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Sonic the Hedgehog: Guardians
Chapter 8: By All Our Sins Remembered
When he was twelve, Dutch had been taken to the principal's office.
Twenty-nine years later, he could barely remember what it was about. Some fight over something with some knot-nosed someperson. Rather, what had stayed in his mind over the decades was what had happened afterwards. When he'd come home, and been lectured by his father, while the disappointment in his mother's eyes had said more than Arnold Warner ever could. He was nearly thirteen, and in the mind of his father, that meant he was on the verge of being a man. That meant knuckling down, and either getting a job, studying his arse off, or joining the school's cadets. In the end, he'd chosen the third option. The unstated reasoning being that he could still fight, and avoid any parental recrimination in the process.
But now, as Lieutenant Oxford and a pair of troopers escorted him to Abraham Tower's office, he found himself taken back to that meeting with Principal Somename-Dunbar, or Denbar, something like that. He'd been caught fighting back then, he'd been caught fighting now, and therefore, he was once again being marched to the office to face the consequences. Only this time, he wouldn't have any parents to worry about (both having died in the Black Arms invasion), and his form of detention would have a bunk in place of a desk.
Iron bars notwithstanding.
He glanced at Oxford – if he had to guess, he'd place her in her late twenties. Not much younger than what he'd been at Fort Thorndyke. When Commander Penders had introduced him to the four soldiers that would become his closest allies, and in time, friends. Maybe a few years from now, she'd go down the same path. Or she'd stay on the command track, and continue to march smucks like him through the Devil's lair.
"Are you alright, Sir?"
He turned away and quickened his pace. "I'm fine."
"But you were smiling."
Dutch grunted. "Don't I have something to smile about?"
Oxford remained silent.
"Only lost a man today, plus a helicopter, plus I learn that GUN's been dealing behind my back."
"Our backs."
Dutch looked back at her, frowning Wondering how much she knew. And just as importantly, how much she didn't.
"And you saved fifty innocents today," Oxford added. "I'd say that's something to smile about."
"At the cost of Spike's life?"
"One life for fifty? Most would call that a good trade."
Dutch stopped in his tracks, causing the trio that were following him to do likewise. A day ago, less, he'd have described Oxford as being mousy. Timid. Not all there. Now…
"Like I said," he murmured. "You'll make a great commander."
Now she seemed less of a mouse, and more of a rat.
"Maybe someday, Sir. But in the meantime, there's an actual commander you need to see."
Dutch winced as one of the troopers put the barrel of his rifle against his back. He started walking, and this time, didn't look back. He'd evaded lasers mere hours ago, what were a few bullets in the back, considering that there was already a knife stuck in it?
They reached the door to Tower's office. Last time, he'd walked through it alone. This time, he would do likewise, though it was through Oxford's palm print that the door opened. Not his.
"Good luck," she whispered.
Dutch tried not to listen as he walked in. He knew that as soon as he exited this office, he'd be on his way to detention. He didn't need luck from Oxford. Not now at least. Not after Spike was already dead.
"Colonel Warner."
Tower, however, was very much alive. Giving him a look much like his father had all those years ago.
"Take a seat."
Only this time, he wasn't some scared little boy who got into fights for no reason. He'd done what he had to do, and he'd do it again, no matter how angry Commander Abraham Tower might be. Even though, given the look in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, anger didn't seem like the best emotion. Rather, it was something else. Something like…
Dutch took a seat and realized the answer. Regret, he reflected. Regret that lingered in the room like a ghost, as the two men sat there. One, in the dark grey of his uniform, the other in commando greens. One, as cool as the circulated air of Omega Site allowed him to be, the other still drenched in sweat and grime, the embers of a fire still inside his heart.
They could have sat there for an eternity – as long as it took for the mountain above them to be weathered away. But Dutch had seen some fast-moving critters today, and wasn't in the mood to slow down right now.
"Should I start by justifying my actions, or should you start by throwing the book at me?"
Tower got to his feet and made his way to a cabinet.
"I did what I had to do, Sir."
A cabinet that the commander opened.
