Hello. Sorry for my long absence but my new job has me isolated from places with internet and of many important things in my life. Compartativly you all.The good news is I have a lot of drafts ready for the editing phase and a few more chapters will be posted up before long. The story is getting further to be completed and the plot is picking up it's pace.
Disclaimer: I observe the rights to the original creators of Sonic the Hedgehog and all of his friends and sidekicks and of course, stand to gain no profit from this.
And now...we read on as a young Echinda's crossroads will lead him to life changing avenues...if he so chooses the route he wants to travel.
Enjoy and please review. Thanks toe Rad Red 08 for the postive feedback, though some negative and pointers will be nice and handy.
Worrisome Premonitions
By: Mauser
Nata-Le awoke to rain tapping on the glass beside her bed, and the urge to drink something to clear the cotton that sat in her throat. Her request wasn't of words but of a depressed moan. With it came her eyes tearing from the sudden burn of the overhead florescent light searing at her pupils as she fought to open them. The urge to wipe her face, like so many mornings she was so accustomed to, was met with a phantom feeling from her left shoulder, followed with a numbing ache and a scratchy sensation on strands of cloth. Her alertness of her location rolled over the fogginess of her drowsy mind, and trumped her next words as she rotated her head to the door.
"Wesson..."
The raspy voice that she was coming to find comfort with didn't resonated over the steady beeping of the medical machines around her. In its stead, though, came a brightened voice, one not altered by war which she was wanting to hear. But nonetheless, a very familiar one.
"Nata-Le! Ames...she's coming to!"
Worrisome eyes of a red echidna came into focus, her mouth gaping all the same in an expression with her dreads falling past her brunet, cropped hair, and long-sleeved purple sweater. Nata-Le gasped in surprise and joy upon seeing her mother, raising her arm out to embrace her, though her heart was yearning for someone else to hold on to.
Behind Car-Le came the deep, rough booming voice of her father. "Easy, dear. She's been through a lot. Her strength isn't up to that kind of a hug yet."
She didn't let up on her daughter, holding her tight as if she might be whisked away. "This wasn't supposed to happen. My little girl wasn't supposed to get..." Car-Le's voice was overcome with grief, willing a hand free to cover her mouth as to trap-in her despair. Seeing the sight of her daughter now, imperfect from the day she was born, echoed a tempting notion deep within her mind to step back and not gawk for fear she might bring about more pain instead of comfort to Nata-Le.
A brown echidna stepped three paces to support Car-Le, his face one of impassiveness–like he would be one to take leisure with an elegant pipe. He was graying at the brows, and his thinning, black hair was receding to one side while the other was still deciding whether to save his current color, or go gray as well; wearing a matching single breasted blazer that was required for the social party they had partaken of the night before. Ames said nothing, holding back his thoughts while caressing his wife's free hand.
Car-Le, however, had a lot on her mind:
"I feared this would happen...I just prayed it wouldn't come true. You didn't have to prove anything, Nata-Le."
Ames broke his silence, easing his voice to hopefully bring peace with Car-Le before a full war would ensue. "It was on her own initiative, dear."
"You talked her into this," Car-Le spat in return. "You said honor would be had to serve her people--"
"I said 'it would bring honor if you did, but it was up to you'. I never forced anything upon her."
Nata-Le's eyes drifted to the chair by the wall, finding it empty and not containing her savior from her quarreling parents. "Wesson?" she called out concernedly, hoping he was absent just by an earshot.
His whisper never came.
"Oh Nata-Le, dearest," said her mother, peckishly, "you can see you friends after we make you well; and as soon as we can get you discharged from the service–"
Nata-Le shut her eyes tightly, ignoring her mother's pampering wishes. "Where's Wesson?" she repeated, flexing her voice to a degree of annoyance, however sobbing all the same.
"Nata-Le...stop worrying about others, and think of yourself and us," Car-Le interjected.
Ames, in his protest let go of her hand. "Car-Le, please control yourself. We can talk about this later–"
"Later?...When, Ames. When we've forgotten about this. They weren't supposed to go out past the protection of the shield." Her chocolate eyes fell upon her daughter, who was paying no attention to neither of them while climbing upright in the bed. "Why did you volunteer...Why didn't you just take a posting on a street corner and keep the peace like you said–"
"Mother! Stop! Daddy, where's Wesson?"
Ames noted the fragile look in his daughters eyes, but he couldn't give a qualified answer to ease them. Making matters worse instead of better, Car-Le lost all control of her flustered self."Don't start ordering me, young lady! I'm your mother...I've should have been it before you made this rash decision, and hurting–"
"WHERE'S WESSON!" Nata-Le's screaming demand was followed by her tears, pulling her arm over her eyes as she wanted nothing more to do with whom she thought would give her love and comfort. She now wanted Wesson to fulfil that need now more than ever.
Giving no care if his dinner this night was going to be cold or take-out, Ames was about to slam his foot down to cease his wife's ranting of overprotectiveness when a firm voice filled with a disciplined aura of bearing stopped him all together, and summoned his attention to the door behind him.
"He's on mission, Centurion. I'm afraid the Field Marshal needed him this morning to pick-up a gift."
