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Sonic the Hedgehog: Guardians

Chapter 3: Under Early Morning's Light

Make yourself useful.

Tower's words hung over Dutch as surely as the concrete roof of Corridor 53-P. Heading to one of the base's multiple underground hangers, he reflected that what he did over the next five minutes, let alone the next five hours, could decide not only the trajectory of his career, but that of the entire planet.

Without question, he'd sacrifice the former for the latter. Unfortunately, that wasn't the question. Rather, it was whether sacrificing the former could save the latter.

He glanced at his chrono as he made his way through the base's endless corridors – 21:54. Still have time, he reflected, before quickening his pace. Hoping that the endless supplies of troopers and support staff roaming these halls wouldn't pay attention to a GUN commando making his way to Hangar 4D, wearing combat fatigues, and carrying a duffel bag that most certainly wasn't hold enough weapons to start a small war. And if they did, well, the war had already started. And as this base's history had demonstrated, even when you were underground, war would come for you eventually.

Make yourself useful.

When Tower had directed the soldiers of Omega Site to hold the line against Black Arms, his orders had been far less vague. Westopolis had been destroyed, Central City had been destroyed, and the entire country's defence grid had been shattered. It had only been at the eleventh hour that the aliens had pulled back to defend their comet, and the hour after that when it had been destroyed through the efforts of Shadow the Hedgehog, and the Eclipse Cannon. The legacy of Gerald Robotnik had saved the world, after his same space colony had come within an inch of destroying it. Some might have called it ironic. Some, poetic. Having been stationed at Omega Site, tending to the dead and dying, Dutch hadn't given it much thought.

Historians were able to write history only after laypeople let them live long enough to do so. And he most certainly wasn't a historian.

"Sir?"

Being a colonel who'd fought against aliens, there was a chance that history would record his actions. Lieutenant Oxford, however…

"Sir, wait up."

…well, she was another matter. Nevertheless, as he walked to the hanger, he paid her all due heed.

"You're doing it, then?"

"It?" he murmured.

"The thing. You and your team are gonna do it."

"Lieutenant, I don't know what you're talking about but-"

"Sir, you could at least try and pretend you don't think I'm stupid."

Dutch stopped walking. Although Omega Site had its temperature set to a constant 23 degrees, he could swear that it had lowered. And as he looked at the woman beside him, the temperature seemed to drop even further still.

"I know you and your team are going into Eggman Empire territory," she said. "I also know that there's a window in which you can take a helicopter out of Hangar Twenty-One."

Dutch remained silent. All of it was true, of course, but if he kept his lips closed, then technically, he hadn't admitted to anything.

"Can't say I know why, and hey, maybe I'm too stupid to. So all I'm going to say is 'good luck,' and also, 'take this.'"

She handed him a small remote. Flipping open its lid, he beheld only a single button. Red, because of course it was.

"Press that," she said, "and you might be able to get some help."

He frowned. "Might?"

"You're doing your thing. You press that, I might be able to do my thing."

"Your thing?"

The lieutenant remained silent.

"What's your game, Oxford?"

She glanced around, before leaning in. Whispering into his ear, "you're not the only person who dislikes sitting on the sidelines."

Dutch remained silent.

"Four minutes," said Oxford, drawing back with a smile. "You best get going."

Dutch didn't say anything. Not to Oxford as she looked at him, nor at her as she turned around and walked away, her boots echoing through the empty corridor. In the time he'd known her, Lieutenant Oxford had reminded him of a mouse – short, twitchy, nervous. Now, the metaphor had extended to her slinking into her hole after having fooled the trap.

He looked at his watch – 21:56. Oxford had been honest about that at least. As for the rest of things…

No guarantees in war, he recalled, before pocketing the remote, and walking on to Hanger 21. A walk that took him another minute, before he beheld the sight of a Grey Hawk helicopter, and four GUN commandos standing beside it. All of them wearing the same green fatigues as he was, and all of them carrying everything from high-powered rifles to explosives. The type of gear that, being requisitioned without authorization, could get them booted even if they stopped this mad crusade right now.

