- To Serve With Honor -
'Damn that bastard… Damn him to hell!'
Heinkel's breath came in shallow, angry gasps as he strode purposefully across the plaza to the CCT Tower. He needed to get back to his quarters and start destroying his files and equipment before those mongrels came knocking in force and his comrades had no choice but to turn him over under the weight of evidence and the Legionnaires' numbers.
'Using our own attack dogs against us,' the Captain swore internally once more, 'I've warned them time and again that those glorified mercenaries can't be trusted - yet they still outnumber us three-to-one just because High Command wanted a show of force, but couldn't stomach the commitment of so many loyal Atlesian soldiers to a foreign post. Damn them! Damn them all!'
Glancing around the gardens, Heinkel noted that he was about to cross out of Beacon's surveillance net and into the Tower Garrison's CCTV feeds. There was still a risk that the Legion had surreptitiously slipped into the Garrison's network at the same time that they had been tying into the Academy's infrastructure. But even if they had back-channel access, they would only be able to track him by eye; none of their observations from the Garrison's cameras would be admissible in an Atlesian military court.
Finding the appropriate landmark that denoted the boundary, and counting down mentally after he had passed it, he reached the end of his count and finally allowed himself to break into a run. As he did so, he reached into his pocket and fumbled for his Scroll, nearly dropping the device in his haste; shaky hands entered his password and navigated the home screen to the correct application, and a few more clicks triggered every STF agent's standard-issue trump card.
A second later, the nearby sound of slow, sarcastic applause actually did cause him to drop his Scroll, and Heinkel skipped to a stop and whipped his head towards the source.
"Your training does you credit, Captain," a thick Mantlese accent drawled, "If you had only shown the same cunning and professionalism half an hour ago, you would not be in this situation at all."
Heinkel heard himself let out an involuntary gasp. "H-Herr Major," he stuttered, feeling the beginning of a fresh bout of panic-sweat growing on his brow, "Sir, I can only offer my sincerest apologies - I swear to you, I was only acting in Atlas's best interest-"
"On that, we must agree to disagree, Herr Hauptman," The Major replied dryly. "Because of your short-sightedness, Ozpin has become aware of your true station, as well as your attempts to infiltrate Beacon's network."
The Captain's eyes shrank and his breath hitched, causing him to choke briefly. "M-M-Major, please, I-I can salvage this," he gasped desperately as the grip of panic started to close in on his thoughts. "I-I will do whatever is required of me to absolve High Command of blame, I swear it! B-but to do so, I must have the Garrison kept off of my trail until I am able to complete my contingency procedures!"
"On the run with the Legion and a mongrel Specialist hot on your heels, and you still believe that you are in a position to bargain or make demands," the Major tutted with a disappointed shake of his head.
"No!" Heinkel shouted, "No, Major, I-I meant no disrespect! But sir-"
"Enough, Herr Hauptman," the Major finally snapped softly. "You have made your bed."
Heinkel clammed up, the sweat on his brow dripping briefly into his wild eyes. His heart skipped a beat as the Major reached into his overcoat, and drew a standard-issue pistol - Heinkel's pistol.
"All that you have left to do now is lie in it," the Major drawled, spinning the pistol in his hand to offer it to Heinkel by the grip.
Heinkel's heart now hammered wildly, each beat rattling his chest painfully as red seeped into the edges of his vision.
An unsteady hand reached out to accept the weapon. The Major tucked his empty hand into his pocket as Heinkel slowly drew the pistol back and cradled it against his chest, recognizing that his whole body was now visibly shaking.
After a minute of unhinged contemplation, Heinkel made a fateful - and ultimately futile - decision.
"Yet somehow, you only continue to disappoint," he heard the Major sigh.
Heinkel's hand snapped up, his sidearm quivering in his grip all the way. His mad eyes widened as his mind finally registered an identical gun with a suppressor on it in the Major's hand, already raised and pointed at his head.
The pistol coughed, and Captain Karl Heinkel knew no more.
- To Serve With Honor -
"Valean and Atlesian SIGINT indicates that the dropouts have all gone to ground, sir," the communications tech, Deitner, reported gravely. "We have CCTV footage of five being intercepted in various manners; eye-witness reports from civilians and soldiers of five more being approached by "suspicious characters"; and the last simply cannot be reached at this time by Beacon's faculty or Valean law enforcement."
Jaune groaned loudly and sank back into the couch of the Legion's duty break room with a hand pressed over his face. "Taurus has eyes in Beacon, and this proves it," he muttered into his palm before swiping it down his face and glancing over to Roth. "What does the STF have to say?"
"STF's totally incommunicado," Roth grunted from his perch on the edge of a computer desk, his brows furrowed tightly and his mouth set in a thin frown. "They've revoked all security access to their section of the facility, even to our officers; not to mention that Heinkel disappeared after you confronted him before he even reached his quarters."
"I had nothing to do with that," Jaune stated automatically with dead seriousness.
"I know you didn't," Roth replied just as firmly. "STF might not be talking to us, but they've yet to shut our techs out of the CCTV network; we have video and timestamps of your movements from the time that you departed from the control room, all the way to your arrival at the Headmaster's personal elevator."
The Sergeant coughed into his fist and glanced aside awkwardly. "There is a gap in coverage between the control room interior and the hallway leading away from the Combat Simulator facilities, but the window is less than a minute; not to mention that we also have footage of Heinkel departing in the opposite direction at the same time as you reappeared in a different part of the area. What happened in the span of that minute is between you, Heinkel, and your respective deities."
Jaune met Roth's meaningful look with a grave nod of acknowledgement. "Where did we lose track of Heinkel?"
