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Sonic the Hedgehog: Guardians

Chapter 2: In the Hall of the Mountain King

Technology changed, Dutch reflected, but the times didn't.

As he was driven across Fort Thorndyke in the jeep, his eyes were fixed on the sights and sounds around him. Some of them remained the same – back when, wet behind the ears and green around the head, he'd arrived here on a bus with a number of hopefuls, half of whom had washed out by the end of training. Jeeps like this going across the roads, the odd helicopter flying lazily across the sky, the sound of rifles from the firing ranges, and troopers jogging along, uttering rhymes about not knowing stuff, despite having been told it.

But some things had changed. Gone were the jogging soldiers, for instance. In their place were bi-pedal mechs - 16 feet tall war machines controlled by a single pilot, patrolling the edges of the base, and equipped with more firepower than a tank. A pair of Blue Falcon fighter jets drifting through the air, launched not from airfields, but one of GUN's new strato-carriers. And more than anything else, the robots. Floating, orb-shaped robots. Bi-pedal humanoid robots. Small tank-like robots. They were everywhere. On testing grounds, in storage, even at the perimeter. Watchers at the walls, with eyes that were anything but human.

He'd learnt some of their names as well. Beetles. Hornets. Hunters. Reportedly, the designs went back decades, but only recently had GUN started using them en masse. No longer the purview of secret bases and testing grounds, now, the plan was to roll them out in full force. Have them fighting alongside human forces, and eventually, replace them entirely.

Or such was the goal of some in the chiefs of staff. But even now, with the rank of major, he wasn't purview to the going-ons of the boys in Central City. So whatever the private driving him through the fort thought about the whole robot thing, he didn't ask.

"You been here before, Sir?"

Privates, on the other hand, could apparently ask away.

"Heard this is where you trained."

He was seated in the back of the jeep, while the driver kept his eyes up-front. It was open-topped, and there was a chill in the air that gave Dutch pause, before murmuring, "awhile back."

"How far back?"

Dutch grunted. "Far back enough that it looked a lot different."

The driver chuckled. "I can imagine." He looked back at Dutch, smiling. "Maybe when I'm your age, I'll be able to reminisce on the good times too, eh?"

"Maybe you will. And maybe you should also keep your eyes on the road ahead."

The smile faded. "Yes Sir. Of course Sir." The driver turned his head back. "Nearly there Sir."

Good. Dutch leant back in the jeep, rubbing his eyes. Two days ago, he'd been at a defence conference in Spagonia, and he'd only touched down back in the United Federation five hours ago. Soon as this meeting with Commander Penders was done, the sooner he could retire to the barracks and get some shut-eye.

Hopefully.

As they drove into a warehouse, the jeep easily fitting between its two gigantic doors, Dutch felt the urge to sleep then and there, as he found himself in the gloom of the structure's interior. The driver pulled the jeep to a halt, before turning the key, getting out, and opening the door for Dutch.

"Sir."

His superior, however, remained seated, as even through the gloom, he could make out what the warehouse contained.

Robots. Dutch grunted, and got out of the jeep, giving the kid nary a glance. More damn robots.

Inactive robots, but still the same designs he'd seen. Most of them being the Hunter walkers, only now, with shields attacked to their left arms, in addition to the laser cannons on their right. Standing on each side of the warehouse, on the ground level, and on racks above. For a moment, he found himself taken back to his childhood – wandering through the aisles of a toy store, looking to get the next Alex Kidd action figure. Only unlike the martial artist with an obsession for jakenpo, these robots had AI.

Limited AI, granted, their minds and bodies powered by fission cores. Some inside the brass called the rollout "making war safe for the next century." Given their limited IFF capabilities, however, and the spent nuclear fuel that would result from their cores, Dutch was left to wonder who they were making war safe for.

"Major Warner."

Well, that wasn't a question he was about to ask Commander Penders, as the man came walking over. Big moustache, big glasses, big belly, and a big clipboard under his arm. Penders was an example of what Dutch called a desk-man. People who'd got to their position through holding pens more than firearms.

"Sir." He saluted.

"Had a good trip?"

Dutch glanced at the private. "No surprises."