"You're late," one of the men said

Dutch smirked. "Nice to see you too, Rico."

The commando grunted. The others – Vincent, Honch, and Spike – might have been doing a better job of concealing their emotions (well, maybe not Honch, he looked ready to shoot something), but he'd worked with them long enough to know what they were thinking.

For a moment, he was taken back to Fort Thorndyke. Ten years ago, he'd been introduced to this very quartet – lounging around as the oddballs they were, before being put under his command in a live fire exercise against Hunter mechs.

The mechs had stunned them with their lasers, and Honch's "spray and pray" approach had almost got Vincent killed, but as it turned out, being shot by lasers and nearly dying via bullet had been quite a bonding experience. So too, were the ten years of missions that had followed, before the one that had seen them disbanded. Scattered to the winds after their final get-together in an officer's lounge in the early hours of the morning. Drinking, before departing…

And now they were together. He'd pulled some strings, called in favours, and even gotten his hands dirty, and he'd managed to bring his former team to Omega Site. And, bless them, they'd answered their leader's call.

"So, er, you gonna say something?" Honch asked.

Dutch sighed. Same shit, different day.

"Still waiting for it."

He sighed. "I'd give a pretty speech, but I don't want to waste your time." He looked out over the team. "So anyone who wants to back out now, or say something clever, do it now."

Honch opened his mouth.

"Key word being 'clever.'"

The man closed it, instead replacing it with a smirk. Adding to the roster of Rico's frown, Spike's pale, impassive face, and Vincent, speaking softly.

"We knew what we were getting into." He looked around, as if choosing his words. "Still not sure exactly how far this goes, but we've walked this far." He looked back at the Grey Hawk. "Guess now it's time to fly."

Dutch smiled and walked to the helicopter, patting EP. 002 on the way. "Short and clever. I like it."

"Not that clever," Spike murmured.

"Ah, so the silent sniper does talk," Rico said. "And there was me thinking that-"

"Your job isn't to think, Rico, your job is to shoot stuff." Vincent looked at E.P. 004 and winked. "Thinking's my job."

As Vincent climbed into the cockpit, and the rest of the team into the loading bay, Dutch pondered how, or even if, he should discipline the team for their constant bickering.

Pondered, and decided against it.

After all, they were here because he'd asked them to be. Not ordered them.

And Sigma-Alpha 2 "Paladin" Team had never been that big on discipline.

Central City.

The capital of the United Federation. A city upon the hill. A shining beacon of truth, liberty, prosperity, and according to some, apple pie.

Standing in the cockpit of a Grey Hawk helicopter, Dutch reflected that he couldn't comment on any of that. Perhaps Central City was all those things, but if so, he'd spent most of his life fighting to ensure that all of those supposed things remained supposedly true, rather than sampling freedom pie for himself. Which in this case, meant transporting a fugitive who just recently, had defended liberty and prosperity himself.

Well, maybe not exactly those things, but the captive had saved Station Square from being completely destroyed rather than only partially destroyed, so there was that, he supposed. Station Square had a chance of achieving prosperity again in part because its populace was still alive, after all.

"Nice view."

He looked at the pilot – a man named Equiano, who was on loan to his team from GUN's air wing.

"Not sure if the guy round back can see it."

Also a man who, having done search-and-rescue at Station Square in light of that same incident, had made it clear that he wasn't too big on the whole capturing Sonic the Hedgehog thing.

"Then again, when we arrive at Prison Island, he won't be seeing much, period."

Dutch frowned – airmen, he reflected. Heads were in the clouds for so long, they couldn't work things out on the ground. That in the real world, orders were orders, and if his orders were to catch a certain hedgehog who'd wrecked Prison Island's security detail, then they were duty-bound to carry them out.

That the target had gone from ally to enemy in the blink of an eye was a paradox that he'd tried not to dwell on too much. And as he saw Equiano put a hand to his headphones, murmuring something, he kept trying.

"Acknowledged, Control."

And damn it, it had worked.

"Control's calling for you." Equiano took the headphones off.

