MEANWHILE IN ITALY
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Thanks to Officer_Charon for the continued loan of his SRT personnel fan-characters.
CH20 – Learning to Live
Sunk low into threadbare cushions, Raych fidgeted, looking past knotting fingers, past the carbine lying on her lap, past black combat boots, to cracked terrazzo flooring beneath. This wasn't right, this was not how it was supposed to work. She had failed her sniping exam, failed Danilo, surely she was not supposed to be rewarded with a mission after that? But that was what had happened, so here she was, in Genoa, with Danilo.
But she had messed up, that fact remained. What if she messed up again? Here? What would Danilo do if she messed this up?
Glancing sideways under the single fluorescent tube's harsh light, she found Danilo on the couch beside her, motionless, sporting a heavy grey jacket, sleeves puffy where they emerged from the plate carrier worn on top, his own Tavor carbine resting in his lap. She would not mess this up, Danilo would tell her what to do, he had done this before, she just had to follow his instructions... but what if she could not carry out his instructions properly? She had failed to do so on the sniper range, what if she failed to do so here?
Danilo would tell her what to do, he would... and Chiara was coming too.
Looking around at that thought, she found her friend sitting in front of Mr. Manfredi on the small communal laundry's bench, talking quietly with her handler, their voices low enough that Raych could not discern what was said. Mr. Manfredi was easy enough to pick out at least, in suit, tie and cream coat, as opposed to her own heavy black parka, concealing tactical vest and body armour beneath. It was also in contrast to his own, similarly garbed cyborg and, her eyes flicked to the two SRT men with them, to Mr. Esposito and Mr. Lombardi. They were dressed like her handler: grey jacket shoulders bearing the same Guardia di Finanza patches, the same green berets on their heads.
Mr. Manfredi was lucky though. Her own coat was far too warm in the damp, airless space they now shared, its single barred window locked closed with curtains drawn, doors sealed tight. It felt small, too small, pressing in on her. She had never been on a mission like this before, Danilo had told her that. This was not walking on the street, or waiting in her handler's car, this was a combat mission, all she had to do was fight, follow Danilo's orders and fight, kill who he said to kill. This was the sort of mission she had been built for, the type of mission she was supposed to be good at... Danilo had told her that also.
But what if she was not good at it?
She felt her leg start to tremble again, attempts to stop it failing. She had not been good at sniping, but Danilo had said not to worry, that was not what she was supposed to do, and so she had failed. But she had still failed, and what if she failed here? Failed at what she was supposed to be good at? What would Danilo say then? It would be humiliating for him. If she could not do this, she really would be useless.
She did not want to be useless, she wanted to be useful, had to be useful, useful to her handler, worthy of her handler. She wanted to fight for him, she did... she had always wanted to but...
...but what if now, now that she had the chance, she could not? What if she actually proved worthless? Maybe then the reconditioning threat would become a reality.
She did not want to be reconditioned.
Danilo... just do what Danilo said. Do what Danilo said, follow his instructions. Do not think, just do, and she would be fine. Danilo would know what to do.
A knock at the exterior door behind made her jump, breaking tumbling thoughts, and she looked around as Mr. Esposito moved quickly to kill the flickering tube above, plunging their room into darkness, light leaking from the building's interior barely enough for her cyborg eyes to pick out dull shapes.
"Up, C. Raych."
Beside her she felt Danilo's weight leave their perch, and she followed suit, weapon in hand.
"When we leave, make sure to keep your carbine close to your body and pointed directly down."
"Yes, Danilo."
Now another tap at the door sounded, an answering one, and with a rattle of keys it swung open, letting dim light flood in, chased by cold night-time air. Beyond stood another of the SRT men, a huge figure sporting a brightly coloured jacket with reflective tape around arms and waist; motioning to those inside he stood back, clearing their path.
"Go, C. Raych."
Danilo's voice was quiet, and she stepped around the couch and into the alley outside, glancing at the hulking commando as she went. Tearing her gaze from the towering, bright orange, form, she instead turned eyes to her surrounds: she was Danilo's protection now, she had to pay attention. On three sides aging concrete rose up around her, a bare tree growing out of the retaining wall blocking one end of the alley, and she followed its spindly branches to where light still burned in the buildings above.
"Move, C. Raych."