Penders, as if noticing the kid only then and there, waved his hand. The trooper gave Dutch a look, before he climbed back into the jeep and reversed out of the warehouse, before driving off to parts unknown.

"The J-Twenty-Six," Penders said. "Electic battery y'know. Far better than the old gas guzzlers."

"Fascinating," Dutch murmured.

Penders gave him a look. "It's progress."

"Hmm." Dutch looked at the Hunter robots. "Are they progress?"

Penders took off his glasses and began to rub them with a cloth. Long enough to get any dust off them, and long enough to make his point. So when he finally put them back on, and murmured, "walk with me," Dutch obeyed. Pen-pusher or not, pens were still mightier than swords, and in his experience, even guns. One man could pull one trigger, while one pen could result in hundreds of triggers being pulled.

So they walked, from one side of the warehouse to the other, where Dutch could see an empty grass field through the open doors. Between them were the Hunter robots, standing like silent sentinels. None of them active, their guns down, their visors clear of the red glow he'd seen in the briefs, but even so, he'd seen enough sci-fi movies to know how bad things could go with automatons.

"New age," Penders murmured. "A decade from now, and we expect that GUN's field forces will be up to fifty percent robotic."

Dutch remained silent.

"How does that make you feel, Major?"

Dutch made a non-committal noise. But it clearly wasn't enough for Penders, as he looked back at him, and said, "I asked you a question, Major."

Dutch, speaking slowly, said, "not used to being asked how I feel, Commander."

Penders smiled. "Indulge me."

Dutch sighed. "Call me old-fashioned, but I don't like the idea of robots doing the work that the Guardian Units of Nations have done for over half a century." Penders remained silent, so he continued. "I get the argument, sir. Seen people die, killed people myself. Just…" He sighed. "Just if you take the cruelty of war away, war has a way of becoming more…cruel."

"And that's your opinion?"

Dutch frowned. "What's yours?"

Penders snorted. "I have enough stars on my chest to know that my opinion is worth a lot to some people, but not worth that much to people with even more stars."

"You still have more stars than me, Sir."

"Quite right." They neared the end of the warehouse. "So, since you asked, my opinion is that we'll always need men and women in the field." He looked back at Dutch. "Or men like you, at least."

"Men like me?"

"Men who've risen through the ranks, and have done so by being in the field. Operation Echo, Operation Dolphin, Operation Green Vector, need I go on?"

Dutch frowned. His military record was open to anyone within GUN, that didn't mean he liked being read like an open book.

"Of course, you've never been that big on discipline either," Penders said. Dutch opened his mouth to speak, but the commander continued, "which, believe it or not, is what we want."

"We?"

"Men who've similarly risen through the ranks, and done so by fighting rather than planning." The two came to the field on the other side. "Men like these four here."

Dutch saw the four men he was talking to. Leaning beside an APC, all of them wearing green commando gear, all of them looking disinterested in the whole shebang.

"Your team," Penders said, before tossing Dutch his clipboard. "And some light reading for you."

One of the men snorted. "My record's anything but light." He looked at the commander. "Can't say the same for your gut."

Penders scowled. "Stow that shit, Captain."

"Sir, yes sir. Absolutely sir. Stowing the shit now, sir." He tapped his rear, before snorting, and high-fiving the commando next to him. The two chuckling as if they were children.

Dutch didn't join in, as he flicked through the pages of the four commandos, his eyes darting back and forth from the personnel files, and the personnel in question. The first was Vincent Singh – originally an IT specialist in Indra, before immigrating to the UF, joining GUN, and serving as a techie. Able to hack anything and everything, which, according to his profile, had included GUN's own databases on more than one occasion. Black hair, brown skin with eyes an even darker shade, and a small moustache…Singh gave Dutch a look that said "I know who you are, and I know what you've done, and I might be willing to work under you, but you've gotta earn my respect."

In reality, what he said was, "in case you're wondering, that shit in Langston had nothing to do with me."

Dutch looked at the next two – the ones who had chuckled about stowing shit. The first man was blonde, pale skinned, and big, while the second was black-haired with dreadlocks, dark skinned, and just as big. They looked like a couple made for each other, and their records indicated just that – Harold Darrow a heavy-machine gunner, Rico Olusoga a heavy explosives-specialist, the two of them having served together from Sudane to Zargoza, making Uncle Bill proud…and also doing plenty of collateral damage in the process. While Darrow came from Mercia and Olusoga Mazuri, the two had been as thick as thieves across their entire careers.

