20km North of Grudziadz, Yellow Zone 1
[21/5/2056]
Raleigh stifled a yawn. People weren't meant to be awake this early. The cold light of dawn filtered through the windows of the barracks complex, shining across the faces of a number of bleary-eyed infantry.
He poured himself a cup of "coffee" from a carafe. The bitter brown liquid was a poor chemical imitation, the plant having gone extinct years ago, and it barely kept him functional. He grimaced after each sip, but nevertheless drained the whole cup.
Adam made sure to don his helmet before stepping outside. Despite the medic's good prognosis and the pills from the quartermaster, he'd been woken by splitting headaches the last few nights. He cycled the double doors that sealed off the barracks complex from the outside world, and stepped out into the eternal toxic storm that consumed most of planet Earth.
The sky was overcast. Grey clouds rippled overhead, lit from within by the rising sun, and sporadic pulses of lightning. Adam's visor automatically adjusted, filtering out the harsher wavelengths.
A pathway of foaming instant concrete had been laid down between the buildings, sealing the loose pale dirt into a solid path. Once the city had been secured, the GST Madrid had dropped prefabricated modules and an engineering team to establish a forward modules were universal GDI equipment, easily assembled in the field. Adam had walked identical paths in a dozen locations.
One of the blocky buildings was topped with an array of dishes and antennas. Adam made his way to it, side-stepping around a hefty exoskeletal loader which was stomping along the path, its pincer-like arms laden with crates.
Raleigh was overwhelmed by information as he entered the base's command and control centre. As the nerve centre of GDI's battlefield surveillance apparatus, it was illuminated by the glow of a dozen monitors displaying an endless flow of data. Radio calls and the automated chirps of various sensor readouts mingled together into an almost hypnotic rhythm.
Lieutenant Louise James turned to face him as he arrived. Her stoic face was underlit by a blue glow from a nearby monitor. The shifting lights of the displays played across the blocky camouflage pattern of her fatigues, giving the illusion that she was clad in static.
"Corporal Raleigh," she greeted him, gesturing to a small glass-walled briefing room to the side of the main operations chamber. The Lieutenant closed the transparent door behind them and the din was muted.
"Firstly, I wanted to thank you for your actions on the ground in Gdańsk. Throwing yourself in the line of fire to protect your comrades, that goes far above the call of duty. I'll be recommending you for a Bronze Star for your efforts. Unfortunately, Sergeant Neumann's injuries were too severe, and he didn't pull through. I'm sorry."
Adam nodded sombrely at the news. It didn't come as a shock to him; he'd held Neumann's guts in his hands on that filthy street.
"That does mean, however, that there's a position to be filled. You showed great leadership in Gdańsk, and you saved the rest of your squad from joining Neumann. Therefore, I'm authorising your promotion, effective immediately. Congratulations, Sergeant Raleigh."
James extended a hand. Adam was stunned. He gawped awkwardly for a moment, before lurching forward to clumsily take the Lieutenant's hand.
"Thank you sir, it's an honour."
"Don't thank me yet, I'm throwing you right back in the fire," she chuckled. Raleigh stood at ease, hands clasped in the small of his back, awaiting his orders.
"The locals aren't too happy about us being here," she continued. "I want Second Squad on the ground at the Grudziadz Refinery. There are rumours that Nod is seeding agent provocateurs amongst the locals. I want you to root them out, and make sure the handover goes smoothly. ."
—
Adam made his way to the camp's infirmary. Like the other buildings on site, it was a squat block of matte grey prefabricated panels that slotted together as simply as a children's toy.
The rudimentary sickbay was bathed in a soft white glow, and filled with a harsh antiseptic scent. Private Williams was laid up in one of a handful of beds, reading something on a flexi-tablet. Her red hair was fanned out across the pillow. She nodded in greeting as Adam approached, and placed the tablet on the bed.
"How are you doing?" He asked, laying a hand on the bed frame. Becca huffed, and gestured in a broad arc, taking in the hospital gown she was wearing, and the bundle of tubes running to her wrist and ankle. "Peachy," she deadpanned.
The silence stretched between them.
"Sergeant Neumann didn't make it," He blurted out, a bit less gently than she'd intended. Becca nodded to the unoccupied bed next to her. "I saw, it was pretty grizzly."
"Those laser weapons are pretty nasty."
"You're telling me," she wiggled her knee, and the sheets fell away from it, revealing a limb wrapped in bandages, that ended partway down the shin. Adam winced.
