Chapter 2 : Saddles for the knights
The day, evening that followed his interview with "Axle", Phillipe sketched across and along his mind, the necessities, the missions, the ins and outs of being back in charge of an X-COM branch. When the morning call for shifts was heard, he awoke from his chair again.
I gotta start sleeping back into this bed he thought, rubbing his face, standing back up.
Shaved, face rinsed, he turned back to his office, and gathered the bands of paper on which he had laid down his ideas, plans and program. Once out, he found himself lost. Again. His mind was still set on the old HQ architecture, and his quarters being so very close to the ones pre-capture, he had forgotten all about the Avenger. Which, by the way, was having a quiet flight. Straight forward seemed like a good idea to march to, and so he launched. Needless to say, it took the commander five minutes to find the elevators, in which a man in fatigues was already in. He did note that the man in question, bearing a light beard, a boonie hat with a camouflage pattern unknown to him, simply greeted him by:
Hi, he smiled. Où don'? (Where to?) he asked hand standing to press a button.
Hello… War room.
Uh. Brief room ok.
And down they went, with no other word. While detailing the man, Philippe noticed how neat his shoes looked, or at least what came out from under his fatigues. His rifle was held on his back, a magazine feeding it. Before he had time to muster a question, the doors opened and he was expected to step down.
Second to the left. Big wooden door… Sir.
The commander stepped down, his work-set mind motioning him. He had had to have a talk with the officers around to reinstate some formal discipline.
Have we become some kind of mercenary-like outfit?
Resistance or not, hierarchy was to be upheld, and chain of command with it. Somehow, if Axle and Central had indeed held the vessel so long, it seemed odd that the standards dating pre-invasion, were shut down. While grinding these thoughts, he arrived at the war room, which he opened wide. The place looked deserted, abandoned. Clean, surely, but unused for sure. No matter, Philippe expressly taped and hanged his schemes on the walls, and went through the files the Major had left for him. So far, six veterans, twelve "seasoned" survivors, like he chose to call then, and nine rookies. The file also noted that six more were to join in the next stop in Southern Finland.
Amongst the proven to be operators, a few had military background, especially one. Swiss army officer when all went down. Notes showed him a very sturdy aptitude to infiltration and guerilla warfare. Some happened to be convicts, freed and willing. Others just by standers joining a cause and having one heck of an attitude towards the invader. All in all, it was a challenge. But had to be seen the level of competence they had attained while he was out cold in the ADVENT facilities. Turning his wrist to his eye-level, the commander then realized he didn't have watch no more. An obstacle he should remedy fast, for time is of the essence in all circumstance, especially when in combat.
Unbothered, he was able to prepare the briefing, until an airwoman knocked and came in, hand on her holster. Watching the commander, and the room, she seemed curious, yet unsure of what to do with the commander. Somehow, his face struck her and she came to attention.
Sir, corporal Dietrich. Sorry to bother you sir, but it is past time for lunch and Major Sutherland is looking for you.
Lunch… Three meals a day ratio did strike the commander. If the X-Com machine was able to maintain a three meal a day, maybe hope was being negative as to the situation.
Fine, he answered, lowering his pen. Would you mind leading me to the mess hall? I am still quite lost in this… Place.
Ay ay sir, she smiled despite her tries not to. Follow me.
While walking, the corporal kept talking, as to how navigation was actually fairly logic, inside the Avenger. Signs, and color coded lines did in fact, when decrypted, help to the commander's comprehension. When arriving to the mess, she pointed to the far left of the room, where "Axle" was sitting, visibly concentrated on a man who meant nothing to the commander yet.
If need be Commander… the airwoman tempted, I'd be glad to be your navigator aboard. That is until you have your marks.
For an instant, Philippe looked at her, and how she was ill eased, although maintaining a military form.
Then Dietrich, rendez-vous point here in thirty minutes. Thank you for the offer.
Her salute was a tad wobbly, but willful, and she went on to help herself a plate, while the commander went to join the Scottish officer. When she spotted him she sprang to her feet.
Everybody up! Commander on deck she called, her voice booming over any other sound. Attention!
And everyone fell to attention, with some discrepancies as to the speed and form for some. The act surprised the commander. He would have thought encountering a ill equipped and trained outfit of fighters, with no military education other than point and shoot. But, as he watched the mess, he did notice everyone was wearing a jumpsuit, with different colors, surely matching their area of expertise. He was pleased. The military officer he once was, twenty years ago, was pleased.
