For all disclaimers: See Chapters 1 and 2.
Important note: If you don't read the explanatory notes in Chapters 1 and 2, this will not make much sense. If you already have, enjoy the story.
Chapter Three Lost Souls/June 6th 1996, southern Iraq/
"ARE YOU /CRAZY/!? You unbelievable /bastard/, Webb, how the /Hell/ can you call yourself a soldier when you were prepared to leave me behind to get my head ripped off by a mob like that?! Here?! In /IRAQ/?! DO I NEED TO DRAW YOU A PICTURE OF WHAT THEY'D HAVE DONE TO ME?!" shouted Chris Redfield, standing toe-to-toe with the taller, bigger Webb. He was shouting so loudly, his temper on the verge of snapping, that his cheeks were red with blood, spittle almost flying from his lips as he hit Webb with a verbal barrage.
He knew that Webb could probably drive him into the ground like a tent peg and break every bone in his body without trying, he just didn't care. If the Delta Force Colonel tried anything at all Chris was going to make sure that, be it his last act on Earth if necessary, he was going to kick Webb's teeth down his throat just for the satisfaction of smashing that smug smile for good before he died. He doubted anyone but perhaps Tom Brown, the cold-eyed US Ranger Sergeant who seemed to hate Webb as much as he hated anyone, which was a lot, would even attempt to help him if he tried it, but that didn't matter either. He drew in a breath to continue, but Webb beat him to it.
"Shut /up/, you stupid yellow little s***, or I will personally hand you your kneecaps. I made a command decision, a level of authority I have to exercise which you clearly have less grasp of than you do of protocol in these situations, and I don't give a flying f*** what you think of it. There are six people on this mission, not one, and one is an acceptable loss, no more. If you cannot handle the fact that we are all expendable, /SOLDIER/, then you are very f****** welcome to go back to Kuwait on foot, call your mother and get her to come get you, since you obviously have no places in this mans army. Clear? Now make up your mind or /I/ will, no discussion" said Webb, his whole body tensing.
He was ready for a fight, everyone could see it, and, although everyone wanted to see it happen, everyone but Webb and Serena didn't want it to actually happen, because there was no question in anyone's mind that Webb would smear the smaller, younger man across the landscape as spectacularly painfully as he could manage. Webb didn't know that Chris's mother was dead, nor would he ever know the nerve he hit by mentioning military regulations and Chris's parents so casually, but for a long moment, no-one would have cared.
The veins stood out on Chris's neck and forehead as his jaw dropped, as he stared unblinkingly at Webb, his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles went white as his entire body trembled with barely suppressed rage. He decided that moment that he was going to kill Webb with his bare hands, but, as always happened when he was going to do something insane, one thing stopped him. His sisters young face, long brown hair, soft brown eyes, smooth face and lips forever set in an expression of terrible loss that could never be undone, that could not stand loosing him too, ever, floated across his minds eye...
He gritted his teeth, swallowed, then spat on the ground at Webb's feet. "I don't have anything to prove to you, /at all/. Your not worth my time or the effort, so go back to doing whatever it is your doing when your alone in the dark and enjoy screwing up your own life. Mine isn't for sale" he said, then he turned and walked away, with a satisfied smirk Webb would never see.
Webb expression was indescribable, his body suddenly limp at the shock of the total lack of physical confrontation. He shook his head in disbelief, considered going after Chris just to punch him in the back of the head to get his attention, but reconsidered quickly when he saw Tom's expression. The young air force man had just earned the older US Ranger's respect with his actions, and the cold-eyed man was a considerably greater threat than Chris ever would be. Growling, Webb decided it wasn't worth his time, shot a look at Chris that spoke of serious trouble later and stalked back to the truck.
*
While the men blew off Testosterone, Serena Baccarin, bored before the fight had even started, had walked away to the small, weather-worn wooden Shepherds hut nearby, then on around the back once she was totally sure that it was empty. It took seconds, she knew this place like the back of her hand, including the places where she'd hidden all of their gear-combat gear, uniforms, guns, CQC weapons, explosives, electronic jammers and a variety of other equipment. The men had to sort out the hiding places in the "special" truck, then they'd get the gear, place it and hide it. They'd need her to be sure that they had everything, but she had a little time to get ready until then.
Thinking that, she walked over to an old well and watering trough that was empty and, the well being a little shorter than she was, ran the still-sturdy wooden bucket down to the water with a creak of old rope then carefully pulled it back up again, swinging the bucket to the edge of the well. She pulled off her headdress and veil, her long, dark-black hair spilling out, down and loose, then pulled off her dress as well, sliding it down over her shoulders to the ground with a sigh of relief, kicking it away, followed by her worn old sandals. Under it she was wearing waterproof form-fitting jet-black leggings and a tight dark half-top just covering her breasts to stop anything getting in her way. The top came off a moment later, being tossed onto the pile of clothes, and she finally felt able to relax somewhat.