"On the grounds, between the western gardens and the rear entrance to the tower," Deitner replied without looking away from his terminal. "We lose coverage in that area where network oversight transitions to the tower garrison's control; normally we'd still be able to monitor it, but the STF has already shut us out of our backdoor into the system."
Jaune, Roth, and the as-yet-silent Zhao shared a collective grimace. "I'm not sure that I have the authority to make this an order, but-" Jaune started, only for Roth to cut him off.
"-It's in the interest of the military's investigation that we ensure Captain Heinkel is accounted for and under our control until a tribunal can be convened," the Sergeant finished. "We'll make it happen sir. Zhao?"
"Already on it," the Corporal responded as he tapped away at the Scroll on his wrist. "Caesar and Dora sections from First Platoon have been redirected to cordon off and investigate the area; and I've sent a request to Army Control for them to issue a BOLO to the VPD and the VDF."
"Fine work, Corporal," Jaune nodded his approval. Then he sighed tiredly as remembered his standing orders. "Now I need to report back to the Headmaster and figure out how to address this mess to the students."
"Congratulations, Team Cardinal," the Headmaster continued, prompting the aforementioned team of young men - all four of the neanderthals from the previous night's altercations, Weiss noticed with distaste - to depart from the stage.
The auditorium was considerably less crowded than the previous day. Of the original seventy-six candidates, Initiation had whittled the talent pool down to only thirty-six passing students - nine teams in total.
These victorious few were currently crowded around the foot of the stage, being called up in turn based on the finalized partnerships and the pieces that they had claimed; as of now, Weiss was still uncertain as to which remaining partnership had claimed the counterpart to the one currently held by Ilia.
Her attention was drawn back to the Headmaster as he continued to call names, with photos of each candidate appearing on holographic displays on either side of the stage.
"Emerald Sustrai, Pyrrha Nikos, Nora Valkyrie, and Lie Ren; each of you have claimed the White Rook pieces," Headmaster Ozpin stated. "From this day forth, you shall work together as Team S-N-P-R; Team Snowdrop, that is."
Pyrrha, the detective from the previous night, an energetic girl in pink with orange hair, and a more subdued boy in green with black hair with a pink highlight took to the stage.
"You shall be led by Emerald Sustrai," Ozpin concluded, "Congratulations."
The three girls and one boy offer short bows to the Headmaster - it seemed that all four of them had some roots in Mistral, if that mannerism was any indication - before they departed from the stage with no further words.
Weiss then realized with a start that there were only two unmatched pairs remaining. Looking around, she found the answer to her question, and felt her heart sink as she was met by lilac eyes and a cocky grin.
Heaving a put-upon sigh, the heiress headed to the stage as her name was called.
"Mercury Black, Yang Xiao-Long, Weiss Schnee, and Ilia Amitola," Ozpin announced. "You have all claimed the Black Bishop pieces. From this day forth, the forth of you shall be known as Team B-Y-W-I - Team Brandywine, led by Mercury Black."
Weiss nearly stumbled on the final step, and her eyes snapped to the only male of the group - a gray-haired boy dressed in gray and black, with gunmetal eyes and a vacant expression on his face. She narrowly suppressed a scowl as she fell into line with the others.
"Congratulations, Team Brandywine," the Headmaster stated. "This concludes the team placement ceremony. However," he added as the new first-year students stirred to leave the room, "Before everyone departs for their new accommodations, I have some unfortunate news to share with you all."
Before Ozpin could continue, the man's Scroll chimed briefly; the Headmaster made to retrieve it, and Weiss saw him glance aside and pause. She looked in the same direction and was surprised to note the presence of a stone-faced Specialist Amsel.
The Headmaster moved to the edge of the stage and kneeled beside the younger man, and the two exchanged a few brief, but apparently serious words. Finally, Ozpin took to his feet again, and gestured for Amsel to join him on the stage.
"I had planned to hold this announcement until you all met him in courses tomorrow, but it seems that circumstances have pushed things up slightly," the Headmaster declared. "Allow me to introduce you all to Specialist Jonathan Amsel of the Atlas Military; he, along with his colleague, Specialist Winter Schnee, will be serving as a Teaching Assistant and a guest instructor, respectively, for the upcoming school year."
"Thank you, Headmaster," Amsel nodded, taking a step forward as Ozpin stepped back. "Given my affiliation and my role in the upcoming year, I feel it's only right that I be the one to deliver this unfortunate news."
Weiss had a sinking feeling that she'd already guessed what Jack was about to announce.
"It has come to our attention," the Specialist stated, his tone taking on a sharper edge as his brow furrowed, "That in the process of adapting to unexpected circumstances in this year's Initiation; certain individuals saw fit to tamper with, and compromise the integrity of the process."
"These individuals - one confirmed ringleader, along with four co-conspirators - took advantage of their positions as Opposition Force operators in the Simulation Space in order to single out and prejudicially eliminate eleven aspiring students from the running, solely on the basis of their race."
Gasps and hushed whispers broke out within the ranks of the new students until Ozpin gestured for silence.
"To my great shame, I must reveal that the culprits responsible for this heinous act are officers and enlisted personnel of both the Atlas Military and the Atlas Foreign Legion."
The whispers were replaced by booing and other cries of indignation, all directed at the Specialist. To his credit, Amsel retained his stony expression as he concluded his declaration.
"The culprits have already been apprehended, and General Ironwood - Commander-in-Chief of the Atlas Military Forces - has been notified of the situation. At this time, while an internal investigation is being conducted by the military in conjunction with Beacon Academy, the individuals in question shall be extradited to Atlas to be tried by military court-martial."
The boos and jeers only intensified, only to fall silent as the Headmaster stepped forward once again wearing a stern glare.
