"Walker, keep the perimeter tight." The Captain never liked splitting up the team, but with their liaison in tow and their mission require a three team divide, it had come down to a simple arrangement. Captain took the rookie, and Rose. Second in Command took Airhart. The communist took Carl Alfonso, and Walker. Chris never liked splitting the team up for any reason, let alone into three groups, but they had a job to do, and his men were talented, well trained. "I don't want anything unexpected. If something looks off, you call it in, no one goes alone. Rookie, especially you." He nodded in response to the call backs, hearing the soft tenor he recognized, and the sharp response of his men, along with that one foreign note. Knees bent to cushion each step, the Captain took lead on their team, as always the point man, winding through the maze like alleyways of stone structures of this lost ruin, south of the border. This mission needed to be ended quickly, too much could go wrong at any moment. Chris had too much on his mind, too little restraint to not mention the request on his desk that morning. Piers... Of all the men in Alpha, in the entire S.O.U., that pin headed communist sellout went and sent in an official request to have his partner transferred. Goddamn formalities. That commie asshole would've never told Chris he was trying to steal away his second in command if the B.S.A.A. regulations didn't state that he required notification. And if that was the case, had he even asked the sniper? Shit, it didn't matter even if he did ask Piers. The notification was on his desk… for now. He wanted to punch that pretty boy's teeth through his head when he saw the request. It lacked a certain signature, but that didn't mean Piers didn't know. Piers had been fucking around with that commie for the last several weeks. Chris didn't care... If Piers wanted mess around with someone that was fine by him, but when the shit hit the fan, Piers Nivans was his A.T.L., and his lover. As soon as he got back to base, that bullshit will go nowhere and that little piece of fucking paper will become a victim of his paper shredder. As a founder of the B.S.A.A., he can accept and refuse any transfer when it came to his specially built team. That was a condition he set when the brass wanted him to take a team instead of staying on as a solo agent. Shit! Bullets flew from his gun, the fire shaking the sturdiness of his joints, as one eye narrowed and buried shots in three J'avo bastards. "Heads in the game boys, we've got company." Business was about to pick up.

There were orders to keep in constant contact, the call backs all echoed by his team. Perfect precision. He shouldn't have cared that this situation was out of control. Alpha team was entirely under his command, and that included the Russian for now. They had to make a clean sweep. Clear out as many civilians as possible from these adobes, and get them secure. Chris was getting tired of these drops. Rescue missions weren't his style. He was known better for his ability to seek out and destroy any and all bioweapons in the area. However, the more civilians, the more opportunities for them to have an increase of bioweapons. So it was down to this. The city was partially evacuated before this, harvesting teens to join the cause. The damnable terrorist organizations didn't care any more who they were recruiting, just that the numbers skyrocketed, and where better than places with cramped up numbers of people all jammed into a tiny living space? Bullet shots could be heard as they echoed through the labyrinth of streets and stone houses, throwing the sounds in a thousand directions at once, unable to pin each sound down. Constant contact didn't take the captain off his edge whilst hearing every fire of weapon. Only one of those sounds was distinguishable from the rest, reassuring as the distinct sound of the heavy handed .50 caliber boomed through the streets. "Nivans, Gvorik, we're moving in south." Two more shots, and the pace picked up, dark pits of eyes, scanning the surrounding area, and moving the in fast forward through the streets compared to any other man. Their teams moved quick, and they had work to do. Need to stop concentrating on if Gvorik had told his sniper that he was making a personal request to transfer him. The Piers he knew would scoff and turn him down without conflict, nothing to over think. But still, had Luka told him about the request, or was Piers going to be just as startled to have the brass at his door once they returned.

These men were well trained, each one in their own respect, specialists. however the feeling of wrong came over this mission before it even started, and there was a darkness that cast shadows on the walls, glowering at the rookie who buried a round in a barrel that 'jumped out' at him. A single patronizing look quelled the kid's fear, apologizing incessantly for his scatter brain while they rounded a corner, run muzzle finding the corner, up down, roof top, door way, each place in turn, empty. The people were either gone already, or they were hiding. "Nivans. Gvorik. Clear house. These civilians are either hiding, or they've already cleaned shop. I don't want this team separated any longer than we have to."

