Tire Tracks and Spent Casings
A Gunslinger Girl Fanfic by MP5
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl is the property of Yu Aida. All trademarks featured herein are copyright their respective owners. Allison, Brian, Jennifer, Kyo, and Ryo as well as other original characters herein are property of MP5 unless otherwise noted.
Chapter 6: Pace Notes (Part 2)
"I don't think I'm ready for this." said Allison nervously as she and Brian arrived at the staging area of the Concorso di Rivalba amateur rally's practice round. Everywhere she looked, Allison could spot cars with loads of sponsoring, looking far from amateur and more at home in the World Rally Championship series. In contrast, her rather plain Lancer Evolution VI stuck out like a sore thumb.
As Allison drove past the other racers, she could feel the stares of the more hostile racers boring into her, and it was making her uncomfortable.
"Brian... I don't think these guys like me very much." said Allison meekly.
"Just relax, lass. you know what you're doing, despite what others may think. And this is just a practice run-which you've already repeated a thousand times back at the compound."
"But look at these guys and their cars! They're so... serious!"
"Anyone can look serious with a bunch of sponsor stickers on their car. It takes skill and craftsmanship to be serious in rallying, and you have both of those attributes in spades."
Allison quietly blushed at Brian's compliment as she continued to find her pit area. Finally, an official flagged them down to a spot marked "O'BRIEN-WELLINGTON," the same names that were printed on the window of their Lancer. As Allison pulled in and shut the car off, she was greeted by a female race official, who spoke very good English.
"Welcome to the Concorso Di Rivalba, Signor Wellington, Signorina O'Brien. I'm your Pit Marshal, Bianca!" greeted the cheery blonde.
"Thank you, Signorina Bianca. And please, call me Madison." replied Allison, using her alias.
"I'm Connor." said Brian. "It's nice to meet you, Signorina Bianca."
"The pleasure's all mine! I must say, it is rare for international visitors to come to this rally. Are you two here on holiday?" asked Bianca.
"It's a hobby of ours." said 'Madison.' "Connor and I have been doing this for about... two years, now?"
"That's right, luv." replied 'Connor', placing his arm around Madison's waist, causing the brunette to blush and smile.
"Oh, you are a couple! How lovely!" gushed Bianca. "And you've spent two years rallying together? That's amazing! But just so you know, I've actually heard stories of men and women who came to this rally as couples and left the rally separately."
"Perhaps that might be because it was always the man in the relationship driving." said Connor. "I, on the other hand, am a proponent of female drivers." he noted, eliciting a chuckle from Bianca.
"He just says that because he keeps getting into fender-benders. Him and his self-deprecating humor." said Madison with a grin. "Anyway, when does practice start?"
"In about half an hour, actually. Is it just the two of you as a team, or do you have a support crew?"
"Our support crew should be coming shortly, actually-ah, here they are now!"
The three looked up the road that the staging area was set up around to find a Toyota Hilux pickup truck towing a fairly large racing trailer occupied by a certain sandy-haired Australian and two Japanese twins. As it pulled up to the O'Brien-Wellington pit area, the driver rolled down her window and greeted the pair.
"Hey, you two. We're not late, are we?"
"Not at all, Susan." replied Madison. "Are the Kogawa twins with you?"
The rear windows of the crew cab opened up, revealing two fraternal twins. "Yeah, Sadao and I are here, Maddie." said the female of the pair.
"You want me and Haru here to swap out to dirt tires, Maddie?" asked her brother.
"Please."
As the brother/sister pair and Madison went about swapping the tires on the Lancer, Bianca went elsewhere, leaving 'Susan' and Connor to talk to each other.
"So what's the story for Allison this time?" asked Jennifer.
"She's Madison O'Brien, 22 years old, does rallying as a hobby, been doing it for the past two years in a few different places." Brian replied.
"And you?"
"Why, I'm her Co-driver/boyfriend Connor Wellington, 27 years old, and been reading pace notes for Madison ever since we started dating. The two of us are madly in love, and I am a self-deprecating boyfriend because I get into a lot of car accidents."
"Aren't you worried she'll get too much into character?" asked Jennifer. "I mean, you've seen how Kara behaves towards Michele."
"Oh, we've done stuff like this before, and we've managed to keep the relationship fairly professional. Can we change the subject?"
Jennifer rolled her eyes before continuing. "Fine. You nervous at all?"
"For once, 'Madison' was the one being nervous. I think it's the competitive atmosphere, or something."
"She'll do great." opined Jennifer. "I've seen the kind of training you put that girl through. The rest of these guys are toast."
"We're not really here to race, though." replied Brian. "Anything from the chief on how we find our asset and get him out of here?"
"Not yet. I believe he's still coordinating with Section One so that in turn Section One can have their guy meet us. I'm sure that can be done in three days. Today's just a practice run, correct?"
"Yeah, but Allison can easily do this in her sleep, we practiced so much. At this rate, doing the practice run is just a formality, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have 'Madison' do the course one more time before qualifying tomorrow. It might be a bit of a wait, however, seeing as we're... number 50 in the queue."
"Well, here's hoping your run goes well. We'll be cheering for you out there."