"In light of this development, it is my intention as the Headmaster of Beacon to reach out to the aggrieved candidates, as well as to all others who failed today's Initiation, and to extend an invitation with an opportunity to re-test for placement at this Academy."
Now it was Ozpin's turn to bear the brunt of the astonished and outraged cries of his new students. At the Headmaster's side, Specialist Amsel turned his head and grimaced faintly.
Suddenly, an ornate cane appeared in Ozpin's hand; just as suddenly as it appeared, the tip of the cane slammed down on the stage, and a wave of green energy - pure Aura, Weiss thought in awe - burst out from the point of impact, sweeping across the entire room.
As it passed over her, Weiss felt her entire body simply… Stop. Her breath caught, but she felt no discomfort, nor pain; in fact, she felt… Nothing at all. She could only watch helplessly in wonderment for a time that felt close to eternity, and yet lasted for naught but an instant.
When sensation returned to her body in a sudden rush, the room had fallen deathly silent.
"What has transpired today," Ozpin intoned gravely, "Is not merely a breach of the integrity of Beacon's traditions; it is an indignity for those unfortunate victims, and an injustice which flies in the face of the values that Huntsmen and Huntresses strive to protect.
"For each and every person on the face of Remnant is born different - born unique. I do not refer merely to the distinction of 'Human' and 'Faunus,' because even amongst these groups, every individual is born and made distinct from one another.
"But whether a person is born with Human or Faunus traits, there are those who are even rarer still within the ranks of all mankind: Those who carry the will to place their own lives on the line in the defense of all which they hold dear. In the face of overwhelming odds and a seemingly-indomitable enemy, these special few will stand against the tide to resist, so that others may continue to survive and prosper."
The Headmaster's gaze swept over the crowd of students, and Weiss felt herself freeze - naturally this time - under the man's piercing brown-eyed stare.
"This description fits not only each and every one of us in this room," Ozpin continued, "But those who attended and did not make the cut as well. And because of the interference of a short-sighted few who placed their misguided prejudices over the safety of their own people, it is not merely my choice; but rather my obligation as both an educator and a Huntsman to give those afflicted a fair shake and a second chance."
The Headmaster finished his declaration, and the room held a contemplative silence for a long while.
Finally, the Headmaster turned on his heel. "Lectures will begin tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp; please arrive promptly for your first courses. Congratulations and welcome, one and all, to Beacon Academy."
With that, Ozpin turned and departed with Amsel in his wake. Once the two men had left the room, the students finally broke out subdued chatter once more.
"Sheesh," Weiss heard the boy, Mercury - her new team leader, she remembered with consternation - comment lazily. "Talk about a downer."
"No skin off my nose," the violent one, Yang, replied easily, "More students hopefully means more good fights this year."
Weiss rolled her eyes and scoffed at that, and made for the exit without a word. She heard Ilia call after her, but pressed on towards the dormitories in search of her new room.
The year had barely begun, and already Atlas and its domineering values and prejudices were creeping into Beacon.
Well, if there was one good thing that would come from all of this, it was that she would at least get to spend her first year around Winter. Jack Amsel's presence was an unexpected - and unfortunate - setback, but one had to take the good with the bad, she supposed.
- To Serve With Honor -
"Four recruits…" Adam squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. He was hunched forward over his tiny metal desk, leaning on his elbows as he massaged his temples with his index fingers.
"Four Combat School graduate recruits," Blake clarified airily from her perch on the opposite corner of the desk.
The pair had retreated to Adam's tiny office - which was really a copy room with a desk shoved into it, as all of the actual offices had been repurposed for living quarters - after greeting their poached Beacon dropouts.
In retrospect, he was glad to have decided beforehand to keep the introduction private, as it had ended up being both terse and unexpectedly tense.
"Carmello Paxton," he registered Blake mulling the name over aloud. Adam glanced up to find her looking at him expectantly. "What's his story?"
Ah, yes. Pax. He might have something to do with that.
"A local who's distinguished himself in recent weeks as smart and charismatic," he drawled in reply, folding his hands in front of his face and staring at the door a short distance away. "He was already popular with a part of the Vale Chapter before our arrival; and after training and then working with Tajra's squad during the operation to eliminate Amsel, he gets along with a number of my personal troops as well."
The rarest kind of combatant in a warzone: A fighter with a conscience. The mold that most troopers wished they could fill themselves - and the one member of the team whom the rest would protect without hesitation so that they could live vicariously through him.
Ultimately, a risky quality in the naïve or uninitiated, and an outright dangerous one in a fighter with their own agenda.
"I imagine that he wasn't terribly pleased with the outcome of that particular operation," Blake noted wryly, sliding off of the desk and into the chair on the other side.
"To say the least," Adam sighed again.
"One can hardly fault him," Blake's tone was now softer, and he didn't need to look at her again to know that she was staring at him with those soft eyes that rarely failed to instill guilt and shame.
"You're here to chew me out on Sienna's behalf, then?" he asked blandly.
"I hardly need the High Leader's prompting to decry civilian casualties, Adam," she shot back just as dryly; he didn't flinch when her palms slapped down onto the desk in front of him, and he tilted his head back to find her in his face.
"Fifty-six dead civilians; as well as two dead brothers and two captured, all for a tactical and strategic failure," Blake stated bluntly, each enunciated word a fresh knife plunged into his very being.
"It was only forty-seven dead civilians," he grumbled absently.
"Nine more bodies were discovered after a Burn Dust explosion wrecked an apartment building," Blake corrected coolly. "On top of that, two of our brothers were killed by gangsters, and two more were captured by an Atlas Specialist."
A glint appeared in her amber eyes as her thin frown turned up slightly into a taunting smirk. "Speaking of which…" She drew back, settling into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
"We're not doing this right now," Adam said firmly.
