Chapter 2: Old Memories

"So, all 6 of Omega Squadron on base once again. It'll be quite the reunion for us all."

"It will, indeed. Let's hope this works out."

"I think the negotiations with Sicario will go over fine, we have the appropriate offer."

"Maybe. Anyway, Basileus...I got a message from some guy who claims to be a Fed liaison or something via the mercenary networks. Says that he wants to work with me on getting a 'Federation pardon' or whatever."

"Ha, I wasn't even aware the Feds did pardons now. If they're trying to pardon old mercs like us in exchange for work then clearly they must be desperate. I'd advise you to delete it, it's none of our concern."

"Already did. Just in case I think we should double our CAP around Lohi, and I'll push through those software and equipment upgrades for our radar that were supposed to be made next week to the 5th. It'll be more expensive since we'd have to fly the crew out for it, but I'd say it's worth it.

"...Good idea, then. I'll take care of doubling our Combat Air Patrol, you take care of the upgrades. I doubt the Feds know anything about what is happening, but we're not going to give them the chance of doing so."

CASCADIAN FOREIGN LEGION AFB

FEBRUARY 3, 433 AC

2100

It was a cold and snowy night at the newly built Cascadian Foreign Legion AFB. Located just 50 miles northeast of the old highway base that Hitman and other mercenary pilots had used after the Prospero Disaster; it was smaller than what some of the mercs on base were used to, but served its current purpose well enough. The Cascadians had constructed it as part of The Deal that Kaiser and Hitman made, and while it was hastily built and could benefit from some renovations, it was home for now. Currently, just about all the personnel in the small but rapidly expanding CFL that were on base were either going to sleep or on night duty. Except the pilot of Hitman 1, who couldn't sleep at all.

Monarch groaned a bit, he was frustrated at having trouble sleeping properly. He found that he simply was unable to for the past two nights. The twin disasters of Prospero and Presidia had already given him enough trauma and nightmares already for a lifetime, but he had struggled on through it as he always had. As well, being the one to have stopped Crimson and the Federation in the end gave him no small amount of closure, and Monarch found that he was able to count on the rest of those in Sicario that had survived for companionship and support. However, the past month had been a bit different. Quite a few people had left the base to go on visits elsewhere, and only recently came back. Prez had gone to visit her family to spend time with them, as had Diplomat surprisingly enough. Monarch was admittedly a bit perplexed, but he figured that despite Dip's dislike for his family name, the Cascadian War for Independence had changed his thoughts on them just enough to make Hitman 2 go over to see his folks, or at least which of them were still alive. Comic had gone with him, although whether it was to just get out and see something that didn't involve aircraft or prevent a fistfight from breaking out when Dip visited, Monarch didn't know. Still, he called them often enough, and the veteran pilot always was able to fly if he needed to to take his mind off everything.

However, the new assignment changed things drastically. Monarch would admit that being able to see his old comrades in Varangian would be good, and the idea of spending 3 weeks on the beautiful island of Lohi sounded like a paradise. The "negotiations" of course were more formalities than anything, as all Monarch would do is simply reiterate demands Kaiser had already told him, sign paperwork, and shake hands. He figured that his old mentor Bloodhound would be happy to be with him again, although Basileus would have a much more muted reaction. Granted, Basileus was always tricky to read. The merc from Byzantiun had always seemed to be making constant calculations based on the situation he was in, even back 14 years ago when Monarch had first joined. Which contracts to pick up. Which base they should station themselves at. Who to side with. Who to side against. Who to trust. And who to betray.

In the end you never knew his true principles, but he kept Varangian afloat no matter what had happened, Monarch thought to himself, as he laid on his bed in his small quarters.

Had it not been for one mission with Varangian, Monarch might have stayed with them, and kept flying as "Omega 3" for as long as he could have done so. But it all changed during one final mission.

A salvo of missiles. A convoy dropping to the Earth. A smoke filled sky. A single regret.

Monarch grimaced slightly, as memories that he had long since buried for 11 years began trickling back into his consciousness. He reflexively tried to shake them off as he best could, and bury them back where they belonged. He couldn't think about it now, or during the trip. Best to just let the past stay where it was. In the past.

"That's it, push it all down. It doesn't matter anymore, just forget about it." a voice in Monarch's mind commented, as he pushed himself up off the bed. He sighed as he felt a familiar pain hit his left leg as he stood up, a dull ache now spreading through his knee there. It was the remnant of an old wound he suffered in the cockpit just when he started out his career as a mercenary pilot. He had managed to keep it under wraps for now, and no one in base except his WSO really knew. Monarch had worried that such a thing might have proved problematic for his career, so he did his best to prevent others from finding out. Fighter pilots had very strict standards for employment, and knowledge of such an injury could have led him to not be hired or affect his payment in his previous contracts. He'd done fine so far when it came to managing his leg, but the last 6 months had resulted in it simply getting worse and worse as he went along.