About an hour later, the O'Brien-Wellington team crawled up to the starting line. The car ahead took off, and about a minute later, the starter whirled his arms to signal the pair in the Lancer to get ready. Madison revved up the engine to 3500, holding the revs until the starter dropped his arms, and she let out the clutch to engage first gear. Four tires screeched on the pavement in unison before propelling the Lancer onwards into the woods. Connor, with almost automated fashion, began blurting out pace notes.
"Hard left into jump then easy right into dip then over crest to straight-"
To his right, Madison was flying through the gears, giving the 5-speed and pedals a serious workout as she drove the course in accordance with the pace notes. Trees and spectators blurred by in a hurry as they rocketed through the woods. A few times, the Lancer had gotten airborne off of a jump, but with practiced ease, Madison would negotiate them with all the excitement of a stroll in the park.
As they reached a fairly sharp left-hand corner where there were lots of spectators lined up, Madison buried the throttle, and then upon closing in on the corner entrance, she jerked the steering wheel right, then left, performing a textbook 'Scandinavian Flick' as the rear swung right into the left-hand turn, Madison using the throttle and opposite lock to avoid spinning the car completely. In turn, the Lancer glided around the corner sideways gracefully, the rear tires kicking up a large cloud of dirt, drawing enthusiastic shouts from the crowd.
Eventually, the pair reached the end of the stage, with an elapsed time of 4:26 flat. Despite the fact that it was one second slower than Allison's best practice time, the course officials were impressed by the time 'Madison and Connor' had set.
"You two should do this professionally!" said a gray-haired timing official. "That's one of the fastest times we've ever seen yet!"
"Thank you very much," replied Madison modestly, "but that had to be just beginner's luck."
"Well, may that luck carry through with you to race day." said another timing official, this one a woman.
"We would like to hope so." replied Connor. "We will see you again tomorrow."
The pair bid goodbye to the timing officials before driving back to their pit area, where Susan and the Kogawa twins awaited them.
"Welcome back." greeted Susan. "We saw that Scandinavian flick, by the way. Poetry in motion. How'd you do?"
"4:26." replied Connor. "Not quite what we were aiming for, but it's only practice. We pull out all the stops in qualifying and race day."
"So what now?" asked Susan.
"I dunno." replied Brian. "Pub?"
"It's drink o' clock somewhere." replied Jennifer with a smile.
3.9 kilometers southeast of Rivalba, Birreria Boucanier Pub was abuzz with participants and spectators of the weekend's upcoming rally coming in for dinner and drink. Responsibly, patrons were asked their name and then matched up against a list of participating drivers, complete with photo identification. While spectators could get as drunk as they liked, drivers and co-drivers were allowed three pints at most, and had to have a designated driver to bring them back to their lodgings. As it were, the "O'Brien-Wellington" team and their support crew were presently at the bar, but only 'Connor and Susan' were imbibing any sort of alcohol, the others choosing to simply eat their dinner in relative peace.
Allison was just finishing up her plate of Penne ala Vodka when a young gentleman took the vacant barstool next to her.
"Sorry if I'm taking up your personal space, signorina. Do you mind if I buy you a pint to make up for it?" asked the black-haired newcomer.
"Oh that's fine, signore, you needn't buy me anything..."
"I insist, please." he replied, turning to the bartender. "Barista, due di Moretti, per favore!"
The barkeep wordlessly took two pint glasses and filled them with the well-known pale lager from the tap, setting them down on the counter as the foamy heads dissipated slowly. The young man pushed the other pint glass Allison's way, and with only a hint of hesitation punctuated with a reluctant smile, she took the glass and clinked it against his-"Cheers"-and took a pull before setting it down, grimacing a little as she swallowed the bitter beer.
"Not a beer person?" asked the young man. "I could get you something else."
"I don't really drink, sorry." replied the brunette, setting her eating utensils to one side of her plate.
"My apologies, then. I haven't even introduced myself, how rude of me. I'm Giancarlo Rosso."
"Madison O'Brien." replied Allison, already in character with a slight Irish lilt.
"What a lovely voice." complimented Giancarlo, switching to English. "You're the one who drives the Lancer Evolution, correct?"
"Tommi Makinen Edition. And I must say, your English is very good."
"It was my best subject in university. I intend to drive in the World Rally Circuit one day, and I would like to be accessible to all audiences." Rosso boasted.
"I see." replied Allison nonchalantly, only half-interested. "Well, I wish you the best come Sunday!"
"Likewise." replied Giancarlo. "Though if you ask me, I don't see what's stopping you from getting a start in racing professionally. I saw your stage time, and I was very impressed!"
"Rallying's fun for me and my boyfriend, but we don't want to get too serious about it. After all, it's just a hobby to us." replied Madison, forcing another sip of her pint.
"Yes..." said Giancarlo, the affability gone from his demeanor. "I suppose that's the answer I should expect from a poser Anglo-rich bitch like you."
Allison was taken by surprise, not expecting the sudden insult. "Excuse me?" she asked, eyebrow arched in offense. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but nothing gives you the right to talk to me that way."
"You and your pathetic boyfriend are reason enough." replied Giancarlo, locking eyes with her. "You don't have the key element it takes to win. Not with the way you approach rallying. How dare you treat this motorsport as a flight of fancy."
Giancarlo thumbed in the direction of a window directly within line-of-sight. "See that car out there?"
Allison glanced out the window and was a little surprised to see a Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione that was a spot-on replica of the 1992 World Rally Champion rally car, painstakingly emblazoned with all the exact same sponsoring decals as the historic car.