Ames stared for more than a moment at the long dreads, littered cybernetic parts, and of course, the red echidna's robotic arm in which he knew Nata-Le was going to receive sometime this day. "Who is this Wesson, might I ask?"
Nata-Le jumped first but not answering the proposed question. "He's out again? He said he was going to stay with me, Ell-Tee, so I didn't have to go through with what he did."
His dreads sagged, the tips dappling the floor as he sighed. "Troopers like Wesson come in short supply– which, I might add, you have none to go around. I'm sorry, Nata-Le, but he is needed."
"And you don't need to be worrying about 'boys' anyhow, Nata-Le," Car-Le said irritable, "I'm sure this Wesson won't care for you after he's through with what he wants. We do, and we'll care for you."
Ames never turned to see his daughter's damaged expression from her mother's words, keeping his fixed eyes on the Legionnaire, who's face glowered at the back of Car-Le. One part of Amuse was amused while the honored husband was ready to stand to protect his wife.
Ell-Tee's voice boomed in bitterness all the while still keeping his commanding tone. "This Wesson is the reason why you two aren't burying your daughter instead of giving her an earful of this horse-squeeze."
"It's the truth, sir..." Car-Le's barking voice trailed when she turned and took one look at Ell-Tee, wanting to swallow her fright upon contact with the image of the trooper.
"Heh...more like wishing she was a prep-girl instead of a life saver," Ell-Tee scoffed. Ames' inquiring pose wasn't hard to miss in his stern eyes. "Your daughter saved a lot of people last night, sir. You should be proud of her."
"I gather I should," Ames replied, his low, booming voice gaining more approval from Ell-Tee, unlike the man's wife who he was ready to slap.
"Yes, sir."
"Is he going to come back, Ell-Tee," Nata-Le managed to say, her voice shaken still as she laid back down.
The Legionnaire's brows sank into a hard, affirming stare, giving a slight bow of the head to reenforce his conclusion. "Oh yes, ma'am. Right now, I know Wesson is quite determined to get back here as soon as he can."
"And why's that, sir?" Ames questioned evenly.
"I hate getting wet."
But at least he didn't feel his sore leg from the crouched position he was imposing on himself, swiveling his head to the north and south as the rest of him faced west, towards Albion if his bearings were true. It was hard to tell from the current mood of the dim morning; ill gray clouds letting the rain fall in moderate showers, while leaving a mist mixed with a lingering fog around the gaping cluster of trees he was peering around. Wesson was approaching his second hour of playing out in the bush, his black jacket soaked through-and-through, which still had Nata-Le's bloodstains permanently embedded in the thick fabric, and drenching his fur underneath, creating the sticky sensation he loathed to feel; not discounting the water beads that slipped off the metal replacement for skin on his snout.
Letting his bionic eye gauge the distant to the next small clearing, Wesson relaxed his carbine from his left shoulder and waited for the rustling sounds of his care-package trailing behind him. He didn't have to wait long, glancing over his shoulders before looking to new territory high above. Seminole was late once more, and that was never good.
Rob-O stepped lightly to Wesson's left side, noticing the cybernetic echidna tightening his brown heavy gloved hand around the handle of his carbine. "We're not to far off, friend. Just a few more hops, and we're there."
"Good," Wesson silently mused, searching the undergrowth void slightly to his right. Dormant were the sounds of the inhabiting wildlife, replaced by the heavy water drops that leaped from leaf to leaf before taking the final fall to the thickly vegetated ground. The pelting rhythm became the trigger that washed the dark green emerald of the forest into a lightened pink; scared eyes flashing in his. Wanting eyes caressing his battle-hardened gaze.
"Get back to the mission," he forced out over Nata-Le's face. Maybe that was why he was wanting back to Albion? Why his heart felt as if it was in control instead of his training.
More muffled sounds of the soft underbelly of the forest crept up behind him. He didn't look, letting Mari-An's voice identify her instead of Dirk, who was holding the rear down with his trained crossbow. "We appreciate you escorting us to Albion to meet with the council, young man."
Wesson lifted his head back just enough to keep his attention to the front; he thought he heard something to the southwest. "Thank the Field Marshal–I'm only doing my job." Letting silence become the bait for sound, he waited for the far off movement to resume before he said; "Your message was received loud and clear last night, ma'am."
"I gather that is why we are summoned to meet with Gal-Na?"
Wesson only nodded, holding in a snickering smile that he wanted to let loose, however, the current situation didn't allow it. And the heavy movement cominh from his intending direction had just resumed. Looking to Rob-O, Wesson kept his face in the best resemblance of seriousness that he could manage over his hardware. "Get that flying stick ready...I think we're being stalked."
Rob-O didn't need to hear the warning twice, reaching behind his back and plucking an arrow from his quiver before lacing the bow-string inside the nock. "Where's your bird?" he asked, his fingers posed in the Mediterranean three-finger fashion around the nock and string.
"Detouring," Wesson growled in return, knowing now what was possibly keeping Seminole.