"Roger that."

"Understood."

Brass wanted the civilians brought out alive, but whoever gave them the information was dead wrong on this front. Note to self: beat the shit out the the informant. "Church of Divine Blessing to the east. We've got signs of life..., Orders?"

"Sweep it. We'll meet up with you if there's any signs of trouble."

The action picked almost immediately, the echo off the labyrinth of gunshots to the east, Chris' eyes snapping to the side, only to be greeted with his own set of hostiles. As soon as the rumble of the shotgun downs two, another seven took their place. The spray of pellet opening the chest cavity of the nearest creature; reloading with one pump of his arm, the second shot laying waste to its skull, bits and chunks of brain matter, red and slimy spattering against the men behind them, bone fragments pelting the mutliply wide eyes that covered the head of those behind them. Javo... almost a dozen eyes that squelched as they blinked and darted uselessly from a thousand directions all landing on Airhart as his A.R. took two men with a spray of gunfire. Hostages in their clutches, screeched like children, their foreign language babbling in spittle coated words, that babbled in pleas to their Mary mother of God. "Close formation 2. Get to it!" "Sir!" The hostages needed to be saved, tricky thanks to them being held by crablike appendages by inhuman J'avo, hoping to utilize them as human shields. Rose and the rookie worked in tandem while the captain focused on hostages. Flipping his weapon to single shot, a squeeze of the trigger, and then a second, the bullets perfect headshots while cover was taken, hearing the grotesque sounds of mutation, their heads resembling Venus flytraps. Ugh. The clip was spent and then replaced. Shooting for the middle of their heads with two clips of ammo in each to take them down. Bastards were getting harder and harder to kill. Meanwhile, Rose and the rookie were working on the last J'avo they were dealing with. The crablike ones that had the hostages were on the move, so Chris followed. "Rose, rookie, take that last one down and then secure this area. Gvorik hostages are on the move. Two of them, headed your way. You've got two hostiles, I'm taking them out." Chris grabbed a flash grenade and moved through the streets like a cheetah, the power of each stride a surge of muscle in each haunch as he lunged down the dirt streets, following ambled foot steps and the trail of each turned corner, seeing the trailing feet of dragged hostages. Another corner turned, the pin was pulled, a flash grenade lobbed in that direction. A forearm across the eyes, to shield from the blast, the sweat smeered from his brow as he surged in after. Screams were heard rounding the corner; J'avo's down and screaming, the hostages were screaming, and nothing else was in the area. "Don't move." The hostages were scared clearly, but one finger to his lips quelled the elder, quieting when two more javo rounded the corner, their mouths spouting the plant like appendages before blood and brain followed out their maws, bullet spray taking both from behind. "Good cover, Gvorik." Chris nodded to the Russian soldier, his own team member in tow having the back, weapon still poised. "Get these two off the ground. Walker, Carl, cover six."

"Your vision will clear, do not worry. On your feet." All business, Luka aided the two their feet. Once they were raised, the weapon strap holding up the A.R. in place at his chest, was returned in cautious hands, nodding in turn to Chris. "All the buildings west of here are boarded. No signs of life."

"Dónde están los demás?" Chris looked to the woman, her eye sight still suffering, whilst the woman wiped her eyes, impatience his keen virtue as the captain repeated it, his bellowing baritone rocking the woman. "Donde!"

"La iglesia ... Nuestra Madre de María. Ellos ... ellos llevaron a rastras. Los... los monstruos."

Dark eyes looked up, though only one knew the foreign language, they both knew what it meant. "Goddamn it, Piers." Fingers flying to the com unit, Chris' commanding voice was cut short by the bellow that echoed through the streets, the mutated howl and the boom of gun shot. A shared look, and both were barreling toward the church, Chris' command flowing like it always did in the field. Unquestionable. "Walker, Alfonso, Macauley, Rose. Take the rear, double time. Get those civilians to safety, now! Piers, Damnit, answer me!" Static on the lie, and gunfire. Shit. Of all the times, and all the places. Piers. Damn that impulsive kid. "I will bury him myself. Damnit, PIERS!"