"Yeah, I see it. So you're a diehard Martini Racing fan. What of it?"
"I thought you'd be a little more perceptive, but I guess you have more money than brains. You lack the dedication necessary to be in this sport, which is what I have, and my car is how I show it."
"Funny how you failed to mention skill." retorted Allison venomously. "Dedication can only take you so far. You can have as much resemblance to the rally car your machine is based on as you want; you can even have a big support crew and full facilities if you wish. But dedication doesn't bring down your stage times like skill does. My car might not be as gussied-up as Tommi Makinen's actual rally car, but I have the skill to get me through."
"Oh, like knowing how to do the Scandinavian Flick is such a big deal." scoffed Rosso. "That 4:26 you got is beginner's luck. And like dedication, that will only get you so far."
"You know, I'm forcing myself not to take this outside so that I can kick your arse into the nearest rubbish bin. All we're doing is talking; that's cheap."
"Are you suggesting we settle this on the race course?"
"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. No need to be uncivilised about this matter. Just be prepared to have your dreams crushed on Sunday."
"Oh, I'm looking forward to winning." said Giancarlo with a smug smirk.
"Likewise." replied Allison with an equally-smug smirk.
"You enjoy your beer now, miss."
Giancarlo hopped off the barstool and disappeared into the crowd. As Allison sighed and shook her head, Brian walked over and took Giancarlo's place, sparing a passing glance at the hostile competitor before turning to his younger sister and speaking in a low voice.
"You mind telling me what that was all about?"
"Need-to-know basis, and you don't have to worry about it."
Brian leaned in somewhat menacingly. "Allison."
"Just some arsehole talking smack about beating me on Sunday."
"Let him talk. Need I remind you, that's not the reason we're here."
"You can't seriously expect me to let this go?" protested Allison.
"I can and will. I need your driving skills sharp for the extraction, don't waste them on some punk who's got an ego to maintain."
"But—I-" Allison began to protest, but then resigned disappointedly. "Yes, Brian."
"Besides, if you spank him in qualifying hard enough, you won't have to worry about going up against him."
Allison smiled at the silver lining her brother offered. If she had a time that would be hard for him to keep up with, this Giancarlo asshole she just spoke with could kiss his dreams goodbye.
The next day saw the qualifying round of the Concorso di Rivalba rally, and with it, another run for the O'Brien-Wellington pair as they pulled up to the beginning of the stage. Surprisingly, Bianca would be starting them off. With no words spoken, Bianca smiled and pointed at Madison, who held in the clutch and built up her revs. Bianca counted down from 5 and then dropped her arm, and Madison let out the clutch , getting the tires to chirp on the pavement shortly before shooting off onto the dirt road.
"Hard left into jump then easy right into dip then over crest to straight-"
Madison once again worked the controls with precision through the twists and turns of the course, emboldened by her excellent run yesterday and motivated by the thought of vanquishing the arrogant Giancarlo Rosso before the official competition. If she could cement her place in qualifying and repeat her performance tomorrow, there would be no need to deal with Giancarlo if she could be ten or fifteen seconds faster than him. Therefore, she stayed on the pedal longer this time, keeping her Lancer controlled in the corners, sliding neatly around them and quickly accelerating as soon as the front end lined up with the corner exit, fast going in, faster going out. Connor's machine-gun dictation of the pace notes were background noise now, just like the whine of the turbocharged engine muffled by the insulation of her helmet. As she approached another corner, she started flicking out the tail well before the corner entrance, initiating a high-speed Scandinavian flick, with little in the way of opposite lock, and upon catching a glimpse of the other side of the corner, she powered out, holding the wheel steadily and letting the all-wheel-drive system handle the legwork. Reaching a crest in the road, she committed to staying on the pedal as the Evo leapt with all the grace of a large cat over the crest before landing somewhat harshly on the flat straightaway ahead, the adjustments to the suspension settling the car quickly, though not comfortably.
The end results did not disappoint at all. The timing officials were astounded at the amount of time that elapsed.
"4...4:16." stammered one of the officials.
"Ten seconds off your practice time... This is a new record!" said another.
"You aren't cheating, are you?" asked a third.
"Check my engine and the rest of my car, give me a blood test; you won't find anything of the sort. I've simply been staying on the pedal longer."
"That was a joke. Anyhow, with the time you just made, you won't have to worry about not qualifying to race tomorrow. You can go ahead and rest up for the next day."
With the dismissal, Madison and Connor went back to their pit area, where they found their support crew talking with a fellow they'd never seen before, dressed in a pageboy hat, jeans, and button-up shirt. Susan caught their attention and waved them over.
"Madison, Connor! You're just in time! This guy's been waiting to meet you! He says he's a very big fan of you both!"
"Didn't know we had fans!" said Connor jovially. "Let's all go get lunch together, but first, your name."
"Leonardo Rossini, Mr. Wellington." replied the man. "I only became a fan once I saw your performance in yesterday's practice."
"Well, it's nice to know we're well-liked." said Connor, casting a quick, furtive glance at his partner. "Would you like to ride with us to lunch? Unlike most cars here, our Lancer still has its backseat."
"I would like that very much, thank you."
The small group proceeded to their vehicles, and as they pulled out of their pit area, they began making their way to a small restaurant in the town proper. Once sure that they were not being watched, 'Connor' turned to the man in the backseat.