"I mean, chances are I fucked up, and Captain Ishuka is dead, and…" He swallowed, steadying his breath. "One life for fifty…some people might call that a good deal."
Tower took something out of the cabinet and closed it. Apparently unaware as to how the colonel was trying to get Oxford and her words out of his head.
"Though others might say…" Dutch rubbed his eyes, fighting the urge to sleep, lest nightmare find him again. "Well, they might say…I don't know what Spike might say…or his family…"
I'm going to have to write to them. If GUN even lets me.
Tower put a bottle of whiskey and two cups on the table between them. Dutch stared as the commander opened the top of the bottle and began pouring a glass. He continued to stare as Tower pushed the glass towards him, and stared even harder as he poured a glass for himself. He even stared as Tower raised his glass as if in toast.
"To a finished mission," Tower said.
Dutch continued to stare.
"That means you get to drink."
"Aren't we on duty?"
"We are," Tower murmured. "And sometimes, duty demands that we break the rules."
"Like today?" Dutch asked.
Tower remained silent.
"Am I on duty?" Dutch whispered.
The commander sighed, and held his glass out. "To Yuji Ishuka."
Dutch, letting the puppet master guide him, held his out as well. "To Spike."
Both men took a sip. The liquid burnt Dutch's tongue, as well as his throat. But it didn't matter. He'd seen so much burning today, burning that came with taste…he could live with that.
"To your team."
Dutch took another sip.
"To a job well done."
Dutch raised the glass to his lips, but unlike Tower, didn't partake in the beverage. Instead, he slowly lowered it. Meeting the commander's eyes with his own.
"Was it well done?" he murmured.
Tower said nothing.
"Is this my last drink on Earth?"
Tower gave him a small smile. "That depends on you."
"How? Depending on what answers I give?"
"Maybe."
Dutch, looking at the commander, took a final sip, before laying the glass on the table. "Answers," he whispered.
Tower took a sip and lay the glass on the table too. Also empty.
"I want answers."
"Oh? And what answers would they be?"
"I don't know, Sir," Dutch whispered, his eyes narrowing, his voice lowering. "Maybe answers as to why the Resistance has our panic frequency. Answers as to how the Resistance has battleships supplied by GUN. Answers as to how long we've been supplying them, and why we're supplying them when the president's so far made a point of neutrality. Answers such as how you fit into all this."
Tower poured himself another glass.
"Answers as to whether Spike died for nothing."
Tower, giving Dutch a look as only a father could, sighed, and poured him another glass. "Only you can answer that, colonel."
"Can I?"
Tower remained silent.
"You've sent men to their deaths before," Dutch murmured. "I bet you had to justify whether it was worth it."
Tower scoffed, and swilled the clear liquid in the glass. Eyeing it, as a captain might a stormy sea. "More times than you can count…" He whispered.
He took a sip, the storm within his eyes disappearing. Fitting, Dutch reflected. The real storm, the storm bearing down upon them all, was blowing from Metropolis, carrying Eggman's robotic legions upon its waves to drown the world in fire and steel. Today, he and his team had delayed that storm. Tomorrow?
Dutch watched Tower take another sip. If he'd even be able to see tomorrow was something he wasn't sure about anymore.
"You want answers," Tower said eventually. "And you deserve them."
Dutch remained silent. He watched as the commander got to his feet, his gaze fixed on the flag of the United Federation, and the flag of GUN. When he'd come in here last time, Dutch had noticed how the colours had matched each other. The blues, reds, and whites standing together in harmony. Now…it was as if they were in conflict. Two flags, two ideals, with a man clad in grey standing between them.
"We've been supplying the Resistance for months," Tower murmured. "Custom-made battleships, designed for creatures half as tall as any human being. Good enough to match the Egg Fleet. And done so secretly that there was no reason for Eggman to suspect that we were doing it." He chuckled. "Even most of the Resistance are unaware of our support."
"Yet you sent me in," Dutch murmured. "Boots on the ground."
"Me?" Tower glanced back at him. "I didn't send you anywhere, colonel. You and a band of commandos appropriated a Grey Hawk and left when Traffic Control was glitching up. I didn't do anything."
