inflicted almost no Wutaians losses to date."
That would soon change.
****
A mile or so away Corporal Baker lay flat atop a bluff overlooking the road. Stationed on the outer edge of Operation Diamond Edge's formation he had seen almost no action yet. Bur still camouflage was essential, so he had to lie prostrate in the dirt all day, trying to shield himself from the damn sun.
As he reached down for his canteen a low rumbling made the ground vibrate subtly. Fresh meat.
Around the corner came a standard Wutaian supply truck, followed by at least a dozen others. He picked up his binoculars and zoomed in on the truck cab. Sure enough a soldier rode in the passenger seat, and there was probably another in the back with the supplies.
That was a total of about 25 enemy soldiers, to his mere ten.
They'd just have to stall the trucks until he came up with a better plan. The corporal pulled out his radio and gave the order.
"Lose Shinra colors. Repeat lose Shinra uniforms. Stall hostiles, and no matter what. No hostility, and above all do not let them pass. Baker out."
He scurried across the ground to get a better look. The odds were even worse, there were at least 20 trucks, instead of his estimated 13. Damn it. There was too many soldiers to take in hand to hand, for the enemy force was about quadruple the size of his.
As he moved back to his position his foot punched through a patch of soft ground. He cursed and looked down to find his solution. Covered with clumps of dirt was his GEP (Guided Explosive Projectile) gun. It hadn't crossed his mind to use it, although he'd remembered exactly where it'd been buried.
Sparing a quick glance he saw that the Wutaians had reached his men. The lead driver had gotten out and was arguing with a Shinra soldier. He had to act fast. Hurriedly he brushed the dirt off and brought it up to rest on his shoulder. The middle looked like a good place to start.
The scopes zeroed in on the truck, and he could see the driver impatiently tapping on the wheel, while the accompanying soldier dozed in the passenger seat. The gun emitted a loud beep before the rocket launched. He saw the driver glance up with his eyes wide, a second later the truck and about 3 others exploded.
Taking the explosion as a signal the Shinra soldiers promptly killed the Wutaian who'd stepped out of the truck and all else in sight. Soon all hell brook loose. Soldiers from both sides were dropping left and right, and trucks were exploding everywhere.
****
When it was all over the Shinra soldiers were successful. They'd neutralized all Wutaians, but not without a price. Half of the Shinra soldiers, including Corporal Baker lay dead, with dirt smeared across their faces and bullets in their chest. But the enemy had not passed, and that was all that mattered.
****
The first thing that hit him when he woke up was a throbbing headache. But crashing your fighter would do that to you. As he looked down he realized he had his right arm in a sling, a few scars on his stomach and he thought he felt a large bandage on his head.
A quick look around summed it up. He was in a prison cell, and a pretty bad one at that. Unidentifiable foreign substances smeared the wall, and leaked out of cracks in the cement. It even felt like he was sitting in some kind of liquid.
He tried to remember what'd happened, but it was difficult. The Wutaians had ganged up on him when he was flying, he knew that. And he'd radioed for help from his wingman, couldn't quite remember his name. All he knew was that he never came, stuck in some dinky little cell, mist likely in enemy territory.
He fell in and out of sleep for a while, slumped down in the corner of the cell, tattered white shirt open, exposing his dark skin, which was crisscrossed with scars. The next time he looked up at the door someone was there. A tall, fairly well built Wutaian man with crew cut black hair and a short flowing black cape, those were the things that stood out.
It seemed like forever that they sat there, just staring at each other, separated by a rusty, barred metal door. The Wutaian broke the silence first.
"So I see that you're awake."
The pilot just glared at him.
"As you can see we had to operate, internal bleeding. Just barely saved you. So in exchange for us saving your life could you answer a few questions?" he asked, a little nervously.
"What's your name?"
"Staniv…What's yours?" he asked, playing along hoping it'd lead to some answers.
The pilot sat there for a long time, just thinking, trying to remember. The head injury had shaken him up a bit. Then suddenly it hit him like a bolt of lightning.
"Lennie…Clifton."
"Well Mr. Clifton would you like to answer some questions now?" asked Staniv, hopefully.
"No."
"Well I'll come back later. Good day."
As Staniv walked away down the hall Lennie yelled.
"I'll never answer your questions! Never! I won't betray my friends!"
Staniv just kept on walking.
Note-Ok it was a bit of long one, especially with no Cid but this was all essential to building the story. Not sure when more of this will be up, hopefully soon. But this afternoon I'm going to work on the next chapter of my newest fic Chasing Sirens. Adios!