"I hate to say it, but I'm not too good at subterfuge and codeword." said Brian. "To think that finding you was based entirely on our tone of voice."
"Don't worry; I'm not very good at it, either. If I were, I wouldn't have had to be rescued in the first place." replied the passenger. "I really am Leonardo Rossini, but who are you guys?"
"Brian McDonnell." replied the Irishman, offering his hand. "And this is my partner, Allison. The other three you just met are Jennifer Fitzgibbons and her partners, Kyo and Ryo."
"So you folks are the rescue team?" asked Rossini, shaking Brian's hand.
"Yes. Unfortunately, we don't leave until tomorrow night, seeing as we have a cover to maintain. Chief Lorenzo says you've got a head full of intel?"
"Not just my head, but tapes and notes, too. If I somehow perish in the next 36 hours, I would prefer that this gets to the Agency no matter what."
"Don't worry, Mr. Rossini." said Allison, glancing quickly into her rearview mirror. "You're safe with us. We'll make sure you can get out of here so that you can personally deliver that information to the bosses."
"Aren't the roads blocked? What are you going to do, stash me in the boot to get out of here?"
"Heavens no. We've got a special flight lined up for you."
"Huh?"
"Don't worry, you'll find out. Now then, how about that lunch?"
About an hour or so later, the six-person group walked out of the restaurant, chatting jovially, unaware they were being watched. As the team and Leonardo walked back to their vehicles, Allison recognized the sound of a car coming from behind at a high rate of speed, exhaust note indicating a full-throttle approach. And a turbocharger. She spun around in time to see a certain Lancia-Martini Delta hurtling towards them and had enough time to shout a warning.
"OUT OF THE WAY!"
Everyone else quickly snapped to attention and leapt aside as the rally car replica blew by intimidatingly close to them, before the driver of the car locked up its brakes and sent the car into a lurid spinning stop, engine braying once in the same fashion a rattlesnake might hiss at a potential predator. As the Lancia idled in the middle of the street, the driver's side window descended, and engaging Allison in a bit of a staring competition was the same young man who had verbally attacked her the previous evening. The young man smirked at her before cupping his hand to his mouth and making an announcement.
"4:13, O'Brien! I dare you to beat me now!"
"I can make up three seconds by flexing my toe, Rosso! Prepare to get smoked, asswipe!" retorted Allison as 'Madison'.
"You won't be saying that when I'm pouring champagne over your head tomorrow!"
With that, Rosso floored the accelerator, spinning his Lancia back into the direction he was traveling, giving them 'the bird' out his window as he sped away, leaving behind four confused people, a sighing navigator, and an irritated driver.
"What was that all about?" asked Leonardo, confused.
"That was Giancarlo Rosso..." Brian explained. "He's... he's got an ego."
"-which I will grind into dust tomorrow when we do this thing for real." said Allison thru gritted teeth. "I hate him. I hate him very much."
"Even more than the Padania?" asked Kyo.
"This a-hole makes the Padania look humble by comparison. He's grasping at straws, crowing about three seconds' advantage over me..."
"Well then, not that this hasn't been interesting, but we should get some rest this evening for the big day tomorrow." said Brian, clapping his hands together exactly once. "Jen, you mind taking Leonardo with you for now, make sure he gets back into hiding okay? We'd take him along, but I don't want him to be subjected to Allison when she's driving aggressively."
"Good idea." replied Jennifer. "See you guys tomorrow."
Race day had finally arrived, and with it, an uninvited guest.
Rain.
After two days practicing in dry conditions, an overnight low pressure system had moved into the area over Rivalba and released its aquatic payload several hours before the rally would begin. The course, previously just a solid if dusty dirt road, was now a long trail of muck that only got messier as participants rocketed down at speed, a number of them understeering badly and plowing into a ditch on the side of the road. While all this made for good spectator entertainment, it gave drivers another obstacle to contend with, especially Allison/Madison, who was absolutely dead-set on beating Giancarlo Rosso. With the weather being as it was, the female 'hobby rallyist' hoped that Giancarlo's skill would be muddled by the inclement weather:
"ROSSO—4:13" read the LED scoreboard.
Unfortunately, it wasn't. Now, it was the Wellington-O'Brien team's turn to go tackle the quagmire ahead. At the starting line, Madison flexed her hands on the wheel as she built up the revs for just the right launch, holding in the clutch like the last few times. Watching the starter's hands, Madison tensed as she awaited the arm drop that would send her on her way. As the tachometer hovered at 3500 rpm with a light hold on the throttle, the starter's arm let gravity take hold, and as soon as his arm began to drop, Madison let the clutch hook up and the Evo was off like a shot, wipers on and headlamps blazing as the tires bit into the muddy road, they threw up roostertails of mud in their wake. She drove with a possessed fervor, determined to utterly destroy Giancarlo Rosso's time.
Down the path, a man equipped with a Nikon D40 snapped a series of photos as one of the rally's participants slid by in full opposite lock around the sweeping corner where he stood. Knowing that cars were set to go every 45 seconds, he awaited the next one when he had the idea to step over the plastic barrier and get photos on the road itself. It would make for a great shot, and he'd seen people do it all the time and come out all right. Pushing his way through the crowd, he stepped over the plastic netting that separated spectators from the rally course. Squatting down for a low-angle shot, he sighted in through his viewfinder, already hearing the noise of the next car coming.
