Reeve: Oh lovely.

Reno: What?

Reeve: You have another one of your so-called 'brilliant' plans.

Reno: So?

Reeve: You do realize that because of one of your plans, Shera died, right?

Reno: Shaddup.

Reeve: Just wondering who's gonna kick the bucket next.

Reno: Probably you. You're Trask-bait.

Reeve: …

Reno: Anyway, Tyramir doesn't own the rights to FF.

Chapter Fifty Eight

Awaiting the Dawn

Rude sat on his favourite rock, looking out at the darkness outside through the small passage. His Turk coat was long gone, as was his shirt. Both had been lost in a series of battles until they'd turned into little more than rags. Finally he'd torn them free and discarded them. The only thing he wore on his chest now was his breast holster, the Turk-issue glock still holstered in it and the gold chain about his neck with the silver ring on it. He forced the memories that it represented from his mind.

His sunglasses were also gone, thrown down the mountain side because they were useless in the dark, when all the fighting took place. Bandaging his fists to resemble something akin to a boxer, Rude wondered once again if Tifa would make it back in time.

One of the Red Wings, a kid by the name of Ben, came up to him and asked if everything was all right. If they were going to go through with the plan. Rude just nodded dumbly. It was an insane plan, one he wasn't originally going to run by Takkin. Instead, Tseng's old teachings came back to him. To stay alive, you have to be unprofessional at times. But never, ever, betray the chain of command.

So he'd told the old man what he was planning. And at first the leader of Fort Condor seemed doubtful, but then remembered the habits of the White Scourge. He'd reluctantly agreed in the end.

But first, the Red Wings had to wait for the dawn.

Rude rubbed at his cheek and realized that his goatee was slowly becoming a beard. How long since he had last shaved? How long since his last shower? He couldn't even remember when the last time he'd had any real sleep was. The light hours were spent training the Red Wings, the night hours fighting. Even when his side of the mountain wasn't under siege, he ran to the other side and helped out there. The White Scourge always flinched back when this silent killer appeared anywhere on the battlefield. Worse, never once did a member of their precious Triad back them up. With the large one dead, and the one with two swords seemingly missing, only the female fighter was left. And she seemed reluctant to enter battle now without her other two compatriots to back her.

Rude just smiled to himself. Today, she'd see battle.

"Sir," Ben said.

Rude looked over to him and gave him a questioning look.

"We just received a radio signal from someone. They're asking us to relay a message to Cosmo Canyon since they can't seem to get through to them. It's a little garbled, though. We don't even know who it's from."

Rude nodded, tightened the bandages around his fists, then stood up and made his way to the command center, an open gallery in the middle of all the caves. Takkin and a few of the mercenaries stood around a table there once the Turk arrived, gathered about a radio. Takkin glanced over to Rude and motioned for him to join them.

Once he arrived at the table, the radio emitted a static-filled squawk, followed by a garbled message.

"This is…. iv… of … ai. We …. ng help… please inform… mo Can… that… fleet is… way."

Takkin looked genuinely puzzled, but Rude smiled and nodded. The old man glanced to Rude and asked, "Do you know what that was all about? It's repeated several times, but it always comes out more garbled."

"Wutai," Rude supplied. "I'm not sure of the message, but it's from Wutai."

"How do you know?" Takkin asked.

"I recognize the voice. That was Staniv of Lord Godo's pagoda. And they mentioned a fleet. Wutai is the only nation with a fleet worth mentioning."

One of the mercenaries seemed dubious, but Takkin nodded. "Unfortunately, we cannot send word to Cosmo Canyon any more than they can. Our radios are jammed as well."

Takkin paused for a moment and regarded Rude as if seeing him for the first time. "It's almost dawn now. Do you still plan on going through with this madness?"

The Turk nodded. "I'll need one more thing, though. Do we have any lamp oil?"

"Not much. We depend mostly on the reactor giving us our power, so we don't use lamps that often. Mako power tends to override the need for such old fashioned methods of light. I think we may have a few kegs, though."

"I'll only need one," Rude said.

Takkin responded, "May I ask what you'll need it for? We have kerosene. That will burn, and a lot more violently."

"Lamp oil lasts longer."

"I beg your pardon?" Takkin asked, confused. He was obviously, as usual, beginning to get a little irritated by Rude's short, clipped answers. "When you asked for lamp oil, I thought you wanted something that will burn quickly. You are going to use it as a weapon against the Scourge, right?"

Rude shook his head.

The man finally let out an exasperated sigh and announced, "Fine. I'll let you have your lamp oil. But I expect you to tell me why later."

Rude gave him something akin to a smile, the closest he could manage anyway, and turned away, heading back to where the Red Wings were. It wouldn't be long now. All about him, he looked at the teenagers assembled about, all clutching spears and old swords. They were afraid. He sympathized. They had every reason to be. Something in his own mind screamed that this was suicide. In a normal war, you'd never realistically do something like this.

But this wasn't a normal war. This was a battle against creatures of the underground. And when you fought a new type of enemy, you always had to come up with new tactics. To not adapt was to perish, and Rude refused to die.

The Turk made his way to the stalagmite by the largest opening and checked the rope. It was tied tightly, with no signs of tampering. Not that he expected any. But Turk training always told him to double and triple check everything. He remembered the last time he'd tried to use a rope that he hadn't double-checked before rather bitterly. A mission a long time ago when he was in Soldier, alongside a man he'd been sure was a friend.

Why did I think of that? Rude wondered. It'd been a long time since he'd been Abner Owen, and thought of the memories that came with the name.

He'd properly buried all that in the past, alongside memories of Lathe. He fingered the ring again. Maybe one day he'd tell Tifa. Or maybe it was better to keep it all buried. He gave a mental shrug and looked out the opening and saw the first light of dawn.

Turning to face the Red Wings, Rude said, "It's time. It's dawn."