The dress, veil and headdress had been suffocating her, not to mention drenching her in sweat for every moment she wore them. Living in South America was warm, she'd long ago decided, /Africa/ was /hot/. The contact lenses, placed carefully in a case, were the last to go, revealing her brilliant sapphire blue eyes. Splashing water over her hands she leaned over the bucket and splashed it over her face as well, washing away the makeup, blinking away the drips. Soon the natural tone of her tawny skin was easily evident, so she used her hands to form a scoop, picked up some water and drank most of it, splashing the dregs on her face. To finish she picked up the bucket and upended it over her head, the cool water splashing away sweat, dust and sand with equal ease as well as cleaning out her tangled hair, washing it down over her shoulders, back and chest. She licked her lips to miss nothing, before picking up the headdress and using it as a towel.
Her own gear was hidden at the edge of the well behind a corner stone, but before she could even begin to move to retrieve it she sensed eyes on her back. Smothering a smile to keep her expression neutral, she turned around on bare feet to see who it was-Chris Redfield, standing ten feet away, blushing red as a ripe tomato as he tried not to stare at her chest. She found it harder not to smile at this, taking a long moment to check out his muscular arms and powerful frame.
She wasn't the type to go for the overly muscular man, having 300 pounds of meat and bone crushing her in bed just wasn't appealing. Chris Redfield, though, was a lot closer to the kind of man she'd be looking for if she ever wanted a real Date, young, fit, healthy and handsome-not that she'd ever tell him that.
"What's the matter, Chris? I can't have anything you haven't seen before unless your Gay, you know?" she called, quite certain that she wouldn't be the first woman to stare, for far too long, at the young soldiers biceps, chest, face and groin. Besides which, a man like him Gay? She knew people, sometimes better than they did, after only the one meeting in many cases, she had a "knack" for these things. More to the point, she knew about types, and he was the unquestionable Heterosexual "Whoops, there go the girls" type if she hadn't taken complete and total leave of her senses-which she was utterly certain she hadn't...
His eyes travelled noticeably up, down and over her curves in a way that suggested that his imagination had fused at the sight, before he finally managed to drag his eyes up to her face. She made a point of not smiling, even though she suspected that she'd just ruined the young mans life. With her luxurious beauty, full-figured, tautly defined form and tight muscle, she was any man's fantasy made flesh. Worse, given what she did, she was the ultimate jewel in the crown, the unobtainable Goddess that no one could have. It wasn't that she couldn't make that kind of commitment, either, she just wouldn't. No one deserved her life, and she wasn't quite enough of a bitch to force it on them...
"Actually, I was trying to decide whether or not I'd died of the heat and gone to Heaven or Hell, but then you spoke and ruined the moment" replied Chris, with a perfectly straight face-before he grinned, his eyes dancing as he kept his staring at her face. "Kidding! Actually, I was trying to commit you to memory like that. That a problem?" he asked.
"Hell no, I was never shy, but do something useful while your at it. Come here and help me if your not dodging Webb?" said Serena, lifting an eyebrow as she stood hands on hips. This time she let a slight smile show, deciding that, young or not, she liked the kid. At least he had the balls to admit that he actually was staring at her, that was always a good start. Honesty was important with her, always was...
Chris winked and walked over to help as she turned and pulled out the cornerstone. Pulling a small grey case out of the hole created, she put in the combination and opened it. Inside, a disassembled snipers rifle was stored safely away from the elements. Checking that every part was accounted for, she closed and laid it aside for a moment, moving to pull out of the hole a pair of black knee-length boots, designed so that they would attach directly to her feet, a perfect fit. They also had shock absorbance capabilities and were considerably more resilient than they looked where physical damage was concerned, despite their leathery design. She slipped them on, then pulled out a sack containing her remaining clothes.
All of her business clothes were jet-black as a habit, which included the loose halter-top she pulled out next. Pulling her hair back and out of the way, giving a stunned Chris an excellent view of her bare upper body as she moved, she slid the top on over her head. It left a streak of flesh around belly, lower back and her sides bare as well as her arms and shoulders, being held on by thin straps at the shoulders. The last was a sleeved jacket that could be sealed tight up to the neck with a fastening like Velcro but stronger along the centre, which hung loosely when not sealed. For certain missions she wore gloves and certain other gear to ensure that even skin particles couldn't be found, this simply wasn't one of those.
The jacket, leggings and boots were all Nomex weave, fire and water proof and resistant to if not proof against most purely physical assaults. They didn't hamper her movements, though, which was more important to her than the advantages of heavier body armour. She wasn't really trained or intended to muck in with the regulars in battlefield warfare, even though she was perfectly capable of doing so, her job was to get in, do the job and get out fast. Speed was the key, and, combined with her agility, experience and training, not to mention intelligence and initiative, she rarely needed more. Besides which, more often than not if she couldn't handle any given situation with what she had she shouldn't have been sent in the first place. That just made improvisation the order of the day, though, something else she'd always excelled at, just ask the Iraqi's who'd chased her in '91...
"Er... While I'll appreciate the view until after my death, was there actually something you wanted me to do?" asked Chris, looking far more comfortable around her now she was something close to dressed, although he still looked as though someone had thrown red dye over him his cheeks were so clearly coloured even with the heat. She smiled, then pulled out a second, slightly smaller case containing her other weapons.