The words were a hiss, causing her to jump again, eyes swinging around to where their van's dark bulk stood, rear doors already thrust open to fill the alley entrance, light from the street beyond oozing past its sides. Trotting forward she climbed in, moving quickly to sit against its forward bulkhead, Danilo taking up position opposite to be joined by Mr. Manfredi, Chiara mirroring him, Mr. Esposito and Mr. Lombardi settling by the rear doors to pull them shut. Another few seconds, the sound of a motor passing on the street outside, then the van rocked once before its own engine churned to life.
Across from her, Mr. Manfredi keyed the radio hanging from his chest... she had not realised he too was wearing armour, lighter armour, the dark blue vest hidden under his coat.
"Zero Alpha, Tupo Uno is ready to roll. Should be in position in half an hour, over."
Nothing. No response.
He keyed the radio again. "Zero Alpha. Tupo Uno is ready to roll. Should be in position in half an hour. Over."
There was another moment's pause, before Mr. Croce's voice came back, scratchy and intermittent.
"T... Uno...s... agi... ov."
Across from her, the handler seemed to think before looking around the van. "Anyone catch that?"
Shaking heads answered him, and he keyed the mic once more. "Zero Alpha, Tupo Uno. Say again, over?"
This time, just static replied.
"Zero Alpha, Tupo Uno. Nothing heard. Out." Releasing the radio again, Mr. Manfredi muttered a word she did not recognise, before standing slightly to lean across Danilo and bang on the driver's compartment bulkhead. "Fausto, Carlos, let's get moving. One of you try raise Jean on the van rig, let him know we're coming. I'd prefer not to phone in if at all possible."
"We'll let you know what he says back." That voice she recognised as belonging to the big commando, though she still did not know his name and, as the words were uttered, their van started to roll.
Feeling the vehicle turn out into the street beyond, Raych looked across at Mr. Manfredi again. He was not as heavily armed as everyone else either. How did Chiara feel about that? Glancing at the younger girl, her gaze quickly reverted to the floor. Danilo had told her what was going on, and she knew Chiara would not even be near her handler for this mission. Mr. Manfredi would be with the SRT, Chiara would be in the van. She would not like to be in that same position, she would not like to be separated from Danilo, how would she know what to do? It was a cyborg's job to keep her handler safe, to follow his orders, how was she supposed to do that separated from him? She would have to help Chiara... but what if Danilo told her to do something else? What then?
"Are you okay, Raych?"
Turning toward her sister's voice, she found the girl looking her direction, rifle held fast across her lap.
"Huh?"
"You look worried. Do not be, it is normal to be nervous."
Did she? She had not realised she looked worried. Glancing down at her hands she found fingers again starting to dry wash themselves. She must look worried. Maybe she should ask Chiara about... about how she felt? But how would Chiara react? Was that prying?
She glanced at the generation one again, voice low. "Umm, Chiara?"
Raised eyebrows.
"Umm, how do you... umm... Mr. Manfredi is going with the SRT tonight, is he not?"
"Yes."
"Umm, how do you... how do you deal with... with being separated from Mr. Manfredi? On missions."
Silence. Had she said something wrong? Was Chiara offended? She should not have asked that question, that was not something she should ask another cyborg.
"You do not need too..."
"I don't relish the prospect, if that is what you wish to know." Chiara's quiet reply cut her off mid-sentence. "But sometimes that's what is required by a mission... and even if we are separated, I am never far away."
"But... tonight."
"Tonight, Mr. Martinello and Mr. Gallo will be with Gaetano, and we still will not be far away either. If everything goes to plan, Gaetano will be safe, and we will not even leave the van. If there is trouble, I will be with him anyway."
"So, you do not mind..."
"I mind, but there is nothing I can do, so I must accept it and move on."
"But..."
The rest of her sentence was interrupted by the huge commando from before squeezing his way into the van's rear, bent slightly to avoid hitting his head on the roof while one hand braced against its grab rail. Halting in front of her, he glanced briefly at the two cyborgs, before leaning down toward Mr. Manfredi, mist forming on his words in the cold passenger cabin.
"I managed to raise Jean. Anagnos Dragon has already begun unloading, so he says to haul..." another glance in Raych and Chiara's direction, "...to hurry up."
"Section One flunked it then." Mr. Manfredi's voice was flat.