Truthfully, Monarch wasn't fully sure what had resulted in the worsening of his condition. After all, he was a fighter pilot, not a doctor. He did suspect that it was partly due to the physical stress of the unbearably intense fight he had with Crimson 1. That, or he was getting old; and Monarch refused to believe that possibility. He was only 35 after all, and didn't find that idea to make much sense. What he was finding though was that the painkillers and anti-inflammatory drugs he took were needing to be used more often, from once or twice a week, to every day, to now twice a day. He was already at the maximum dosage, and Monarch knew that he couldn't continue forever using them. Part of him worried that he was developing a dependence on the drugs, but they were all that was keeping his left leg from bursting in pain every time he took a step. Sooner or later he was going to need treatment in a different form, or risk more discomfort along with his leg function deteriorating even further.

Forget that, it's time to take them. Monarch got up, and carefully walked over to his dresser, pulling out his medications, and grabbed a water bottle on his desk. He took the pills quickly, and placed the containers back in their drawers. He then decided to walk over to the crew room, and maybe grab a drink while he was over. Hopefully, it would take his mind off everything.

The walk itself was short, something that the slightly limping fighter pilot was thankful for. He had gotten first pick for bunks, and made sure that his was right next to the break room to make it easier to travel. The break room itself was small but fairly luxurious, with a table and chairs, a small kitchenette complete with a refrigerator, 3 small leather couches, and a fairly big flatscreen TV.

After he entered, Monarch opened the fridge inside the area, and grabbed a soda before sitting down on the couch facing the television. He let out a yawn, relaxing back as he opened the lid of the can, taking a sip and swallowing as he looked outside the window. It was snowing outside from what he could tell, the lights of the base illuminating the area around them. Two days ago some of the base personnel had gone out into it, building forts and even having an impromptu snowball fight. It had gone pretty well, and Hitman team joined in with the others on base to participate in the fun. He smiled a bit, as he reminisced about it.

"Anything interesting out there Monarch?" A voice from behind him said.

Monarch turned around, seeing his WSO, Prez standing there, holding an empty mug. She smiled, walking over. "Nah, was thinking about that snowball fight we had the other day," Monarch replied.

"That was pretty fun, wasn't it?" Prez set her mug down on the counter, before walking over to sit on a couch by him.

"Yeah."

"Well, fun until Kaiser came outside to see what was going on; and then Galaxy 'accidentally' pelted him with a snowball," Prez raised her hands and did an "air quotes" gesture on the phrase.

"...I thought he was going to kill Galaxy for that." Monarch replied.

"Yeah, was pretty surprised-"

Prez was cut off as said AWACS operator walked into the room, interjecting in a fairly loud and very recognizable voice, "No, but my name mysteriously got put on the latrine duty list for the next two weeks."

Looking to be in his mid 30s and standing at 5' 10" (6' 0" if he didn't slouch) the man responsible for being in 2nd in Sicario and now the same in the Cascadian Foreign Legion walked in, wearing his sunglasses. Galaxy always had sunglasses on even indoors; and Monarch wondered if anyone in Sicario had actually seen his eyes. Let alone know Galaxy's actual eye color.

"It was worth it, though." Galaxy grinned, as he leaned against a post, looking at both of them. He grinned a bit, and raised a hand to run it through his brown hair.

"As I was saying, I was pretty surprised when he picked one up and threw it back." Prez said, looking at him.

"Yeah, I was too. Even more when he then decided to join in with us. Guess the Boss does enjoy recreation after all." Galaxy responded, yawning before continuing to speak. "Anyway, heard you guys are flying out to Lohi, huh?"

"Yeah, we are." Monarch said nonchalantly. He wasn't particularly eager to talk about it, but there was no avoiding it really. Getting picked to go on what sounded like an island vacation meant that everyone in the base would want to hear about it.

"I really figured that the Boss would send you, actually." Prez nodded her head toward the AWACS operator. "Given you are his number 2 and all."

"Unfortunately no. In two weeks I'm actually starting training for a new AWACS crew and plane. Kaiser decided that we will need more than one now."

Prez smirked slightly, "Or he could be preparing to replace you Galaxy."

"Not happening, Prez. Besides, I don't think you guys could do without my voice, and Kaiser is stuck with me for practically forever. As are all of you," Galaxy retorted, as he stood up from his position, albeit with his normal slouching. "Anyway...I'm heading to bed. G'night you two."