Climbing to his feet, the Legionnaire motioned for the three Mercians to travel west, letting him take the rear while Dirt and Rob-O leading point. It was only logical since Rob knew the lay of the land much more than he, and furthermore, his little carbine had a bit more of an effective killing range than the blunt weapons the Mercians fashioned.
They rounded the clearing, keeping well away from the opening while keeping check of their immediate surroundings. Wesson's enhanced ears were becoming the spark of his worries. The steadily approaching movement became defined, servos and hydraulic actuators announcing the machines' presence in the woods–four, possibly five from what he could tell from their patterned steps. What was working for him was the four hundred yard distance between him and them, plus the mile berth Rob-O's resistence group had from their current position deep in Deer Wood Forest.
Wesson stopped suddenly when Seminole's ruffling feathers registered over the approaching bots and the rain. Pivoting to the rear he placed his carbine in his lap and extended the heavy glove out for his osprey to land on. Seminole came blazing in well below the safety of the canopy while pumping his wings for speed. When he landed, he was breathing hard.
"Master, approaching bots to the southwest–"
"I know, Seminole! Numbers and weapons?" Wesson asked quickly, seeing his accompany party making their way to them.
"Four, Master. Two with pulse arms, and the last with swords. They're spread in a wide formation. They're scouting."
"They're not hunting us...they just got lucky," Wesson snuffed in annoyance.
"So, do we take them out?" Dirk quietly asked, kneeling beside Rob-O. "Less to worry about later."
"Wrong, there be more to come. My orders are to avoid any contact with any opposition we come across. We can't compromise Albion with a little grudge match."
"Order's, Master?" Seminole eagerly asked.
Wesson held a searching stare to the direction of the approaching threat. "Get back to Vickers and Craig, and tell them to get down. We might be running a little late."
The bird of prey nodded and leaped up in the air before flapping his wings to gain flight.
Wesson then turned to Rob-O. "We need to hurry. I can't hear any other threats, but those bots will be in sensory range real soon."
The hedgehog nodded. "Whatever you say, friend. You seem to be better attuned to this than we."
A curt nod was all that was needed to urge the three to move on. Taking the rear once more, he kept with the fast pace that Dirk was setting. For a surprisingly bulky wolf he was fast on his feet, navigating through the forest hardly without a menial slow in pace, his armed crossbow ready to propel the bolt at a moments notice. Mari-An, however was doing her best to keep up, Rob-O hoovering around her backside while keeping focus to the west. He was seriously thinking of cutting the excess fabric of her dress thus converting it into a skirt so she could liberate her hands to keep balance over the fallen trees. Another dress could be made for her. Another one of her couldn't.
The terrain was becoming quite littered with hulks of down trunks, some covered up from the growing ferns while others still held the brown colors true from their days of rotting. Wesson felt as if he was traversing a living canyon, shallow enough to go along with ease, but deep enough to cling for cover. He feared he was going to need it in the next evolution. With that thought and the groaning sounds of the fast moving bots becoming clearer, brought his training to the forefront and called him to slow; and gaze to the westward surroundings. He kept moving all the same, watching intently for a color, a texture, a being that didn't belong in the gray-green backdrop–
THREAT!
"DOWN!" he forced out in a hoarse, demanding voice.
Dirk was the first to heed the warning, throwing himself down to the ground, narrowly colliding with a shredded stump to his left, and crushing a bundle of floor-vines under his bare, fur chest. Rob-O followed suite, diving with Mari-An behind a fallen log and laying flat on his back, his wife tucked beside his left on her stomach. Wesson didn't fare as well as he wanted in the pursuit of cover, finding himself behind two laying logs, crossed and on top of each other, but they were mere saplings that exposed enough of his rising chest to have him worried.
He lay still, breathing shallowly, disciplining the rise of his chest all the while stealing a quick peek from his right cybernetic eye with the slightest lift of his head. When two bots emerged out from behind a large oak tree, dodging three smaller maples to their left, the Legionnaire scout lowered himself as far as he could go, thumbing the safety to his carbine to full-auto, and groping for the pistol on his belt kit. The rain was an ally at this point, allowing his minor adjustments on the ground to be shadowed within the drops, which pelted his face, causing involuntary twitches that he soon ignored. He lay motionless from then on; never looking; never tensing from the muffled vibrations that grew stronger, becoming the mild thunder from which the moderate drizzle wasn't producing.
His heart seemed to move him around; beating stronger when the servos slowed. Snaps, ravaged leaves, followed with the hydraulic groans became deafening to the one who lived in quietness. It all became torture to him, wondering at that instant how the other three to his right were coping. The thoughts of them feed the killer instinct in him to place his finger across the trigger of his carbine. He was poised; ready to kill.
Now he called on the very discipline that has saved him from recce runs before. To stay calm; to stay silent; to hold back the urge to either fight or bolt for a false safety. He had never told anyone of the times he was so scarred of Death literally being inches away from him. The times he almost wetted himself from almost getting killed, the times he was severely wounded but managed to keep it together to make it back to get patched up, and sent out once more. Run after run made him feel comfort with his surroundings. But he was always scarred. Possibly why he had out lived his trainer.
Possibly why they weren't all dead now!