Worked so far, at least. Grunting, he put the 'phones to his ears.

"Colonel Warner, report," came the voice of Control.

Straight to business then. "Sigma-Alpha Two, heading due south over the city. We're en route, everything's a go."

"This is Control Tower, we have you on radar. Report status of captured hedgehog aboard, over."

"That's a ten-four." Dutch turned around, opening the cockpit door that would lead to the troop bay, where the rest of Paladin Team were overseeing the captive. "Target is secured onboard and what?!"

"Didn't copy that, over."

Dutch had been taught how to evaluate situations quickly. So while a civilian, or even a greenhorn might have stood and gaped, Dutch was able to process the scene in a millisecond. One that involved every other member of Sigma-Alpha 2 lying unconscious, with nary a shot fired, the target nowhere to be found, and Prison Island Control burning in his ear.

"The hedgehog is gone," he said, addressing the last part of that dilemma." He's taken out everyone aboard and what in the world?!"

It happened quickly.

The hedgehog, jumping up from behind a pile of ammo crates, stored in the helicopter's back.

His two red sneakers hitting him square in the chest, knocking Dutch down, and the wind out of him.

The hedgehog using that momentum to send himself into a spinning spiky ball, smashing through the Grey Hawk's side hatch.

Grabbing onto the helicopter's wing, handcuffs falling down into the city below.

Looking at Dutch, currently in the midst of pulling himself to his feet, and blowing a wet raspberry.

"Freeze!" Dutch drew out his pistol, pointing it at the hedgehog. "What do you think you're doing? Get that hedgehog!"

He doubted the target could hear him over the roar of the rotor blades. Certainly no-one in Sigma-Alpha 2 could, what with being unconscious. Which left their leader with a pistol, and a hedgehog who'd flipped up onto the wing, and was currently in the process of removing some of its frame.

His finger touched the trigger. I could shoot, he reflected. I could do it.

Or not. He'd seen dash-cam footage of the hedgehog outside Station Square Town Hall, where he'd done what an entire SSPD detachment had failed to. Moving with such speed and strength that a water creature had been sent running where an entire barrage of bullets had failed. If he shot now, there was every chance that the hedgehog could dodge the bullet.

Even so, his back was still to him. He seemed to be mumbling something about flights and movies, but his words were muffled by the roar of the blades.

One shot, Dutch reminded himself. Just one shot…

He aimed down the pistol's sights, knowing that he couldn't miss. Would not, miss…

But this was Sonic.

This was the hedgehog who'd saved Station Square.

This was the hedgehog who, according to Intelligence, had saved the world more times than they could count.

This was the hedgehog who'd done the job that GUN had meant to do…to guard nations. All nations. To be that beacon on the hill…

So he didn't fire.

He watched as the hedgehog jumped off the wing, standing on the sheet of metal. Descending to the city below, as if skydiving.

A lesser man would die on impact. Something told Dutch, however, that the hedgehog had nothing to worry about.

"Sigma-Alpha Two, respond!"

As he took a breath and relayed the situation to Control, advising them that they'd need to call in everyone from the CCPD to a GUN mecha detachment. That yes, the most acclaimed commando team in the Guardian Units of Nations had let the target slip through their fingers, into the most densely populated city in the country. A development that just might warrant the description of "a disaster."

Control said something. But he didn't hear it.

Because he was waking up…

"Hey Dutch."

That day had been the beginning of the end, he reflected. At least for Sigma-Alpha 2.

"Colonel?"

Nearly the end of the world as well. When, days later, Space Colony ARK had nearly crashed into the planet. And when mere hours after that had been averted, his team had been disbanded.

"Yo, Dutch. You gonna lead, or you gonna lie?"

The colonel grunted, before rubbing his eyes, and beholding the frowning visage of Rico, and the grinning mug of Honch. Big happy reunion…minus the happy part.

"Could do both," Honch said. "Half of leading is about telling lies."

"Really?" Rico smirked at his fellow commando. "What's the other half?"