"The Specialist? Or rather, the Legionnaire whom you swore up and down that you would kill if ever he 'darkened your path' again?" Blake continued. She wore a thin smirk as she leaned forward, her chin resting in her cupped hands. "How many times has he done so again? Because I count twice. And the second time, I'm told he even asked why you wouldn't kill him."
"What big ears you have," Adam grunted as he turned his head aside, regardless of the fact that his mask hid his tired eyes. He held his silence out of a futile hope that Blake would move on to other subjects.
"And here I seem to recall you constantly admonishing a poor medic in Asteria for 'wasting' valuable medical supplies on an uncooperative prisoner for nearly a full month," she carried on wistfully. "I wonder what she might have to say if she knew that you yourself had 'wasted' two chances to correct her 'error.'"
"Yes, I wonder," Adam drawled. "Are you done rubbing salt in my wounds yet? Because like Amaru, your bedside manner could use a little work."
The Emissary grinned cattishly at him in response. "I'd almost forgotten that she snuck out of Mantle with your troops; I've missed our 'Girl Talks.'"
The Commander of the Vale Chapter shuddered from existential dread and repressed memories.
"But I digress," Blake finally acquiesced. "To answer your earlier question properly: No, I am not here on the High Leader's behalf to censure you. On that note, however, I am still compelled to advise that you properly communicate to your troops that collateral damage in terms of life is to be avoided as much as possible from here on out, whether you have already broached the subject or not."
"Blake," Adam sighed, "I don't need to remind you of the inherent risk of collateral damage in urban warfare."
"No, Adam," she said calmly, "But I need to remind you that civilian casualties are the swiftest means of galvanizing a population and its representatives towards stronger police and military responses."
She leaned back, slinging one arm over the back of her chair as she continued. "You already know why I'm here. You know quite well that for all of the chaos and strife that our asymmetrical tactics are capable of sowing, the White Fang is not capable of fighting and causing an entire Kingdom to submit through terror and force of arms alone. It is long past time for the Fang as a whole to evolve, and to achieve our goals through the same strategy that the Mantle Chapter has exercised so masterfully: Defeating our enemies by becoming like them.
"In Mantle, this meant becoming of one mind with the Atlas Foreign Legion - recognizing and adopting their ruthlessness, and adapting our tactics little by little to perfectly counter the Legionnaires. In Vale, however, evolution takes on a different meaning." Blake smiled mysteriously at him, and asked, "Can you guess what I have in mind?"
Adam closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "Carrot and stick," he replied simply and flatly.
She hummed and nodded in satisfaction. "I prefer 'an iron fist in a velvet glove,' but yours is apt as well."
He snorted in derision. "Such care and consideration are hardly warranted for dealing with these spineless Valeans; you give our opponents too much credit, Blake."
"Maybe not all of the Valeans, Adam," she sighed with a tired roll of her eyes, "But there are factions on the other side that more than make up for the paper tigers standing proudly atop their castles of sand."
"Can you dial back the metaphors, please?" Adam groaned, "We're alone here, there's no one for you to impress or inspire with your double-talk and grandiose speeches."
Blake frowned faintly. "But you know how I enjoy my metaphors," she pouted, "And it's been so long since we've had the chance to talk shop. Indulge me."
He replied with a long-suffering sigh, but raised a hand and half-heartedly gestured for her to continue. Her eyes brightened, and something in Adam's brain made a less-than-dignified noise of enjoyment as her feline ears visibly perked up.
"The Vale Defense Force," she raised one finger, "Widely - and wrongly - perceived as little more than a nationalized militia or a wall of guns and bodies to be thrown against the Grimm hordes to buy time for the Kingdom to mobilize its Hunters."
He scoffed, "I recognize that the VDF is better organized than most give them credit for; but still, their primary adversary is the Grimm. Their skills against military opponents have dulled after decades of policing the near-edges of the Kingdom and doing little more than taking potshots at bandits and highwaymen."
"Martial prowess is as much a matter of discipline as it is skills and tactics," Blake argued with a short shake of her head. "Discipline is what the members of the VDF have in spades." She sent him a knowing look. "And besides, even the 'simple' act of standing against the Grimm has a way of hardening the wills and sharpening the minds of ordinary men."
"Perhaps," Adam grudgingly acknowledged. "But I get the feeling that they're not the only faction that you're referring to."
She nodded. "Ozpin."
"Don't get me started on that high-tower hypocrite," Adam sneered in disgust. "Promising aid and support to your parents, only to turn around and throw his lot in with Ironwood, his regime, and his policies after all but making him the 'conquering hero' of the Succession Crisis. Turning a blind eye as we made plea after plea, complete with ample evidence, to get Vale to intervene in Solitas; only to have the evidence destroyed and our envoys handed over to the Special Task Force!"
"All the more reason to recognize him as a cunning and ruthless player with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo in the Kingdom," Blake replied calmly with a placating motion of her hand. Adam bit back a growl into a low rumble in his throat, and ultimately simmered down. "After all, what other kind of man would voluntarily enlist the aid of the Atlas Foreign Legion in maintaining order in an otherwise 'peaceful' Kingdom?"
"Fair point," Adam grudgingly acknowledged. "Regardless, when it comes to domestic action, Ozpin and his cronies are collectively - as you so aptly put it - paper tigers. Beyond the walls of the Kingdom is one thing: The man can bring a literal army of Huntsmen and Huntresses to bear against whatever he can half-assedly deem an 'existential threat to humanity.' But inside those same walls, his power is curtailed significantly by the fact that Vale's Councilmen don't like to share."