A crunch sent terror through his bones. The Eggbots couldn't have been more than mere feet away, searching around to his right, and progressively moving northeast, however not east enough. Turning his head back to his mission, he was confronted by the sight of Rob-O preparing to do something that sent every nerve impulse in his soaked body to his brain, calling him to shiver in panic.
The hedgehog's bow was cocked back with his fingers, an arrow ready to launch upon the release of the string, laying it flat on its side. He nodded his head at Wesson, letting his eyes tell the truth of the echidna's situation. Just behind the Legionnaire, the crunching of moist leaves giving out the distance, approached a bot who was nearly right on top of him. In one step, Rob-O gathered, the machine would at least see the boots of Wesson, if not his black and out of place BDU's.
Just before the bot took the needed step, Rob-O with his perfect aim let fly his arrow, sending it on an arching flight above the bots's head. The wafting air from the fletchings did the first job of the diversion, causing the machines to stop dead. Then, the arrow itself added to the finale, striking the hanging branches, stems, and leaves as it flew to an unseen destination.
Wesson rolled his head back over to the east, bearing witness to the shoulder of an Eggbot. It stood there; calculating. Computing. If the thing turned back to its present course, all hell was going to break loose. If the thing so much twitched in his direction, Wesson would be the first to commence the shooting.
It moved...to the left; east!
The echidna still didn't move a hair, waiting for more sounds of the machines to head in the same direction as their counterpart. And they did, slower than what he wanted, but the world wasn't perfect. Seconds ticked by, the thunder of their foot steps grew weaker. Switching to his enhanced hearing modulators, he listened for a change in their course. After a long pause of unmeasurable time, they kept crawling along, never diverting.
And from there, Wesson shot from the ground and rushed to Rob-O, who was struggling to do the same. "It won't be long before they get wise. We need to hurry!"
"You said it, friend," replied the aqua furred hedgehog, assisting Mari-An to her feet. "Just keep close."
The soft sand had turned to mud.
Vickers, however, ignored it while keeping Ell-Tee's auto-cannon trained to the woods, perched high on the embankment with him and Craig concealed behind the sandy cliff. Twenty-three minuets had passed since Seminole came with Wesson's message, and Craig was growing the more anxious to go out and get him and his package.
"Easy, Craig," Vickers cautioned. "No need to get worked up over some stupid bird."
"We need to go get him. Something's happened--"
The Legionnaire, who was wearing the Centurion's blue battledress still, cut him off with a shake of his head. "Nothing's wrong, Craig. Wesson's good at what he does. He's the only scout I know that I have to call Sergeant."
The Centurion never replied, only gawking for a moment before retreating his attention to the woods, his plasma rifle trained all the same.
A sudden fluttering of feathers brought both of their alert minds to the rear, finding Seminole landing on Craig's black boots as if they were a perch. "Their coming. Not far from the tree line."
Craig shot his head back to the forest, just in time to see a weak, red blinking light out of the corner of his right eye. "I see 'em, Vickers. Signal the all clear."
And that the Legionnaire did, producing his own pen light and flashing it to the wood line. On the third press of the black pen, a grey wolf appeared from the forest, pumping his legs across the soaked field with his crossbow trailing by his side. It wasn't long before Mari-An appeared, keeping a steady pace while Rob-O held her hand to the right side of her. When Dirk landed below the cliff-line and Rob-O and his wife were halfway, Wesson darted out of the woods, limping somewhat but still running at a lightning pace. Caution went to the wind for him, clutching his carbine by the trigger guard and not poised on his shoulder with any real tactical sense.
His last step was a leap, dropping down beside Rob-O and Dirk. "We're good, let's get going, now!"
"Roger that!" Vickers replied, collapsing the bi-pod on the auto-cannon before taking up the rear for the journey back across the water, watching something in Wesson's stride that made him worry for the Sergeant's sake.
He wasn't himself.
"Relax. He'll be fine."
But Stenson's optimism wasn't pouring out like the rain he was entrenched with. The slapping of the heavy drops on the concrete balcony echoed through the sliding glass doors he was standing in front of, watching the elegant river of water glide down the pane which reflected the shadows of the heavier ripples across his hard, musing face. A long, deep sigh budged his stiff arms across his bare chest, wondering if he should listen to his inner self to fully put on his black cotton jumpsuit to defend against the cold room, or still try to figure out Wesson and bear with Lar-Na's warm nature.
Wesson won out.
The reflection of the young Sergeant's face replaced Stenson's on the pane. What was he so worked up about him for? Was it sending him out in the field with an irritating injury that in Wesson's line of occupation could mean a bad day on the job, or sending him out when he was noticeably tired? Or was he tired? The drive Stenson witnessed last night was a rebirth of the Sergeant's soul, but something told him the motives had changed. Wesson's posture, the sight of his face reflecting sorrow with determination before setting out with Nata-Le in his arms; the conclusion from both those points sprang a different anxiety that only a seasoned leader, like Stenson himself, would fear. A change in the warrior persona. Not of wanting not to protect or lay down his arms...but a change in his allegiance.
And thus he returned to his original optimistic thought, sighing it out at himself through the reflection as an audible mutter. "Maybe..."