"Carry this? Did you kick Webb in the balls when he wasn't looking and knock him out when he fell over or just tell him he should grow up to his face?" asked Serena, picking up the closed case containing her rifle. Her disguise went into the sack, which she slung over her shoulder before standing up easily and walking back around the hut towards the truck. Chris picked up the other case and hurried after her, but almost had to jog to keep up as her long legs propelled her with an almost unearthly easy grace across the shifting sand. She didn't doubt that she could out-run, out-manoeuvre, out-fight, out-think and out-last him all at once if she had to, probably with little effort, but it didn't matter. Being exceptional at what she did was her stock in trade, every time, but it didn't make her immortal or any less dead if she failed. There really was strength in numbers, she knew it from experience, especially on a mission like this.
"I told him he should try thinking with his brain rather than his training if he wanted me to show him any respect at all. Jesus, you got enough weaponry in here?" said Chris, hefting the case in a way which made clear its weight. She just shook her head at the question.
"Chris, life lesson for you, remember it: there's no such thing as "too much" in the form of means and ways when your doing this kind of thing. Oh, and well put with Webb, the man's worse than /I/ was back in '87... WEBB! /Wait/ for me before you do anything else!" shouted Serena, at the sight of the small Stamper and huge Bradley miserably prising up floorboard after floorboard in the hut under Webb's extremely specific, snapped orders, the look on his face making it clear he was about to bawl out the two of them for not finding the gear and weapons Serena had concealed in and around the hut yet. Serena's shout stopped him dead, though, and he looked angry when he turned to look at her...
*
After what very nearly became a scuffle, Serena and Webb called a Truce to get the job done which involved Webb, under irritated protest, following Serena's instructions to dig up and recover their gear, along with Bradley, a heavily sweating Stamper and Chris, Tom standing guard with a loaded AK-47 immediately to hand. Explosives, guns, ammunition, stealth combat gear and a lay-out of vital equipment were recovered and loaded into the truck, hidden and secured before they set off again, topping off the trucks fuel from jerry cans before they did.
Webb had planned on switching places with Chris to sit in the front with Serena when the stop and gear-up was complete, so that he could go over strategy, plans and who was really in charge with her while they made their way to the target area, two days drive away. Ignoring Webb totally beyond recognising his existence, she literally dragged Chris in with her instead, leaving a near-silent Tom to drive again, at least at first. Webb looked as though he was considering a number of solutions to this problem when it happened, the majority violent, but Serena just stared at him until he went away and didn't come back. Tom smiled at this, although Chris was so pleased to still have his head on his shoulders that he missed the brief glance the Ranger shared with Serena before the truck started up and they moved off...
/June 7th, 1996, Iraq/
00:05 Hours
"Your kidding, right?" said Chris, staring at Serena in the darkness of night, barely able to make out her dark, slim form in the dull shadows of the rocks they were concealed under. The woman, he was quite sure, could have disappeared altogether in the shadows without any effort at all, he got the impression she did most things with a maximum of efficiency and a minimum of effort, but, for some reason, she had chosen to lie close to him in the cold of the dark night, both of them wrapped in their dark sleeping bags to keep warm since a fire could have been spotted miles away out in the desert as they were.
"Do I /look/ like I'm joking, Chris? Besides which, you did ask you know. So, again, you can call me Serena only, I /do not/ work for the CIA and yes, I /do/ have a much better idea of what's actually going on here than any of you. Your not cleared for any of that, though, and you don't want to be, all things considered, so relax and enjoy yourself under the stars and stop asking questions I can't answer for your own good" replied Serena, with a sigh. Staring up at the stars herself, she smiled, then looked back at Chris.
"You know, Chris, circumstances notwithstanding, with /me/ lying within arms reach most men wouldn't be complaining if they were lost in the Arctic in nothing but a fur jacket and tight trousers, you know? You could at least /try/ to show a girl a good time before grumbling about anything else, perhaps?" said Serena, raising a perfect eyebrow.
Chris felt himself blushing again-damn it, she did this to him /every/ time she /smiled/ at him... Not that he /really/ minded, her smile made his heart beat a lot faster for all the right reasons... "Serena, you might physically be within arms reach, but I know if I tried anything at all it wouldn't happen unless /you/ wanted it to. Besides which, I might as well try and bring down the moon as lay hand or lips anywhere on you and we both know it, Miss. Enigma. Can you tell me just how many people would be after me with razor blades, shotguns and more lethal implements than I know of if I even dared tell you I /know/ you're the most beautiful, sexy woman I've ever met and ever will, eh?" asked Chris, smiling broadly as he half-expected a slap for being so direct.
Serena just looked at him in silence for a long, long moment, then there was a rustle as she got out of her sleeping bag, the form-fitting leggings and loose halter top, all that she was wearing, doing very little, even in the darkness, to conceal the ripple of muscle across her slim body, the smooth, animal grace of her movements, or her evident cleavage. Chris's mouth was abruptly bone-dry, as were his lips, as she knelt in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. He was abruptly very glad that they were sleeping in groups of two all kept at least six feet apart-supposedly-with the groups laid out in a triangle formation with ten feet between each. He was especially glad that Webb had volunteered to take the first two hour watch with Stamper, since if the loudmouth Bastard had seen what was happening he would have screamed bloody murder, probably violently intervened to stop anything even possibly happening and-at the very least-totally ruined the moment. Abruptly realising something else as well, Chris sincerely hoped that his sleeping bag was baggy enough to conceal a certain development...
