Life, Liberty, And…
A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:
Sintendo
Chapter Eleven: Precursor
Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1100 hours, August 9, 2005
Every single pair of eyes in the room focused on her. She was inexplicably trusted into a leadership position out of her own freewill, and she didn't know how to handle it, even with all the training and preparation that Bradley provided the months before. She studied the stacks of papers laid out before her; everything about her target – from his daily routine, to his last dentist visit – was given to her, yet she had trouble putting them to good use.
"Ahem," Bradley interrupted Claes from her daze, "We should begin by re-introducing the target and his crimes."
Claes stared at the man; a mixture of spite and worry radiated from her eyes. Bradley wanted to cover for her – she was still a child after all – but his mind was set, and she had to do this herself. The first missions are always the foundation to what kind of future a young officer builds for herself.
"Right, Claes?" He nudged the girl, fully removing her from her trance.
"Right," She squeaked – nearly whimpering, garnering a laugh or two from the non-fratellos, "Well, we know that at around this time, he is at work. If everything goes according to his schedule, he'll be home by 5 o'clock. At 6 o'clock tonight, we go in and get rid of him, making it appear as though a burglar murdered him."
The room was silent; for what reason, she did not know. She began to feel a little uncomfortable when Bradley chirped in.
"You're talking about our target, Roberto Dandini, right? The reporter that knows about what the SAW does?"
Claes forgot that minor detail, "Yes, my mistake," She cleared her throat, acting as professional as possible, "Anyways, this is a simple hit. I want the Jean/Rico and Savio/Enzo fratello to setup sniping positions from the adjacent building. The SVD and the Nagant you two have are a bit too loud for this mission, so replace them with the Remington 597's."
".22 Long-rifle?" Savio protested, "Isn't that a bit too weak for a support role?"
"Um…" Claes wanted to hit her head against the wall. She couldn't come up with a decent response.
"Actually," Bradley came to her aid, "Enzo and Rico are excellent snipers, so Claes were kind enough to equip them with 100 round banana mags, they could lay down a wall of covering fire incase anything goes wrong. If you want, you could provide another layer of insurance and bring along another 597. Besides, the nearest building adjacent to Dandini's apartment is only, what? 20 feet away? Easy head shot opportunity for those two."
"I guess," Savio thought for a bit, then, "Fine. We'll use the .22's"
"As will we." Jean added.
Claes wiped the river of sweat from her forehead, "Well," she continued, "For ground backup, I want the Hillshire/Triela fratello. If anything goes wrong with the hit, Rico and Ezno will pin down Dandini any way they can, while Triela comes in to clean up. Any questions?"
Bradley was the first to raise his hand, "Are we to assume that you will be pulling off the hit?"
Another detail she skipped, "Y-yes. I will be the one to go in. It'll be a simple hit and run, along with planting false evidence that'll throw the local authorities into circles."
Bradley raised his hand again, "What weapon will you be using; as well as Hillshire and Triela?"
Claes stumbled for a moment to find the right words, but eventually said, "I-I've opted to go for a high capacity, low caliber SMG, so I think the Calico Sub-Machine Pistol will be good. As for Hillshire and Triela, they're back-up so they will be using slightly larger rounds; they can choose which ever they want."
Bradley raised his hand once more, "Who is going to be in charge of communications?"
"The regulars," Claes grunted, "Ferro, Alfonso, Olga…"
"May I join?" Bradley asked.
Claes couldn't believe the immaturity of this man. From the very beginning he was teasing her, playing around with her mind when he knows full well how much pressure rested on her shoulders. She knew the importance of this mission. For one thing, it was the first mission that she was taking charge of; one of many that are sure to follow, no doubt. Second, the disposal of this man determined the future of the SWA.
"But why didn't anyone volunteer?" She asked herself, "Unless…"
She looked at the man that pleaded with his eyes to be part of this mission, the man who forced her into this mission, the man who basically guaranteed the success of this mission.
