(A/N: Roughly an Introduction chapter. Things will speed up in chapter 2!)
Summer, 2005
The conflict has steadily evolved into civil war. The Grey squirrels are now revolting against Conker. The Government of Windy has lost its power - due to the citizen non-compliance and disintegration within its own house. Violence has escalated with the use of bombs and heavy firearms.
Recently investigation has found a disturbing piece of information...
-----
Rico and Oreos entered the conference room. As the double doors slid shut behind them, Conker motioned for them to take a seat. The King was seated one end of the table with Rodent to his right, and other bigwigs sat on either side.
Rico took his seat opposite Conker, and Oreos remained standing behind him.
Ignoring formalities, Conker got right down to business, "As you well know we have a crisis that is growing out of our hands."
Sarge frowned, "So you're placing it into mine?"
"No, we are asking for your help."
"Well your majesty, you can never go wrong with us, the 99th platoon."
The King nodded, "The Head of Security will brief you."
Rodent took his cue and stood from his seat. "ahem The 99th platoon. You've never failed an assignment as of yet, so we both know your company will be the best for this job."
Sarge tried to understand where this was leading but was drawing blanks. "To end this battle between the two races? How do you expect us to do that?"
Rodent, who felt Sarge for some reason needed to be reminded of a few principles, decided to take the long winded approach of explanation. "While the 99th platoon currently hosts the best men in the field, its conventions are just like any other. All Sergeants are required to pledge an oath and swear duty towards the crown. By joining the platoon each member recognizes his responsibility of maintaining peace and upholding justice..."
Oreos chuckled.
Rodent shot the agent a look and continued " ... with unwavering loyalty to Windy, its citizens and King. However, we are sorry to report that Platoon 97 has failed its duty. You have heard the rumors?" The head of security suddenly didn't sound brisk and job ready. But tired and foreboding.
Sarge felt tense as he leaned forward in his chair,some questions were about to be answered. "Yes. Platoon 97 has been dismissed. I didn't hear why though."
"Two weeks ago, twenty-seven red squirrels were killed execution style and dumped into a ditch near the outskirts of Windy. The media reports that it was the work of a terrorist grey squirrel group. Likewise, what I'm going to tell you cannot be known to anyone else."
Rodent looked steadily at Sarge.
" The 97th platoon was responsible. There was no command given for this action, obviously. They went into those red squirrels' home, pulled them out of their beds, lined them against the wall and shot them. The bullets recovered from the victims are those issued to Platoon personnel. We have been unable to find the whereabouts of the 97th, but we know they are responsible for the recent bombings and massacres."
For what felt like a long time a dark almost eerie silence hung over the room as these words were digested through everyone's ears. Even the big wigs, who had all their money to make them happy, looked discontent. Maybe even sad. It was hard for Rodent to say these words and he looked worse for it. The quiet finally disintegrated when Sarge spoke.
"And if we find them..."
Life seemed to seep its way back into Rodent's eyes "It won't solve this crisis immediately, but it will soften it. We need you to eliminate this threat... By any means necessary. Get your men armed - the 97th platoon composes of fifteen members, each with the same training, skills, and intelligence you and your men have. They are all grey squirrels."
Exactly one hour passed after that meeting. Oreos was first to finish gathering up arms. His trusty assault Rifle, K7, a shotgun strapped behind him, grenades along his belt and two pistols, one at his ankle and the other concealed beneath his vest.
He was waiting right outside on the steps of Conker's castle staring down at Windy. There were barricades and barbed wire surrounding the castle, but other than that, you couldn't tell there was a civil war going on. The sky was still an afternoon blue with some clouds, and a breeze passed by, raising the fur on Oreos' tail as it blew with the wind.
Oreos heard Sarge coming down the castle steps but did not turn to face him. "Do we have any leads?"
Sarge stopped two stairs below him, his shoulders were drooping slightly. "Yes. Right now a group of squirrels are holding a school under siege. They're demanding the release of certain individuals from prison. They have around 400 kids in their filthy paws."
Oreos tilted his head to the side and closed his eyes with an irritable groan, "Well that's troublesome."
" I just can't believe how low they've gone."
Oreos straightened and opened his eyes, interested. "You knew them...? Platoon 97"
The Sergent didn't answer right away. "Maybe." Sarge then slipped on his shades, and walked on ahead.