Dutch gripped his glass as he took a sip. Holding it hard enough that he didn't curl his right hand into a fist and do something stupid. Instead, asking, "was putting my team in the line of fire part of the plan?"
Tower remained silent.
"Sir?"
Sipped his whiskey.
"Did you send us to die?"
Tower sighed, looking back at the flags. "I've done that so many-"
"Look at me!"
Tower did so. But whether it was due to his exclamation, or his shattering of the glass, Dutch couldn't say. He watched, as the clear liquid spread across the desk. Like water. Ever shifting. Ever treacherous.
"I didn't want any of you to die."
Ever clear.
"The plan was to let you do your thing," Tower whispered. "Go in, get the animals, and get out. Bring them back to the United Federation, where, conveniently, an anonymous source would leak the event to the world. To the president. To the public." He took a sip. "To Eggman."
Dutch stared at him. "But you denied my mission plan."
"I denied your mission plan, because plans require planning. Plans require records. Plans require people like me to sign off on them, so the UF's toy soldiers can do their thing. Plans are a liability, colonel. But joyrides in helicopters? Well, we've got so many, and commandoes are a special breed of crazy…" He took another sip. "Plans within plans…"
"Plans," Dutch murmured. "Or no plans. A no-plan, so I could do my plan, and leave your hands clean." His eyes narrowed. "To leave GUN's hands clean."
Tower scoffed. "GUN's hands haven't been clean for fifty years."
Dutch, thinking of today, of ARK, of so many things, didn't correct him.
"The information would have come out and GUN would have entered the war," Tower said. "One squad on one rescue mission might not seem like much, but letting in refugees is like opening a door to a flood. Open a little, a little water comes in. Open some more, it becomes a stream. Open it fully, it becomes an ocean. And with enough water, things can…shift, with the tide."
"And the people?"
"People love heroes, colonel. Especially those who go against authority. Or haven't you noticed that hedgehog plushies are outselling Jenny dolls these days?"
Dutch didn't answer. Nor did he point out that the hedgehog plushies had started getting sold out after Sonic's death. Not before. And unlike Sonic, he was alive.
For now. Looking at Tower, he asked, "and the president?"
Tower sighed. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore." He took a sip of the whiskey. "Black Arms may have destroyed the Statue of Deliverance when they attacked Empire City, but the Lady's ideals still endure in some areas. Even for those who don't always live up to them."
"Like the president?" Dutch murmured.
"Perhaps," Tower murmured. "Or people like me."
Silence returned to the room. Dutch only now became aware as to how his right hand was beside him. Loose. Limp. His trigger finger sore. His legs aching. His heart heavy, carrying the weight of a stone named sorrow, and a brick named regret. His tongue, still burning from the whiskey, as he finally broke the silence.
"Better to try to live up to ideals and fail," he murmured, "then abandon them altogether." He looked at Tower. "Did you know about Huggy Bear?"
"The mayor of Crescent View?"
"Did you know that he'd betrayed his people to Eggman? That he was using them as bait for the Resistance?"
Tower shook his head.
"He said that politics was about choosing the winning side," Dutch murmured. "And maybe…" He looked at a globe behind Tower's desk, thinking of the sea of red he'd seen on his terminal less than 24 hours ago.
"What if he was right?" Dutch asked. "What if Eggman can't be stopped?"
Tower took a seat at the desk.
"What if I've doomed the lives of every human being on this planet today?"
"What if you have?" Tower asked.
Dutch didn't say anything.
"Or what if, on the other hand, you've saved the lives of every human and non-human on this planet by those same actions?"
Dutch, slowly, quietly, asked, "what do you think?"
"What I think is that opinions are for enlisted men."
Dutch smiled, however briefly. Because as he saw the look in Tower's eyes…he knew this conversation was over.
"But I know what has to happen. GUN commandos fighting Egg Pawns with a combat fatality…I'd hoped this could have been leaked on our own timetable, but this can't be brushed under the rug. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "The president will want answers. Half of the media will want you on Bill Rogan, the other half will want your head on a pike, along with the rest of your team." He paused, looking at Dutch in a way that reminded him not of a principal, but of a father. One who knew what had to be done, yet was loathe to do it.