"Seems like. Hilshire's just about in position at the Via Prà weighbridge, so if Blacker's container leaves before we can get there he'll try to follow, but otherwise he's been instructed to stick to his own mission."
"Then you had better talk us through the gate fast."
"Carlos's job."
As the big man turned forward again, Mr. Manfredi looked around at his temporary subordinates. "If the rest of you didn't catch that, be ready to hit the ground running once we get water-side. So check your gear now."
In her seat, Raych clutched her carbine tighter. She could be ready, she would be ready. She would be ready to do whatever Danilo told her.
"C. Raych, give me your weapons for inspection."
Looking at her handler, she obediently passed over the Tavor she held, before unzipping her jacket slightly, feeling the rush of warm air from it as her pistol was also unshipped from its chest rig. Across from her, Danilo finished checking her long arm, which was exchanged for the Steyr M9, also given a once over before being returned.
"Good, C. Raych. Now, tell me what you are to do once we are in position."
Tucking the pistol away again, Raych paused. "I am to wait with the Chiara in the back of the van."
"And where will I be?"
"In the front of the van."
"And you are not to move until?"
She paused another second, thinking. "Until you tell me to."
"Well done. Now stay quiet until I say otherwise."
"Yes, Danilo."
Clasping her weapon again, Raych looked back down at the floor. She would be ready, she would be and, as much as she wanted to help Chiara, she would follow Danilo's orders. Danilo would know best, she would do as he said.
Do not think, just carry out his instructions.
She hoped she would get a chance to, a chance to prove her worth.
More kilometres passed in silence, but soon she could feel the van starting to slow, rolling slightly as it turned a tighter corner. Were they here? Was this where she would get her chance? They were definitely moving slower now, at least she thought they were, it was difficult to tell. In front of her however, Mr. Manfredi reached into a black bag to lift out a similarly toned and tightly wrapped bundle, which was placed on his lap.
Beneath her the van braked again before pitching upward, engine churning as it climbed briefly, finally flattening out and rolling to a stop. The interior was quiet now and, from ahead, she could hear voices. One she did not recognise, and could not make out the words of anyway, but the other was the smaller SRT man who had been with them.
"...Shanghai Zhenhua Industrie Pesanti... Yes, we were told you have a crane needs looking at... Why? Did you think the Chinks would fly out themselves just to change the oil?... Yes at Voltri, why else would we be coming in this entrance... Would you prefer we came back once a ship berths? I was told this was the only possible shutdown for the next month."
Across the van, Mr. Manfredi was sitting with his head back against canvas sound deadening, eyes closed. How could he be so calm at a time like this, so relaxed? Danilo was paying much closer attention, looking toward the blackout curtain, and she certainly did not feel calm. If they were stopped here, how could she prove herself worthy of her handler?
Now she could hear the voice from outside, the conversation's volume slowly rising.
"You are not on the visitor's list, so you're not going through, simple as that."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Turn around? Waste my night and your callout fee?"
"Take it up with whoever forgot to phone ahead, not me. All I'm told is that if you're not on the visitor's list, then you can't get the visitor's induction, and since you're not listed as inducted to work either, you can't enter."
The voice which replied now was that of the larger commando. "Why would we even fucking turn up here if we weren't already fucking inducted?"
"Search me, but still I can't let you through. You're not cleared, your vehicle is not cleared, and if you do not leave I will have to call security and you can sort it out with them."
Now Mr. Manfredi's eyes did open. "Alright, this has gone far enough."
Standing, the elder handler unfurled the package, black jerkin it was revealed to be thrown over his head. Taking a moment to adjust it so the "Guardia di Finanza" displayed in reflective characters across its front sat straight, he pushed through the blackout curtain, voice carrying strong back from the cab.
"That's enough. Congratulations on your dedication, but now you're holding us up." There was a moment's hesitation, and the reply was once more below her hearing range, but Mr. Manfredi's was not. "No, and you weren't supposed to know either... Enzo, Fittipaldi, yeah the pair of you, get out and round up the weighbridge staff. Make sure they don't do anything stupid, or contact anybody until we're finished."
Another pause, then the van rocked as two bodies dismounted it, followed by the slamming of doors. Engine revs dropping briefly, the Transit started to roll once more, down another shallow slope, before accelerating away along flat road. Now Mr. Manfredi spoke again, and Raych jumped as his words echoed a half second later through her earpiece.