"I can tell that you actually mean that, Chris, I'm just like that, so you should understand something. I may be beyond your reach in the sense that you simply can't know what it is I do, let alone who I work for and why, but things are never that simple" said Serena, running a fingertip slowly across her lips, pink tongue wetting the tip for a moment. "/But/, that doesn't mean that I can't manage casual, no-commitment sex. Besides which your young, healthy, fit and cute, why /wouldn't/ I be interested, hmm?" Serena added, licking her lips as she leaned in towards him.
Bare-chested, barefoot and on a mission quite likely to end with his death, his heart going a mile a minute, with the dark Goddess of his dreams leaning in close, almost intimately close, over him, the young Air Force soldier briefly considered leaping up and running off into the desert like a madman just to stop this from ever even possibly happening. After all, how the Hell did he know just what on Earth he might even possibly be getting into with a woman as enigmatic, as mysterious, as unbelievably beautiful as this? He thought that for all of a second before his heart gave his brain an almighty kick and it entered into his imagination just what he'd /maybe/ be missing if he didn't accept the offer... A moment later Serena had pulled him up and into a gentle embrace, her firm, soft lips pressed against his as he couldn't help shifting to move more deeply into the warm, soft feel of her fine form, his own arms sliding up and around to embrace her in return...
*
Serena Baccarin realised that it had been a mistake to even just kiss the young soldier less than a second after she had, but didn't pull away instantly, as she should have. She fought aside her own instincts, her training and the knowledge of what was to come on the basis that, just for once, maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy herself...
That she would break Chris Redfield's heart by doing this to him crossed her mind-after all, no matter what, nothing could come of this. That she was doing worse to herself was close behind, because she wasn't heartless, and her feelings were actually easily hurt by people whom she allowed under her guard-Chris Redfield had earned that "honour" on sight, no less, somehow... That she might have to kill everyone else on the mission, a real possibility, was another problem, but she'd done worse and all of the questions were covered for, unless someone tried Hacking some /very/ secure Pentagon files.
Chris's hands, spread across her back, shifted slightly, his left sliding under her top to trace gentle patterns across flawless smooth skin-bar a few scars invisible to the touch, of course. She felt the muscles of her back tighten, but forced them to relax, an automatic response with her thanks to too many incidents and training she sometimes wanted to forget. She was so unused to intimacy that it set off alarms inside her that made her have to make a conscious effort to prevent her body from automatically flipping Chris onto his chest and probably breaking his back in the process with both hands and a well-placed knee-this was /crazy/, she realised, even as the kiss deepened, their tongues intertwining.
She knew better, she'd desired this man-/Chris/, on some level ever since she'd seen him, and she knew it, down where it counted. She was a madwoman to act on it, worse for letting it go on for any time at all. After all, if Chris /really/ knew /anything/ about her, he wouldn't touch her if it meant his life and the lives of those he cared for-worse, he'd probably kill her on sight, and she might just let him if it came to that somehow-no-one /really/ wanted to live forever, she could guarantee it. She should know...
She pulled back slowly, savouring the contact as best she could, but knowing that it had to end, that it was no more than a one-off fantasy she could never repeat. She hadn't been lying to Chris when she said that she could manage casual sex, but that wasn't the whole truth. Sex was a form of physical exercise that involved exceptional release, allowing one to gain an erotic high while becoming so relaxed that sleep was a given. It was an excellent way to pass the time and, she'd found, helped with both one's stamina and one's body-certainly, she was sure that every part of her was firmer and tighter than it would have been otherwise. Certainly, none of her lovers/boyfriends/clients had ever complained...
She slowly became aware that both she and Chris were barely breathing, were still in a tight embrace, and that Chris's eyes were shut, not that she was doing much better. He breathed in slowly, carefully, as though afraid that something terrible would happen if he did anything else-then a slow, luxurious smile spread across his face.
"/That/, was freaking incredible, Serena, can I just say that? If you kiss everyone like that, I'm glad none of them are here, because they'd strangle me and dump the body in a shallow ditch just to keep that for themselves" said Chris, slowly, clearly barely able to speak. He couldn't see her smile, his eyes still shut, but that also meant that, thankfully, he couldn't see the look in her eyes at his comments either.
"Thanks, now get some sleep, it'll be a long day tomorrow. Don't mention this to anyone, alright? Its our business" she replied, standing up and easily freeing herself of his embrace. That said, she walked back over to her sleeping bag, lay down in it and pulled it shut, turning so that her back was to him. She could feel his incredulous gaze on her back for hours, but didn't let it prevent her falling asleep...