He reached under his desk for a set of cardboard tubes and opened one, drawing out a map of Vale that he spread across the metal surface. The map was already annotated with a range of colored lines and symbols, and he immediately gestured to a pair of parallel lines in two distinctly different shades of green that ran along the edge of the Emerald Forest closest to the Kingdom.
"Beacon and the Emerald Forest are Ozpin's little fiefdom," Adam explained, tracing the border with his index finger as he stared at Blake. "But on this side of the line?" He gestured to the darker-green line that encompassed Vale-proper, "The Council, the Conciliar Guard, the VPD, and the VDF have shared-and-total jurisdiction. Unless the Council is in a full-blown panic, Ozpin has to sit through a full day of meetings and correspondence just to receive an operation permit for one Huntsman to function with any practical authority inside of the borders of the Kingdom."
"The heist-turned-hostage-crisis being the exception that proves the rule, I would imagine," Blake muttered contemplatively as she studied the map.
"That was a borderline-case that's already been ruled on," Adam explained. "Specialist Amsel has been barred from having any operational authority over Vale's military or police personnel without a majority-approved writ from the Council. Specialist Schnee took no action in that situation other than showing up, yet the ruling applies to her as well."
"So then how is it that they were able to receive approval for the bombing tactics that nearly took you out?" Blake asked.
Adam winced bitterly at the reminder. "They snuck that past everyone by begging forgiveness rather than asking permission," he responded wryly. "Lieutenant Sayanov and I sincerely doubt that they'll be getting away with it again."
Blake stared at him for a moment. "I will defer to the Lieutenant's judgment," she finally said with a short nod.
He ignored the snub easily. "Regardless, while Ozpin and his ilk do have some potential to complicate matters, there's a third party that you may not be familiar with - one that's only recently decided to make themselves an issue."
"Oh?" she eyed him curiously.
"Hei "Junior" Xiong," he intoned, "The leader of the Red Axe Gang, and currently the head of an informal alliance of gangs and other organized criminals."
Blake made a noise of comprehension. "The gangsters that attacked the ambush party at the Transit Plaza."
"The same ones that are currently holding one of my men hostage," Adam affirmed with a low growl.
"And here the reports that we intercepted all stated that both of your men were captured by the Specialist and taken to Beacon."
"The Council doesn't want to acknowledge that a bunch of gangsters beat their vaunted police force to the scene and managed to take a prisoner." Adam exhaled through his nose in frustration. He reached into the top drawer of his desk, and came out with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Do you mind?" he grunted.
"Are those from home?" Blake perked up and asked, earning another grunt of affirmation. "Pass me one."
Adam lit them both up, and there was a minute of silence as they both savored the harsh, unfiltered flavor of the Eastern Mantle smokes.
Reclining and slinging an arm over the back of his chair to mirror Blake's casual posture, he took another drag and exhaled for continuing. "In the interest of not starting a full-blown war-within-a-war with the largest crime syndicate in Vale, I've tasked a freelancer with locating and retrieving our missing man. I need to check in with them later this evening, but the latest indication was that Snipe's location was being narrowed down quickly."
"Sounds like you have that issue well in hand at least," Blake nodded in approval, holding her own cigarette off to one side between two fingers as she blew a thin line of smoke into the air. "Even still, do you have any kind of plan to try and pacify the gangs more permanently?"
"I was hoping you might be able to help me with that," Adam admitted. "Xiong is a tough customer, but he can be cowed with the right incentive, and his allies with him. The real problem is his business partner - Roman Torchwick."
"Vale's so-called "Gentlemen Thief"?" Blake clarified with a quirk of her brow. "Here I was under the impression that he was more of a meandering cat burglar than a mafioso."
He snorted at the irony. "Apparently he settled down in Vale in recent years and took a more vested interest in his old teammates' new criminal ventures. Torchwick has since been spotted leading teams of Red Axe gangsters on elaborate heists that never fail to make the six o'clock news cycle."
He took another drag and exhaled through gritted teeth. "The problem is that he's the scalpel to the gang's hammer. He handles the precision work that keeps Xiong's more powerful opponents quiet and docile - mainly through various forms of blackmail acquired by stealing important items or information."
"Quite ingenious." Blake folded her arms and held a hand in front of her mouth, idly rolling the inside of her lower lip between her teeth as she considered this new information. "Do they have anything on the Chapter?"
"You mean besides one of my best riflemen?" Adam replied dryly. "They've intercepted a few of our heavy weapons shipments since the Dust store incident. Whether that's to keep our artillery out of our hands, or to arm their own people is anyone's guess. On top of that, Xiong and his people own the outstanding debts of several of the Chapter's leaders and fighters."
"Not so much of an issue for the full-time members with wanted posters; but certainly demoralizing for those less involved in the Chapter," Blake concluded. "Meaning that Xiong and Torchwick were anticipating some type of conflict with us, and have already stacked the deck heavily in their favor."
"At the end of the day, we have no choice but to try to negotiate to figure out just how much leverage they have on us before we can come up with a strategy or make an informed decision on how best to retaliate."
The word tasted more like ash on his tongue than the smoke, but Adam had plenty of experience with recognizing times when he was at a strategic disadvantage.
"I wanted to put it off for longer to give our freelancer more time to retrieve Snipe. Unfortunately, Xiong had one of the debtors within our organization deliver a message today - he wants to host a sit-down at his club in the Industrial District in two days to open talks about establishing "rules of engagement" to try and limit casualties within the Kingdom over the course of the war."
"Not an unreasonable line of dialogue to open, I suppose," Blake observed airily. "Will you go yourself, or send one of the others in your place?"
"The Lieutenant has cautioned me endlessly against sending anyone in my place," Adam replied with a tired roll of his eyes. "At this point, anything less than a personal appearance would be seen as an insult."