"Zero Alpha, Tupo Uno. We're inside, about three minutes away. Ran into some trouble at the gate, I've had to leave Schiavonas One and Two there."
A moment later, Mr. Croce's voice returned, much clearer than it had been before. "Understood, Tupo Uno. Can you still continue?"
"We'll make do."
"Your target's still floating, but the way they're unloading it won't be far off, so however you intend to 'make do', set it up quickly."
"Roger that. Tupo Uno, out."
It was only a short ride before the van slowed to a halt once again, engine cutting into silence, and Mr. Manfredi pushed his way back through the blackout curtain.
"Change of plans people. Espo, Lombardi: you'll still block any escape to the rear. Danilo, leave the girls here, you're with me to help keep up appearances."
Raych froze. Her handler was going somewhere without her? On a mission? But... how was she supposed to protect him if he were not in the same place? There would be no SRT with him like Mr. Manfredi had been assigned before, and how was she supposed to prove her worth to him without being there?
Danilo would not be safe without her there.
Another thought crossed her mind: if she were not with Danilo, how was she supposed to follow his orders? How was she supposed to know what to do?
Hands starting to shake, she gripped her carbine tighter. What was she going to do?
Seemingly Danilo shared her concerns. "Should we really be leaving the cyborgs on their own, unsupervised?"
"They'll be fine, Chiara knows what to do, and we don't have a choice."
"And if we need them?"
The next words were tinged with impatience. "They'll be less than a hundred metres away, and on the other end of a radio. It's not ideal, but we can't take them with us, so it's this or we pick up our little bag of toys and go home again." Now he turned to look at his own charge. "Chiara, take care of Raych and be ready for our call."
The younger girl nodded.
"Now let's get moving."
Stepping from the slender gap between van rear doors, Gaetano watched Esposito and Lombardi jog away down a dark line of containers toward the wharf's sea-end, corrugated edifices of metal boxes towering above them, casting the SWA party in shadow. Waiting for Danilo to join him, he ran an eye across the rest of his surrounds. Anagnos Dragon was positioned out of sight on the farthest berth from the container terminal entrance, on its eastern most corner, that much had been confirmed by Section One. Less happily, a second ship also moored three slots up on the western extremity, bringing more potential watchers to their immediate area. The space between at least gave some room in which to intercept the Blackers' container, presuming of course its carrier came down the main exit road, one carefully stacked wall of TEUs seaward from where he now stood, but it was an extra complication he could have done without.
Now Danilo too was out, Tavor in one hand, a set of heavy bolt cutters swinging awkwardly from his belt, and he closed the van quietly. Turning eyes from the other man, Gaetano scanned toward the waterfront, specifically to where tall ship-to-shore cranes, their original excuse for entry, stood, powerful lights surrounded by warm coronas in slowly settling fog.
"Weather's going to make Jean's life difficult."
Beside him, the younger handler quickly checked his own carbine again, apparently however picking up the statement's intended meaning. "It'll make life difficult for anyone else up there too, and Jean has Rico's eyes as well... if anything the fog should be a help."
That he did not bother responding to, instead taking one more glance up and behind, back toward shore. In that direction, just visible above metal walls, glowing lights marked lines of rail loadouts, the whine of crash of steel on steel marking them as active.
The port never stopped... pity.
Turning back to the slowly rusting edifice before him however, the elder handler found a gap between container ends and squeezed through, heading toward their ambush point, the clump of his companion's boots following at his heels. There were five of these rows between him and the water front, the same back to the railway.
Hopefully the girls would find this an easier journey than he.
From high above, hardstand floodlights did little to penetrate the claustrophobic space between units, lined up four deep and as many high, leaving just the faintest reflections visible to pick out potentially painful handles and locks, a thud and curse coming from behind as the heavier set Danilo found a protrusion. Arriving at the manmade crevasse's far end, Gaetano waited for oaths to die down before peering out to the roadway beyond, and uttered his own expletive. He had known their ambush point was going to be exposed, but the reality was even less palatable than the bird's eye photo had implied. Before him now lay four lanes of open concrete, running dead centre of the hardstand area, end-to-end: one and a half kilometres by fifty metres of nothing, one and a half kilometres by fifty metres for someone to stray across and spot them.
Keying the radio, he growled down toward it. "Zero Alpha, Ronin One. We're in position, but you're going to have to let us know when to step out, it's too open to watch ourselves."