"-Long straight into easy left into straight into hard right-" recited Connor as Madison continued driving. As she looked ahead, she could spot someone standing in the middle of the road with a camera.
"Oh no, you fucking idiot, get out of the bloody road!" she said in alarm as she leaned on her horn in the hopes this shutterbug would get the hint. Up ahead, the daring spectator squeezed off a few more shots before trying to head back behind the safety of the plastic netting. As he made to move, however, he found that his boots had sunken into the mud, and he was stuck at the worst possible time. Trying to lunge forward and free himself, he only succeeded in falling flat on his face, the Lancer Evolution getting dangerously close to him, now.
Not enough room, can't swerve around him, only one thing I can do if he's going to stay alive... thought Madison quickly.
"Connor! Hang on!"
"What-"
Before her co-driver could finish speaking, Madison had swung right, then left, shifting the weight of the vehicle quickly enough to lift its entire left side off the ground, lifting clear of the stuck spectator just in time to pass over him harmlessly, threading a needlepoint pass between the endangered cameraman and the spectators on the right side of the course.
Coming down, however, was a different story. As soon as the left side regained contact with the ground again, they spun too fast for any grip, and the world around Madison and Connor's Lancer became a blur as they spun out, Madison releasing the gas pedal to keep them from spinning any more. The car finally came to a stop perpendicular of the track's direction, and the two looked at each other for a few moments.
"You all right?" asked Madison.
"I am if you are." replied Connor. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"No. We better finish this thing."
Madison quickly shifted into first to get things rolling again, hoping to make up for lost time because of the accident.
The news was not good when they reached the end of the stage. As they pulled up to a timing official, the pair got the grim news they had somewhat expected.
"O'Brien-Wellington; five minutes, fifty seconds."
A look of shock crossed Madison's face as she drove back to her pit area. Shock turned to sadness as she parked, shutting off the engine before openly weeping into her hands, forehead against the steering wheel as she took off her helmet and began sobbing.
"Allison, Allison, don't cry!" said Brian, trying to console his young companion. "Come on, you did great out there!"
"I LOST!" wailed Allison in response, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I got all angry about defeating that Giancarlo guy and now I'm a loser who can't back up her words! Do you know how horrible that feels? If I'm supposed to be the best, then why can't I beat a jerk like him? I—I- uwaaaaaaaa! I'm-*sniff*-I'm sorry, Brian! I'm a-*hic*-fuh-failure and a l-loser and you deserve better than me!"
Allison continued to cry, this time being hugged reassuringly by her 'older brother' who stroked her hair as he attempted to calm her down.
"Shh, shh, shh... It's all right, Allison. Look, I'm sure that if that idiot yokel weren't trying to snap photos, you would've beat the pants off of that Giancarlo guy.. someone just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, you made sure they wouldn't be injured, and no one got hurt. Everyone has their off days, Allie, don't beat yourself up over it. You did fine."
Allison's sobbing slowed down as she looked up at her older brother. "You really think so?"
"I know so." replied Brian, looking Allison in the eye. "No trophy is worth letting an innocent bystander get hurt. You did the right thing, and that's what good people do. You, Allison, are a good person. Don't ever forget that."
"So... you don't care that I didn't bring home a trophy?"
"With all the attention it entails? The extra weight it would create? Allie, we're just here to get someone out safely. It's not like winning the rally was a necessity. Any other day, you'd have beaten that tosser. Just not today, that's all."
"Thanks, Brian." replied Allison, nuzzling into her elder brother's shoulder.
"Anytime, Allison."
The two stayed embraced for a few moments more, allowing the 'Petrolhead Princess' to calm down until she was coherent and no longer upset.
"Come on, let's go get lunch." said Brian. "That is, unless you want to stick around and hear Giancarlo gloat?"
"Lunch sounds like a better winner than Giancarlo. Let's go eat."
Allison and Brian reconvened with their 'pit crew' at the same restaurant they had been yesterday with Rossini. When Jennifer, Kyo, and Ryo heard what happened to Allison, they, much like Brian, consoled her as best as they could, though Allison said she was over it. The focus now was evacuating Leonardo Rossini by air once night fell upon Rivalba.
"Where are you guys going to be staging from?" asked Brian. "I imagine the drive up was long?"
"That's why we didn't drive. We airlifted everything from Rome to Turin-Caselle. And that's where we're taking off from tonight. We'll pack the Hilux into the C-130, and we'll be ready to pick you guys up. When do you want us to be in the air?"
"No later than 2200 hours." stated Brian. "We hope to be mobile with Leonardo by then, and hopefully no shots will be fired."
"Let's hope so. But what if that's not the case?" asked Allison.
"Then I pray, Allison, that you have the rally stage memorized. And that you have some way to synchronize with Jennifer and the twins here."
"Oh, don't worry, I do."
With a smile, Allison motioned to Kyo and Ryo as they walked away form the table, leaving Brian with a foreboding feeling.