"Rightly so," she nodded in agreement. "Brothers only know where getting on the wrong side of the mafia has gotten people in the past."
Adam quirked a puzzled brow in Blake's direction, earning an amused giggle in return.
"Thirty years ago, the Five Families of Mistral decided that they would allow Kingdom to experiment with a democratically-elected Council like Vale's so that the Heads of the Families could have extra time in their week to enjoy their ill-gotten gains from their respective criminal empires," she elaborated, stubbing out her dwindling cigarette in a small tray on Adam's desk and gesturing to decline his silent offer of another.
"This lasted for all of two years before the new Council of Five - each member ostensibly backed in the elections by one of the old Families - got a bit 'too big for their britches,' so to speak, and tried to expand the police force and clamp down on the influence of the Families, so that the Council might have proper rule over the Kingdom."
Blake turned a twinkling eye and a wry smirk towards Adam. "Considering that the Spiders were just coming into their own at this time, the Council's efforts at discretion were ultimately futile, and the Families swept in with a veritable army of gangsters, crooked cops, and private soldiers to swiftly and permanently put an end to their own 'failed experiment in democracy'."
Adam blinked and silently contemplated this, particularly in light of the connections that Sienna had recently informed him of between the Xiong Family of Mistral and these "Spiders."
"I can see how that might be troublesome," he agreed flatly. "I'll be sure to put some preparation into the talks, then."
"It would only be beneficial if we could come out of these negotiations with some sort of business arrangement with the Red Axe Gang or the Xiong Family," Blake added with a meaningful look.
"I doubt that we'll be able to come to any profitable arrangements with the gang that killed three of our men and kidnapped another, while we must have killed at least a dozen of theirs in exchange," Adam deadpanned. "My most optimistic hope is a non-aggression pact, or at least a ceasefire."
"Aim high, shoot high, hit somewhere in the middle," she retorted easily, "The governing principle of both marksmanship and diplomacy. It works even better for long shots, or so I've heard."
Adam snorted, completely unbidden, and failed to suppress a grin and a chuckle as he stated, "That was terrible."
"I'll be sure to share your feedback with Boris when I run into him at dinner," Blake smirked and giggled slightly. "Speaking of dinner," she added, rising gracefully from her seat and half-turning towards the door. "Shall we dine with your troops and officers tonight?"
Adam nodded in agreement. "I'll be at the mess in a few minutes," he said as he rummaged through a drawer in front of him, "I need to try to wring a report out of our freelancer."
- To Serve With Honor -
Winter repressed the urge to grumble in irritation as she crested the top of the stairs and turned the corner towards the infirmary.
Jaune had apparently gone straight to Ozpin after interrogating Heinkel, and had only returned in the last few minutes of the final session of Initiation. Closer monitoring of the Atlesian operators in the control room had proven pointless, as once the Captain and his conspirators had been removed, the replacements and the remaining operators were either uninterested or too fearful of retaliation to even consider tampering with the rest of the proceedings.
After the exercise had concluded - and the two Specialists and Doctor Oobleck had thanked Legion Lieutenant Lavigne for his assistance - Jaune had again disappeared, this time under the pretense of ensuring Heinkel's whereabouts and fully briefing the rest of the Legionnaires of the garrison on the situation.
This had left Winter on her own to convene with Glynda, Oobleck, Port, Grey, and a few other senior proctors and faculty on confirming the final results of Initiation - a process which had lasted several hours, only wrapping up after the sun had already set over the cliffs.
Now she was still left on her own to address a pressing matter that they had been forced to let lie for too long: Interrogating their captured Zealot.
She passed through the first pair of Vale Defense Force sentries at the medical wing's entrance with a simple passcode, passing into the compact yet admittedly cozy reception area, and immediately veering off into a side hall of examination rooms without sparing a word to the nurse at the front desk.
Another sentry in a balaclava and tinted, mirrored goggles was posted outside of one of the last exam rooms, a submachine gun cradled in his arms. Another password from Winter earned a nod of acknowledgement, and the sentry shuffled a few steps to one side as she punched in the keycode to the room itself.
The door hissed open, and the final trooper inside was on his feet holding a compact shotgun at the ready.
"I need to speak with the prisoner for a few minutes," Winter stated, "Please wait out in the hall for the time being."
"We're under orders to have eyes and ears in the room at all times, Specialist," the VDF Lieutenant inside responded stiffly. "If you want to question the prisoner, you'll have to do so in my presence."
Winter frowned darkly, fixing the man with a stormy gaze as her heeled boots slammed together and her arms clasped behind her back in a position of modified parade rest.
"The information that this man is liable to divulge concerns internal affairs and matters of Atlesian national security," the Specialist barked sharply, causing the officer and the trooper beside her to snap to attention. "Vale will have its opportunity to conduct its own interrogation once the prisoner is remanded to the Council's custody tomorrow; but today, I must insist. This is a direct order from General Ironwood."
"Respectfully, ma'am-" the Lieutenant started to reply.
"Lieutenant Osprey!" the voice of Doctor Grey boomed from the reception area, "Get the hell out of my exam room and give Specialist Schnee her time."
"But sir!" the younger officer protested.
"If her partner is too busy to deal with his own damned prisoner, then at least do the Specialist the courtesy of not making her job any more inconvenient than it already is," Grey snapped from the doorway to the wing. "You're in my infirmary, Lieutenant, so you can consider that a direct order from the closest thing you currently have to an on-site command authority."
Lieutenant Osprey continued to glare back at Winter's icy stare for another moment, before he finally scowled and pushed past her out into the hall.
The door slid shut, and Winter glanced over her shoulder to note that the keypad on the inside of the doorway was disabled. Nodding in satisfaction, she turned towards the bed, and was immediately struck by a twinge of sympathy.