"I see…" Claes hid a grin from the view of the others, "He planned this all along, didn't he? Probably pulled a few favors just to find some dirt on the Dandini character so that our reason for killing him is just; kind of like that other guy."
She cleared her throat, "Fine, you can come along."
Rome, Italy; 1830 hours, August 9, 2005
"So why did you choose Triela as backup?" Bradley asked via radio. He and the other radio operators were stuck inside the most stereotypical mobile communications unit: a delivery van. Amadeo was playing the part of a frustrated delivery man who was angry at the broken down vehicle (though it was still running for air conditioner use), while Ferro, Olga, and Alfonso were inside the storage area with Bradley.
"I trust her the most," Claes responded, not knowing that the "private conversation" that Bradley initiated was actually being transmitted across the frequencies of those involved in today's operation, "Even though she can be quasi-bitchy at times; she pulls through when the situation calls for it."
Lucky for her, the transmissions coming from the other end were not relayed – something that Bradley suggested incase any nay saying was involved. Needless to say, Triela had a few words to say to her once the mission was complete.
"All right then," Bradley said, "I'll let you do your thing. Just radio in if you need any assistance."
"Roger that."
Bradley relaxed in his seat, wiping the sweat off his brow before commenting to those near him, "Jesus, is it always this warm in Italy?"
"Not really," Alfonso answered, "It's been abnormally warm this year. Is it warm in Japan by this time?"
"Not really."
"Oh."
Ferro jumped into the conversation, effectively changing the subject as she did so, "Don't you have family over there, sir?"
"I'm in on this operation as an observer, Ferro. Please don't refer to me as 'sir'. Bradley will do," the woman nodded, "And yes, I do have family over in Japan. 5 sons, 4 daughters, and a beautiful wife; I need nothing more than that." Percival was, of course, in Italy with Bradley.
"How is it that you're able to work here then?" Ferro asked, "I mean, I haven't any children of my own, so I wouldn't know, but doesn't it make you sick how we manipulate these children to kill for our purposes?"
"Do you feel that way?" Bradley asked.
"Sometimes," Ferro said, "But I try not to get too involved… just in case anything happens. Surely you must have some objections to our ways."
"Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?"
"Just curious to find out an actual father's opinion of the SWA."
"We all have a purpose in life," Bradley's tone of voice changed – everyone in the vehicle noticed this, but could not figure out exactly what, "These children – they could have been policemen, doctors, politicians, schoolteachers – but instead they were robbed of that fate. Now they're back, and they have the chance to avenge themselves, to avenge those who suffered with them."
"So their fate was to be killers?" Alfonso asked.
"No," Bradley said, "They're here now because god – or whatever you believe in – is allowing them to release the anger that their past selves felt when they realized that they were dead, or dying. How do I feel about making them kill for our purposes? I feel that it's disgusting and sick; whoever thought of this concept should be killed by firing squad. It's morally wrong, it gives your country a bad reputation if anyone ever finds out, and it robs the children of their "natural humanity".
"However, it's too late to stop this agency, and you might as well keep doing what you guys do; it's proven effective against terrorist cells, and the world will benefit from the actions of these kids. It's also morally wrong to sacrifice billions for the sake of a handful. Though morally wrong to kill, if sacrificing 1 life saves the lives of 2, then in my mind, that 1 person has to die. Democracy at it's very best, if you will.
"'Why did I involve myself in the organization' You wonder? I couldn't let these children be disposed of when the agency ran out of money. They are children, after all, and they deserve to live, even if it is the life of the government's dog. They may have been brainwashed into obeying everything that their handler says, but I believe that inside every one of them lies a dormant child, waiting to be woken into a new life. I'm not only training Claes to be an effective member of this outfit, but to also be able to take care of herself whenever the time comes for her to be released into the real world. Surprisingly, most of the men who undergo this kind of special ops training never commit a crime, and are always successful throughout life. Think of my training her as preparation for the life after the agency.