- - -
It was known as the barracks.
Technically it was, and it still pertained to the 99th platoon. There were even beds there if any tooner needed an immediate place to stay.
It was in the army complex, somewhat in the outskirts of town. From a time when the 99th platoon still was part of the Windian army...technically they still were but only in paper. In life, they became...somewhat their own thing.
It was also here that Mon stored his weapons and gears.
M16 automatic assault Rifle. Mon cleaned and assembled it. A good enough weapon for him.
Medical gears. As much as you can stuff in your bag to take to a battle zone.
Side arm. 9mm Beretta. Handy.
Acid Shots. Just what the doctor ordered.
And finally...good old Shrapnel.
His mental checklist complete, he took one look around the room he was in, walls lined with guns, ammo, explosives, all sorts and manners of death.
His eyes rested on the doorway, and on the newcomer.
"Hey Sabine!" he welcomed.
She tentatively entered the armory and waved back.
"Hello..uhm..Sarge said we should get suited up. I hear this is the place. I do not... really own that many guns.."
"You hear right. What will you be taking?"
She looked around. Miles and miles of things that go boom, bang or pop.
'I am... not sure..what should I get?" She said with shifting eyes and nervous twitch.
Mon noted this.
"Well, until we find out if you specialize in anything, this here M16-A1 rifle is plenty good for starters' he said, taking another one from the wall
'You get some clips on the ammo box behind you. Yeah, the one marked M16A1. Good rifle, more or less 700 rounds per minute, gas operated, not too heavy and an effective range of about 450 meters. Semi automatic and automatic modes. I'd put it to semi, auto just wastes those bullets too fast. Just try not to get it dirty or wet. It tends to jam easier then some guns.'
"O..okay" Sabine said, getting comfortable with her new machine.
"You'll need a sidearm. Here, Desert Eagle. From Israel with love. Nice solid .50AE bullets. Should do you good."
"Alright" she said, picking one out.
"I'd take two grenades if I were you. Standard package. They're in the box over there in the corner. Pull the pin, count like...one or two seconds and then chuck that baby like nobody's business. Once you remove the pin, that grenade is nobody's friend, aight?"
"Got it."
Mon couldn't help but grin, "Next step: Lighten up."
"W-what?" Sabine faltered, looking up from the box of boomies.
"Chill. you're nervous. First mission, right?"
"Yes..."
" Trust me, you'll do well. I was nervous on my first go."
"I do not think I can handle it. I mean, I have heard stories...word gets around of what the Platoon is capable of, so-"
" 'Hey' " He muttered, gentle, yet forceful. She stop talking and listened. "You'll get there. This is a hostage mission...it..aaah...should...be...uhm..simple enough.."
He couldn't do it. He couldn't say that with a straight face. He turned away and coughed.
"I know what you mean.." she said.
They all did. Hot diggedy.
Race was never...too much of a problem in the platoon. Sarge ran a clean ship, in every sense of the word. Mon's mind flickered to the memory of when a member, ( heaven forbid: it was only a stupid, bad joke!) made the mistake of calling Dark..well..darkie. After the blowing storm died down, the wrath of Dark Flame was chicken compared to Sarges temper.
Yet...they all felt it. The tension. The news stories. this thing just kept building up. Now the Greys wanted the Reds dead. And the feeling was mutual.
Mon never held anything against reds.
This was home territory. It's easy to kill a Tedi. They were made to destroy, do what you want to them. . But now...
"You just get ready, Sabine. Hitch up your stuff. And let's go, because the proverbial fecal matter is about to impact the spinning, wind generating implement. Right-o?"
"Right-o, sir" she said and saluted.
Mon hesitated. "Uhm...well, you'll learn this in time, but, there aren't many formalities. Well...at least drop the sir."
"Yes s.."
" Mon will do."
" Yes Mon"
"Now saddle up, and remember: You wouldn't be here if Sarge wouldn't let you. He's got an eye for people who can hack it in this Platoon."
He shut the lights. Both made their way out and onto one of the hardest missions in their lives.
- - -
Red Storm nodded to the passing platooners as he stood with crossed arms, his head slightly lowered as he was deep in thought. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but it was unusual to him. Ever since these problems of the greys and reds arose, Storm just seemed to lose himself in thought quite frequently. Shaking his head, he chose to just ignore the feeling.