"He'll be alright, agent Ni-

"Don't start with me Russian. I don't want to hear it. Piers, goddamnit, respond."

"Roger that, Captain." Chris almost allowed himself a visible sigh of relief, between the gunfire, and his heart beat thundering in his ears, his pace not slowing but rather increasing, the thundering footfalls bolting both captain's round the crushed together buildings, kicking open a door to make his own short cut through the buildings. "Fourteen hostiles on the first floor..., fiv..." A round thundered, the recognizable sound making the coms rings. "Four on the second. Three napad."

"Where's your team, Nivans?"

"North side. Civilian casualties."

Napad? What the hell were they doing here. Chris scoffed, switching his weapon over his shoulder for the 9-0-9 that provided a freer range of motion, the darkness of the moment taking hold as they reached the building, the flashes through the stained glass windows of gun fire and the grunts and howls of the beasts that lie within. "Gvorik, priority one, get the civilians out of there. I'll take care of the rest." Splitting the foot work, Captain Redfield barreled through the doors, northside, opening up to the chaos within. Hell. Pure hell. Three Napads, dead civvies, eight J'avos, and Piers' group trying to survive the hellish chaos. On his own, as hard to say as it was, Piers always could have made it out of a sticky situation. One like this, would have been a walk in the park. For either. But there was more than personal safety at risk, when you enter civies and team mates into the mix, the risks multiply exponentially. The sniper was separated from his group, two Napads pinning down their position. Ten civvies dead on the floor of the church, blood spilled upon the alter, and bodies sagging in the pews where they had been forced to sit and watch while C-virus was applied to each. Some people would have rather died, execution style bullets in the backs of their skulls, and flies buzzing around the corpses. They must have packed the townsfolk all within, the bodies stinking and the numbers catastrophic. The living numbered in only the single digits; screaming in fear, with the stink of urine clinging to the dead and living alike. All injured, and if not so, too frightened to move; most positioned behind the sniper who had lodged himself in the way of the enemy. Chris didn't waste time and went into the fray, jumping the back of one Napad and with a show of brute strength thrusting his fist up to the forearm into the damaged shell on its back, tearing it off in one large chunk, membrane and biohazard gunk sloughing to the floor. With a scream, the shell was gone and the white fleshy underside exposed. Bullets from his assault rifle fired into the exposed weak area bits splattering and turning the fleshy larval back into cottage cheese. One Napad down. Two more were left, but the other two in Piers' group were handling it fine for now. Gvorik jumping the pews to reach those civilians who were unprotected. The other Napad was running ram shot and several J'avo's still had Piers and the civvies he was protecting pinned down, smirking as he watched the dead shot, nailing the extra javo with effortless ease, whilst shouting orders in a choppy sounding Spanish for those behind him. Four armed j'avo, the rest all partially or fully mutated. One caught by surprise by his AR was taken out with bullets to the head. No further mutation occurred Chris eyes turning to the next victim before this one could breath its last. Taking cover on the next volley of bullets that rained in his direction, the captain too the heavy door for cover, crouched at the knees, and coddling his weapon, waiting out the specified clip counts. Next volley, someone would find themselves without a head.

Gunfire never ceased, those of Gvorik's, Piers MP-AF, that he seamlessly interchanged with his own rifle, and the j'avo who had changed out clips between firing. "Civilians secure, captain."

"Good, Walker, keep them that way. Do not converge on this location. Keep those civies alive, you hear me? Gvorik! I'm going to draw fire, you get those civilians out of here, and we'll blow this place to hell. Nivans, can you get those men out of-

"Captain!"