"So tell me, Colonel Dutch Warner, were you acting alone?"
Dutch stared at him. "Sir, you know as well as I do that-"
"Answer the question, colonel. Were you acting alone?"
Dutch stared at him, and understood immediately. He understood, because he'd understood the same thing under Commander Brass. He understood, because he'd understood the same thing under Commander Penders. He understood, because he always had. From the moment he'd joined GUN, nay, the moment he joined the cadets…he always had.
"Yes sir," he said. "I was acting alone. I gathered my old team under false pretences. I carried out an operation without GUN's authorization, going against your edicts, and that of the president. I used my authority to my own ends, costing the life of Captain Ishuka. I've endangered the life of every man, woman, and child of the United Federation. Even if it is by my belief that my actions were necessary, I understand that many will not." He paused. "And I take full responsibility for my actions."
Tower, his face impassive, murmured, "are you sure?"
"I'm a guardian, sir. That means guarding everyone. Of all nations."
Tower nodded, smiling sadly. "Of all nations."
He pressed a button, and the door hissed open. The troopers walking in.
And in their hands, the handcuffs.
Cellblock 11-K was like every other cellblock inside Omega Site. Cold. Grey. Sterile. Metal interwoven with stone. Designed to hold the most dangerous war criminals on planet Earth. Designed in a time before Doctor Eggman revealed himself to the world, making even the most dangerous of criminals to look like children in comparison.
More recently, the cells had held Black Arms troops – the few GUN had managed to capture when they'd attacked this fortress. Most of the creatures had fought to the bitter end, even after the Black Comet had been destroyed. Those who hadn't had been put inside these cells before being transferred to Area 99, after it had become clear that the aliens were nearly as dangerous without their plasma guns as they were with them. Adding no small amount of fuel to the fire in conspiracy circles that the military base had housed aliens for decades, and that GUN was continuing a trend dating as far back as the Rosehill Incident.
So now, every cellblock in the fortress was empty – unneeded in a world where the greatest threat were unfeeling machines. All of them empty, bar Cell 11-K3. The one holding Dutch Warner, former colonel of the Guardian Units of Nations. Sitting on the edge of a bunk, staring at the ground as only a condemned man could. Listening to the men outside his cell bicker, given special access to the block by Lieutenant Oxford.
Or so he'd heard, before the bickering had started.
"This is bullshit."
"You've said that twice, Vincent."
"So? Three's a lucky number."
"Nothing's lucky about this."
"Come on, we can have a jailbreak."
"You realize they're likely listening to us, right Rico? Walls tend to have ears in blocks like these."
"So? Let them try and stop me. One gun, two bombs, and-"
"Captain Rico?"
"Yes, Colonel?"
"Shut up." Dutch looked at his team. "All of you."
He didn't mean his words to sound as harsh as they did, but given the look on his team's faces, he could see that they'd cut through them as surely as any bullet, or in the case of Vincent, laser. He gave the techie a look, nodding at the bandages that covered the right side of his body.
"How you holding up, soldier?"
"Honestly sir? Better than you."
"I doubt that. And speaking honestly myself, you should probably be in the hospital ward."
"And also speaking honestly, I think honesty went the same way as the aliens who used to be here," Vincent murmured. "Taken away, dissected into tiny little pieces, and tossed aside."
A silence lingered in the cellblock, giving Dutch time to look up at the wall beyond the bars, and his team. Truth of the matter was, Vincent was right. He'd had plenty of time to study the old audio logs of the alien prisoners that had once been kept in here. Nary a word spoken, but plenty of hissing and clanging, as they cast themselves against their iron cages.
Maybe the lower Black Arms castes used telepathy like Black Doom had, maybe they were incapable of actual speech – drones to a unifying hive mind. He didn't know, and not even he had access to the files of Area 99. But thinking of Westopolis, if only for a moment…he rubbed his eyes. The men and women had said plenty under his command. Not once, in the entire battle, had the Black Arms said a word. Besides, they'd been too busy killing people.
He was glad his now former team was spared that. Just as he was glad that they weren't inside this cage.