"It's not so bad. Plus, I've heard the power sources they use are toxic as hell; anyone who picks one up is pretty much guaranteed eight types of cancer, so, we'll see who's laughing in twenty years!" She leaned back with her hands behind her head in an exaggerated display of bravado.
"Wait," she shot forward, then winced. "Who's the new squad leader?"
Adam smiled wryly.
"You're looking at the new Sergeant Raleigh."
"Sergeant! You're kidding." Becca's eyebrows rose. "Nope, just take me back out to the front line and let them shoot me again!" she exclaimed, but there was a smile at the corners of her mouth.
"Enough of that chat!" he barked in his best imitation of the late sergeant. "I'll have you written up for insubordination." They shared a laugh, though it was tempered by the loss.
"I'd like to see you try," she smirked. Adam felt a pang of protectiveness for his fiery squadmate. She's my responsibility now. They all are. He rose, and patted her good leg.
"I'm heading out; L.t. needs us to pacify the locals. You're excused from joining us," he nodded to the bandaged stump.
"Oh thank you sir, very generous," she sneered sarcastically.
Adam smiled all the way to the armoury.
—
His squad marched with him over the rise that divided the forward base from the refinery complex. The sun was barely above the horizon, but its light illuminated the early morning mist, so that it seemed like a glowing cloud had descended over the valley.
The refinery's smokestacks were visible above the ridge, cold and dark. They should be fired up already! As they crested the hill, the problem became clear. Down at the bottom of the hill, the complex's chain link gate was chained shut. A collection of harvesting vehicles were parked haphazardly in front of the barrier. They were old Second Tiberium War models, practically antiques, and had more in common with garbage trucks than advanced ecological equipment.
In front of the chain-link fence was a huddle of figures in grey fatigues. Some brandished tools, some held banners, and others simply stood with crossed arms and sour expressions. A few had even chained themselves to the fence, and snarled in defiance as Raleigh approached. The gesture's intimidation factor was lessened somewhat by the undignified squatting posture their restraints forced them to adopt.
Raleigh marched up to the GDI foreman, a paunchy man in overalls and a hard hat. "Any progress?" The foreman shook his head. "We've been here since four am, they ain't moved." Raleigh raised his eyebrows. "We'll move 'em." He gestured to his squad, who formed a line with weapons raised.
Raleigh turned to face the picketers, switching his helmet's radio to broadcast on an open loop. "Attention, you have five minutes to disperse from this location. As of 0800 yesterday, this refinery operation is under the jurisdiction of the Global Defense Initiative. You are required to disperse-"
"Fuck your jurisdiction! I'm staying right here," a cacophony of overlapping shouts cut him off. Raleigh simply cranked up the volume another notch to drown them out.
"By the terms of the treaty with Colonel Radić-"
"Radić don't own us! This is our family's operation!" The majority of the drivers were getting riled up, throwing clods of dirt towards the encroaching wall of soldiers. One elderly man stood at the back of the mob with his arms folded, watching the proceedings with pensive silence. He had thick white hair, and a heavy gut beneath his faded overalls. Raleigh could see a tattoo of a segmented scorpion tail wrapped around the man's forearm. Its pointed stinger was etched on the back of his hand, poised to strike.
"Alright, Alvez, cut that lock. Everyone else, round 'em up." Raleigh barked at his squad. "That man," he marked the tattooed man lurking at the back of the crowd, "is a priority target."
Alvez slung his rifle over his shoulder as he strode towards the gate. He made a grab for a pair of bolt cutters which were currently being wielded by one of the protesters. The man leapt back, then swung the hefty tool at the approaching GDI soldier. Alvez yelped as the iron cracked against his upper arm, and leapt back, fumbling to train his weapon on the infuriated man.
Raleigh barked out an order at the man, but he either didn't understand, or wasn't willing to cooperate. Adam pointed his rifle at the sky, and fired a quick warning burst. That got the crowd's attention. The man who had swung at Alvez dropped his improvised weapon, and fell to his knees in the dirt. Raleigh barreled down on him, pummeling the man with the butt of his weapon. Teeth shattered under his assault, and blood splashed out across the pale dirt.
"Sergeant! Unhand that man now!"
Captain Collins was marching towards him. Raleigh saw murder in his eyes as he tore off his helmet. Raleigh leapt to his feet, and stepped out of the way of the superior officer.
"There, you're alright," Collins said softly to the bloodied driver as he helped the man to his feet.