Several hours later, Brian and Allison had packed the last of their things into the boot of the Evo before slamming the boot lid closed. Brian headed to the front passenger's seat once again while Allison took her usual place behind the wheel. Unlike their preparation for the rally, however, the two did not take off right away, instead reaching into the rear seat, lowering the seatback forward to remove their weapons from the hollowed-out space. Allison went ahead and loaded her Kimber before tucking it into the space between the center console and the driver's seat, starting up the Evo while Brian opened up a rifle case and began assembling the two halves of his HK 416 carbine. As Allison drove the short distance through the comune to Leonardo's temporary lodgings, Brian slid together the upper receiver and the lower receiver, pushing down the receiver pin up front to lock the halves together at a pivoting point before he pinched the rear upper receiver tabs slightly so that they would slide into place on the lower receiver, then securing the upper and lower receivers by pushing in the rear lower receiver pin. Sliding the fire selector to the single bullet pictogram, he pulled back the charging handle, hearing the metallic parts inside click and clack as they met and separated. Inspecting the chamber to ensure there wasn't a round in it, he let the charging handle go, the bolt carrier sliding forward, and then he squeezed the trigger, a dull click signaling the absence of a live cartridge. Finally, he slapped in a 30-round Pmag and yanked the charging handle back again, this time chambering a round as the bolt carrier traveled forward and stripped a round from the top of the polymer magazine. Sliding the fire selector to safe position, Brian tucked the carbine down between his seat and the center console just as Allison slowed the car to a stop outside a small inn. Leonardo was waiting for them in the lobby, and Brian stepped out of the car to meet him.
"All aboard, one-way express away from Rivalba!" joked Brian. Leonardo offered him a small smile as the Section 1 agent made his way to the Evo with duffel bag in hand.
"You guys couldn't arrive sooner?"
"You do have a connecting flight to catch."
"What is that all about, anyway? We headed to Turin Casselle?"
"You'll see."
"Man, surprises in this situation are never a good thing." muttered Leonardo. As he said this, the screech of tires and the blinding flash of headlights caught the group of three in their tracks as a black Mercedes-Benz 190E screamed towards them, muzzle flashes emanating from the windows and atop the car as poorly-aimed rounds zipped past their heads while Brian shoved Leonardo into the rear seat. Allison, Kimber in hand, aimed out her window and started slinging .45 ACP rounds in a path from the engine bay of the Benz into the passenger cabin, managing to neutralize the driver before she had to reload. As Brian jumped into the front passenger's seat popping off a couple rounds of his own, he quickly picked up his HK416 and flicked he selector to full automatic.
"Drive! Drive!"
Allison quickly slammed the clutch pedal in and tromped down on the accelerator as she put the car in gear, the wheels spinning and the car lurching forward from its parking spot towards the immobilized Benz, whose surviving passengers quickly dismounted and continued firing at the Lancer. Fortunately, the armoring on the Evo by Q-Branch held up as AK-47 rounds and MAC 11 9mm rounds scored the bodywork and windows, the various bullet-resistant polymers doing their job. As they closed in on their assailants, Allison accelerated further as she shifted into second gear, and almost immediately after, the nose of the Evo collided with the legs of one of the gunmen firing at them. He was tossed up onto the hood, his back and head slammed into the windshield as a result of the car's forward motion before rolling completely over the car and landing square on his back in the street, the force of the impact damaging his spine to the point of paralysis.
As the Evo tore through the narrow streets, it was soon pursued by several hatchbacks and sedans as Brian leaned out his window and ripped off controlled bursts from his carbine at his and Allison's pursuers. Hoping to give themselves some breathing room, Allison reached down towards the center console looking to deploy the rear-mounted X-Net traps that would quickly bring the blue BMW 3-series behind her to a screeching halt. However, her left hand ended up pawing around confusedly before she realized her folly—the X-Nets were only on the Delta!
"Brian!" Allison shouted over the din. "Switchblade on my mark!"
"All right, when you're ready!"
"3...2...1... MARK!"
Allison yanked the handbrake to snap the rear wheels out of traction, temporarily shedding off velocity as the Lancer began to spin around 180 degrees. As the car turned about-face, Allison clutched in and threw the gear lever into reverse and floored the gas pedal to stay in motion. With her window down and her Kimber freshly loaded, she aimed her sidearm out and forward, directly in line with the BMW's driver. Her right-hand-drive car gave her an advantage, directly lining her up with the weakest point of a pursuing civilian vehicle, and she fired off three rounds, resulting in a neat cluster of spiderwebs on the BMW's safety glass and a splash of pink and red behind the obscured windscreen. The BMW slewed into a lurid 90-degree turn before smashing into a parked Fiat, slowing down the rest of the pursuers and buying more real estate between the Evo and their attackers.
In the backseat, Leonardo righted himself to look behind them, but quickly dropped down when a rifle bullet embedded itself in the bullet-resistant rear windscreen.
"Stay down! We're not out of danger yet!" admonished Brian, loading another PMAG into his HK416. Up ahead, Allison spotted the entrance to the forest, and the subsequent rally stage. As they entered, Allison plugged her Fuze into the car stereo with Mona Lisa Overdrive already cued up and hit play, startling Brian as the synth beat came over the rather powerful car speakers.
"Allison, what are you—is that music?"
"We're being chased, aren't we? Might as well add that final touch!"
"Allison, this is not the time for this! Turn that shite off right now!"
"Remember when you said you hoped I had a way of memorizing the course? Well, here it is; now shut up and keep shooting!"