"Bah..can't let it get to me...more important issues at hand."
Storm already had his weapon of choice, the specialized combat staff that he always used. The flick of the wrist and six deadly blades, three at each end popped out of the slits. Along with that, he also was carrying his custom sidearm, which was usually all he ever carried. However, Storm decided to select a few more pieces. A couple daggers, one for his belt, the other for his boot, and two hand grenades, along with one flash bang should the occasion call for it. Picking up one last gun, an M-16 Assault rifle, Storm loaded it up and strapped it to his back alongside his staff.
Stepping outside of the armory, Red Storm proceeded to where the other ready members were waiting.
CG was getting his weapons ready at his house. He took his katana, which he had to save from the evil clutches of his niece that wanted to put some butterfly stickers in the hilt. As for firearms, he had his M4A1 (the one he stole a long time ago from a swat team or something) and his newly acquired .45 Colt Gold cup commander. As he was preparing to set off, his wife could not help but notice.
"You're leaving?" asked Meribeth
"Yes..."
"The racial thing right? It's weird that they called you guys this late"
"It's because the school thing"
"Oh...you're going to kill someone? They're one of us you know"
"Don't be like that...right now, they're as evil as tediz or komiz so..."
"Yeah you're right. Take care"
"Of course. I'll call you when I'm near so you can cook me something" said CG grinning
"Ha!...is that a joke?" said Meribeth "...No I'm the one joking" She corrected after seeing the shocked face of her husband "I'll make you something"
"I hope. Love you very much...Cya"
With that, CG left for the barracks to get some ammo and reunite with the other guys.
- - -
Chael joined the others at the barracks. He had never been here yet remembered it perfectly. He entered the weapons storage area and approached a locker. Placing his left thumb on a scanner, he removed his coat as the locker opened. Those that looked noticed that Chael's right arm, from above the elbow down, was mechanical. He first removed a secondary power cell from the arm, placing it into a charger that replenished it instantly. After replacing the cell he packed the next items, best described as two bandoleers of grenades modified in various ways. He put his jacket back on before continuing to his sidearm. He placed a holster on his left thigh which held an Intar handgun, a non-lethal energy based weapon. He then began stuffing objects into his coat pockets. He put on a pair of modified sunglasses before pulling out his final item. With his mechanical arm and much greater musculature than an average Chael, he slung onto his shoulder a four and a half foot long, 800 pound laser cannon.
The locker shut and he stepped outside to join the others. When he got there he pulled a cigar and lighter from one of his coat's inner pockets, lighting it. He wasn't sure why he was here but his interim bosses said his abilities were necessary.
- - -
The fox was preparing her battle weapons, swinging her blade carefully, but dangerously as she practiced. She was not tired like the rest of them. In fact, Serena had felt restless.
Serena meditated to herself. "This 97th Platoon...what was their past about, I wonder?"
From the corner of her eye Serena noticed that Deja had over heard, and glared.
Deja walk past Serena's small training area while speaking,"Yeah, I know how that is, but listen, you keep telling yourself that and keep staying up all night all the time, you ain't going to get anywhere."
The fox fumed, "I don't need your advice!"
Deja shrugged and left as the female vixen put her sword up. Serena sighed, then looked up.
"Spirits...please guide us safely into battle."
- - -
Pyst entered the barracks, cigar clenched between his teeth. He greeted the other 'tooners with a hearty "wassup", and hefted a heavy duffel bag onto one of the tables. He unzipped the bag and pulled out his trusty mini-gun. He quickly checked it over and deemed it combat ready. Pyst wasn't too big on using his gun on other squirrels, let alone Windy citizens, red or grey. At the same time, he wasn't too fond of the red squirrels. Thousands of grey squirrels busted their asses in the Great War while the reds just stayed home barely putting anything into the war effort. Pyst respected the hell out of the red squirrels that did fight. Especially Conker. Hell, that SOB pretty much won the war for them AND killed the Panther King, which was more than ten thousand red squirrels would do in a life time. Sure, the reds were cowards, but that didn't justify a genocide. And now he was probably going to have to kill his own kind, the greys. But in the end, none of that meant jack all to Pyst. He was a soldier, a dog of the government, a hell hound for hire, and he'd kill anyone and everyone they told him too. Dog of war for life, Pyst thought and did a mental Hoo-rah!.
