Order

What was that? Don't tell me that was Kim—he was a lieutenant, right? Damn. What was that thing? I've never seen a Locust like it before.

Baird helped Cole and Gyules reinforce the door to the Tomb of the Unknowns and leaned heavily against the wall, running his hand over his face as he caught his breath. They weren't supposed to be ambushed. It was supposed to be simple as Delta picking them up, hopping on a Raven, and flying away to safety. So far, this resonator was more trouble than it was worth; playing escort to this thing was the worst job he'd been given.

"So you're all that's left of Alpha?" someone asked quietly. It was one of the guys from Delta; the other was too busy conversing with Control to make small talk.

"You guys don't look much better," Baird sneered. "Your lieutenant just got run through by some grub commander."

Cole touched his shoulder and Baird shrugged him off, unapologetic. He was exhausted, running low on ammo, and officially tired of risking his life for crap that wouldn't work. It seemed like every day Command had a new toy or the Locust had a new camp, and Baird was responsible for taking care of it. He had never been very good at following orders and now their group was without an assigned leader; he could only imagine the pissing contest that would ensue.

The other man from Delta approached Baird, his report complete, and Baird responded automatically to the tension in the air by setting his jaw and balling his hands into fists. He wasn't sure the other man was trying to threaten him, but he didn't underestimate that icy glare.

"You're Baird," he growled.

Great, sounds like another shithead has a score to settle with my family name. Baird stood up straight, getting into the other man's face. "Yeah, asshole. Question is, who are you?"

There was no time to reply.

A hollow screech echoed in the chamber and Baird jumped, whirling to find the source of the noise. He knew that howl. Was there enough time to make a run for it? No, he could hear her pounding footsteps already. They were officially dead.

"Oh, shit. Quiet!" Baird hissed, mostly at Gyules who whimpered by the door. "Don't move."

"What was that?" the man with the do-rag muttered.

"A Berserker. She can hear us—she can smell us."

Baird grit his teeth and held his breath. Berserkers were blind but their sense of smell was ten times better than a dog; even if they found a place to hide, she would be able to find them. If she was desperate enough, she could track prey for two days.

Gyules stood, his breath ragged behind his helmet. "Oh man… oh man. We're fucked! I'm getting outta here!" Before Cole could grab him, Gyules ran around the corner and the group watched in horror as the wall exploded, menacing shadows dancing in the dim lighting. The Berserker found Gyules.

Baird covered his mouth and willed the bile down. He took two steps back, a guy from Delta doing the same as he whispered, "Oh my god."
Do-Rag—as Baird had nicknamed him—got back on the radio to Control. As if they can do anything. We're sitting ducks. Damn it, I'm getting real tired of this shit. Are there still penalties for going AWOL?

"Alright, guys," Do-Rag said and motioned to his partner to follow, "sit tight. We came here to help you and that's what we're gonna do. Dom, let's go."

Delta took off around the corner and Baird felt sorry for the Dom guy. Do-Rag was obviously the brains of the operation; he automatically assumed leadership after Kim was killed, and by the way Dom followed without even a tiny complaint, there wouldn't be any competition about who was in charge now. He was being led to his death by an idiot who, apparently, feared nothing.

Baird had more common sense than that, and his was telling him to get out.

He pulled his Lancer from its sling and had only taken three steps when Cole grabbed him.

"You heard Marcus—he said to stay here. You really wanna fight a Berserker?" Cole whispered.

"And let those guys get all the glory? Who are they, anyway?"

"The guy with the do-rag is Marcus; Dom, his partner, said something about getting him outta jail."

"Shit, he's a criminal?" Baird balked. "They really are recruiting anyone these days. There is no way I'm owing my life to a fucking scumbag."

"Naw, man. I think he served before. He's a real good shot. Saved my life already."

Listen to him, not a shred of disgust or pride. He's all humility. "Well I don't take orders from convicts. I'm going after them."