As your were, he finally let out through the silence, with a faint lopsided smile to "Axle".
As he approached the table, the Scottish woman stood back up, along with the others from her table.. All saluted, greeting the commander. The man he didn't recognize was the one from the elevator.
Hello commander, she started. You know "Superman", she pointed to the man across her left, and "Frenchy" of course. This is "Gray".
He shook hands with each and other, saluting them.
Yes, I think we've met…
Gray is somewhat of a tactical know-how, especially infiltration and guerilla warfare.
Right.
Welcome aboard I guess then, the man smiled. Coffee?
Coffee… That idea illuminated something inside Philippe. Even tough stasis did not create any cravings, the thought of that bitter boiling juice running through is throat again did indeed rejoice. That is when he realized he was until now, sleeping late and therefore only having two meals a day, and in the infirmary.
Oh… Yeah. Coffee. Where to?
Don't bother sir, I'll get it.
And off he went, at a fair pace, back before the commander could properly sit down next to "Axle" who scooted to the side. He laid the metallic mug with two sugars on the side and a spoon before sitting himself across.
So… How's it out of the incubation tank heh?
He eyeballed the grinning man, then "Axle" who offered no help this time.
It's… It's big. And new.
Yeah, brave new world heh "Paladin", joked the man to his right, before chugging some black steaming coffee down his throat. Forgive "Gray", he might be ex-military, but I guess down in Switzerland, formal attitude is a bit overseen during training. We got the memo concerning this afternoon. What d'ya have in mind?
Well, I need to know how badly we're trained, fed intel, and kept alive. Then devise a change of course. Turn this boat around.
Cool. Will do.
You don't look two decades in a test tube boss, joked the Scottish officer. Still head in the game.
I'll admit nothing is left – aside you old wolves – from the… Well the past. But I guess the soldier in me soldiers on. The only way I know. I am still lost here. I'm having privat.. corporal Dietrich as my stick to walk around for now.
"Axle" leaned, to spot the said airwoman and nodded.
I'll have retasked then. I don't want a gap in our security.
Which by the way is our next subject. I want to be up to speed on that too.
Yes boss. "Frenchy" will provide that when suitable.
The American took off, followed by "Gray", leaving "Axle" "Frenchy" and the commander to their table alone. He asked what program was set for the day, to which he learned that a message from the Resistance was being decrypted as they spoke, meaning there would be a departure soon enough. To that, Philippe ordered to be informed of each message, being fit enough to take full on his duties as commander, if there was no objection by his replacement.
Oh no boss, now that's a news I'm more than wee bit happy to hear! Could ya tell it again? So I could record it?
Damn, twenty years later, and that accent didn't get old. The relationship didn't get old. Neither with Loiselle. The Frenchman was still keeping to himself, shadowing "Axle" in her every move. Coffee down, trays away, Philippe looked for his appointed guide through the Avenger, and spotted that black haired woman standing right beside him.
Where to commander? She asked with a repressed prided smile.
Command Center. I need to see it in action. And do my duties.
Got it.
And she led the way, again, pointing out how subtle panels showed the way, and that in no time he would be able to navigate through and across with ease. She even joked about not being useful very long in the future. To which he replied that she had better duties than be a guide, and was as this instant reassigned as personal ordinance of his until further notice.
Will do commander.
It was an order corporal. Not an invitation, corrected Philippe, with a sly smile.
To her unsure look, he assured her she would get used to his tone and somewhat special humor. With that, both of them landed in the Tactical Operations Command. A copy of standard X-Com HQ TOC, with the holographic representation of Earth. Adjacent, was the Command Center. Glass walls, spacious enough to convey a crises meeting around an elongated wooden table and around sixteen chairs, a few more against the glass. That was new. In the center of the table, a holographic projector and a pair of consoles to control it, and behind what was surely his chair, a panel taking the whole upper side of the wall, acting as screen.
We… haven't used this room much, admitted Dietrich. Last time I saw someone, was Major Sutherland, right before the team came to fetch you sir.
Well… I hope we have lollygagging airmen to dust and make ready the whole place. This is going to be a bumpy ride in which I need to lead a few meetings.
He pointed at the glass.
Bullet proof?