Chris felt the thunder of hoof beats whilst the charge of a beast took him clear off his feet, the weight of a cement truck hurtling its force into him, and knocking feet off the ground, shoulders taking the brunt of the landing whilst a napad groping hand slammed into the ground beside his head, rolling from its reach. "Get them out, now!" Gunshots did nothing to the humongous armored body, napad throwing its weight into the captain who scrambled in a three point stance before meeting its lurching weight, and feeling his shoulder suspend, taking the damage, gritting his teeth and burying his shotgun under its chin between them. The shot would've hit true if the right hand of the Napad didn't graze the gun, so only part of its face was hit. "Fuck!" Going hand-to-hand with a Napad was insane. This whole situation was insane. A moment of brief distraction. Something that wouldn't normally happen, but it did. Once again, the captain of Alpha Team was taken off his feet and the Napad, mad with anger over losing the top of his head, a massive paw, clutched up and pounded Chris in the chest, head hurtling forward in its half curled posture to ram its mashed skull into the captain on the way to the floor. Its feet galloped in place, stomping in a childish fit of fury before its weight came clandestinely down on Chris' head, greeting his jaw; and he was unable to roll away in time. Left arm rose and covered his features, the bulged muscles prepared for impact covering his skull, whilst the other hand reached for his scattered weapon.,the only reason Chris' head wasn't resorted to a pile of brain matter and bone fragment.

Except it didn't. The impact never even skirted his raised forearm, the napad falling off balance as it was toppled by the weight of a second soldier, the flash of blond hair the give away as the captain dragged hismelf up with a speed of recovery that he had earned the name Captain America for, rocking to and fro on his feet as he watched the bullets fly and the scene play out before. A hand on his shoulder brought him from the shock of watching the hand on hand that the Russian Captain mastered, warring with the creature. "Captain," Piers voice cleared his thoughts, seeing the bloodied soldier, nod toward the civilians that bowled toward the exit, fleeing in terror ushered by the rest of their team. His rattled thoughts shook feeling that hand fleet, MP-AF singing in his ear as the sniper tore after their Russian comrade, bullets ringing. It was really all a matter of clean up now, the guns were down, the threat neutralized, all but for the na... the napad!

"LUKA!"

Somehow it was the world stood in stand still once he felt that one reassuring hand on his shoulder, he'd never even thought to follow up the charge that had saved his life, not until he heard the blood curdling scream from his partner, watching him run full charge after a sudden spray of blood. War was slow motion... until it wasn't. Piers' speed took over for his prudence, swinging his rifle to his shoulder as he threw himself like he was weightless, up and over the shoulders of the bioweapon that staggered with an arm in its grasp. The rifle slung over the sniper's shoulder swung in his grip, burying a round at point blank within its head, the beast stumbling... before falling in a heap upon the ground, the screams and bullets fading in Chris' head as he watched the scene before him.

How did this happen? The man who'd saved him from a similar fate..., sprawled upon the ground.., arms and legs limp at his sides..., one arm still in the grasp of the napad who had all but crushed Chris' cranium. Piers... His sniper, grabbing the front of his flak, shaking the lifeless body beneath him, joints pulled out of position, blood gushing from the wounded arm... the caved in cheek. The blood and chaos all around them, and not only had he lost his own senses, but allowed himself the remorseless act, crossing the room as it began to cave on itself, jerking the sniper to his feet, who's face was all but striken with the horror he was staring at. Couldn't turn away from. Of all the deaths he'd seen, now his partner cried? Now he fought to stay by his side? A haze of death around them as he dragged him, screaming from the sight, shoving him out the doors. "Piers you can't do anything for him now, you get these men and you go! Do you understand me? You go, NOW!"