Jean's reply was quick returning. "Roger that. You should not be waiting long anyway."
"Good. Ronin, out."
From back between containers came a shuffling of feet, followed by a cough. "If one of the weighbridge operators gave the Padania a heads up, they may not unload at all tonight."
Internally, Gaetano growled again: did Danilo not think the thought had crossed his mind as well?
"Which is why we left Fausto and Carlos there."
"If they saw you and got a message off early though, that won't help."
"And maintaining cover until security got an eyeful of cyborg would have been a better plan would it?"
No reply, thankfully.
Silence falling once more, noises of a port at work began to flow back, faint shouts from the waterfront barely audible above whining machinery and the clang of metal as heavy TEUs were swung from ship to shore and back again. Somewhere, layered behind, different sounds: the whistle of turbines approaching, building to a full roar as they thundered low over his head, their airliner's wheels and flaps hanging out into the wind as it descended toward Cristoforo Colombo Airport, just off the terminal's end, adding its own racket to that of marine industry.
Two flights later, his radio crackled.
"All call signs, all call signs. Zero Alpha. Stand by to receive, container is moving from the wharf now."
"Ronin..." keeping the radio at his chest keyed, he glanced back at Danilo, who nodded, "...and Aurora copy."
"Schiavona Three and Four copy."
Drawing his pistol, Gaetano pulled the big Beretta's slide back, checking it had a round chambered and the safety was off. Shifting the weapon to his weak hand, the other reached inside a jacket pocket, withdrawing a photograph, some more of Section One's handiwork. On it was printed the deck of a ship, a white container near its centre circled and, flipping the card over, the ex-Polizi officer re-read the string of numbers written there, the container's BIC code, provided by the Blackers and confirmed as still in place by Section One, again.
Lorenzo could not be enjoying such heavy reliance on their internal rivals.
"All call signs, Zero Alpha. Standby to execute in five, four..."
Replacing the photograph, he shifted his pistol back.
"...three, two, one." Jean paused for half a heartbeat. "Go."
The order was not loud, it did not need to be, and on it Gaetano stepped out into the roadway beyond, walking quickly toward its centre, free hand raised, the other still carrying his sidearm, hung casually by one hip. Right now it was just there for show but, so long as the man had been listening to their whole briefing, behind him Danilo would have his own rifle trained dead square on the approaching snub-nosed Iveco, trundling down the main haul access toward them.
Seemingly he or Danilo were having some effect as, with a hiss of brakes, the semitrailer began to slow and, beyond it, he could see the shapes of Esposito and Lombardi shuffling from their own hiding place, one to prevent an escape, the other to watch their backs.
Not too far out though, not so far as they could not find cover in a hurry.
With a final judder and jerk, their target bounced to a halt, the battered white 40 foot TEU being hauled behind now clearly visible. Leaving Danilo to keep guard, the handler moved quickly toward the latter's side, close enough to read coding off heavy watertight doors.
That was all he needed to know.
Setting his face into a suitably grave expression, Gaetano rounded to stand below the driver's window.
"Guardia di Finanza! Keep your hands where I can see them and get out!"
It took a moment for anything to happen, but then the cab opened, its occupant climbing down before turning obediently, arms raised. He wasn't a tall man, stocky and heavy set, dressed in a stained and faded orange jacket, topped by Genoa C.F.C colours in the form of scarf and beanie, the top of which barely reached Gaetano's nose.
"Stand still."
Safing his pistol to holster it, the handler stepped forward. Danilo had better damn well be covering his arse. Looking back to check now however was not an option, and instead he set about patting their new friend down. Finding nothing bar wallet and the accoutrements of a smoker, the ex-policeman stood back again.
"I do not see what I have done to deserve this." The driver's words were sour. "You are making me late."
Ignoring him, Gaetano unfolded the wallet to study a similarly sour mug shot, slipped behind its plastic window, within. He should be going through the truck's cab right now, but two men down he would need to deal with the driver first.
"Nardo Pinasco... care to tell me what you're doing here tonight?"
The look he received in return made it clear where Pinasco had decided at what level his intelligence lay, and the man gestured to the container.
"Making a pickup, what does it look like."
"Direct from the boat?"
"Some people like their goods in a hurry."
The barb was again ignored. "Did they give you keys for it?"