Brian blinked for a second. His younger charge was wild, impulsive, and did lots of things with cars that he could frankly live without experiencing, but this method of mastering the rally course, unexpected though it may have been, was one of Allison's more brilliant moments. With a small smile and a shake of his head, he turned his attention rearward to find an Audi A4 chasing them down. Muzzle flashes leapt out from its windows, and Brian naturally responded by firing back a few shots before he felt the Evo twist beneath him as Allison slid around a sweeping left-hander. The A4 chasing them suddenly dropped back sharply as the driver attempted to brake for the turn, only to plow into a tree in a noisy mess of crunching metal, shattering glass, and splintering polycarbonate.
A voice broke radio silence, coming through a two-way radio speaker mounted upon the dash—the voice they were waiting for.
"Muddy Mouse, this is Herky Bird! We're in position, over!" radioed Jennifer triumphantly.
"Muddy Mouse copies, Herky Bird. Begin descent now, expect to rendezvous in T minus one minute, thirty seconds, over." replied Allison with some relief.
"Acknowledged, Muddy Mouse. Herky Bird is going wheels-down. Out."
"What was that all about?" asked Leonardo from the backseat. "What did that mean?"
"It means-" began Brian before Allison interrupted.
"-Sit down, shut up, and hang on!"
Allison grinned ferally and shifted up before burying her right sneaker and the gas pedal into the floor, prompting the Variable-Geometry Turbo to shove pounds of boost and compressed air into the intake manifold. The car responded immediately, rocketing forward down the harrowing narrow straight before launching off a crest in the road. For a brief second, all the occupants of the car felt their stomachs suddenly lighten and then drop as gravity took hold, bringing down the rally car with a thump, but Allison's skill held the car on course. Though they could hear other engines roaring behind them, they were far behind and were fading with each passing second. As Allison negotiated each twist and turn and jump in the course, she kept pouring the coal to the Evo, never relenting on speed.
And why would she? Her heroes never relented on speed when it meant coming out on top. She had seen the videos, played the video games, read the stories, knew the names. Biaison. Burns. Carlsson. The two Makinens. The late Colin McRae. Solberg. Sainz. Loeb. They had done the kind of driving she was doing, and for this moment in time, 'Petrolhead Princess' McDonnell was in their league, using every ounce of skill in her body to guide her machine though the still-muddy gauntlet of the Concorso di Rivalba rally stage. She went faster than other, 'normal' rally drivers would dare, one one particular straight managing to nudge 90mph on the speedometer before bleeding off speed to initiate a slide into a corner.
Four minutes, twenty-six seconds elapsed since they entered the woods. After all that, Allison got her reward. The hum of four turboprop engines in unison was the most welcome sound to her ears as an Olive Green Warhawk Military Aviation Lockheed-Martin C-130 Hercules transport plane came barreling into the field ahead of them, wheels down as it throttled back to land and match the speed of the Lancer Evo closing in. in the backseat, Leonardo went wide-eyed.
"This is my 'connecting flight'? You people are crazy!"
"Hah! Why else are we doing it?" replied Allison, shifting up and chasing after the plane. On cue, the ramp had dropped down and Allison's enhanced vision could detect the IR strobes Kyo and Ryo were holding on either side of the cargo bay. Jennifer radioed to the Evo a welcome.
"Ramp's down, nest is open. Come on out of the cold, Muddy Mouse, over."
"Copy, Herky Bird. Muddy Mouse is entering the nest, over."
Just like in practice, Allison matched the speed of the C-130, nosing the Lancer in towards the deployed ramp. As soon as her front wheels were on the ramp, the rally car gently ambled into the cargo bay, leaving her plenty of time to brake smoothly and stay on as Kyo and Ryo secured the Lancer with wheel chocks.
"Car secure, Jennifer!" radioed Ryo over the intercom.
"All right, hang onto something, we're lifting off."
Jennifer increased throttle and eased back on the yoke as the nose of the cargo plane lifted off gently, clearing the treetops as the ramp was brought up to secure the rear of the plane. Climbing to altitude, Jennifer set course for Rome, and from here out, it was smooth sailing. In the Lancer, Allison and Brian smiled at each other and then turned to Leonardo in the back, who had his eyes shut, prepared for the worst.
"Hey man, we're golden." said Brian.
"We're... not dead?" asked Leonardo, opening his eyes.
"Far from it. We're alive and on a plane headed home." said Allison. "Unfortunately, we don't exactly have in-flight meals, drinks, or snacks, but you wouldn't want it anyway—just a bunch of American MRE's."
"I thought you liked those." said Brian.
"Only when I'm truly dead hungry. Otherwise, I'll wait till I'm back at the compound to see if Becky and Miss Cindy are barbecuing."
Suddenly, their conversation was interrupted by a piercing tone coming from the cockpit. At the controls, Jennifer and her copilot Yuri scrambled to deal with the situation.
"Okay, people, we have missile lock! Let's not get shot down, please?"
"Chyort! Launch detected, Deploying countermeasures!" Yuri announced. Hitting a designated switch, the bottom of the fuselage erupted with a shower of flares and chaff as the C-130 banked away. Luckily, the surface-to-air missile targeting them took the bait and went after the larger heat source.
"Kids, battle stations, now! Find the tossers shooting at us!" ordered Jennifer as Kyo and Ryo rushed to a Barrett M82A1 and a Denel NTW-20 affixed to gun ports in the fuselage. Both of them were currently equipped with FLIR scopes for nighttime target acquisition through smoke and weather and racks of large-caliber magazines for each anti-material rifle were close at hand for faster reloading as the two scanned the ground below for signs of their enemies, and it did not take long to spot a group of hostiles upon a hilltop just off the port side. Small arms fire arced up at them, a few rounds impacting on the armored fuselage.