"This sucks, y'know?" Honch murmured.
"We all know," said Rico.
"We get to walk free," continued the commando. "We play along with the lie that you brought us to Omega Site under false pretences. You get brought before a JAG, and we sit on the sidelines."
"Actually, not even that. You three get to help GUN supply the Resistance. Me?" Dutch looked around in his cell. "Well, chances are I'm staying here."
"Why?" Rico whispered.
"If I'm in a trial, I'm under oath. If I'm under oath, I have to tell the truth. And if I tell the truth…"
"If you tell the truth, people will know what Spike died for," Vincent whispered.
Dutch shook his head. "If I tell the truth, Spike died for nothing."
The commandoes stared at him.
"People want heroes," E.P. 001 murmured. "But sometimes they need villains. If we'd all made it back alive with those animals…maybe the truth could come out. But now?" He shook his head. "Now Eggman is going to know that GUN's supplying the Resistance. Now, like it or not, we're in this war. Come tomorrow, half the country will be out for my blood." He looked at each commando in the eye. "Or rather, my blood," he whispered. "Not yours, if we can help it."
"Who says we want help?" Rico murmured.
"Tower. Oxford." He paused. "Me."
Rico stared at him. Honch curled his hands into fists. Vincent, his lips twisting, whispered, "bullshit."
"That's the third time Vincent."
"And I'll say it a fourth." He took a step towards the bars. "We came here, sir. You didn't order us."
"That's not what history is going to say, Vincent."
"Screw history, and screw whoever writes it. We knew the risks. Spike knew the risks. He didn't die so you could be as good as dead."
"Who knows what Spike died for?" Dutch whispered.
Vincent slammed his hand against the bars. "Don't you dare say that." Honch put a hand on Vincent's shoulder, but the techie shrugged it off, keeping his eyes on Dutch. "He was better than that. We're better than that. Even when Brass Balls broke us up, we were still better than that."
"Dunno," murmured Honch. "Maybe better men would have walked right there."
Dutch remained silent. So did Vincent.
"No."
It was only Rico who spoke.
"Not after what we promised each other." He took a step towards the bars, holding them. Looking like he was fighting the urge to try pulling them down with his trunk-like arms.
"Do you remember, colonel?"
Dutch looked into the man's eyes.
"What we promised each other that day?"
The UFS Durgan was a Wachowski-class aircraft carrier. The most powerful piece of hardware that GUN possessed, short of their newly-developed strato-carriers. Able to carry an entire squadron of Blue Eagles, along with mechs, walkers, and tanks, it was said that a Wachowski could fight a war all by itself.
Yet recently, that hadn't amounted to much. One mad doctor in a single mech had managed to storm numerous carriers like this one, taking out millions worth of hardware in less than an hour. Nor had the Duragn been able to stop the destruction of Prison Island, still smouldering after the bomb that same doctor had detonated, reducing the actual prison to rubble, and incinerating a significant portion of the island's forest as well. Worse, there were reports of toxic waste leaking from the facility. It seemed that when the military had evacuated the few prisoners they'd kept on-site before the bomb went off, they hadn't taken the real poison with them.
What GUN was going to do about it, if anything, was a question Dutch couldn't answer. As he and his team sat in the Durgan's officers' lounge, drinking beer that they'd served themselves with, they weren't really in a position to be answering anything. Or heck, doing anything. Or at least, nothing apart from lounging around, watching the flatscreen above them. Barely listening, they watched CCN reporters prattle on about the recent nearly-end-of-the-world thing, how the world was dealing with their near-annihilation (lots of crying, hugging, and cheering), and how the president would be giving a speech in one hour's time.
That was the president for you, Dutch reflected. Didn't know when to let a party keep going. Squinting through the gloom and looking at the screen, a helpful icon told him that sunrise would be at 6:09, while the documents he'd signed twenty minutes ago told him that he'd be taking a ride to Fort Fielding well before that happened. That gave him and his team about forty more minutes left to get drunk (but not too drunk), before scattering to the five winds. Each to their station, according to their ability.
Or so he hoped. As Doctor Gerald Robotnik's declaration of genocide had demonstrated, it appeared that the UF's track record of employing sane individuals had become somewhat blemished.