"Wow!" Carrie cheered, "This place is awesome!!!"
She immediately bolted for the fire arms and started sorting through them, like a kid in a candy store. Or a junkie in a crack shop...
"You brought Carrie?" Mon asked.
"Yea," Pyst shrugged, "Why not, she might as well be a junior member of the platoon. And besides, I can't say no to those damn "Bambi" eyes!"
Carrie clapped excitedly when she found her personal favorite weapon, the P-90. She then went after the sniper rifles.
Pyst went to the pistol rack and grabbed a Colt Anaconda .44 magnum. He popped the cylinder, gave it a spin, and snapped it back into place.
"You going with a .44?" Mon observed, "I thought you went with the MagSec4?"
"I did," Pyst said, "But I test fired one of these bad boys at the firing range the other day and OH MY GOD!!! This is a sexy gun!"
"Uh-huh." Mon said.
"No really man! The power, the accuracy, the whole feel of the thing! And every time I fired the damn thing, it was like I was having a damn orgasm!"
"Ok," Mon said, walking away, "That's too much information..."
"No really man!" Pyst said, "Just feeling this cannon jerking in my hand, I practically blew my load every shot!!!"
"No really Pyst," Mon snapped, "TO... MUCH... INFORMATION!..."
Pyst shrugged, and holstered the .44. He grabbed a healthy supply of speed loaders and .44 rounds. He finally spotted his daughter meddling around behind his back.
"Carrie!" Pyst snapped, "Put the rocket launchers back! They're too big for you!"
"Aww..." Carrie pouted.
The weather smelt of Autumn. Outside, the fortress-like building of cement and steel imposing upon him, Sarge starred at the grey clouds roll low and menacingly across a scorched sky. His wrinkled eyes were barely visible behind mirrored Aviator sunglasses, perched comfortably on the edge of his muzzle. He breathed, slowly and in control.
The first sign of rain was the stillness in the air. The Heavens were growing heavier, denser and darker. Puffing on a cigarette Sarge couldn't help but think that it mirrored his mood. Tossing the spent butt aside, his chested heaved as he began coughing.
"S'up Boss?" CG asked tentatively, poking his head outside. Sarge's coughing fit hadn't ended. He waved his hand as if to say: 'I'm fine.' CG took the hint, and waited patiently for Sarge to spit. His voice box rumbled, before he turned to face CG - at all times his eyes concealed - and smile grimly.
"Hey Kenny...How's the misses?" Sarge's tone of voice was genuine, and CG appreciated the fact.
"Fine, just fine... Worried - but fine." He tried to smile casually, but it ended up as a lazy smirk.
"How does she deal with it?"
"What? No - no, she just... Eh." He kicked at Sarge's fallen cig. "You know."
"I know Ken. This whole situation smells of it. Those are our people out there..."
At this CG paused, momentarily perplexed.
"What do you mean, sir?"
" CG, don't call me that." He shrugged his shoulders, as if trying to shake off something nasty that had landed on his shoulder. "Makes me feel all righteous and such."
"Hey - you've earned the respect." CG noted that Sarge had deftly changed the subject, and decided not to pursue the issue any longer. It started to rain, drop by drop, and little by little the tiny slants of rain began running down through Sarge's short and silver-streaked hair onto his forehead and off his chin.
To any casual observer they may have noted how he looked amazingly like a wood carving. His features had grown sharp through both time and physical abuse, and his age gave his face definition, like someone had taken a knife to an Ancient Greek statue, and turned it into the prow of a 17th Century warship. Still, Sarge's swashbuckling days weren't over, and he wasn't going to let something as small as domestic dispute end what had, admittedly, been a highly prolific career.
Maybe he just needed to rearrange his feng-shui. At this thought Sarge chuckled, staring back at CG, miserable and wet.
"You wanna go inside?" he asked. CG nodded.
"Sir - damn straight, sir."
Sarge cracked a smile.
"Get your ass down below. I'll be in there in a minute." He reached into the lining of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled (and now wet) packet of cigarettes.
"You should lighten up on the smokes Sarge. The lady of the house has made me quit, and I'm tellin' you - I'm better off for it."
"CG - you really think that a couple of extra cigs 'll take me out? Cause, I sure as hell hope they do."