Honch shrugged. "Dunno. I'm not leading. I'm just some loner who gets a call from our former CO, telling us to come to Omega Site, for some do-or-die mission that's gonna be off the books, and volunteers only." Honch looked at Dutch, his smirk fading. "Still waiting on the specifics by the way."

Dutch sat up straight and looked around the bay. Honch and Rico in front of him – ever at the forefront, given their positions of heavy gunner and demolitions man respectively. In the shadows, as usual, was Spike, while Vincent walked out from the cockpit, joining the team in the troop bay. The one in which he'd had a nice nap in, until the two thug-a-lugs woke him up.

"Sleeping Beauty's awake I see," Vincent said.

Dutch ignored the barb. "You set the bird to auto-pilot?"

"No, I left a monkey in charge." Vincent rolled his eyes. "Course I set it to fucking auto-pilot."

Honch and Rico sniggered. Spike remained silent. Dutch looked at his chrono – 03:09 hours. By his calculations, they should be at the landing site in twenty-five minutes, which meant that if they pulled this off, they could be back at Omega Site in time for breakfast before being thrown in the brig.

He got to his feet and looked at Vincent. "Nice to see you too, by the way."

Vincent grunted.

"All of you." He looked around his former team. "I mean it. None of you had to come here, and you're risking your lives and careers in doing so, but, well…" He trailed off, before murmuring, "well, you're here."

"No shit," Vincent murmured.

"Oh, I dunno, I can imagine quite a bit of shit," Honch said.

"Lots of shit," Rico added.

"Lots and lots of-"

"Yes, gentlemen, shit is what we're walking into," said Dutch. "But after ten years what else is new?"

No-one answered. They didn't have to. Even Rico and Honch managed to remain silent as Dutch drew out a map from his pocket, unfolding it, and laying it out in the bay. Vincent murmured something about road atlases, but Dutch paid him no heed. Vincent was their techie, it didn't mean he was a slave to technology.

Being a slave to technology was what happened to critters placed inside badniks, after all. Something that had become much more common in recent months…

"This is our target." Dutch tapped a dot on the map, the thought of robotic slaves giving him the drive he needed to do this properly. "Crescent View. Population of nine-hundred and forty-four before the Eggman Empire rolled in. Now? Best guess is around twenty-one."

"Best guess?" Vincent asked.

"Animals, metal, badniks, the works." Dutch tapped the image of the city's town hall. "But there's a bunch of furries hiding under here, least according to our satellite scans."

"And Eggman hasn't detected them?" asked Rico.

"If he has, he isn't doing anything," Dutch said. "Which is where we come in."

"Rooting, tooting, shooting, looting?"

"Pretty much Honch, except for the last part."

His attempt at a joke hadn't given the bay the levity he'd hoped for. Perhaps the commandos were stupid (they'd joined him on this mad quest after all), but they weren't stupid-stupid. Insane, reckless, trigger-happy, and a dozen other terms given to them in psych-evals, but not stupid. After all, their operational record spoke for itself.

That same record being why they'd been assigned to capture Sonic…

En route, Dutch reflected, as he glanced around the helicopter's interior, taken back to that fateful day. And still a go.

The commandos listened as he began to lay out the plan, taking notes like any operation. As if this was sanctioned by the higher-ups. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Almost.

"Vincent's going to land us two klicks outside town, right on the edge of Stringybark Forest. There's a nice overlook of the town from there, so Spike's on sniper duty. Rest of you will be on me."

"We expecting resistance?" Vincent asked.

Dutch shook his head. "Eggman's moved on. If there's any Egg Pawns left, he-"

"No, I mean the Resistance," said their techie. "The whole anti-Eggman, freedom fighter schtick that's being led by that pink broad."

"Thought the echidna was leading it," Honch murmured.

"I thought it was the-"

"Doesn't matter who's leading it," Vincent said, his eyes locked on Dutch. "Question is, are we operating in tandem?"

Dutch said nothing. But the look in Vincent's eyes…yep. He knew.

"Great," Rico said, as he began to pace around. "Fucking great. No support from GUN, no support from the Resistance, and we're risking our necks to rescue some furries."