"Night Galaxy," Prez and Monarch both said in response, as they saw him begin to walk away.

"Oh...by the way Prez. I heard that Lohi actually has an entire airfield.\ present in it. Even serves as a training center for some of Varangian's pilots..." Galaxy said, turning his head to face her as he stopped briefly.

Monarch did his best to suppress a grin. He knew where this was going.

"Yeah? That's cool, I guess." Prez replied, crossing her arms.

"So maybe you could ask them for some training. You could...I don't know...actually learn how to fly properly?" Galaxy grinned, as he stepped and walked out of the area back to his bunk.

"...Eat my ass, Galaxy." Prez called back, clearly not amused. They both could hear Galaxy chuckling a bit as he went off to bed.

Monarch snickered a bit, as Prez fired a look in his direction. "My flying isn't that bad." Prez protested.

"That's the problem Prez. It's not that good either!" Monarch quipped, as he started chuckling. It was well known that despite quite a few attempts by the Hitman Team, Prez's flying was simply put, not very great. It wasn't terrible, but enough that Monarch was thankful he was the pilot and not the other way around.

Prez responded by lightly punching Monarch in the shoulder, which just made him laugh more. He soon quieted down however, remembering that the crew quarters were not that far away. Still, he needed that. It helped take his mind off things, and anything of his past had faded into the background as a result.

"Anyway...now that you've stopped insulting my ability to pilot. I was going to ask, how are you doing? We haven't had time to talk much this past month, since I was away visiting family."

Monarch paused, weighing the question in his head, before giving his answer. "Well Prez...I've been doing ok. Just some apprehension about this upcoming trip. That's all."

"Well, it's good to hear you've been doing ok. Hope you don't mind me asking, but...during our briefing Comic and Dip' mentioned that there was some kind of incident that caused you to leave Varangian. Sounded fairly serious, and I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it." Prez asked. Her voice changed from its usual tone of upbeat and slight snark to a more softer one.

Monarch paused, as he could feel the shadows of his own past beginning to break free again. He quickly mentally blocked it as best he could. It had been 11 years since it all happened, and the mercenary certainly did not feel like uncorking that bottle. But strangely enough, Monarch found that he did want to tell her about what happened. No one in Sicario knew, and having to keep such a secret had worn thin over the years. Not to mention, Monarch the past few days after finding out he was going to Lohi had grown increasingly weary of it, especially now. In the back of his head Monarch knew that he couldn't be silent about it forever, and sooner or later his squadron was going to find out about it on the journey. This was a chance to end that problem. Better him then someone else, after all.

It would be much better to deal with it now, at least partly. Considered Monarch. He did his best to keep his composure, as the memories flashed in his head.

Once Again. A salvo of missiles. A convoy dropping to the Earth. A smoke filled sky. A single regret.

"Do you really want to do that? What will they think of you for it, you can't go back with this kind of thing," One part of his mind argued forcefully.

"If you are going to have them with you on this visit to Lohi and Varangian...you owe them the truth. It's going to come out sooner or later. Can't you at least trust your WSO?" Another part disagreed, as Monarch felt torn on what decision he should make.

"Prez will never be able to look at you the same way again once you speak. Do you really want to push out one of your few friends here?"

"She'll still be with you. Hitman will still be with you. Just as you were for them. Telling Prez will make telling 'Mick and Dip' much easier."

"No. Don't do it. You can still keep this locked away."

"The lock's already going to come off. It's time to open it up Monarch. This is the only way forward."

Prez looked at him, noticing his silence. "If it's a sensitive subject, I understand, Monarch."

He closed his eyes for a moment. He felt torn, but he knew what decision he had to make. Emotions welled up inside him, and a pit in his stomach that he hadn't felt since the fight with Crimson once again opened up and threatened to consume him. Still, it didn't matter. Monarch knew what he had to do now.

It's time. Monarch made his decision, and began to speak.

-END CHAPTER-

LEVEL 3- SECURE ACCESS

Varangian Group File Entry:

Operation Coup de Grâce

Operation Coup de Grâce was the final mission of Varangian and other mercenary organizations' conflict with the major smuggling operation known as the Trinity Syndicate. As the only operational pilot available with a plane after the casualty ridden Battle of Sailor's Peak, Omega 3 was tasked with eliminating the Trinity Syndicate's transports as they attempted to flee from their base. With use of the prototype XMLAA system developed by Devner Industries, the mission was a complete success. The Trinity Syndicate's operations were brought to a halt, and their organization effectively dismantled.