/June 7th, 1996, central Iraq/
The old refinery that could barely be seen in the distance, even through the binoculars Serena Baccarin and the others were using, had been visited by war. Once a big industrial area, half-a-mile square, containing a variety of small buildings, a couple of warehouses and a big machinery complex in the centre, all made of a combination of steel, grey stone and red brick, it was now a deserted, rusting ruin, half-collapsed ceilings, walls and buildings evident all over.
Not one roof was left intact, only part of one in the main warehouse, which was cut in half by a huge crater in the centre apparently created by an Earthquake Bomb designed to wreck the centre of the complex. Scattered brick, shards of stone and the shrapnel released by shredded steel lay all about as though a battle had been fought here and mans design had lost to natures fury, but the huge crater in the centre of the complex gave the lie to that. Only technology created so specified an area of damage in so particular an area, and then only on purpose except in very particular instances, of which this was not one.
The whole area of the complex which was left standing wasn't safe, that fact Serena Baccarin was aware of with crystal clarity since she'd been there before to map the place out and check how secure it was should the worst come to the worst, which was a real possibility given the security level of the facility they were to break into and destroy after retrieving a sample of the Virus being worked on in it. If it came to it the Republican Guard would be after them, a simple fact, and if somehow taken alive they would be taken to a prison where all six storeys went deeper into the ground and interrogated until there was nothing left to know, however long it took, whatever was necessary.
The others didn't need to know it, but she was under orders to ensure that this didn't happen by whatever means necessary from a level of authority none of them knew existed. She had a bullet marked out for every single one of them, and would use it without a moments hesitation-even though she might well miss Chris. /But/, that was the whole point of what she did. An Assassin's life was never meant to be a happy one, and she'd earned the Call-Sign "Reaper" through belief and action a long time ago...
"/That's/ it? Our way in to this Ultra-Secure facility? It looks like it's been bombed and chance failed to finish the job, because if its safe in there then I assassinated JFK. How the Hell does a deserted, ruined wreck of an old refinery figure in to anything were here to do, anyway?" asked Webb, glaring at Serena with a look that spoke of some level of contempt at choosing such an entrance. No doubt he would have preferred to have walked in the front door with an M-16 blazing in each hand while everyone else acted as human shields so that he could get the job done, she couldn't help but think...
"Its useful, Webb, /because/ of "chance", as you so charmingly put it. The facility is secure above ground to the point its my professional opinion that a top-of-the-line CIA Deep Cover Black Ops team couldn't get in without being hit, and an air-drop is suicide because there are no secure vertical approaches and I'll put blood on a bet that the area of the facility we need to reach is secure underground in any case. Everything needs power and access, though, in an emergency and "just in case", and Hussein is a /really/ paranoid bastard, which you'd know if you'd paid any attention, so when you need two tunnels you can expect there to be three. I /did/ pay attention, for a very good reason. The refinery is where the auxiliary escape route comes out, underground, before leading to a concealed chopper for evacuation purposes. If your careful, its also a useful way /in/. Do I need to draw you a picture, or are you following me so far?" said Serena, with a cool smile at Webb's expression.
"I'm a professional, I think for myself and I have some initiative, I'll thank you for remembering, Miss. Enigma-or Serena, if you prefer. Yes, I can follow you. You know where the escape tunnel is, have a way for us to get into and along it undetected, and from there on in need our help to make it further, which is /why/ were damned well here. Understood, so what now? We can't just walk in there and expect there to be no guards, hidden or not" asked Webb, his face and manner that of a cool professional assessing the situation and mission objectives as presented to him, his eyes angry at Serena's "usurpation" of his authority-at least as he saw it.
The fact that, on this mission, she had been assigned field authority if she chose to exercise it, something he should have been well aware of-and probably was-was something she decided to overlook for the minute. Webb wasn't the type to react well to /anything/ unless it involved either excessive physical violence or large amounts of money, from what she'd seen and knew of him.
"The suits we have packed are what we in the profession call "Blinders", while their on you can't be "seen" by any electronic surveillance system we know of, you don't need to know the details of how. Hoods, gloves and boots, always wear the goggles too because they'll prevent any shadowing or flashes of light while cloaking your eyes. The plan is that the six of us go in there, secure what we need and rig the place before getting out alive and intact by any means necessary. Anyone incapable of understanding that should ask any questions /now/, there won't be a later" said Serena, raising her voice so that all of the five men standing near could hear her.
Stamper spoke up, his voice quiet with a trace of nerves evident. "Erm, pardon me for being the slow one here, but... How do we get out once we've gone in, done the things in question and got out? We can't use the truck or walk, you know?" he said, with a nervous laugh. Everyone stared at him for several long moments before looking back at the ruined refinery.
"Chris, as the resident Pilot and youngest present, you tell me and I'll say if your right: how are we going to get out of this mess, do you think?" said Serena, glancing at Chris with a brief smile. It wasn't forced or the result of deep, dark fantasies she was slightly surprised to find, she actually wanted the young Air Force man to like her... Was that worrying or not? She couldn't quite make up her mind...
Chris just smiled back at her, not bothering to even attempt to care about the dark look Webb shot him-Webb undoubtedly believing that personal relationships were a real danger where the success of the mission was concerned, they were both sure. "One of two, if you ask me: One, we nick the Evac halo and I fly us out so fast it hurts, or, Two, we run off into the mountains and are Extracted by other means, probably to a ship off the coast. Am I right, Serena?" he asked, with an expression that told he knew he was.