"And?" Dutch murmured. "You got a problem with that?"

Rico stopped muttering. He also stopped pacing.

"More for us, eh?" Honch said, patting his fellow heavy on the shoulder.

"None of you have to do this," Dutch said. "We sit down, you can sit it out. But if we pull this off, if we do this…then the United Federation has precedent to enter the war."

"And do the people want that?" Vincent whispered. "Does GUN?"

Dutch said nothing.

"Does the president?"

Dutch said nothing.

"Does anyone with any actual authority want this?" Vincent asked. "Or are we screwing over the UF when up to this point, Eggman's left us alone?"

Dutch nodded at one of the chopper's viewports, beyond which was the darkness of early morning. "You looked at the sky recently, Vincent?"

He didn't say anything.

"See the moon? Remember when it was half-full, courtesy of a certain madman?" He looked around. "Any of you take out a telescope and see the big, grey, moustache-twirling space station up there, built by the same guy? A Death Egg?"

The team remained silent.

"Well?"

"Technically, the moustache isn't twirling," Rico murmured.

"Sooner or later, the war's going to come to us," Dutch said. "Tomorrow, a week from now, a month, it's going to happen. So better we do what we do best, and do the dirty work ourselves."

Rico folded his arms. "We took the fall for GUN once," he said. "Why should we do so again?"

"I dunno, Rico. But you're here. You all are." He paused, hoping that he was speaking with more conviction than he felt, because for once, Rico Olusoga had asked an intelligent question. Why take the fall indeed? No matter what happened today, even if the United Federation entered the war, there'd be no awards for them. No medals. No parades. Heck, not being thrown in the brig was about as good a thanks as they were likely to get.

But then, he'd served with his team for ten years. Before they'd been sent to capture a certain hedgehog, and where everything had changed. So maybe…that counted for something.

"I called, you came to Omega Site," Dutch said, speaking slowly. "And you even agreed to board a commandeered Grey Hawk with me. So, whatever your personal reasons are, doesn't really matter. You're here. And whether you admit it to me or not, you're going in. You're going to do the right thing, and brig or not, that's what's going to let you sleep at night."

None of the commandoes said anything, but none of them looked convinced either. Vincent folded his arms. Rico and Honch glanced at each other. And Spike? Spike just looked at his CO. Giving him the same icy stare he always did. One that remained as Dutch put a hand in his pocket.

"And also," he murmured, "we might have some help."

He took out the remote that Oxford had given him and tossed it to Vincent. The techie caught it, and spent a second looking over the device.

"Panic button," he murmured. "Mark Four." He looked at Dutch. "Press this, and a signal goes out to all GUN forces within two-hundred klicks."

Rico frowned. "We get into a firefight, you expecting the cavalry to show up quick enough to make a difference?"

"This goes according to plan, there shouldn't be a firefight at all," Dutch said. But if there is…" He took the remote from Vincent and handed it to Spike. "You're on overwatch. Things go wrong, press it."

Spike remained silent.

"Need a wilco, Silent Sniper."

E.P. 005, after a moment, frowned. Whispering, "isn't that your call to make?"

Dutch smiled, and patted Spike on the shoulder. "My call is that it's your call." He looked at the other members of the team. "Because Rico's right. We're way out of range of any GUN forces. I press this when the shit hits the fan, fan will have been rusted by the time help arrives." He clutched his pistol. If it arrives.

There was a chance, of course, that Oxford's help wouldn't amount to anything. But then, there were no guarantees in war. And no matter what the president said, all of planet Earth was fighting a war against the Eggman Empire. They just hadn't been invited yet.

"Suit up," Dutch said. "We deploy in fifteen."

Nary a sound came from any of the commandos. Not as Vincent made his way back to the cockpit. As Rico and Honch began grabbing everything from armour-piercing rounds to high-explosive shells. Even Spike prepared his sniper rifle in utter silence, loading a magazine and fitting the sights with nary a whisper.

All that remained was the thump-thump-thump of the blades, and the drone of the engine.

Carrying them through the air, under early morning's light.