"Listen, new guy, not as bad as it looks," Olusoga chuckled.

"Yeah, it's worse," Darrow sneered.

"Heh, nice one Honch."

Honch. So we're doing nicknames. Deciding not to respond, Dutch turned to the last dossier – of a Yuji Ishuka. A sniper of Japanese heritage, the profile picture caught his exceptionally pale skin, but not his blue, spiky hair. But then, the profile didn't capture much – just line after line, blacked out. All that was confirmed was that Ishuka was an ace sniper, and every bit as cold as his demeanour projected. Not only had he remained silent this entire time, but he hadn't even met Dutch's eye.

"Looking at Spike's profile?"

Dutch looked at Singh. "Excuse me?"

"Lieutenant Ishuka. Calls himself Spike." Singh looked at the sniper. "Cold fish, let me tell you."

"And you know this, Captain Singh?"

"First of all, it's Vincent. Just Vincent. Or Vince. Second of all…well, who's asking?"

"I'm asking."

"And I'm stepping in," Penders said.

Honch looked at his foot. "Certainly stepped in something alright." He high-fived Olusoga.

"Charming," Penders murmured. "But academic. "Colonel Warner is your new C.O. He tells you to shoot, you shoot. He tells you to jump, you jump."

"Hey, I don't-"

"He tells you to shut the hell up, you shut the hell up."

Honch closed his mouth, and Penders looked at Dutch. "Think you can handle them?"

Dutch skimmed through the pages. "Five man team, Sir?"

"The same. Men like you who can do the things that robots can't. Things like channelling all this boundless energy into something productive."

"I'll channel my energy into something alright," Olusoga murmured, tapping something between his legs.

Dutch rolled his eyes. "This team," he murmured. "It got a name?"

Penders smiled. "Of course."

Walking through the halls of Omega Site, Dutch shook his head, and in doing so, shook the memory away as well.

That meeting had been a decade ago. Different time, different commander, different…well, everything. It had been the first time he and his old team had met. Similarly, the first time he'd met Commander Penders as well. Not the last time, mind you, but…he winced, as he entered the office. Less than an hour ago, he'd been reliving the Black Arms invasion of Westopolis. Thinking of Penders now…of the last time he'd seen him, well after their meeting in Fort Thorndyke…

He bid the memories adieu, and took stock of his new surroundings. Within the depths of Omega Site, Commander Abraham Tower's office told visitors two things – that he was down to business, and that anyone entering his office should get down to business as well. Also that he was a career officer born and bred, which might have been three things, but hey, who was counting?

Dutch didn't know. He was too busy trying not to be taken aback by the twin flags behind the commander – the red, white, and blue of both meshing together like a couple over fifty years married. Similarly not to be taken aback by the service medals, the bookshelves filled with works on military history and tactics, or the certificates, and pictures framed on the walls, ranging from Tower meeting heads of state, to an artist's rendering of the Black Arms invasion of Westopolis. He wasn't sure if he'd compare the arrival of the aliens to portals to Hell opening up in sky, with demons pouring out instead of aliens, but…

Always thought demons were meant to come from below. Not from above.

"Take a seat, Colonel."

He did so, trying not to think of invading aliens and Master Sergeant DiBella. There was enough evil on Earth without having to look for evil beyond it, after all. Watching the commander pour over documents, signing some with a pen that looked like it cost more than Dutch made in a month, he liked to think that Tower knew that as well.

"Um…" He looked around again. "Nice place you've got here, Sir. Was it like this when you-"

"Ten minutes."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Ten minutes to convince me to go against the president's directive," Tower murmured, as he signed yet another document. "Ten minutes to make your case for GUN taking the fight to the Eggman Empire." He put the page aside, put the lid on his pen, then rested his chin on his hands, meeting Dutch's eyes. "Your time starts now."