Darkened eyes blinked slowly, Piers eyes resting on the coffin before him, jaw set whilst his fingers worked in circles on his kneecap, remembering the subtle gestures, the keen accent, the everything. After everything... It ended like that? Like this? his chest tightened, hearing the voice behind him that he knew was coming. After everything that happened, after all that transpired and what the captain had told him, after what Luka forced him to recognize. They could have actually been happy, maybe. In another lifetime. Luka knew that, he knew exactly what it was he was doing when he saved the object of affection that Piers' heart solely rested upon. He was saving the man Piers had placed all his faith in, because it was all he could do. Because it was his job, or because he loved him? The sniper couldn't stop fighting over which, despite his hatred that he felt for Luka in that moment, giving his life for, Chris. Should he have let his captain die, to save Luka? Vomit clung to his throat at the visualization. Luka's pale face, ice blue eyes staring up at him, caved in and bloodied, seeping from his lips like a river, his arms and legs like a ragdolls, torn apart and thrown asunder, and in its place, Chris Redfield's dead eyes gapping up at him, with no warning, with no chance to say goodbye. "I saw the request... You're going to Russia? Even after this?" The bite in Chris' tone washed over Piers, uncaring of the hint of hurt that hid behind his words. "At least look at me Piers." He couldn't..., not without seeing the dead man. Not without seeing Luka's bloodstained face, his guilty accusations blearing up into Piers' striken features. "He's dead Piers. You can't just-

"Russia is as far from you as I can get." The pain that surged in that tenor, the hatred that bloomed there. It wouldn't have happened. None of it would have happened. Not without Chris. His falling apart, Piers trying to put him together. The fighting, the ignoring. Their relationship had caused this. Their lack of their relationship. Even as much as captain and partner. Piers had seen it, but he didn't want to believe that his captain, the one man he'd ever trusted, had turned into just another drunk soldier with no pride. Luka saw it. He tried to protect him from it, tried to make him see, but he wouldn't. No... he wasn't staying, not after this. "I should have left long ago, Captain."

"Don't call me that. Not if you're leaving."

"Then I won't, Chris. We let it get carried away, let it go too long, and he had to pay the price for it." Hazel eyes sharp as tacks nailed Chris to his spot, the slight glaze of tears over them as he shoved him with the palm of his hand landing square in Chris' chest. "You want to tell me your head was in the fight yesterday? That you were thinking solely on the mission? That either of us were? Its over. I'm not playing this game. I'm shipping out..., that's it... that's the end of the story, Chris. I'm done." His temper wavered, eyes dropping to his shoes.

"He never belonged on this team, Piers."

"Neither did I." Shaking his head, the sniper sighed, dropping his hands to his side seeing the man step into the doorway. Locking his jaw, Piers tried not to let emotion flood his face, back rigid as he pulled a salute, holding it as he let his eyes rest on mahogany orbs, releasing it. "I loved you, you know? I know I never said it, but I did..., and I loved him." Shaking his head, the sniper walked away, just like that. Just like that... Didn't turn back, didn't let Chris look at him, grab his arm, stop him from leaving. Didn't let him say it back. He just... walked away. People always took things from Chris. His parents were taken. His sister was taken thanks to cancer. His heart was taken in other relationships. For once, Chris wanted something... more like someone... to himself, he thought he had it. His selfishness this one time had a higher cost than even he imagined. Luka was dead and he took joy in it, he wanted him gone and out of the picture. To make it easy for Piers to keep on being his. It wasn't very obvious, but it was there. That commie rat bastard wanted to take his lover away from him, and he may have thrown himself on the fire for him, but he felt relief in that moment. He did, but his reaction when the Russian died was too much for Piers. It was his fault the sniper left. So the Captain not only lost a man, but his lover. And all he had left? The bottle he had already begun to climb into.

Heck of an ending, but I haven't written this in a while and I knew how I wanted it to end. If my style is a little off, I've been a bit out of sync lately, but I hope you enjoy. Had to get some extra help on this one from Morriganna. She's priceless when it comes to getting me back on track, and she's great with making Chris, Chris. So I hope that the ending is tragic and horrible enough for all of you to go, WTF!? No one wins in the battle for Piers though. No one but me! Leave a review please, I like knowing what you think, even if its angry cynicism. I won't write a sequel for this, but if I did... Chris would clean up, go get Piers from Russia, and make up for every hurt that I put in this. Now back to Memories with Meaning because this made me mope!