"What was that?" came Lar-Na's alert voice from the foot of the bedroom door.
Stenson broke his pensive stare to the outside and brought it around to his wife. She was glimmering in the strong lighting, her blue fur still damp from the warm shower she had just come out of, and wearing a satin burgundy gown over her black, but clean blouse. Just the mere presence of her brought a smile to Stenson's lips and away from his worries just for the moment.
"Just thinking, my Mistress," he answered after gazing over Lar-Na once more.
A salacious smirk preceded the feeling of Stenson undressing her with his eyes. "I bet you are."
Turning back to the sliding glass door, the Field Marshal sighed and dug his chin in his chest, finding himself venturing back to the source of his stiff mood. He didn't get far when Lar-Na stepped up behind him, gently rubbing her fine hands across his back, brushing his fur up and tickling him ever so slightly when they fell back into place, then, attempting to entice his arousal further, she let her hand fall to his tail, rubbing the very tip with the finesse of a violinist playing a gentle night-song.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked after letting the enjoyable moment pass.
"For once, yes," Lar-Na replied in a playful voice. "Having another warm body in the bed to snuggle with is a great help."
The ploy she was letting out was never taken. Stenson kept his vacant stare out at the window, arms crossed.
"So, where's Ell-Tee?" she asked, taking the silence as a cue that something was afoot.
"Doing some errands for me."
"Okay...so what's going down that I don't know about?" she asked next, letting her voice become stern.
"I have Wesson out getting Rob-O. We're to meet with the council–"
"You've done, what!?" Lar-Na replied with a muffled shrill.
"I know it's not one of my better judgements!" Stenson admitted stubbornly, leaning his head over to address his guilty conscious with his wife.
A glowering face consumed Lar-Na's elegant features. "After what he's been through last night and what he's going through now?"
"He'll be fine, Lar-Na! He's good at what he does and he isn't cocky like the 'retired' scouts he has out lasted. If I had someone else in his field-craft, I would have used him instead."
"That's not what I meant, Field Marshal." Lar-Na watched Stenson's head sulk down ever so slightly with a troubled sigh. "He's in love, Stenson," she put in evenly.
It was undeniable at this point for Stenson. The second opinion he didn't want to hear came from the very lips he cherished. "It takes a woman to see the touch." he said inwardly. And the statement was true to a degree that she was forthcoming about it, while he made himself blind.
But the picture he still saw that ranged in his head; going to get Wesson; seeing that he wasn't in his room; finding him by Nata-Le, guarding her as it were. Then, the face that he was being robbed of something, a face that he felt ashamed for breaking an unspoken promise. Leaving her when his body language said he refused to go. But he went anyway. And it bothered Stenson.
"What I was afraid of," he finally answered.
"Why?" Lar-Na questioned in a turned-off tone of voice.
A grumbling sigh with an irritable shacking of the head. "I need him, Lar-Na. Our new purpose needs him...I can't have his allegiance go to some girl–"
There was no playfulness from the impact. Lar-Na's soft hands buried her knuckles in his back which surprised him to the extend that he broke his brutish mood to pivot around and gaze at his wife's seething face.
"Of all Echidnas, Stenson, you go off and say something like that in front of me!"
Stenson swallowed his temptation to speak, fearing his retort would bring more fury than he wanted from his now tempered wife.
"You fell in love with me over the Cause! You married me against ourtradition! And now you say such filth when one of your own gets touched!"
"I need him, Lar-Na. We need him! Not many scouts have out lived their reputation as well as Wesson has," the Field Marshal explained in a low tone. "I can't lose one more, and how good he is would be a set back if I should loose him–"
"You talking as if his touch is his death, Stenson! How could you?" Lar-Na bite in reply.
Stenson choose his words carefully in an instant. "He is if he keeps thinking about her. A distracted trooper is a dead one."
"Then why have you lived for so long, husband?" Lar-Na countered with a hiss. Stenson's silence showed her point was delivered properly. She continued to fume, her arms crossed along with her face; "Let him choose, Stenson. If you're afraid that he might get killed because he is distracted by her, then let him choose if he wants to live. He deserves it, and you owe it to him; especially the way you treat him like he is our son."
"They are all my children, Lar-Na. You know that."
"But you treat him differently, dear husband," Lar-Na put in, letting her voice die to somberness. "You've kept your eye on him for the past six months after they brought him in half-dead, and ever since then you've treated him as more than just a mere trooper."
He kept his gaze at his wife's eyes, letting his lower in defeat. "You don't have to bring this up."
"It's too late for that, Stenson," Lar-Na said in a quiet voice. "I'm not bitter at myself or you that I can't bear you a son or daughter. I'm bitter at you 'cause you didn't share Wesson like you should have in the first place. When you told me he was an orphan, I was ready to bring him in. But instead, you kept him all to yourself–"
"There's a war going on, Lar-Na," Stenson interjected, squinting at the reminder. "If he was my son I still would have used his talents to win the objective of victory–"
"And if he was your son, you would let him fall in love and become lost." Lar-Na swallowed her temper, letting her eyes glow in saddened disbelief. "Let him choose, Stenson...please."