"Why the fuck would they give me keys? I just move things, I don't ask what's inside."
The handler gave him a long look. "If you don't have the keys, then how does your client open the container when you deliver it to them?"
"How the fuck should I know? Send them by carrier pigeon? You're the suit, you work it out. That's your job isn't it?"
Another pause. "Well, if you're not lying, you won't mind if I go search for them myself."
"Knock yourself out."
Not a flinch, he might not look like much, but Pinasco knew what he was about. Either that, or he really didn't have keys for the container's locks.
Or he was playing for time, and this was taking too long as it was.
That was not a pleasant thought.
Eyes not leaving his captive, Gaetano spoke. "Olivaw, watch him..."
"Roger that."
"...and give me the bolt cutters."
Now he did turn around as, carbine not wavering from their captive, his companion released one hand from his weapon, reaching down to unship the requested item by feel and hold it out. Taking the proffered heavy tool, the elder handler turned toward the semi's rear, ex-Guardia companion watching him out of the corner of an eye as he went, focus and firearm remaining on Pinasco.
As Gaetano disappeared around the back of the container, Danilo allowed himself an internal growl. Bolt cutters weren't going to do them any good: the locks on these things were specifically designed to deflect such attacks, and if they could not find keys then someone was going to need to break out an oxy-torch.
Before him, the little driver shifted, and Danilo let his grip shuffle across his weapon slightly as well, just enough to remind his prisoner it was there.
This was taking too long. They wouldn't get the container open here, and searching the truck for keys would also eat time. What they should be doing was getting the whole rig off site and taking the risk that their intelligence was bad, that this was not the container they were looking for, on the chin. People seemed to trust the Blacker pair's information, time for them to put their money where their mouths were.
Suddenly, his earpiece crackled. "Ambush Team, Zero Alpha. Be aware you have two vehicles approaching your position from the south-east. Look like port utilities, but stay alert."
And things were going from bad to worse. Still keeping his Tavor trained on the driver, Danilo looked past the truck's rump, toward the eastern approach. No vehicles down there yet, but Esposito and Lombardi were already sliding back toward cover, as Gaetano reappeared on their side of the prime mover, bolt cutters gone and pistol again drawn. Unfortunately the other handler also still needed to play lead agent, remaining visible to any new arrivals, and the ex-Guardia commando shifted position slightly, finding an angle to shoot past him if need be.
Now he could hear engines.
"Second vehicle's broken off and is heading behind the southern container line, first is still approaching."
Jean again. That did not sound like a friendly type of...
The other utility roared into view, and Danilo was already drawing a bead on the white Hilux as it skidded through a tight turn, amber beacon flashing, coming broad-side on to present its hidden flank. Even without cyborg vision, he could see rifle muzzles trained from its open windows.
"Contact!"
His first burst caught the Toyota square in its cab as it skidded to a halt, those inside opening up on full automatic, and he dove for the semitrailer's wheels, Gaetano following suit, trying to find what meagre cover they could as more fire streamed over the Hilux's tray and bonnet.
"Second vehicle is dropping personnel beyond the south container wall. Four number..." the crack of a rifle far off, "...make that three number Tangos headed toward your position. Ronin Two, Aurora Two, move in."
Leaning out again, Danilo sent another burst toward the easterly group of enemies, swiping away his empty magazine to replace it anew. They were being flanked, and he was on the wrong side of cover for it. Glancing under the container, he was just in time to see Chiara burst from the north wall, three lanes and a solid thirty metres away, running toward her handler, firing as she came.
C. Raych would not be far behind.
"Aurora Two. Stay on the container line and engage the eastern group from there."
"Yes, Dan..."
The rest of his charge's sentence was cut off as, beside the semitrailer's rear axle, Gaetano's chest exploded into red. No warning, nothing, a heavy-calibre rifle's thud arriving belatedly as the man keeled over.
It took a second to register.
"Sniper! Ronin One is down!"
"Rico, when he shoots again, find him."
Jean's words were bare moments behind his report and, ducking under the trailer himself to hide from those above, Danilo started to move toward his fallen comrade, scanning his south as he went. Chiara was already there though, rifle tumbling from her hands as she dropped beside her handler, back to the enemy as she tried to shield him from their fire.
Shit, if she stayed there...
"Chiara! Get under cover! Now!"