For a moment, Dutch was taken aback. Meeting Tower's gaze would have been hard enough, but given his hetrochlormidia, with one of his eyes being brown and the other green, it could make eye contact with the commander nearly impossible. Coupled with his snow-white hair, and wrinkled visage that spoke of over three decades of experience in GUN, just being in the same room with the man could be terrifying enough.

Nevertheless, he began to speak.

"We need to engage with the Eggman Empire. We can't-"

"Stop."

Dutch immediately did so.

"Don't tell me about what we need to do, Colonel. Tell me why."

Dutch remained silent.

"Nine minutes, by the way."

How did you…? He cleared his throat. "Commander, let's look at the facts. Doctor Eggman has conquered most of the planet. He's been trying to do that for years, even before GUN got involved. So what on Earth makes you think he's just going to stop at our borders, or heck, anyone else's?"

"Who's to say I don't?"

Dutch looked at him. "Sir, I don't follow. Are you saying that we should engage?"

"I'm not saying anything, Colonel."

"But you-"

"Five minutes."

Dutch stared at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Five minutes, Colonel."

"But a few seconds ago, you just said-"

"I said nine minutes, now it's five minutes. You've been penalized for bullshitting."

"Excuse me?"

Tower sighed, and leant back in his chair. Black, plush, and expensive – not like the dinky wooden one that Dutch was seated on. "What's your plan of attack, Colonel?"

"My what?"

"Your plan of attack. You've made them before. What's your plan? How do we take Eggman out? Stop his empire? How do we do it and justify it to the taxpayers, when so far, Doctor Eggman hasn't bothered us at all?"

"Sir, surely you know that Eggman isn't going to stop at-"

"What I do or don't know is irrelevant, Colonel, I'm asking for a mission plan that I can take to the president and get his approval." Tower glanced aside at one of the pictures on the wall. "Because God knows I've tried already…"

Dutch followed his gaze – it was a picture of him and the previous president shaking hands on the lawn of the White House, where beyond them lay the ruins of Central City. It had been taken in the aftermath of the Black Arms invasion, when Tower had been given yet another medal for his efforts in repelling the aliens. Efforts that hadn't amounted to much – once again, a hedgehog had saved the world rather than a human – but efforts nonetheless.

But that was the last president. What had followed was a ruined country with a ruined economy, and an election that had resulted in a new president that had made swathes of promises when he wasn't defending his questionable record on everything from tax evasion to sexual harassment. He'd promised to make the United Federation great again, and at least as far as rebuilding it went, he had. Only in the process, the country had become…harder, he supposed. Colder. Meaner. Disaster was said to bring out the best in people, but in this case, it had brought out the worst.

"You know we aren't going to be spared this," Dutch murmured, returning his gaze to Tower. "Eggman unleashed a water monster on Station Square, and when that wasn't far enough, he blew up half the moon. What makes you think-"

"Still waiting for a plan, Colonel." Tower swivelled back in his chair. "Four minutes."

Dutch swore under his breath. In a way, it would have been easier of Tower was incompetent. That way, he could have let loose, insult the bastard, and claim the moral high ground. Instead, Tower spoke in facts. Hard, dry facts. And among them was the fact that there wasn't the will in the White House to stand against Eggman, nor amongst the people themselves.

Eggman had broken the world apart, then had turned his attention to interstellar amusement parks and tormenting innocent creatures for his badniks. He'd once again become a threat to non-humans, and most people were fine with that. Eggman had slipped under GUN's radar for years before Station Square, and now, the people were fine with him staying under it again.

Dutch reached into his pocket and drew out a map, laying it out on the table. He tapped a dot marked Crescent View. "This is my plan."

Tower got to his feet, looking at the map.

"There's people still here," he said, tapping it. "The Eggman Empire has clamped down across this entire region, and the Resistance is too busy defending its remaining territory to do anything about it."

Tower remained silent.

"Sir, let me take a team in. If the Egg Pawns find them, they'll…well, they'll do what Eggman's always done. Put animals in machines, use them as slaves, do all the things he did for years while we didn't lift a finger."

Tower, even now, remained silent.

"One team," Dutch whispered. "One helicopter. I don't need an army, I don't even need support from our robotic forces. We go in, get the animals out, and bring them across the border."

"And then what?" Tower whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"And then what?" the commander repeated. "Suppose I give the go-ahead on this mission. I risk men's lives to save a bunch of furries, and bring them across the border. What then?"