Again, twice in an hour, Sarge had left CG feeling strangely dubious as to what his C.O. was trying to say. In the back of his mind he told himself that Sarge was probably just getting a little senile and (or) sentimental in his old...er age.
"Right... I'll come get you when we're all saddled up and ready to go."
"You do that son. You do just that."
Once again alone, Sarge found comfort in the reality of the rain spattering against his face, and the stillness that came with accepting it.
- -
Sarge was looking skyward towards the rain when he heard a slight thud of a footstep in the distance. The sound was barely audible to the middle-aged commander but he knew something was up. his regular platoon members showed up in the most fashionable way possible. No...This wasn't a regular member Sarge thought to himself.
As the sound of footsteps drew nearer a figure could now be made out in the darkness that was the rainy night. The shadowed outline of a squirrel was approaching.
"Who's there?" Sarge called out.
No answer...
The figure drew even closer now. Sarge was almost able to make out who it was when the figure stopped just out of range for the old mans eyes.
"By God..." The Sargent whispered to himself. No It couldn't be who he thought it was. That squirrel had left along time ago. Never planning on returning. He had to make sure.
"I said, who...is...there" Sarge said one more time.
No answer.
"Who the are you?"
The figure took a step closer and Sarge could tell who it was finally. Twisted. The old walked towards Sarge and gave a sheepish grin.
"An old friend" he muttered.
- - -
Images of riots within the formerly comforting confines of the city of Windy flashed upon the screen of a rather small, outdated TV set. The panicked speech of a frantic reporter rang out loudly from the speakers of the set, echoing off of the walls of the desolate, dark room. Blackness blanketed everything not within five feet of the front of the television; something could have been hiding in any nook, any cranny. Anything. A beast, a monster. A man. But there was no one, and there would not be anyone for quite some time. The owner of the neglected, run-down apartment was on important business - business that effected worldwide affairs. Business that put his life in jeopardy. Business that had gotten him shot, stabbed, burned, battered, and broken. Business that he always returned to, despite his injures, despite his age. A soldier through-and-through, he would be there whenever his job called upon him. But was it truly for himself? Was it truly for the world? The world had never truly been kind or appealing to him at all. In fact, he despised the world. He despised the vast majority of the earth's populace. He fought not for the people; he was not a hero. He fought for his comrades - for those he had fought alongside for so many years. He fought to make sure that if anyone was to die, if anyone was to be injured, it was him.
The rain beat down on the muddy landscape surrounding the barracks; the sky had become even more congested with clouds, and the result was a much harder rainfall than before. Such had seemingly no effect on the old war veteran who leaned upon the concrete base of the barracks, however, nor the limp cigarette that hung from his lips. His eyes stared off into nothingness, and they slowly became small slits as something off in the distance caught his eye. A large, black figure was walking slowly towards the base. Such was a rather odd occurrence since normal people would be high-tailing it to find some sort of shelter from the downpour. But not this man. His walk was slow, but it was obvious that he had a purpose. And as he came closer, the older Sarge was able to peer through the rainfall to catch a glimpse of the figure's face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth - grim, but a smile nonetheless. A bit of smoke arose from his mouth as he merely folded his arms across his broad chest, awaiting his feline comrade to close the gap between them.
Clad in all black (as usual), Dark made a few last strides before he found himself face-to-face with his leader. His brother. His friend. His family. His stoic visage remained unchanged, but his violet irises conveyed a slight sense of happiness - very slight. The things that he had seen, the things he had done, the things that had been done unto him, had dulled his senses. His emotions. But he was truly glad to see Sarge, truly glad to be back in the midst of his only true family. He hooked his thumbs underneath the combat vest that adorned his upper torso and held the vast majority of his weaponry. He felt slightly odd as the raindrops made contact with his shoulders, with his flesh. He was without the trench coat he had worn on so many missions, without the worn leather pants. Black military fatigues clothed his lower body, and each leg was tucked neatly into his combat boots. An M4A1 hung loosely around his neck, dangling on his right side. Easily accessible. A combat knife was sheathed upon his left shoulder, the hilt jutting downwards so that the twelve inch blade could be removed in a slashing motion, somewhat like the sword upon his back.
A mutual grunt of a greeting, followed by a moment of what would seem to be uncomfortable silence.