At her name the cyborg's eyes came up, but there was no sign of recognition there, not anymore, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Dammit, this was exactly why he wanted a soldier, not a... little girl.
"He's dead Chiara, damn you, move!"
Another gout of red, another deep thud, and the girl convulsed, whatever life had been left in her beginning to fade.
She jerked again, the trailing report arriving once more half a heartbeat later.
"Ronin Two is down! Say again, Ronin Two is down!"
The reply however did not come from Jean.
"Danilo, are you alri..."
Even over the radio Raych's worry transmitted clearly, and he cut her off. "I'm fine, stay where you are!" He glanced again toward the southern wall; the fighters headed through there could not be far away. "Keep the eastern group pinned, I'm coming to you."
Across the staccato of assault rifles, another single shot.
"Sniper's gone."
Well that was nice to know.
Crouched beside the trailer's rear wheels, Danilo peaked around his cover. Just about all the fire from the east was heading toward Raych's position: where the hell were the SRT? Wherever they had gotten to, he had best make his run now, before the Padania remembered where he was.
Glancing south once more, the handler shifted grip on his rifle slightly, rising on the balls of his feet like a sprinter in the starting blocks... just as a heavy diesel throb shattered his thoughts.
The driver, he had forgotten the fucking driver.
A hiss of brakes releasing, and he was barely fast enough to dodge away as wheels started to turn.
"Raych! Covering fire! Now!"
A roar erupted from his cyborg's position as she jammed her trigger down, sending those to the east ducking, and Danilo launched himself forward to get an angle on the prime mover's cab, turning as he did, putting shot after shot into its tyres, shredding thick rubber. No time to lose and, still backing away, he shifted aim. No bead on the driver from here either, and instead he flicked the Tavor into full auto, emptying its magazine into the engine's approximate position.
Clinical shooting it was not, but he must have hit something, steam gushing from under the cab as the whole rig coughed and juddered to a halt, fluids dribbling beneath. Beyond it however, human shapes were emerging from cracks in the southern container wall and, swiping his spent magazine away, the handler dashed for his cyborg's position.
He almost made it too.
The round smashed into his calf, burning pain shooting up his leg and it collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling across pavement, carbine spinning off over coarse concrete. That was not good. Trying to scramble to his feet, the handler suddenly found himself hauled unceremoniously back between strong steel walls, the worried face of his charge peering down at him, eyes moist, almost panicked.
"Danilo! Danilo are you okay? I'm sorry, I should have..."
"I'm fine," the words were a growl.
"But you are..."
"Get back to the fight, C. Raych. That's an order." Unshipping his pistol, he checked it had a round chambered, struggling up into a sitting position so he could look down the road again. "Your targets are the enemies to the south, I'll watch the east."
"Tangos to the east are dead..." Jean's voice, "...Schiavona Three and Four are circling around to the south now."
So that was where the SRT had gone.
"Aurora, Schiavona Three." Esposito's voice, right on cue. "We're almost in position. Keep their attention for another thirty seconds, then pick off any trying to run your way."
"Roger that." He looked up at his cyborg. "You heard him, keep their attention, single shots when they pop up."
"Yes, Danilo."
Shifting again so he could roll prone, the handler got his pistol lined up, not that it would be particularly effective from here, but it would help get the enemy's attention. Another shot, another miss then, as one of the Padans took aim once more, gunfire erupted inside the southern steel canyons.
Caught by surprise, the man swung around, stepping farther out of cover.
"Raych, take him!"
Above the handler her carbine sounded, little puffs of red erupting from the enemy's back with each shot, and he collapsed to the pavement.
No more gunfire. Silence.
Only then did Danilo realise he was holding his breath.
"Zero Alpha, Schiavona Three. Clear."
He released it, tension rushing from his body as the sounds of the port started to reassert themselves.
"Roger that Schiavona Three," Jean's voice was however still terse, "sweep the area to make sure, then set up a perimeter in case anyone else comes knocking. Aurora One, get the cyborgs out of sight... and we'll need a clean up crew, ASAP."
"... and we'll need a clean up crew, ASAP."
Tucked away in the terminal's near-empty visitors' car park, Victor Hartmann only realised how tight he had been gripping the steering wheel as Jean's final words filtered through his earpiece.
Thank God Triela had not been there.
No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, than guilt followed it.