"Spotted them off the port side! I count several of them!" shouted Kyo.
"Kyo, suppress them! Ryo! Take out the missile launcher and its operator!"
Without another word, the twins opened fire, Kyo rapid-firing the M82A1 to pin down the enemies on the ground below, swapping in a new magazine roughly every five seconds, his shots sounding like an autocannon. Meanwhile, Ryo adjusted her aim as she sighted in, gunning for the man with the Strela. Once her aim was steadied, she fired, and as the bullet had added velocity coming from above, the 20mm round came down in such a way that not only did it completely shred the launcher of the heat-seeking missile, but it also blew the man who was about to fire it into ludicrous gibs of what used to be a human male.
Kyo then proceeded to mop up with the Barrett, slowing down his suppression rate to target the remaining individuals. The FLIR scope made the violent deaths of his targets seem a little less realistic as each shot that hit their mark practically detonated each of the fleeing Padanians like burst water balloons, their still-warm bodily fluids and entrails seemingly splashing skywards when viewed through the FLIR scope in heated white against colder black in thermal vision.
When Kyo dispatched the last of their attackers, he uttered "All clear Starboard side." before checking the port side of the aircraft for any more opponents. "All clear Port side. Both sides clear." he announced as a follow-up.
"Gonna have to put that in the report—Padanians are now getting hold of SAMs. I'll bet they were expecting a helicopter, though..." noted Jennifer as she began to relax.
"Is very bad, da?" said Yuri in rough English. "If Padanians get Strela missiles and bring them onto elevated structure—a bell tower, perhaps, hold entire area in siege, instant no-fly zone. Air assault virtually impossible- we would have to smart-bomb them or launch full-scale gunship assault."
"Exactly, Yuri. Problem is, it doesn't look good when you have to use gunships on terrorists. Gives them more propaganda ammunition against the government who hired us. The only option left would be a meat grinder assault. God forbid the girls and boys be put into that situation..."
Jennifer shuddered at the thought of encountering such a scenario. Though she knew Kyo and Ryo would do fairly well in an urban situation, most likely being relegated to marksman duty, it was the other girls and boys she was worried about. While she had faith in the girls, the thought of Triela, Henrietta, Beatrice, Chiara, Silvia, and all the others being shoved into a potential suicide mission unsettled her. When she first started flying transport and air support for Section 2 about a year or so before Kyo and Ryo came into her life, she had come to know these girls well, as more than just instruments for the destruction of terrorism. An outsider might view the cyborgs as super-beings, but at their core, Jennifer saw them as human, and just as vulnerable. Cyborgs might be better-protected than most humans, with their cutting-edge technology and built-in armor, but by no means were they invincible. Enough guns, bullets, and proper aim could still kill them like any other human being, and the groups that Section 2 took action against frequently had trained former soldiers in their ranks. The thought of any of the girls and boys being slain in action scared Jennifer, and all she could do was avoid thinking about that situation. However, it was a possibility that would never go away.
The group touched down at Pratica di Mare Air Force Base around midnight, finally offloading the Lancer when they reached the hangar, where Yuri retired to his caravan parked semi-permanently in a corner of the hangar. As Allison, Brian, and Leonardo disembarked from the C-130, they were met by Professor Enzo and Fiona, who had arrived with an enclosed car trailer attached to a Toyota Hilux crew cab. Most notably, Allison's Delta was also present, presumably having been brought over in the trailer.
"Welcome back, guys!" greeted Fiona.
"Did the Lancer perform as expected?" asked Enzo.
Brian gestured to Leonardo. "He's not bleeding, is he?"
"What about the rally? How'd that go?"
"I don't want to talk about it right now..." said Allison, yawning. "I just want to go home and get to bed."
"You want me to drive?" offered Brian.
"I'm not that tired." said Allison with a smile, taking the keys from Fiona.
"Of course you aren't..." replied Brian with a roll of his eyes.
Leonardo had been fishing his luggage out of the trunk of the Evo when he heard the sound of tires peeling out of the hangar and turned, his expression becoming one of horror when he saw Allison and Brian taking off without him.
"How am I gonna get home now?" he asked in frustration to no one in particular. He then heard a sharp whistle from behind, turning to see the Fitzgibbons trio waiting at their parked Holden Commodore.
"Need a lift?" asked Jennifer with a kindly smile.
"Sure!" replied Leonardo enthusiastically. He went to catch up with them, loading up the trunk with his luggage before ambling into the front passenger's seat, Kyo and Ryo deferring to him and taking up the backseat as Jennifer started up the V8 saloon car and eased the vehicle out of the hangar. As they exited the airbase, Jennifer glanced over at Leonardo. The 28-year-old Section One agent, now that she took the time to study him, was a fairly handsome fellow, and considering there wasn't much else to do on the drive back home and 'the twins' had already nodded off in the back, she thought she'd take a chance at striking up conversation with her nearest passenger.
"So, Leonardo, are you interested in motorsport by any chance?"
"I actually like touring car racing, as a matter of fact! I follow Gabriele Tarquini's career, in particular."
"Well, if you like touring car racing, we have this thing back in Oz called V8 Supercars..."