She had to give the man credit for having a brain in his head-why she hadn't asked Webb, although he likely knew the answer regardless-but his getting cocky wasn't something she needed right before mission start. She needed him calm and focused, so she needed to think of a way to slow him down.
"Your half right, Redfield, but that also makes you half wrong. The Kurds are the only thing north of here, and the Border Guards are between us and them. I'd make it out, none of you would, you'd be dust in the wind blowing away to the other end of the Earth before you even knew who shot you. At least we stand a chance if we take the chopper. For one thing I can fly it if your vapour, Chris, and believe me there are /no/ guarantees where were going that you'll get out alive. Besides which, hands up who here thinks their not really expendable? We mess this up, Uncle Sam will leave us here to rot and, if I know anything of these things, saturation bomb the whole area with high explosives and incendiaries just to be sure. Success here is more important than survival, and I need /all/ of you to understand that before we go another step, clear?" stated Serena, using a tone of voice that made very, very clear that argument was not only pointless but would be counterproductive. As in, she would end any argument very quickly should someone disagree with her to allow them to get on with the mission.
Heads slowly nodded, Webb and Chris's last of all. Webb wore a thoughtful expression which she suspected meant he didn't agree with her but understood that necessity was a fact in this case. She didn't doubt that she'd have trouble from that corner later, nor did she doubt that he'd do whatever it took to survive regardless of the safety and health of any of them. Chris's expression made it clear that he wasn't happy with what she'd said, at all, but he wasn't going to argue with her in areas where she was an authority. He deferred to her knowledge and experience, in other words. Good, that was the way these things /should/ be done, yet so rarely were...
*
They drove the truck some way further before simply abandoning it, concealed from the ruined refinery by several sand dunes and over a mile of distance. Serena made sure that there was nothing left to mark their passing, much to Webb's irritation since he was sure that he was perfectly capable, then they shouldered their gear in packs and took off on foot. Despite the overwhelming, oppressive heat beating down on them, the numbingly bright sunlight from a cloudless sky and the fact that just moving seemed to make them sweat a pint, they all made it into the ruins with no complaints, even the drenched Stamper, who seemed to be barely able to walk in a straight line under his gear despite the fact they barely had to walk for half an hour.
The moment they reached the shadows cast by the ruins, which shaded them from the sun enough to significantly lessen the painful glare of the sun and so reduce the temperature a little, although all of the humidity was still very obvious, Serena didn't need her sharp ears to hear audible sighs of relief-from everyone but Webb, of course. She was helped by her dark skin and superior fitness level, not to mention an inability to give in to /anything/ even by choice that only augmented her cast-iron will and a solid rock constitution that had seen her through far worse than she wanted to casually remember. But, although her mother came from South America, her daughter had never been there except briefly on missions that had never officially occurred in any records. She had the natural resistance to heat her genes gave her and what she'd built up herself in the end, and this meant that she was feeling the heat herself-not that /she'd/ ever admit it. Besides which, she knew with great accuracy just how much punishment her mind and body could take...
"Alright, boys and girl, now were here you know the drill. Bags down, kit up, lock and load, check and check then check again to be beyond sure you ain't missing nothing. Chris, Tom, secure the area, Aaron, Bill, set it up and lay it out, Ms. Enigma-do whatever the Hell it is you do. I'm command, focus on my position and await orders once done. Okay, snap to it all!" ordered Webb, even as those around him went for gear and weapons to prepare.
Aaron pulled out a Combat Shotgun, a huge, heavy version which fired fully automatic and single round, loaded it and added a Desert Eagle with a spare Bandolier of shells. Stamper pulled out a Glock 45. and joined Aaron laying out gear and guns. Tom pulled out his AK-47, a heavy Magnum pistol most people would have considered their main weapon, gleaming spiked steel Knuckledusters and a wicked 9-inch Hunting knife which he sheathed on his left upper leg before stalking off to scout out the nearby ruins until he was sure they were safe. Webb pulled out an M-16, made a great show of loading it and chambering a round, pointedly taking a spare clip, then added a Desert Eagle almost as an afterthought, holstering it at his left hip. Chris pulled out his main weapon, a Desert Eagle, holstered his backup at the base of his spine, a 9MM Smith and Wesson, then moved out to secure the surrounding area of desert-while keeping a careful eye on Serena, out of curiosity as much as anything. It turned out to be a wise decision.
The first thing she pulled out of her main weapons pack was combat webbing, designed specifically so that it would merge with her "uniform", if it could be called that, as dark a black as the rest of it. Pulling it on over her shoulders and fastening it over her chest, she proceeded to pack it with a variety of gear, most of which Chris couldn't even have begun to guess the purpose of. A Magnum mini-pistol was concealed in a hidden holster strapped between her breasts, two black-handled combat knives with serrated blades were strapped to her forearms, one to each, while a double holster he'd never seen anything like before sat at the base of her back, holding two Smith and Wesson 9MM pistols in a "V" design, the guns forming the rising arms of the "V", the holster the base. All of her firearms were darkly designed and didn't gleam even in the blinding desert sunlight, but the design was strange for all of them in another way, one Chris couldn't quite put his finger on.