"Hopefully the other handlers will follow my example when I leave. I know for sure Jose will, but I'm not too sure about the others."
"So that's why you joined…" Jean commented, via radio.
"Jesus, was this thing on?" Bradley sat up, "Shit, did everyone hear that?"
"No, just me and Rico," Jean said.
Bradley lifted his arm and realized that during his entire rant, he was leaning on the call button for Jean and Rico's frequency.
"Heh," Bradley breathed a sigh of relief, "Rico, did you understand all of that?"
"I think so," Rico responded, "You basically you're a hypocrite?" that kind of innocence was never really meant to be so cute.
"Ha!" Bradley laughed, "See that Jean? She's a smart girl all right."
"Right," Jean said, "So what? Are you planning on implementing some sort of rule that only allows us to keep out cyborgs for a certain number of years before we let them go?"
"Maybe," Bradley chuckled, "But we'll have to do something about that word 'cyborg'. Why? You can't stand the thought of Rico leaving your side?"
"You're a religious man," Jean switched topics, "Don't you believe in the 6th commandment: 'Thou shalt not murder'?"
"Do I believe in 'Thou shalt not murder', eh?" Bradley repeated before answering, "I believe my friend, Staff Sergeant Sykes, said it best for me: 'Fuck that shit'."
The radio transmissions were now silent from then on.
While Bradley was ranting and raving about the SWA, Claes was busy acting the part of a lost child in the apartment complex.
With fancy decorations and water fountains abound, it was clear that this was no run-of-the-mill apartment; stealth would play an important role on the outcome of this hit. There were too many people wandering about; if she aimed her Calico SMG at the target from the front door, panic would ensue. She would have to find a way to get inside.
"We all have a purpose in life," Bradley's voice came from her earpiece.
"Dammit, Bradley." She removed the ear piece and tucked it in her shirt, brushing off his impending comment on the agency as mere rubbish.
Returning to the job at hand, she worked her way up to Dandini's room. It was easy to avert the attention of anyone who was curious enough to approach her by telling them she was looking for her uncle. In fact, she noted to herself how easy it was for her to make her way to his room without any trouble.
"I hate it when that old man is right." She said to herself before knocking on Dandini's door.
A response came from within, "Who is it?"
Claes started her pre-planned routine, "Good evening, sir. My name is Freda Langley, I'm a junior reporter for La Repibblica. My boss told me that you were the one to ask when it came to undercover work. I was just wondering if you had a few moments to spare?"
After a few moments of uneasy silence, the man responded, "Of course. Please, come in. The door is unlocked."
A bit hesitant at first, upon entering the room, Claes found that it was empty; her target was nowhere to be found. Sensing imminent danger, she reached into her backpack for her Calico SMG (Suitable for the job since it chambered the quiet .22lr rounds). She began to execute the room sweep strategy that Bradley taught her; checking her surroundings often, and rounding corners only when it was safe.
She worked her way into the first room on her left, the bathroom. Once it was determined to be empty, she replaced her earpiece and reported, "The target is in his apartment, but I can't see him. He's hiding somewhere."
"Roger that," Savio responded, "We'll see if we can get a visual."
With that, Claes continued her sweep. As she stepped out of the bathroom, a burst of explosions came from the interior of the room, sending splintered wood in every direction. Claes jumped back into the bathroom, realizing that what had just happened was the result of a burst of machinegun fire.
"Dammit!" Claes yelled into her microphone, "I need covering fire! He has a machinegun!"
"I can see that," Savio responded, "But he's behind a wall, Enzo and I can't get a good angle on him."
"Jean? Rico? How about you two?"
"Can't get shit from here either." Jean said.
"Dammit!"
"Claes? What's wrong?" Bradley asked.
"The target has an MG!" Claes said, "I need backup!"