The Field Marshal surrendered his eyes and feelings to the floor. Lar-Na's words really didn't strike him at first, letting them roll in his head as if they were a riddle and not of simple reason. His total focus was on the war to free the oppressed; back home and now here. One loss of anything of logistical value–and Echidna power was valued the highest–one simple battle could be lost, and one major war could go with it because he didn't have one echidna that he needed. And that one Echidna that has proven his worth as how Ell-Tee put "in micro chips" was Wesson. His actions, his skill, his drive has helped the war in a great deal of ways. But alas, Stenson mused, only to prolonge the suffering.
So, was it worth it?...To loose one valuable trooper in the greatest times of need? For his own drive for love? He couldn't answer the question in full. It wasn't fully a commander's place.
However, his wife's short cough jostled the caring husband over the determined, and firm leader. When Lar-Na tensed to breathe, things became full circled. He was denying.
Placing his right hand gently on Lar-Na's left shoulder, just as two muffled knocks came to the door, he offered his voice in sympathetic defeat that matched the mood of his face. "I'll let him choose, Lar-Na."
Reaching up on her bare tip-toes on the whim of his voice, Lar-Na kissed him on the cheek before taking his side. It was all that was needed for a thanks.
A quick, deep breath returned the Field Marshal of the Dark Legion in Stenson's body and posture. "Come," he commanded towards the door.
The door didn't necessarily fly open but it had that impression when Ell-Tee came charging in the room, his bearing ever present as he strode and locked himself down in front of the two. "Sergeant Wesson has returned, sir. He is coming up now."
"And his mission?" Stenson asked firmly. A single nod. "Very well, Ell-Tee. Stay here while I brief and talk things over with our guests and hopefully Allies by the end of the day."
The long dreaded Legionnaire snorted. "They will be ours, Field Marshal, but I wonder if this council is going to have them."
"Your observation is noted, Ell-Tee," came back Stenson in annoyance.
Ell-Tee caught on quickly and strayed his boisterous thoughts from the now stiff air. Bowing his head, he scooted himself toward the door, stood at a relax attention, and began to wait. To his delight and the building uneasiness of Stenson and Lar-Na watching him with expressionless faces, small chatter followed by the creaking of wet shoes echoed down the long hallway that could lavish a king rather than a simple guest. And to his distressing nerves, their faces warmed when Rob-O stepped through the open door with Mari-An gliding behind him, the both dripping wet.
"Rob-O," greeted Stenson warmly, nodding and holding fast beside Lar-Na.
She on the other hand did the same, but her smile faded to one of a gifted concern which pardoned her to break away from Stenson. "Oh my," she dryly murmured at Mari-An's drenched rags for a dress, "come with me. I think I saw some nice clothes in the closet. Let's get you out of those before you catch cold."
Mari-An shook her head with a curled upper lip. "No thank-you, ma'am. I think the council needs to see the current state of our people just by my mere wrecked appearance."
Lar-Na was about to laugh in agreement, but Rob-O's touching hand to Mari-An ceased it. "Mari, please. I don't want you to get ill just being bent on sending messages. Go with her, get changed, and get warm."
"Okay, Rob," Mari-An replied, lovingly.
Turning her attention to Lar-Na, she bowed elegantly and awaited for the blue Echidna to take her to the wardrobe, but what she gathered as husband and wife had shifted their attentive eyes behind her, their faces frowning in passionate concern. Finding her curiosity becoming an internal compass to magnetic north, she turned around to see Dirk standing inside the door to the right, and he too peering out of it, his back turned.
All eyes fell on Wesson. He never moved from his position at the foot of the door, swaying some on his sore leg while balancing his carbine around the fingers of his gloved, mechanical hand. His impassive, obedient face over the replaced metal skin on the better part of his muzzle oriented around the room with the slightest of twitches, gathering his conclusions of the mixed feelings around the room.
"Sergeant," said Stenson in a leery, commanding voice, "you can come in."
A slight cock of the head. "I'm wet, sir," came the brittled voice in reply.
"We are all," said Dirk, sporting a smile which he offered around the room. He didn't receive any back.
A long pause lingered until Ell-Tee broke it. "Is your weapon still hot, Wesson?"
"Yes sir! And the safety is on."
Stenson put in this time. "Then drop the cell and come in."
"But I don't want to–"
"Sergeant Wesson," came Lar-Na's disarming voice that surprised even the Lieutenant. "Come in...it's alright."
Pinching his lips, darting his apprehensive eyes around the on-looking faces, Wesson took two drags of his boots and wiped them on the thin, but rather expensive carpet, and came inside. As he skiddishly made his way to the open kitchen near the right wall, he switched his carbine to his leathered gloved hand, pushed the release button on the right side and pulled the charged cell out, and placed it on the counter along with the weapon. And there he stood, emotionless, but his lowed torso clearly identified that something was eating him.
Stenson straightened his back–calling on his bearing to show Rob-O that he was an Echidna of principle, strength, and duty–and watched his wife lead Marie-An to their suite with a guiding hand at the back before he addressed the Sentry.