"I have a feeling I'm not going to particularly enjoy this mission," Remarked the panther. "We're not police; we're soldiers. In any case, we may as well get this started."
He opened the door to the barracks.
"After you."
- - -
WWW trudged through the rain, looking down and deep in thought.
The recent racism had spurred him to reflect on his own situation. Ever since the second milk war, he had been jumped, ambushed, ganged up on, stolen from, beaten, shot and kicked out because he was a tediz. It had gotten worse again when Omega's Komiz invaded; then, he felt that only the platoon and Anthrax considered him a person who hated the Komiz as much as they did.
Now, he only sensed hate from veterans of the milk wars and residents of the war torn states. People who had seen their friends die, either instantly, through direct confrontation, or slowly, through disease among their ranks.
Now, he was just an odd sight, forgotten in a minute. The reds and greys were too busy fighting each other to care about a teddy bear trained in the deadly arts.
He stepped into the barracks, out of the rain. It somehow felt symbolic, coming in from the cold, like a forsaken animal returning to its master's home. He began to feel... accepted.
"I'm back." he said, "And I'm ready."
Some of the others turned. He nodded to them under his cowl. As he moved, his cloak shifted, displaying the sword and scabbard at his left hip.
Silently, he grabbed a covert ops rifle and silenced sidearm from the armory. He fit the sidearm to his right hip and threw the rifle on over his cloak and its bandoleer under the cloak.
He put frags and flash bangs on his belt, and satisfied, stood waiting for the others.
- - -
Andy pushed the door to the barracks open and poked his head in, dripping more water onto the already wet cement floor.
"All right, I'm not late!" He almost shouted as he walked inside, breaking the silence within the compound and startling nearly everyone who was in there. "Oops, sorry." he said, smiling. He looked around for a second and spotted Sarge puffing a bit of smoke in the corner. "Say, Sarge, can you tell me where my locker's at? I asked to have some of my stuff sent here in advance, but I've never been here before so I have no clue where it is."
"Good to see you, soldier." he replied, nodding. "I think your equipment's over there." He pointed towards it, and Andy walked over and began fiddling with the lock.
"Hey, about that 97th Platoon..." he started as he turned the dial to the first number. "There's fifteen of 'em, right?"
"Yep." Sarge answered him. "And they're just as well-trained as any of us, so don't take 'em lightly. Especially... well, since -- "
"Yeah, yeah, I know." Andy cut him off and chuckled a little as he continued turning the dial to the second number. "I'm gonna be, like, their first target, huh?" He turned the dial to the last number and paused for a moment. "This whole thing is pretty stupid if you ask me..." he continued, opening the locker door. "But, oh well."
From inside the locker he began to collect the various things he would need. A grenade launcher and G36C assault rifle went on straps that hung over his shoulders, and a silenced handgun went into a small holster that hung on his right side. Hanging on his left were his elbow blades, which he had brought personally, and extra shells for his launcher went into the various pockets of his sweater.
"Well, I'm pretty much ready." he stated after briefly checking himself. "Just kinda soaked, I guess." He closed the locker door and sat down to wait for the rest of the platoon.
Locked and loaded.
The 99th platoon marched away from Conker's castle. Two Humvee each with mounted turrets was to be their transport. Andy seemed hesitant about using them, "Uhm, Sarge. Dontcha think these things sorta stand out?"
Sarge's reply was cool. " Nothing out of the ordinary considering our situation. Besides, we want those bastards to come out and get us. They've captured a school. An elementary school with little kids. The game plan: Half of us will get the front, and the other half will penetrate the rear. Priority is given to the hostages. I don't know about you guys, but I am NOT taking any prisoners. "
Over the torrent of rain everyone could hear Pyst yell. " I CALL THE TURRET!" Trying not to flinch, Sabine pulled at the hem of her rain coat, looking wide at the Humvees and the soldiers surrounding her, this was going to be a very interesting ride.
Oreos got into the driver seat of one vehicle, DYM, Red Storm, CG, Chael, Serena, and Sabine got in the back. Red Storm manned the turret. Sarge was driving the other, with Pyst, Carrie, Twisted, Dark, WWW, and Andy as passengers. Pyst got the turret as requested.
Both Hummers drove off and reached an intersection. One turned left, and the other to the right. Both with the same destination.