"Wonder if I'll ever be interviewed on the Bennington?" Honch murmured, looking up at the screen.
"Why would they interview you on a destroyer?"
"Search me, Rico. But it's got to be better than this shit."
Brass had told them somewhat half-heartedly that they weren't meant to discuss their assignments, but that hadn't stopped them from discussing it. Rico, sent to the UFS Bennington. Vincent, sent to help work on security for the UF's mainframe. Rico was going to help run drills at Fort Minella, and Spike…
He looked at Paladin Team's sniper as he took a sip of his beer. Spike hadn't said where he was going. Which surprised even him. Spike was a cold fish, sure, but even cold fish liked to swim to warmer waters sometime.
"Just minutes ago, the press secretary stated that Space Colony ARK had returned to its original orbit. Our contacts at the FASA have confirmed that-"
"Oh shut it off," Rico groaned.
"You shut it off."
"No you shut it off."
"No you shut it-"
Vincent took the remote and shut off the flatscreen. Given the look on his face, Dutch was surprised that he didn't use a pistol instead. Gingerly, he put a hand on Vincent's shoulder.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Okay?" He took a sip of his beer and looked at Dutch, his eyes red not only from lack of sleep. "Oh yeah, sure. Plenty okay. I'm so okay that I don't mind having the team disbanded, or being sent to do tech work, or Brass covering his brass ball from me kicking them, or the president trying to protect his own." He spat into his beer before taking yet another sip. "Not pissed about any of this."
Rico gave him a look. "I'd have thought you'd enjoy working with techs."
Vincent rolled his eyes. "I'm a tech, do you enjoy working with me?"
"Yes."
All eyes turned to Spike. Spike, who was taking a sip of his beer. Spike, who had sat in near-silence for the past twenty minutes. Spike, who put the pint on the table the commandoes were sitting at, before leaning forward.
"I'll miss you," he murmured. "All of you."
"Lo and behold, he speaks," Honch sniggered.
Something twitched in Spike's eye. Tears, lack of sleep, general irritation, Dutch couldn't say. Maybe spending most of your time looking down a scope did that to a man.
"But we have orders," Spike said. "And as long as we remain in GUN, we're bound to follow them."
"Bloody hell," Rico whispered. "Guy stays silent ninety percent of the time, but let him open his mouth, it's like a dam bursting."
"Like that time when we worked with the Dyke Busters?" Honch asked.
"Dam, not dyke. But yeah, sure, something like that – put me in a bomber anytime.." Rico looked at Spike. "Huh. Nice smile."
Spike, for his part, took a sip of his beer, glancing at Dutch. Dutch, for his, patted his former sniper on the shoulder, otherwise remaining silent. Be it through a weapon, or the hand that pulled its trigger, actions often spoke louder than words.
"For what it's worth," Vincent murmured, "I'll miss you guys as well."
Not that it was going to stop E.P. 002 from adding to the words, in this time of non-action.
"I mean, it's been a decade, and you guys are gits half the time, and somewhat tolerable the other half, and frankly, techies are assholes only twenty-five percent of the time, and really, I joined GUN because I wanted to work in the field rather than be stuck behind a desk, working alongside assholes to help other assholes learn how to press control-alt-delete." He took a long sip of his beer, draining all of it before thumping it on the table. "But damn it, it's been fun. And…and I…"
The team stared at him.
"And I'm not sure how to finish that sentence."
Honch gave him a mock clap. "A for effort, Vince."
"E for execution though," Rico added.
"Like I said," Vincent said, leaning back in his chair. "Assholes. Assholes, and poor speech writers."
"Maybe," Dutch murmured. "But the shit of the world needs to come out somewhere. And assholes like us…we're the ones to do it." He rose his mug. "To assholes."
Four mugs clinked against his.
"To Sigma-Alpha Two, Paladin Team."
The glasses chinked once more.
"To us, remembering each other, wherever we may go, and whatever we may do, whether it's hunting down super-sonic hedgehogs, or if we're lucky, taking out mad doctors."