"I-"

"We'll have strayed into the Eggman Empire's territory. We'll have conducted an op without the president's approval. We might have drawn ourselves into a war."

"Sir, we'll be at war soon, whether we want to or not. But with this? Heroes, saving the day? We set a precedent."

"Exactly," Tower murmured. "We set a precedent."

Dutch dared allow himself to smile.

"And precedents are dangerous things," Tower said, sitting back in his chair. "Three minutes."

"Sir?"

"Three minutes, Colonel. That's how long you have."

"Sir, I…Sir, I can do this."

"If by this, you mean wandering into Empire territory to get yourself killed, then yes, you can do it. But not with a team. Not wearing that uniform."

Dutch was tempted to point out that he wouldn't be wearing the navy-greys of his current uniform, and would instead be wearing green fatigues, but he managed to keep his tongue at bay.

"Two minutes, Colonel."

For a whole minute, assuming that Tower was counting down correctly.

"I'm waiting, Colonel…"

Thing was, Dutch believed him. The way Tower looked at him, the way he tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk…part of him dared to hope that Tower wasn't some cold, heartless bastard who could turn his back on the world. Even if, ever since Dark Gaia had been unleashed, much of the UF, nay, humanity itself, had.

"You know this is the right thing," Dutch murmured.

Tower remained silent.

"GUN," he said. "Guardian Units of Nations." He frowned. "Of nations."

"We're not dealing with a nation, Colonel. We're dealing with an empire invading regions that aren't nation-states."

"That's a distinction without a difference."

"Maybe," Tower murmured. He picked up his pen and began to read another document. "But for those in the military and in the government, it's distinction enough. Besides…" He sighed. "There's some who say that GUN has done enough damage already."

"With the ARK?"

"That," Tower murmured, "and other things."

Dutch didn't dispute the point. Not all parts of the world welcomed GUN in their lives. And having gone all across the world in more missions than he could count…he could see why.

"So let this be our redemption," Dutch said. "Let me-"

"Our, redemption?" Tower asked, meeting Dutch in the eye. "Or yours?"

Hetrochlormidia or not, Dutch glanced aside.

"I wonder, if Sonic was still alive, would you be so eager to redeem yourself?"

Dutch clenched his fist and got to his feet.

"I know your history with the hedgehog. Most consider it a stain on your record."

"And I know your history with Shadow," Dutch said, glancing back at Tower. "Don't think I'm the only one with dirt on his hands."

"There's dirt on all our hands, Colonel. My job is to keep people from seeing it."

"Yes, as a commander," Dutch snapped. "One with four stars on his chest. Don't know if you've looked at the sky for actual stars lately, but there's a new Death Egg being built that's blocking the view, and-"

"That will be all, Colonel. Dismissed."

"But it hasn't been…" Dutch trailed off. Ten minutes or not, the conversation was over. In a way, it had never really begun. Which begged the question as to why Tower had agreed to see him at all. To let him have his say? Or to assuage his conscience? Let himself listen to the angel on his shoulder, before ignoring it.

Or both.

Dutch didn't bother saluting as he headed for the door. His right hand was in a fist, and besides, Tower wasn't even looking at him. Yet as he reached for it, as the fist unformed to seize the handle…

"Your former teammates are here, aren't they?"

…he took hold of the handle, but didn't turn it.

"The Paladins? Recently transferred?"

Dutch glanced back at Tower, the commander still reading a document. "That was our unofficial designation, yes."

"Hmm." Tower kept reading. "Must be nice to see your old friends. Interesting turn of fate, that they'd all be here together."

"You could say that," Dutch murmured.

Tower signed the document, before moving onto the next one. "Well, maybe you can make yourselves useful. Traffic Control is glitching up. After twenty-two hundred, it's not properly registering inbound or outbound flights."

Dutch remained silent.

"You have some training in that field, right?"

"I do…"

"Good." Tower gave Dutch a look, and with it, a small smile. "So make yourself useful."

For a moment, Dutch met Tower's gaze.

The moment after that, he exited the office, into the depths of Omega Site.

Taking solace in the knowledge that whatever happened, he wouldn't be underground much longer.