Oddest of all, though, was the rifle she proceeded to assemble. As long as any military issue rifle Chris had ever seen, that was where any similarity ended. So darkly designed that it failed to stand out against Serena's uniform, the rifle, if it was one, was broader and thicker then any normal rifle would ever be. The muzzle ended apparently normally, but was surrounded by a broad flap of metal which looked almost like someone had draped a circular carpet over the end of the muzzle at the front of the rifle. An odd switch was evident by the stock on the back of the gun, just ahead of where the trigger was housed, inside the butt itself, and an obvious Sniper sight glowed with a deep, luminous green for a moment before Serena apparently deactivated it. There was no evident magazine or safety catch, that he could see at least.
Despite the evidently contemporary, if slightly modified, design, Chris was sure that he was looking at something that most marksmen-and women-in any army would openly drool over. Quite possibly a weapon that didn't officially exist just yet...
Weapons ready, Serena slung her rifle shoulder to hip across her back, pulled out both her pistols, checked that they were fully loaded and went off after Tom. None of those who stayed outside the ruins saw either of the two who went inside for a long while after that...
*
Concrete floors inside what was left of the ruined structure had been shattered by shells and bomb blasts years ago, making for treacherous footing. Worse, shards of metal, pipes, pieces of jagged brick and stone and the remains of a variety of structures made of metal and plastic rose all about as though they were the hands and arms of the damned reaching up and out of Hell in imploring desperation. With no light but filtered sunlight coming in dimly through breaches in concrete and stone walls, brick structures and torn metal roofs, all electricity long gone from this place, it was hard to see anything at all-but, in reality, that just made it a great deal like some of the more pleasant Hellholes she'd spent time in over the years. Hours, days, even weeks sometimes, come to think of it...
"Serena..." came Tom's deep voice from just ahead and around a corner, what she'd been waiting for. She strode forwards carefully, looking where she stepped with care, then firmly grasped the wrist and forearm Tom extended to her in the greeting of old comrades. She smiled: not that anyone would ever hear her admit it, but sometimes it was good to see a genuinely friendly face on these missions once in a while...
Tom "Iceman" Brown smiled right back at her, his "handshake" firm and strong as hers. "Hello there, Assassin, kill anyone important lately?" he asked, his naturally cool expression thawing somewhat thanks to the fact that he had finally managed to get her alone with him so that they could talk.
"Oh, you know, Chilly, just the usual, couple of annoying Congressmen, young Senator the President didn't like, the fat man who won't get a job but who always manages to put on weight... Did I mention that it's good to see you again, Tom?" replied Serena, holding Toms arm a moment longer than necessary to savour the simple human contact.
"I got that impression when you didn't give me one of your Patented "Guaranteed to kill you" looks when we first met this time this time around, Ser. Good to hear you say the words, though. Before we get on to business, though, you mind telling me what your up to with the boy? I've seen the way he looks at you, but I've seen the way /you/ look at /him/, too. He's too young and soft to handle you, Ser, whether or not he knows it, and we both know he'd be /way/ out of his League even if you did let it go somewhere. I think he's good people with a hard life, so I don't want to see you mess him up, okay?" said Tom, being as direct as he dared with the coldly lethal individual he was talking too.
Serena raised an amused eyebrow at Tom's reaction to her flirtation with the young soldier, Chris Redfield. Tom didn't have a wife, had rarely ever had a steady girlfriend and was quite possibly the worst source of life advice she could easily come up with, yet he was almost adopting a paternal attitude toward a man he barely knew at the ripe old age of thirty-four, only thirteen years older than Chris himself. She didn't know what Tom was trying to do by doing so, but, knowing him, there was a good reason that even he couldn't have quite put his finger on if asked. One of the things which made Tom such an effective soldier was the very fact that he, almost subconsciously, had a talent for picking up on things which most people would never even know they'd missed and acting on them in a way which always had a beneficial effect, somehow or other...
"He's old enough to Vote, drink and drive a car, he's had a few girlfriends or I'm a Serial Killer with a sideline in Genocide using Nuclear weapons, he's a successful soldier in the US Air force. I think he's old enough to take care of himself and make his own decisions, Tom, and its up to him if he gets involved with "Lady Death" here, thank you very much-/what/ was that?" snapped Serena, her head whipping around at the sudden sense that something was wrong, a moment before her ears told her she's heard a scraping sound from somewhere deep inside the old ruin.
Tom clicked off the safety on his AK-47 without answering and took off towards the sound with a nod, fast, silent and stealthy as a shadow in the dark, not leaving any trace but footprints. Serena drew both of her pistols and followed him with the impossible speed and grace of a Great Hunting Cat that was her trademark, being right behind him all of the way, so close that she'd passed him before he even realised she was there when they stopped. When she didn't want to be detected no one saw her, what she did needed no more explanation.