The squad milled around, uncertain of what to do now that the imminent prospect of bloodshed seemed to have passed. Taking Collins' lead, Coop and a few others reached down to help their erstwhile foes to their feet. Alvez hung back, nursing his injured arm.
Collins pulled Raleigh to the side. The anger had subsided, which made the commander's pale, lightly stubbled face seem stupidly youthful.
"Do you know how many people there are left in the world?" He began abruptly.
Raleigh was silent for a moment. "Sir?" he replied slowly, scowling in confusion.
"How many people are there, alive in the world, at this moment?"
"I'm… I'm not… I don't understand the question, sir," he stammered.
"Less than 2 billion," he let the number sink in. "Only 957 million of those in GDI territory at the last census. The human race is going extinct, son."
Adam couldn't see what that had to do with squatters at a refinery, so he shut his mouth.
"Hearts and minds, Sergeant. Every skull we crack, and every family we displace is another martyr for the Brotherhood."
"But we're at war!" Raleigh thrust a finger at the restrained harvester drivers, who were now being helped to their feet by his fellow soldiers.
"We are, son; but not with them."
While Adam was digesting that, Collins turned to the crowd. "Does anyone speak English here? English?" he called out to the crowd. Most averted their eyes, or continued to stare down the GDI infantry reproachfully. Eventually, one young woman in grey overalls raised her hand.
Collins beckoned her forward. She was scrawny, and short. Malnourishment had pulled the skin tight around her high cheekbones. Adam would have pegged her as a teenager if not for the weather-beaten complexion of her olive skin, and the beginnings of crow's feet around her eyes.
"My name is Captain Collins; I'm with the GDI. We don't want conflict with your people; can you convey that to them?" The young woman nodded, and rattled off what Raleigh had to assume was a translation of the Captain's words in Polish. When she was done, she looked back at him.
"We understand the accord with Radić was made without your consent," Collins continued. "But I'm prepared to make a deal with you, today. If you're willing to allow a GDI oversight team to remain here, we'll allow you to continue to operate the refinery under your own terms."
They waited as the translator conveyed the message. After a minute or so of huddled discussion, the erstwhile foreman of the plant stepped forward. He spoke to the young woman, who translated;
"We accept, on one condition; that we show him something first." The elderly man was pointing his scorpion-tattooed hand at Adam.
—
With the harvesters rumbling into motion, the rest of the refinery plant came to life. Raleigh watched with awe from a gantry high above the factory floor.
Fresh loads of crystalline growths were dumped into hoppers, then pulverised by motorised pistons. The glittering powder passed over an open furnace, where it was heated till it glowed a molten orange. The liquid matter flowed through a series of grates and filters, a portion of it accumulating in each layer. As they cooled, he saw that each layer of precipitates was a slightly different colour. Some were a simple matte grey, or a metallic shade like iron, but others had green or bluish tints.
The local foreman said something, and the young woman translated.
"Tiberium is incredibly efficient at leaching minerals from the soil. After collection, it's a simple matter to separate them out."
"As the crystal's runners penetrate deeper into the mantle, deposits of heavier elements such as uranium have even started appearing on the surface. That's been a nice boon for our operation."
"Uranium? Isn't that hideously radioactive?" Raleigh asked in disbelief. The translator conveyed his message, but the foreman just laughed, deepening Raleigh's confusion. He looked inquisitively at the young woman.
"Once you have learned to live with Tiberium, anything is survivable." Raleigh looked at the foreman, who grinned at him through a mouth half-full of yellow teeth. The green glimmer of crystalline contamination was visible in his eyes. Throughout the plant, he could indeed see small crystalline growths protruding from some of the workers' ungloved forearms.
"Closer to shiners than they are to humans," Alvez muttered in disgust over their squad channel. If the translator had heard the slur, she gave no indication.
"We live and breathe Tiberium here," she continued, though to Raleigh's ear it seemed she was talking from her heart now. "This operation has been in my family for two generations. We were farmers in this land for countless generations before that. Then the meteorite came, and the land could not bear fruit any longer, so we harvested its new bounty, even if doing so would kill us. Can you see, now, why we would be reluctant to give this up?"
Adam nodded soberly. He cast his gaze down the assembly line, where slabs of Tiberium-extracted metals were being re-melted, and poured into moulds. He recognised the beetle-shaped hull of a Scorpion tank in the process of formation. His expression hardened.
"And who were you building all these for?" he asked sceptically. The foreman replied in thickly accented English.
"For whoever fed us."