A/N:Sorry about the long wait, people. The end of April was exams, and four days after my last final I headed off to volunteer in Thailand for three weeks. I tried to get an update out before I left, but moving out of residence and packing for a trip ended up being more stressful and time-consuming than I anticipated.

So this is technically the first bit of a longer chapter that isn't quite done, but I decided to split it up so you guys know I'm not dead.

6. Justify

Baird knew they were close as soon as Bernie suddenly became completely still and reached for her Longshot.

They had been trekking through the forest surrounding Anvil Gate for about twenty minutes. He and Bernie had gone after the mortar crew to the north, while Rossi and Clay Carmine hunted down the ones to the south. A few more heavy shells had gone sailing over their heads since they'd set off, and Baird found himself stupidly worrying about Cole each time. He was supposed to be focused; distraction got you killed.

But now that Bernie had tensed next to the tree, all Baird's preoccupation melted away. He kicked into combat mode and dropped lower into the undergrowth. Bernie held a finger to her lips—a gesture he rolled his eyes at—and pointed to the northwest. Baird nodded, instinctively checking the switch on his chainsaw bayonet. His gut lurched as he realized what he was doing. These were people. Disgusting excuses for human beings, but human all the same. He couldn't use his bayonet on them; it was meant for the monsters that no longer existed.

He realized Bernie was watching him intently. Trying to brush off his dark impulse, he casually switched his Lancer for the shotgun. No temptation with that. Satisfied with his choice, Bernie crept silently through the brush until she was within whispering distance.

"Two of them, about fifty meters in front of us. One on the mortar, one standing watch. I can try to take both of them out, but the one I don't hit is going to bolt. Get up there and make sure he doesn't get far."

"On it," Baird whispered back.

Without wasting another second, he set off into the trees, moving as silently as he could in the heavy Gear tackle. As he got closer to the mortar crew, a slow and steady rage began burning in his chest. These guys were the ones who put Cole in the infirmary. Their buddies had tried to kill him only hours ago. Hell, they could even be the same ones who kept him pinned down while Sam went off and got herself shot.

His grip on his Gnasher tightened.

Not long after, he could hear the sounds of people talking up ahead. His pace slowed, and he took each step after with calculated care. One misstep onto a twig and everything went to shit. He had to move into position while Bernie sighted up one of the assholes. She didn't keep him waiting long.

Baird had just found a good spot behind a nearby tree when the back of the lookout's head exploded. His Stranded buddy didn't react for a second as the shock locked his body down. But then he threw the mortar to the side and dived into the underbrush. Bernie's second bullet missed him by mere inches. Now he was moving through the trees, and even a champion sniper like Bernie would have a hard time taking him down.

Baird raced off after the Stranded man, and quickly gained ground. This guy hadn't been trained to run through obstacles like a Gear; he didn't even look native to the area. His skin was pale, no trace of the dark Kashkuri genes. And he kept glancing around, darting to either side, like he couldn't decide where he wanted to go. Or maybe he had no idea where the hell he was.

Whatever the case, it didn't matter. Baird caught up to him in under a minute. His quarry realized there was no hope of outrunning the danger, so he reached for his holstered pistol and spun around to face his pursuer. For a split second, everything slowed. Baird knew that he could easily take out the Stranded man before he got a shot off—and he could simply incapacitate him. It would only take a shotgun blast to the legs, and the pistol would fall from useless hands.

But Baird found that he had no desire to take this man alive. It would be a smart idea, to have a prisoner. Hoffman would love to interrogate him and find out just what the hell was going on. However, for once in his life, Baird didn't want to do the smart thing. He could still see Cole's chillingly still form half-buried in rubble; he could feel Sam's blood trickling down his arm. And suddenly there was only one option.

The 12-gauge shells hit the man square in the chest. Baird was way too close to miss. The man's eyes went wide with shock and pain, and the pistol slipped from his hands; he never even had a chance to fully draw the weapon. Blood flecked across Baird's face. His victim fell backwards to the ground and didn't move.

Bernie arrived on the scene moments later, lugging the discarded mortar. Baird heard her approach, but didn't turn to face her. He had expected to be shaken by the split-second decision that he'd made, but instead he felt nothing. Only tired. Bernie dropped the mortar and edged cautiously into his field of view; he could tell by the expression on her face that she'd quickly pieced the situation together. Her gaze was not approving, but it wasn't judgemental either. For that—and if he'd been a different man—Baird could have hugged her.

She saw the blood on his face. Wordlessly, she reached out to wipe some of the larger flecks away with her thumb. He couldn't muster the strength to push her hand away. He was just so goddamn tired. Bernie stooped down to retrieve the dead man's pistol.

"Come on, Blondie." She gently guided him away from the body. "Let's get back to the fort."

Carmine and Rossi were waiting for them at the entrance to Anvil Gate. They hadn't taken any prisoners either, which made Baird feel mildly better. Carmine had a newly liberated mortar propped up against his leg. Baird dropped his own weapon on the ground for a brief rest. He had finally managed to wrestle the thing away from Bernie about a kilometre back, despite her insistence that she could carry it all the way.