Yes sir! Up to couple of .50 caliber shots. And opacity can be…
She flew past him, and tried the console. Moments later, the glass seemed an inch thicker.
Well… You can see the TOC, but they can't see us. There are also shutters. For complete isolation. The room is sound proof… If you were to have a meeting in the middle of a gunfight, she joked… Or busy operation.
These new sets were gadgets. They usually were, for privacy was something he did not have since officer's school. Yet again, that was…
Thirty years ago. Christ, I'm 54. Am I?
So far, his reflection was good old 34 years old. But strictly speaking, it wasn't the case. This was exactly the thinking abyss he didn't to fall into. The reason why he thrived for hard work, and not taking time to rest more than the minimum needed. Somehow, avoiding the mind twisters, the awkwardness of being brought back from the near dead… Was the answer for now.
Commander?
He came back from his reverie, and gestured to the corporal to set the windows back normal.
Fine, thank you Dietrich. I'll be going to the TOC. I heard there was a mission to take place.
Motioning to open the door, the corporal to his heels, Philippe opened and closed again the door, staring right at into the woman's gaze.
Microphones?
N… No commander.
Good. Do you know the rules of my personal staff?
Er.. Huh. No commander.
She took a slight step back, noticing how physically close she had gone, thinking to shadow him as he walked out.
First rule: What is said and done stays between you and me. Utter secrecy. I want no one to know neither schedule, actions, plans or even what I have for lunch. Need to know basis. The rest will follow.
He pointed at her, his face dropping a little.
Loud and… Sir.
Most excellent. Until instructed otherwise, you'll have the cabin adjacent my quarters. While I'm in the TOC, get moving.
He stepped out, and again, caught a glimpse of pride and pure joy in the corporal's eyes. As he came forward into the large room, all stepped up into attention, slowly, to the barking of Central Officer Bradford.
Hello Commander. Visits are good?
Excellent John. As you were. No need to interrupt operations when I come in this room.
Will do.
Feed me now John, he went on, reaching an extended arm for a quick handshake. What's the move brewing around here?
Well, you're not the only one being held captive. A few weeks ago, a resistance cell in Glasgow was raided. We arrived too late, and… Well we found a couple of survivors just hours ago. Right now, we're hunting the man who sold them out. We got a lead and a location.
Great. Skyranger left?
Just did. They'll arrive in an hour or so.
Ok. Get me a headset to speak with the team, brief me up on the team, terrain, and… Well… All this new tech.
He gestured to the monitors. They were not what he knew back twenty years ago. And it did take the most from the hour to introduce the ins and outs of the new TOC. The imagery from each operative was displayed, picture and heartbeat monitor. All in all, changes were small, but the efficiency had been double if not more. From the Avenger, Philippe felt almost downrange with the team. And the feeling was nice.
Back in the saddle Commander, asked Bradford with a lopsided smile
He handed the desired headset to a smiling Philippe ever so eager. To put it and adjust it.
The only place I'd be is here, or in the fray John. Give me names, who's down there?
Well… Team Auroch. Lead and sharpshooter you know; "Superman". Ranger you don't, "Gray".
Yeah, we met this morning. Swiss guy right?
On point. He's pointman, behind you got "Blackbeard" as support, "babayega" on Breach and assault, "Crypto" as tech nerd… And "Quinn" on combat medic. You might know her… kinda.
He looked at the picture of said team medic, then at Bradford, baffled.
Yeah, "Axle" did have family. That's her little niece. Amber Sutherland. Her sister's here too. Sharpshooter.
Good. ETA?
Should be arriving anytime.
Philippe turned to the room, which was half busy, half eyeing him and Bradford.
Hello everyone, he started, turning to the room, his microphone on loudspeaker. As most of you must have heard through every back channel an outfit can have… I am Philippe Terreville. Some of you might have heard "Paladin". I am formally taking command of this ship, crew and assignments. For now, we have a rescue mission at hands. So, all hands on deck, game face on… It's havoc time.
The commander turned back to the screen. He watched, as the ship approached his destination: the outskirts of a city which read "Glasgow" but resembled nothing to his memories. He made a personal note to be in the streets someday, see for himself the damage done, the way ADVENT was lobotomizing humanity into a falsely looking, faceless utopia. Back straight, the Geosphere turned into a three dimensional layout of the team's surroundings.
Team Auroch, this is Paladin. I'll be your tactical advisor today, and as of now, and Commander until further notice.