They were over the centre area of the ruined facility, not quite the exact centre of course, where a cluster of bent copper and steel pipes, the ragged remains of a steel walkway and a variety of wrecked machinery lay all about, falling onto a cracked and beaten concrete floor with metal shards scattered all around. Serena knew it was where the entrance to the escape tunnel was concealed beneath a seemingly damaged old hatch cover. Tom didn't, but that didn't matter at the moment. What /did/ matter was the six dark-green uniformed Iraqi men, all with either dark beards or moustaches, wearing black berets, their uniforms carrying the insignia of Saddam's elite Republican Guard...
Each man carried an AK-47, pistol and combat knife, Serena noted. The way they moved and glanced around betrayed a combination of nerves and boredom-oddly, as though they were worried about something, but didn't believe that it could affect them here-but they were Veterans, too. Eyes were all about, checking the scenery again and again, fingers were on triggers, safeties were off, muscles and nerves bunched, ready for action. These men weren't really expecting trouble, but, if it came, were primed and ready for it and knew what to do. /Wonderful/, she couldn't help but think, just what she needed before a Covert insertion mission, more trouble from guards who had no right to be out here in the supposed back of beyond...
It didn't matter, they had to be dealt with. She caught Tom's eye, gestured for him to go left while she went right, then mimed a knife across the throat to signify silence. He nodded in understanding, then faded into the darkness like a Ghost. She made her way down a weak stairwell, scaled a battered brick and concrete wall and let herself fall down the last five feet, landing without hearing even the slightest sound of her own impact, as she would expect from herself. That done, she pulled clear and concealed her rifle, pulled both her knives and stepped up into the shadows a small spurt of speed away from the men. Glimpsing Tom ready across the other side of the area, she breathed in deeply-then bolted out.
She covered five feet in less time than either of the two guards could have imagined, sliced the blades of her knives, led by the points, across their throats, finishing by reversing both weapons into the men's hearts then ripping both clear before either had even realised he was dead. A quick pivot, a toss of the left-hand knife so that she was holding the blade and she hurled it with easy, pin-point accuracy, the blade tearing open the throat and carrying on through with such force that torn, ruined flesh and muscle had barely even begun to gout blood before the knife fell to the floor with a dull thump.
Before the other three even registered what had happened, Tom came out of nowhere and slid his knife between ones ribs into the heart from behind before snapping his neck with a vicious blow from his Knuckledusters. The second one was dead before he hit the floor as a vicious straight-arm punch from Tom and his Knuckledusters simply carved in the front of his skull and punched bone back into his brain. The last man had the initiative to go for his weapon, but even as he began to raise it to aim Tom jumped forwards and rammed the knife into his stomach, ripping it out just under his breastbone. Disembowelled, the man fell to the ground helpless, his guts in his hands-a moment before Tom almost decapitated him with his knife. He looked up, saw Serena and gave a nod to signify it was all over, in something less than a minute of brutal murder.
Serena checked the bodies as a matter of course, to see if any of them were carrying anything useful-oddly enough, none of them were carrying radios-when she found something odd hung around the neck of the senior man present, a Lieutenant. A Pass-Card for a computerised lock, the kind one would have expected to only find /inside/ the facility, if anywhere at all, since such things cost serious money to install on a large scale. Saddam didn't really have that much to throw away on vanity projects these days, after all... What was worse, though, was the symbol on the card, a symbol you couldn't live in America and /not/ recognise.
Red and white strips, several flat outer edges signifying one thing-/Umbrella/, the monster corporation which supposedly made all of its money from medicine, drugs, research and a whole list of other legitimate products too numerous to lightly cover. Every home in America contained its products-Hell, /she/ owned an alarm clock designed to look exactly like a raised one that always kept perfect time-and very few people cared or knew that their real profits came from Arms Dealing, selling Drugs and corporate secrets on the Black Market and very illegal genetic experiments, to name only a few things she'd heard.
By rights Umbrella Corporation should have been investigated by every legal body in the land and shut down years if not decades ago, this was /fact/, but no-one got to where Umbrella was without making connections at every level that mattered, the more the healthier, and she had heard unsubstantiated reports that Umbrella owned Senators, Congressmen, Judges, Agents in every Agency and people who worked at more Government and Private bodies than bore thinking about. There were strong hints coming into the ETC that, in fact, it was likely Umbrella already had its claws in the man tipped by those who knew as the next President, the son of a previous one who had proved far more receptive to the advances of big corporations... But none of that gave her any clues as to what their symbol would be doing on an access card hanging around the neck of a low-ranking officer of the Republican Guard in Iraq...
"Serena? Find something?" asked Tom, striding over to see her having cleaned his weapons on the uniform of one of the dead guards. He'd never been shy about doing whatever it took to keep his equipment functional, as she recalled. She expertly palmed the card and hid it in a jacket pocket before he could even glimpse it, then cleaned her own knives on a dead Iraqi and sheathed them.
"You /could/ say that, Tom..." she replied, not quite sure herself...
/End of Chapter 3-Sorry it's a little long, but I wanted to establish certain things here ready for what happens later. Things are only going to get worse from here on in now Umbrella has reared its head, so get ready... Feedback, please?/