Cole sighed and, never one to argue, resigned himself to following Baird. As they crept through the halls, Baird was almost tempted to stop whenever he saw the dull flash of a plaque. What was the occasion, and during what part of the Pendulum Wars had these people died? But he wasn't a history buff—he wasn't even sure he really cared. He just wanted to focus on something other than his heart pounding in his throat.

There was an explosion in the distance and debris scattered to the floor. The main antechamber still had electricity—barely. The lights flickered overhead and Baird wondered how long this place had been running on a back-up generator. It wasn't powerful yet provided just enough light to take in the damage. There was a hole in the far wall where a memorial wall previously stood, and just beyond it another wall was nearly demolished. Damn, she really knows how to crash a place. No respect for history. Baird picked his way over the rubble carefully, straining to hear where the Berserker was now. How was Do-Rag and Pansy leading her out? Were they making her run through random walls until they found daylight? Maybe they thought they could wear her down with a little rough exercise then use the bayonet on her. Yeah, fat chance of the chainsaw getting through that hide.

"Baird, this way," Cole called. He stood in a doorway on the far side of the room, next to another gaping hole. "Looks like they're taking her out to the gardens."

"Date night. Great," Baird replied. "I bet she'll love that. A mausoleum for fallen COG soldiers, some fancy architecture—gee, I bet the flowers are beautiful this time of year."

The floor rumbled under his feet, the rubble clacking an uneasy rhythm near his boots as the ceiling threatened to cave against the force. His reflexes had him trained to look at the ground, to deduce precisely where the E-hole would appear, but this was different. There was the unmistakable smell of ozone and burning flesh, and as Baird followed Cole through the maze of halls and memorials, he could hear the Hammer of Dawn and the scream of the Berserker.

It wasn't long until his radio clicked and Do-Rag's gruff voice rumbled, "Hey, Cole, Baird, it's all clear."

Cole picked up his pace, Baird close behind. "There's no way—no fucking way in hell those guys killed a Berserker," he said. "Yeah, a Hammer will do nicely but a convict? Is this guy for real?"

"Let's go thank the nice man, Damon," Cole said. "He just saved your life, after all."

When they joined the other men in the gardens, Baird stopped by the Berserker as Do-Rag called in to Control—again. Baird ignored the obvious air of authority, annoyed by the "do it by the book; call in every contact" attitude, and crouched beside the dead Locust, prodding it with his rifle.

Cole chuckled. "You hungry, Damon? Got some crispy, deep-fried grub here for you."

Baird sneered. I can't believe this. "No thanks. You can have my share, man. I'd rather turn her into a nice cadaver, maybe find out if baby grubs really do come from these things."

"Finally hit puberty, huh? Good for you!"

Baird ignored the jab. He stood and stretched his neck, pacing away from the body. He really did want a way to preserve the body for study—he had become something of a Locust expert among the ranks and he was always on the hunt for something new to examine—but the Hammer thoroughly fried its victims. He never forgot the ash bodies that once littered the highways.

His attention was diverted when he heard a new voice over the radio—Colonel Victor Hoffman. It wasn't every day the brass gave direct orders. What was the special occasion? Baird had been escorting the resonator for two days now; orders had always come from the comms officers. Was it because of Do-Rag? It better not. What is he, the prodigal son of Prescott?

"Delta, we now have a secondary target," Hoffman said. "You will deploy your resonator in the Lethia Imulsion Facility, due west of your position. And you're in charge, Sergeant Fenix. As of now."

Baird threw his hands up. "Sergeant?" Are you fucking kidding me? This criminal is promoted ahead of me? Is Hoffman blind? I have more credentials than some—shit, I don't even know what he was in for, but I have way more experience than "Sergeant" Fenix. This is bullshit. Total bullshit. I am not taking orders from this guy.

He stomped back towards Cole, his anger barely restrained. "Typical. Don't give the smart guy a promotion—no, give it to the jackass, instead."