"Heh, got a dreamer here," Honch said.
"Hold fast to dreams," Spike murmured, "for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." He took a sip of beer. "Also, best we do so after emerging from this nightmare, and nearly embracing eternal sleep."
Vincent yawned, leaning back against his chair and closing his eyes. "Could do with eternal sleep right now."
Dutch yawned as well. "I bet we all could. But…" He sighed, and got to his feet, looking at the men around him. "Ten years," he whispered. "Ten years of the good, the bad, and the ugly. And now…?"
Silence lingered in the lounge. It wasn't staffed so early in the morning, and with the TV off, the only sound that was left was the hum of the ship's engines. Ready to send them all to sleep before scattering to the four, or in this case, five, winds.
"We'll stay in touch," Dutch said. "Whatever it costs us, whatever protocols we have to break, we'll stay linked. Doesn't matter what we signed, or what Brass said, or whatever comes out of the president's mouth, we're a team. We're the best damn team in the Guardian Units of Nations. We're good enough to capture the fastest things alive, and we're good enough to keep doing what we do best."
"Making pretty speeches?" Rico murmured.
"Being guardians." Dutch closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of Prison Island. Of South Island. Of what they'd almost done to the hedgehog they'd captured there. "Because someone has to."
Spike got to his feet. "Guardians," he said.
It was a word met by silence. At least at first. But-
"Guardians," Vincent said.
"Paladins," said Honch.
"Soldiers," said Rico.
Dutch looked at his team, then with a smile, said, "Sigmas."
The group stared at him.
"Heroes." He shrugged. "Or something."
The group stared at him.
Then laughed, as their colonel joined them.
As at last, even before sunrise, the world seemed a bit less dark.
"Guardians," Rico said. "We were guardians then. Even when GUN had us doing the dirtiest shit imaginable, we were still guardians, because there was something always dirtier. We promised we'd be guardians then. And we're guardians now."
"Best we can be," Honch added.
Vincent looked at his fellow commandoes, before looking at Dutch. "Much as I hate to agree with Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, they're right."
Dutch rolled his eyes – a motion that didn't come naturally to him right now. "That was then. This is now."
It didn't come naturally to him, because thinking of that day, of the last time they'd been together…he'd believed it. They'd kept in touch despite all the hurdles that GUN had thrown against them. It was the reason he'd been able to call his team to Omega Site in the first place. And thinking of that time…
Simple wasn't the word to use. Back-to-back, the United Federation had dealt with the destruction of Station Square, the near-destruction of the world, and what had come soon afterwards was an alien invasion. But simpler? Yes. And more importantly, a time when Spike had been alive.
"We followed you out of the mountain," Rico said. "Far as I'm concerned, you're the king under it."
"Actually, Tower is the king."
All eyes turned to the door to the cellblock. To the woman in an officer's uniform carrying four three folders under her arms, flanked by a pair of troopers. Likely the same ones that had escorted him to Tower's office. Not that he could tell, what with their red goggles covering most of their faces. GUN had shifted towards mechs over the last decade, but sometimes, it seemed it wanted its troopers to be just as faceless.
"Though I appreciate the reference," Oxford said. "Dovre Gynt, yes?"
Rico remained silent.
"For what it's worth, the walls do have ears," Oxford said. She ran a hand alongside one of them. "If you four had decided to do something stupid, we'd have known as soon as you said it."
"We did a good Samaritan mission today," Vincent whispered. "I'd say we're used to doing stupid things."
Dutch glanced at his techie, searching for any regret in his eyes, or voice. Instead, he found none. Vincent carried resentment within him, but right now, it was being directed towards Oxford. If he'd been standing on the other side of the bars, he'd have put a hand on his shoulder or something similar. Something to get the commando to stand down.
Alas, he was on the wrong side of the bars, so instead, his gaze turned to Oxford. Less a mouse, but not quite a cat. Even if he was already caught in the proverbial trap with no cheese to spare.
"I imagine that this is similar for you four," Oxford said. "Home from a mission, only to be split up again."
"Lady, you have no idea," Honch snarled.