The Zealot - Van, she'd been told was his name - hadn't taken well to treatment. Surgery and an extensive panel of antibiotics had been able to stave off any new infections. But the man had already been wounded for some time before he'd finally gotten medical attention, and besides - he'd taken two heavy pistol rounds that had ripped into and tumbled all through his organs and intestines. Grey had said that it was frankly a miracle that he'd lasted through the first night.
The remorse she'd initially felt was twofold. Firstly because he'd been on a ventilator since he'd arrived thanks to shrapnel perforating his lungs. Grey had been able to patch them up somewhat, but the Zealot had yet to recover normal lung function on his own.
Secondly, he looked a lot like Jaune used to. Black hair was buzzed short, undoubtedly for utility more than style; and she'd been told that his eyes were a unique shade of teal when last they'd been open on his arrival. His features were youthful, if a bit gaunt from dancing with malnutrition in Mantle. And somehow his skin remained flawless, if currently paler than even his usual sun-starved complexion.
The EKG off to one side pinged slowly and steadily as Winter settled in beside the bed to watch him. After a few minutes of silence, the young man's head turned towards her on the pillow, and one eye cracked open slowly. It then slid shut, and a shuddering sigh slipped from his mouth around the ventilator apparatus in his mouth and throat.
"Come… To pull… My plug… Yourself… Schnee?" She had to strain her ears to understand his soft words over the noise of the medical devices.
Winter shook her head slowly. "I doubt you would believe me if I tried to say that I am not that kind of person; so instead I will just say that I've seen far too many comrades in a similar position to be so callous to a wounded man."
"Color… Me… Shocked," Van wheezed, coughing weakly around his third word. "And… The phrase… You're looking for… Is… 'Dying'... Man…"
"Prisoner or no, you will receive the best medical treatment that Vale has to offer," Winter denied insistently; though the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that the man could definitely feel something in his own body that she didn't know.
A faint motion of his head served to confirm her fears; Winter drew her Scroll in a flash and pushed an icon that immediately dialed Jaune. He picked up before the second ring with a faint click.
"The prisoner's hanging on by a thread and slipping fast," she whispered without preamble. "Get up here now."
The short click of the call ending told her that Jaune had pocketed his Scroll and was probably sprinting towards her from his last location.
Turning back, Winter saw that Van's eyes had slipped close again. She reached over and gently rested a hand on his arm.
"Please," she whispered, "I need to know. Why did you try to kill my partner?"
He didn't respond immediately, and several moments passed with the forced breaths of the ventilator. Finally though, his eye cracked again, and a corner of his mouth twitched in what she could only assume should have been a wry smirk.
"You… Really… Need… To ask?"
"Alright," she shook her head, biting back her irritation, "How did you know who to hit, or where to hit him?"
"Heh…" Van's whole body was wracked by a harsh coughing fit, and Winter's eyes widened in shock and dismay as the ventilator mask and tubing became flecked with crimson. "The Faunus… Are… Everywhere… Specialist…" he choked out. "But… Even… You humans… Can be… Persuaded… For… The right… Price…"
He broke down into another fit, his entire body shaking with each violent and terrible cough as more blood entered the ventilator tubing. The tone from the EKG started to pick up and became increasingly erratic, and Winter shot to her feet and slammed her fist into the call button behind her.
Grey and Osprey were in the room in the next instant, the Doctor shoving past her and pressing Van's shoulders down firmly in an attempt to keep him from injuring himself in his fit.
"Dammit, we're losing him," Grey snarled, "He's going into shock, the organ failure's speeding up. NURSE!"
A rapid clack of heels came from outside, and Lieutenant Osprey - who had made the unfortunate choice of lingering in the doorway - uttered a cry of surprise as he was ripped aside, allowing a mousy blonde girl to push through and take up a position opposite Grey and in front of the instruments.
Before the Doctor could even issue instructions however, Van's spasms stopped suddenly; the Zealot's form fell still, and a moment later, the monitor issued a low, steady tone.
"Dammit," Grey hissed, "I'm starting compressions and rescue breaths, get the defibrillator started."
Winter could only stare numbly as the pair went through the practiced, frantic motions. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Jaune had arrived and was leaning against the door panting harshly from exertion and staring at Van with cloudy eyes.
"Get him the hell out of here, Schnee!" Grey snapped; her head snapped around to look at the doctor, who was scowling and glancing rapidly between her and Jaune. She took his message and crossed the room in three long strides, placing her body between her partner and the dead Zealot.
"Come on," she said softly and firmly, pressing herself against him to usher him out even as she spoke.
Within a few more steps, the two had fallen into cadence with one another, passing the accusatory stares of the Valean guards and entering the reception area. They moved towards a few chairs lined against the wall near the entrance, and both slumped into the cheap plastic seats in exhaustion.
"Fuck," Winter finally whispered, slumping over and scrubbing harshly at her eyes with her palms in frustration.
She felt Jaune's hand fall at the center of her back and start to rub comforting circles between her shoulders. "Did you find anything out?" he asked softly, his measured and professional tone tinged with sympathy.
"Only that the scouts that tracked your movements for the Zealot hit team may not have even been Faunus," she muttered bitterly.
"Heh," Jaune offered a humorless noise, "Yeah, that figures."
Winter leaned upright far enough to rest her elbow on her thigh, allowing the other arm to fall across her lap. Her chin fell into the palm of one hand, and she scowled and blew up across her face in a futile effort to remove a stray clump of hair from her line of sight.
"Our only prisoner is dead and we've gone two steps backwards for it," she finally said quietly.
When Jaune remained silent, she glanced aside and saw his eyes narrowed, his brows knitted, and his mouth set in a thin line.