"Triela and Hillshire are on their way," Ferro said, "Jesus, this is going to be one hell of a cleanup job."
Claes mentally told Ferro to "Shut the hell up."
The maniac with the machinegun began to shout at Claes, "You goddamned robot! Why can't they send real men after me? 'Cuz they're too cowardly, that's why! Once I get rid of you, I'll expose this to the world and have you all sent to prison! I'll have the U.S. and Italy charged with crimes against humanity! I'll be known as the person who single-handedly freed Northern Italy from the rest of the Capitalist nation!"
"Ahh, go to hell!" Was all Claes could come up with.
Enraged, the lunatic began firing a volley at the girl's direction; her cover wouldn't last for long. Seemingly out of nowhere, Bradley's lectures about the importance of "point-and-shoot" techniques flowed into her head.
"…being a split second faster than your enemy is the difference between life and death."
Bradley's words repeated in her head. She hated it when the old man was right.
"Hillshire! What's your ETA?"
"Give us 2 more minutes." Hillshire said.
"Too long. I'm gonna try something."
"Claes if you do something stupid—" Bradley growled.
"I can't stay here forever; he's ripping away my cover!"
Without waiting for a response, Claes quickly peeked from around the bathroom corner, instantly found her target, took another split second to take aim, and squeezed the trigger of her SMG, releasing a full 50 round cylindrical magazine into the man's chest. Ducking back into her cover, she snatched a fresh magazine and reloaded, readying herself for another volley.
"Pellets," The man grunted, "You shot me with pellets?"
The deep waves of his footsteps drew near; he was going to finish her off.
"Gotcha." Claes heard Savio say over the radio. Glass began to rain in every direction. The target was now in the open, and all 4 snipers began to unload on him. With a soft thud sound, Claes knew that the man had made a fatal mistake by walking into the view of her covering fire team. The mission was over – for her at least.
"We're here!" Triela gasped, kicking the entrance down in an unnecessarily flashy movement, "For some reason the elevators stopped and we had to run up here!" She surveyed the area before saying, "Damn… those .22's sure pack a punch, don't they? And you said I was a bitch…"
Rome, Italy; 2200 hours, August 9, 2005
"Well, at least you pulled it off," Bradley said as he placed bandages on several bleeding areas on Claes' body, "I guess I owe you that game, huh?"
"For that psycho?" Claes hissed, "You owe me two."
"Deal," Bradley slapped the last bandage, one directly on her forehead, with a bit of force, "I wonder, though, why a regular reporter had a heavy machinegun with him. I think there's more to this than meets the eye, right Jean?"
He turned to the man, but found that he was busy chatting away on his phone.
"He's probably reporting to Lorenzo," Bradley deduced, "So anyway, I'll have one of my sons pick the game up in Japan and send it over. Promise me that you won't spend more than 3 hours a day with this thing?"
"As long as I get the regular updates to the games."
Bradley studied her with a raised eyebrow.
"Um… I asked Pricilla if she could do a bit of research for me, and it seems that they come out with new releases every few months."
Bradley sighed, "Just don't get too addicted to this thing. Oh, and is your writing hand hurt?"
Claes whipped around her hand in question and shook her head, "No. Why?"
"You got lots of paper work to do; you created quite a mess around here…"
Her pupils shrunk, "Wait. What? Aren't you supposed to do the paperwork? After all, you were assigned to watch over me."
"Right…," Bradley chuckled, "I wasn't the one who volunteered for the leadership position of this sortie, was I?"
The girl was set to unleash a world of hurt on her partner, but their conversation was interrupted by Jean's commanding grunt of "What a fool."
"Something wrong?" Bradley asked.
"Marco dropped out."
"What?"
"Marco dropped out," Jean repeated, "He's out of the Agency."
"Well it's his choice, you can't stop him for being that way, I guess."
"Not only that; he's taking legal action against us."
"For what?" Bradley nearly jumped from his seat.
"He wants custody of Angelica."