"Any problems on the way?"
Rob-O the Hedg offered a smiling sigh while leaning on his bow. "Ran into a bit of scouting party. I think they are looking for us from last night." The hedgehog shifted his head to the troubled Sergeant. "Wesson is very dependable and very keen to his objectives and us," he stated with immense pride to one who seemed without it before turning back to Stenson. "He got real close to being found out, but I let them go chase after my arrow and not him. If he was anyone of us, I think he would have blasted the machines just out of fear and trifle. And his bird is a life saver!"
Stenson took note of several things all at once before nodding and asking his next observation; Lar-Na coming back in with a handful of towels, heading in his direction; Ell-Tee slowly approaching Wesson; and Wesson not raising his head to the commendable words of the hedgehog. "So, where did they head-off to?"
"North-northwest where I had let fly my arrow. Wesson lead us northeast for I think several kilometers before we adjusted our direction. Smart fieldsmen; very aware of being counter-tracked..." Lar-Na stepped up beside him and handed him a towel with a smile. "Thank-you, milady. You are too kind. In fact I have to say the whole lot of you are. Your actions have been most appreciative in our time of despair."
An even face with a bow of his head. "Consider it as me scratching your back and your scratching mine..."
Ell-Tee's presence was noted, but Wesson never gazed at him. He was getting anxious and foul tempered just by waiting. "Her parents are there finally. Watch out for the mother; she already has an opinion about you and it ain't nice–"
"Is she okay, Ell-Tee?" spoke Wesson, is raspy voice lowered to a whisper.
He considered his words for a moment. "She's wanting you over them."
Wesson became startled when a warm, pink colored towel, which pushed Natal-Le's face deeper into his psyche, came across his neck with fine hands rubbing at his dreads, back and head. Casting an eye towards his back, he saw Lar-Na smiling in a worrisome way.
"When does she go in for her replacement?" she asked Ell-Tee with a side glance.
Looking to the clock above him, he replied, "Zero-eight-twenty, I heard. You have about five minuets to get there if you leaves now."
Wesson's look said it all; apprehension, anxiety, wanting. "May I, Mistress."
Lar-Na didn't let a moment pass. "Stenson, are you done with Wesson?" she said in one breath.
Lifting his nodding head up from Rob-O's imperative words, Stenson closed his eyes and nodded without a word. Nothing was needed to be said on the Sergeant's behalf.
Wesson took one last glance at Lar-Na, his expression on the brink of cracking into panic. "Thank you, Mistress–"
"You don't have time...get going, Sergeant!"
Squeezing between her and Ell-Tee, Wesson made his way to the door and bolted to the left and out, limping along as fast as he could run...passing a familiar looking brown echidna, who had a stack of papers in his hand, but never caring to study him further to conclude who he was. All Wesson saw with his determined eyes was the door to the elevator.
All he saw was Nata-Le's tearful face.
Yanar, however, stopped and looked on for a moment as Wesson rushed by him. Shrugging and shaking his head, he let any reason for the hast exit die and set out for his own at the suite. When he walked to the edge of the doorway, the conversations were in full swing.
"I'm not intruding, am I?" he announced brightly, taking note of Lar-Na's glowering mood the instant his voice filtered over the room.
"Not at all, Mr. Ambassador," Stenson returned, dryly, "glad you could make it."
"Yeah. What took you so long?" Lar-Na grumbled with a raised voice.
Stenson's bitten response shook the room. "Lar-Na! Do you mind, dear?"
She matched his aghast face. "As soon as they get themselves up to speed about things and communications!"
Yanar relinquished a nonchalantly smile. "Yes, it does flow slow around–"
"Please, Mr. Ambassador," Stenson interrupted with a wave of his hand, retreating his angered expression to one of disapproval. "Lar-Na, please help Marie-An into something more comfortable while I address the problems at hand."
Lar-Na took that with pleasure; he was going to kick some tail around here. Curtly bowing her head to his wishes, she left them to their impending conversation and entered the suite, closing the double doors.
"Now," Stenson began once more, "where were we?"
"You were about to explain how I was going to scratch your back, friend," Rob-O replied.
An agreeing nod continued his line of thoughts. "Yes. Your resistence needs to keep resisting for a diversion away from here."
"Oh, I see–"
Stenson lifted his hands up as a plea. "No, you don't. Listen. Eggman doesn't know of this place's location, still." He caught Yanar gulping on that one. "And for Albion's sake along with my cargo's, that is something that needs to stay that way. Where I placed you last night is a general area where I need you to concentrate your operations–"
"You mean our survival, don't you?"
Stenson let the comment go. "I need you to concentrate your operations there while Albion retrains their Centurions to do more offensive operations than just lying and waiting for their doom."
Yanar stepped up to the plate on the tail of Stenson's jeer. "We are trained and we can protect our city. We showed you this last night."
"No, Yanar," Stenson countered, annoyed, "all you showed me was that your army is going to ask questions instead of acting on training and instinct. Asking for advice in the middle of a firefight is not good tactical sense."
Rob-O walked over to the kitchen counter, leaned his bow against it, and shrugged. "Okay, so we have to defend Albion while they train their army."