"I've got one more lead to pull," he finally muttered, more to himself than to her. "But I'm gonna have to go down to Vale tonight to follow it."
Winter opened her mouth to protest, only for his head to snap towards her with a determined stare on his face; his lips curled up into a sly grin.
"Or rather, 'Jaune Arc' has to go down to Vale."
She responded with an exhausted sigh. "I hate that you can refer to yourself in the third person and have it make perfect sense."
"I'm not really thrilled about it myself," Jaune admitted candidly, "but I'm just rolling with the punches. Any hey - I finally get to go out for a drink."
Winter's eyes narrowed, and she watched his expression freeze as he realized his mistake.
"I mean… Uhhh."
"Too late." She crossed her arms, folded one leg over the other, and turned away from him with an irritated huff. "If you come back hammered tonight or tomorrow - or if you get yourself captured again - mark my words, Jaune Arc: You will rue the day."
Her head whipped around - her ponytail catching him across the face in the process - and she met his sheepish grin with a stern glare.
He turned his head and sighed faintly. "Fine…" he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?!"
"Yes dear," he amended swiftly, before his eyes snapped open wide and he stammered, "W-wait, I meant-"
"Good," Winter cut him off sharply, twisting in her chair to grab his lapels and pull him down to meet her cool stare. "Back to base by twenty-three-hundred, or call with a status update. Do not be late. Are we clear?"
"Yes ma'am," he replied instantly.
"On the bounce, Specialist," she ordered sharply.
Winter looked on with bitter amusement as Jaune scrambled out of the infirmary. The door closed, and she sighed and muttered with equal parts fondness and concern.
"You dunce…"
Mercury grinned faintly as he pocketed his Scroll and laid back in his new bed with a contented sigh.
"Somebody looks pleased with himself," Yang observed, leaning precariously across the gap between their beds to look him in the eye curiously. "Is it a girl?" she asked knowingly.
He barked a short laugh. "Just heard from an old pal who's fun to get a rise out of," he replied with an easy grin. "Wants to meet in Vale to celebrate and catch up."
He then bolted upright, catching Yang off guard and causing her to scramble back to keep from crashing to the floor. "Who wants to go clubbing?"
"Now you're talking," his partner grinned once she'd righted herself. "Where'd you have in mind?"
"Know that place down in Industrial, with that DJ with the bear head mask?"
His curiosity was effectively peaked as her expression fell and her eyes darkened, accompanied by a slight scowl. "Forget it," she grumbled, "You should keep away from that place; the owner and his bouncers are total pricks."
"Pah," he waved her off nonchalantly, "I've never had any problems, and they serve the good stuff."
"I can't believe you two delinquents!" the shrill voice of the Schnee heiress interjected, "How could you even consider going out tonight? Our first day of lectures starts tomorrow morning, and you're already planning to show up hungover?!"
"Relax, Princess," Mercury laughed, "I know what day it is tomorrow, and I can hold my liquor." He fixed her with a stare and a grin and added, "Good to know that you're lookin' out for li'l ol' me, though."
Weiss's pale features colored faintly, and she turned away from him with a huff and an indignant muttering of, "It's heiress, actually."
On the opposite side of the room, their fourth member - Ilia? - giggled softly from behind a paperback novel, bringing it up to better hide her face when the heiress's head whipped around to fix her with an accusatory stare instead.
"Well then," he declared as he shuffled to his feet, "Guess I'll be on my way. Don't worry Princess," he added before Weiss could comment further, "I won't keep you up waiting on me for too long."
Mercury stepped out with a short laugh, trailed closely by a string of denials and multisyllabic insults that were cut off by the door hissing closed.
'I guess it's finally time to go see Papa Bear about his pet rat.'
End Chapter 16
Author's Note: Quick note and self-correction - I finally found a ToE for a standard French Foreign Legion unit, and it turns out I made a bit of a nomenclature booboo early on that I've been perpetuating to date. In terms of unit sizes, I've been using the term "Section" to refer to a squad-sized element; when in fact the FFL uses "Section" in place of "Platoon."
For continuity purposes, I will be continuing to use "Section" in reference to a Squad (12-15 personnel). A half- or partial-Squad (4-6 personnel) will continue to be referred to as a Fireteam or simply Team, while a Platoon shall be 3-5 "Sections"/Squads (~60 personnel total).
A Section is typically led by a Corporal or, in a pinch, a Legionnaire First Class with experience/seniority. Every 2-3 Sections will have a Chief Corporal or Sergeant; a Platoon has a Chief Sergeant and a 2nd or 1st Lieutenant; two Platoons might have an [NCO] Adjutant and/or a 1st Lieutenant; a Company has a Chief Adjutant and a Captain; a Battalion has a [NCO] Major and a Commandant; and a Regiment has a Regimental Major and a Lieutenant Colonel or full-bird Colonel. The Legion from there on up is commanded by several Command Majors, a handful of Brigadier and Major Generals, a scant few Lieutenant Generals, and a Field Marshall as a commander-in-chief (below General Ironwood/the Commanding General of the Atlas Military, of course).
The Atlas Military, for the record, follows your standard ranks and rank-naming conventions of the U.S. Military; the exception being a few Commandants in charge of specific groups or installations whose rank is roughly equivalent to Lieutenant Colonel.
Next time we'll finally get to see a place and some people that I've been waiting four years to introduce.
A happy belated anniversary to To Serve With Honor, by the way. Obviously, I never wanted it to take this long; and it might not have, if I was a little better at and more dedicated to planning out my work. But, here we are all the same - might as well enjoy it.
Thank you to everyone, old and new, who's found this story and taken some measure of enjoyment from it; and I'll see y'all in the next chapter.
-Knightmare Frame Razgriz