Neither Rossi nor Carmine made any mention of the lack of prisoners. Baird couldn't blame Rossi; the sergeant could have easily lost a member of his squad today. And Clayton Carmine had his dark side as well. Anyone who lost two brothers in a war was allowed to loose his demons once in a while.

The four of them headed into the fort. Bernie took the mortar off Baird and handed it to Rossi. She obviously wanted to get to the hospital wing as badly as Baird did.

Activity in the infirmary had become considerably less frantic. Most of the cots were occupied, but neither Hayman nor any of her trauma surgeons were in sight. They had probably set up a second hospital wing somewhere else, to hide the seriously injured. Less psychological pressure on the lightly wounded, that way.

Bernie strode right past him, heading for the back of the ward and Hoffman's bed. Baird's eyes instantly went to the cot across from the colonel. A weight instantly lifted off his chest; Cole was sitting up, a big stupid grin on his face. Despite his heavily bandaged ankle and a few scrapes, the man looked no worse for wear. He spotted Baird and his grin widened.

And then Baird realized Cole wasn't the only one watching him. On the bed to Cole's right, Sam was also awake and upright, her arm in a sling. Baird's heart thumped painfully in his chest. Hoffman was in the room. Bernie was in the same room. Baird put on his best disinterested face and sauntered over to his friends.

"It's nice to see the idiots don't always get killed," he remarked.

Cole chuckled and the light insult bounced off, but Sam looked mildly affronted. Baird felt unexpectedly and stupidly guilty. This was what he did. He made inappropriate, mostly offensive comments when he didn't know what else he could say. "I'm so fucking glad you're not dead" was hidden behind those jibes, but those words would never leave his mouth.

But somehow, Cole always seemed to hear the real meaning behind Baird's rude quips. "It takes more than that to derail the Cole Train!" he bellowed with his superhuman enthusiasm.

Baird rolled his eyes, and turned to Sam. "How's the shoulder?"

Sam blinked at him, like she hadn't expected him to ask. "Could be worse. Could have completely exploded the socket."

He nodded, because he didn't know what else to do. "Lucky for you, then."

That wasn't what she wanted him to say. It wasn't what he wanted to say. But it was all he had.

"Lucky for me." Sam agreed quietly. There was a short pause, during which Baird became painfully aware of the fact that Cole was staring at him. Before he had the chance to say another stupid thing, Sam continued. "Look, I just want to—"

"Vic, what are you doing?" Bernie's frustrated voice cut across whatever Sam was going to say. Baird turned to see Hoffman getting out of his cot, waving off Bernie's hands.

"Damn it, woman, I'm fine." Hoffman asserted, standing. "Doctor Hayman isn't here to yell at me, and other Gears need this bed." He pressed a finger to his tac-com. "Rossi and Salton—meet me in my office. You too, Baird. We need to discuss the situation."

Hoffman set off with determination, Bernie at his side. Baird threw Cole and Sam an apologetic look. "I'll catch up later, okay?" he said over his shoulder, as he jogged to catch up with the colonel.

Rossi and Pad Salton were already waiting in Hoffman's office. A wide assortment of weapons had been laid out on the colonel's desk: the spoils from the attack that morning. There were Hammerbursts, both generations of Lancers, Snub and Boltok pistols, Gnashers, and the one Boomshot that had caused so much trouble. Hoffman took one swift look at the multiplicity of the weapons and frowned.

"This is troubling," he murmured.

"I agree, sir," Rossi put in. "Even during the height of the Stranded insurgency on Vectes, we never saw this kind of arsenal. And adding two mortars to the mix? The bastards are very well equipped, considering we're a long way from any trading routes."

"My thoughts exactly, Sergeant." Hoffman sighed. "We had a bit of trouble with the local Stranded when we first occupied the fort, but nothing to this extent. Their numbers have grown. Someone must be supplying them: both munitions and people."

After that, Baird didn't pay much attention to the meeting. The others talked strategy and repairs, but he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. It was like being in school again. Just avoid eye contact and hope no one calls on you. He didn't want to be here. It was getting close to dusk and he was frigging exhausted. When he woke up early this morning, he hadn't anticipated starting the day with a Stranded ambush and ending it with a hunting trip in the forest.

He wanted to talk to Cole. He wanted to see Sam. He was going to pass out. Over the past month, his body had become accustomed to nine hours of sleep a night. And this was far from over. Somehow, he foresaw a lot of sleepless nights coming up.

"Baird."

Hoffman's voice almost made Baird jump. "Yeah?"

"We're going to need all our vehicles in top condition, in preparation for the worst. I'll have a priority list drawn up tonight and I'll ask Gavriel if he knows anyone that can assist you."

Baird nodded, holding back a frustrated sigh. Yep, he was going to get used to running on minimal amounts of sleep again. Just like old times.

"All right, people. We're done here. Everyone get some rest." Hoffman strode out of his office, but didn't head in the direction of the barracks or the infirmary.

"Vic, where are you going now?" Bernie asked, falling in stride with him.

"The comms room. I need to make a call to Sharle at Azura."

Sharle, huh? Baird hadn't been expecting to see Marcus Fenix so soon.