"Actually, I do. It's my job to know. That's why we've got ears there (she gestured to the wall), and why I've got eyes here." She put a pair of fingers above her own. "But…" She lowered those fingers, and with her hand, put it over her heart. "I've also got this."
"Like hell," Vincent snarled.
Oxford didn't say anything. She just handed a folder to each of the commandoes.
"Your new assignments," she said.
"So says the queen under the mountain?" Rico asked.
Oxford shook her head. "Hardly got the rank for that."
"Yeah?" Rico flipped the document open. "Well, keep climbing sweetheart, you'll…"
He trailed off. And while none of the other members of Paladin Team had said anything, the look in their eyes was the same as in E.P. 004's. Eyes that were visible, despite the gloom. Eyes that said everything, in a language that no amount of ears in the walls could ever pick up.
"You're…" Vincent glanced at Dutch, then looked at Oxford. "You're…assigning us to Omega Site?"
"Not me. Tower. But…" She looked around. "Well, there's ears in more places than the cellblock. And more than quite a few tongues."
Honch snorted. "Know something about tongues myself, when it comes to…"
"Shut up Honch." Vincent was skimming through the folder. "Support runs, intel gathering…everything short of actual combat."
"Everything we can afford to do at this point in time," Oxford said.
"And if there comes a time when we have to do more?" Vincent said. "What happens when we take the war to Doctor Eggman? What happens when…if…he takes the war to us?"
Oxford glanced at the troopers. At the commandoes. At the floor, before at last, murmuring, "then that'll be an interesting day."
Rico glanced at Dutch. "What about our CO?"
"He remains on sight. Officially, a prisoner, awaiting trial. Our prisoner under the mountain." She looked at Paladin Team's leader. "But even prisoners can be put to use, especially in a time of war. Trials can be delayed, after all, especially when the accused is doing vital work in communications and intelligence."
"A desk job," said Honch.
"That, and other things," Oxford said. "You'd be surprised what drones can do for instance."
Dutch looked at his team. Seeing the sparks in their eyes. Seeing their smiles. Saw them, until his gaze returned to Oxford. He was still in the trap, but it was neither cat nor rat before him, nor even mouse. Rather, he saw…her.
"Why?" he asked. "Why help us?"
"Why what? I told you, Commander Tower gave the order."
"You're a poor liar, Oxford."
"Not really. I think I'm a pretty good liar. But as to why…" She sighed. "You know why."
"Do we?" Vincent whispered.
"You went out into the world today, captain. You can tell me why as surely as I can tell you. You can tell me that the world needs more guardians than a red echidna. You can tell me that there's nations beyond our own, and that as many as there are, it's still one world." She looked at Dutch. "And you can tell me what we all know – that all that's required for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." She shrugged, smiling slightly. "I figured a woman could get involved as well."
Dutch smiled. "Like I said," he murmured, "you'd make a great commander."
Her smile faded. "You said that before."
"I did. And I meant it." He cleared his throat. "Mean, it."
Slowly, her smile returned, before she looked at the rest of the team. "What about the rest of you? Are you still guardians?"
None answered. He didn't doubt for a moment what they'd do. But even now, they were a team, in practice, if not in name. And as a team, they awaited his command.
Yet Dutch didn't say, his mind elsewhere.
He thought of the day when he'd been at Fort Fielding. Seeing the mechanized soldiers that were meant to replace him.
He thought of a mission on South Island, where his team was assigned to rescue the greatest hero of them all.
He thought of a red, tortured sky, when all the guardians, paladins, and soldiers in the world couldn't stem the tide.
He thought of a town called Crescent View. Wondering whether history would record what transpired here.
"Sir?" Vincent asked.
Of the lives lost there. Of the treachery and heroism both. Whether it would record any of it. He thought, and wondered, and even now, dreamed. Dreamed, and smiled, remembering that his team weren't the only guardians in this world. Nor the word that escaped his lips.
"Guardians," Dutch Warner whispered, talking to those present, and thinking of the one who would never here his words again. "Heroes."
Heroes all.
Heroes, both living and dead.
Heroes.
Paladins.
Guardians.
A/N
Update (18/3/22): Corrected typo ("choose" to "cheese").