"That's if we are allowed to retrain them," Yanar festered, waving the papers in his hand. "The council has to rule on this."
"And we know what they're going to say," Ell-Tee added with a snuff.
Dirk nodded, admiring Ell-Tee's words and his warrior posture. "They never really cared for us the first time; and so far they haven't cared for us now!"
Rob-O saw is cue and took it. "And what makes you think they are going to send the calvary when they get it trained, even now? They're more concerned about their 'utopia' than the people who guard it."
"Leave that to me," Stenson replied, playing his voice in a deep monotone that resembled more of a growl.
Lar-Na and Marie-An entered the living room, laughing to Stenson's delight. Seeing his wife having a female to female conversation–and hearing some of it while laying out his plans–was uplifting. "Anyways. Yanar, you bring news for me?"
The Ambassador was glad to hear the question. "Yes...Angel Island will be passing over the mainland in about a week and half. More than enough time to get you back, loaded with more refugees and to come back–"
"And I will bring some trusted troopers to come and help with the training."
Rob-O's face glowed with excitement. "Now I feel better about things."
It faded when Stenson brought forth the barrier that might not see it come true. "Unfortunately, I have to run this by Komissar, and she is no fool. I'm still plotting my words on how I am going to explain all this without her packing everything up and coming here...to conquer and live."
Lar-Na nodded. "Knowing Lien-Da, she just might pullout for this place."
"Hey, you can come and train," Yanar suggested. "Train our leaders and they can train the rest."
"It's a thought," Stenson answered after a moment of consideration. He then turned his attention back to Rob-O. "How are your supplies? Can you receive any from a port, air drop?..."
Rob-O's bowing, cocking head with shut eyes wasn't promising. "I'm afraid our ports are turned against us. Eggman has them, and he is using them to build these giant machines that float on the water."
It was as if a mythical oracle had told the Field Marshal he was going to live forever. The Legionnaire in him came alive, shouting "target" over and over in his head as he calculated weather he should ask more about it to feed the warrior craving or focus on the situation at hand. "I wonder if it will be on the way out?"
"Tell me more about these 'giant machines that float on water?'" he asked inquisitively. Lar-Na didn't miss the slight excitement in his voice.
"Best I can describe them is that they look like Horseshoe crabs. Dirk?" Rob-O said, turning towards the wolf, "you've seen Port Mercia after the take over, right?"
"A lot different from before."
Yanar jumped in the fray this time. "We've kept our eye on it too...along with the submersibles."
Now the image Rob-O put in Stenson's head came to light. "I knew those things sounded familiar. We helped sink one about a week ago with the Freedom Fighters."
"Well, it looks like Eggman is dismantling them for scrap," Yanar observed. "We sent in a probe the other day to see if anything new was going on."
"Would that be in your interest, Yanar, and not ours?" Marie-An fostered from beside Lar-Na, her new dress glimmering in the ambient light of the kitchen.
"We...do like to...see things coming," the Ambassador replied sheepishly.
Lar-Na grimaced at Yanar. "Wonderful–" cough–hmm...
Stenson lifted his eyes up to his wife, seeing her start to cower at her chest, placing her hand on the black blouse as if to hold in her next round of coughs. Clenched teeth; a shudder of a breath; her voice quivering before her lungs silenced it and violently expelled the air within them. Stenson felt his own tighten with sorrow and aguish while watching his wife fight to breathe between a long stint of coughing.
Marie-An supported Lar-Na more out of concern than helping. "Are you alright, my child?"
"I'll...cough...fine." She forced down a shallow gulp of air. "It will...ah–hmmm...pass."
"What time is this gathering," Rob-O asked Yanar, seeing Stenson's gaze leave the two.
Yanar didn't answer right off; he too was studying Stenson's very concerned face. He couldn't help but take note of the pride within the Field Marshal while his depressive expression, and his lingering eyes consumed the honor-bound warrior that stood before them. "In about five hours. We're asking all who are able to come and attend."
His wife began to retch when the latest spell of coughing became violent. Her hand went up to her gaping, gasping lips. She choked. She started to collapse into Marie-An's arms; not his. When her body began to tremble, Stenson listened to the husband in him and not the leader and placed his arm between Rob-O and Yanar. "If you excuse me, Gentlemen. My wife needs me."
The two said nothing as Stenson squeezed by them, gracing the floor to his wife, leaning down and taking her in his arms. At first she was perplexed at the sight of her opened hand as he embraced her, letting his check ride atop her brow. He didn't look down at first, eyeing Yanar who soon approached him.
"Mr. Stenson. I did get an appointment for a doctor before the council's meeting," the Ambassador said somberly. "I did as best I could to get her in early."
He never looked to address Yanar. Instead, he only listened to his words and Lar-Na's wan breathing. Nodding was his answer of acceptance; closing her blue hand to hide the terror that they both saw.
Blood had stained her palm.
Please tell me what you all think thus far. Hopefully tomorrow I will have another chapter up plus edited versions of the last two. I am very appreactive to my audience and I can't thank you enough to bearing with me on this journey and to keeping me committed to this.
Mauser