The Ghosts of Rome
A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:
Sintendo
Chapter 2
We can never truly say that we dreamed of becoming a member of the Guardia di Finanza; it just sort of happened. Whatever my reason may be, I am now a part of a group of dedicated men and women who, by order of the Italian Government, are charged with the duty of investigating anything that may threaten the finance of this country. Sounds boring, no?
However, things may not seen to be as dull as they appear; dealing with illegal trafficking of many items – including illegal drugs, weapons, and even humans – this line of work provides a new challenge everyday. It may be an unorthodox way of earning a living, but it's much better than having to stay behind a desk all day, I believe. The reactions of anyone who is curious enough to ask about what I do it worth the hard work.
"Damn it, Giulio, now is not a good time to smoke a cigar," Lieutenant Vito barked. Seeing as how there were 10 of us crowded into the back of a large van, he was able to see me reach into my tactical vest and retrieve a steel cylinder.
I responded to his groaning with a smile and opened the steel tube to reveal its sweet contents.
"Woah! He has some Giotto!" A man gasped, "Probably from his girl up north."
I had to force myself not to blush at the though. Indeed a woman had sent me these expensive chocolates, but never would I consider her "my" girl. The commotion over the sender of the candy was hushed when each of my teammates received a piece of the candy to savor. It was an appropriate time for a sweet treat to be shared amongst a group of men who were told that in 10 hour we were to charge into a building full of unknowns.
Our destination was full of an unknown amount of hostile targets with an unknown amount of weapons, an unknown amount of unarmed civilians, an unknown number of explosive materials, and other such unknowns. The only thing we did know, however, was that behind the stone walls of the church – located almost directly in the center of the peaceful coastal city of Taranto – were thousands of kilograms of pure Colombian Cocaine; the street value exceeding the US$100 Billion mark.
The situation at hand reminded me of the American Military training tool called a "Hogan's Alley". Ironically, we only just began using such a tool a few weeks prior to our knowledge of this operation. It was a gigantic stroke of luck that we began implementing this training method; it allowed any man to hone his skills at shooting moving targets quickly, and effectively without harming any hostages. Lt. Vito said that he only needed a single run to understand the damn thing, and we never questioned him about it. Sure enough, he breezed through the alley in a single pass, scoring the highest out of any of us. That's how well we knew each other, trusted each other. We were like brothers. Spending 6 years together, day in, day out for 5 days a week will do that to you. That's probably how they knew of my "friend" in the north. Doesn't bother me though.
With the time at 1300 hours – and with our planned attack launch a mere 9 hours away, I said to my brothers in arms, "Good night, ladies," and huddled in to my own corner of the van.
"G'night, Sarge."
Other than the different headgear, we were all issued uniform equipment. We wore the same black jumpsuits, black gloves, black boots, carried the same Beretta SCP 70/90 assault carbine, the same Beretta 92FS handgun, and the name number of flash bang grenades (4 each); clones of each other. When you think about it, we were identical in body and mind; exactly like (I said it before) we were brothers.
But then, why is it that I was the only one who actually felt… something for the victims in the firefight?
All things considered, the raid was a complete success. Rooms were swept. Hostiles were eliminated with caution. In a matter of minutes, we were ready to sign papers and write reports. However, things changed when I opened the locks to the inner monastery.
There, within the walls of holy land, stared back dozens of young eyes. Children of all colors, shapes, and physical health were gasping at the sight of an armed man – a killer – something that innocent eyes should never lay upon. But I was frozen solid, still aiming at the head of a child directly before me.
I don't even remember what he said to me, only that when I regained control of my body, I was sitting in the van once more. A flurry of activity surrounded me. Countless ambulances and other Government vehicles and personnel hovered around the church like bees.
"Are you okay?" I heard the familiar voice of Lt. Vito, "Giulio?"
"I think so."
"Well I don't. You haven't blinked for the past 3 hours."
"What time is it?"
He checked his watch, "0130"
"Really?" The rapid passage of time hadn't even occurred to me.
"So what's the matter? I had one of the medics check you out, but you weren't hit or anything."
"I don't know. Hey, Rico?"
"What?"
"Was it… was it just me, or were there kids in the basement of the church?"
Instead of answering, he led me elsewhere. Bad news.
I was used to the sight of a dead body within a body bag, but this incident just forced my stomach to contract; I waited until it was empty of its contents before observing the ghastly image once more. There lay a dying child – I could still see his chest rise and fall from breathing; his innards moving in sync with each rhythmic breath.
The cocaine was there too.