She might not have been, but Gaetano and Chiara had, and if he and Triela had been there, then maybe...
Finding fingers still digging into the Mercedes' soft leather rim he carefully relaxed his hold, one digit at a time, forcing his attention instead to the weighbridge's bright line on his right, its booths now standing empty, their occupants under the watchful eyes of Fausto and Carlos in Voltri's terminal office. At the entrance, trucks were already starting to queue, their drivers milling around in confusion, waiting to be allowed water-side. No way to get past them without being seen, not in the car. There was nothing he could have done from here, nothing he could have done in time, nothing he could have done without blowing his own cover and throwing his own mission.
But that did not make him feel any less guilty.
Glancing sideways, his eyes rested now on the blond haired form occupying the vehicle's passenger seat, silent and unmoving, staring also at the port entrance. Triela did not like failure, she could not be enjoying this either, despite her lack of expression: and that could mean anything. Even after this long he was still damned if he knew what was going on inside her head half the time.
His earpiece crackled. "Hilshire, Zero Alpha, over."
"Zero Alpha, Hilshire. Go ahead."
"This area's likely going to get hot very shortly, your mission is cancelled. Fall back then make your way home under your own steam."
Beneath his breath, the handler gave a low growl. Not loud enough for the microphone pickup, but Triela glanced his way.
"Will do."
"Good. Zero Alpha, out."
Looking down, he studied again the artist's sketch resting in his lap, barely visible in light from port flood lamps. No, not a sketch: sketches, plural, a collection of descriptions gathered from Massimiliano Anasetti's associates of his supposed recruiter. Not that he really needed them, the gist of what he was searching for committed to memory, but having a reference on hand could not hurt either...
...or it wouldn't have, had the drawings not just been deemed useless tonight. So much for killing two birds with one stone, and with this particular supply line cut, that was one more opportunity to find the man gone.
Folding his paper away, the detective placed it in a door pocket, before reaching forward to start the car.
He never completed the action.
"Hilshire? There."
Triela was pointing through the windscreen and, fingers moving clear of the ignition again, he followed her gesture to where a figure was just rounding the terminal office, walking quickly away from the port without a backward glance. Pausing only a second, the handler reached into his car's rear foot well, lifting out an expensive DSLR camera, high-end telephoto lens affixed to the front, and raised it to his eye, focusing in on the new arrival's face.
"Well spotted, Triela."
In this darkened corner of the park, chances of anyone picking his own presence were minimal, and he fired off shot after shot as his subject stopped beside a heavy BMW touring bike. There would need to be a proper check, but this could very well be their mark, and the timing certainly aided that argument.
Now the figure was fiddling with something up near the bike's handlebars, out of sight behind his body... then the whine of a starter motor and flare of revs filled the night, slowly settling back to a steady boxer-twin throb.
As his new mark pulled on a full face helmet and gloves, sealing them against a bulky brown leather jacket, the handler turned his attention to the bike itself, making sure to record the number plate, before working his way along its visible flank, searching for less easily changed details. Wear on the seat, scuff marks on one cylinder head, it could all be used to help track the vehicle later.
Getting ready to go kept their rider in place for another half minute, until the engine note dropped once again, and Hilshire kept shooting as long as he dared. Eventually however, he was forced to rest the camera in his lap as the bike peeled away, headed for the Via Prà entrance and road beyond, running along Italy's Mediterranean coastline to the north.
"Are you going to follow him?"
Triela's question hung in the air.
Was he?
"No. Any other time we might, but for now we're going to do exactly as Jean says and fall back to Rome while things cool off. They can run the bike and face there."
Right now, suddenly, he was willing to play things safe, and leave the spying to the spies.
From the back seat of her handler's car, Raych stared out the window as they turned off smooth Autostrada tarmac toward the SWA compound, blankly watching dull scenery slip by. How was she supposed to feel right now? She had done well had she not? She had killed three enemies, she had proved her worth, she could do this but...
...but she had let Danilo get hurt. Chiara and Mr. Manfredi were gone, and she had let Danilo get hurt.
She was not supposed to let Danilo get hurt, she was supposed to protect him, to protect the other handlers, protect her sisters, and she had not. She could have done more, she should have done more, she should have protected Danilo... but Danilo had told her to stay in cover. That had been his order, she had done exactly as he said, and he had been hurt because of it. She had followed Danilo's orders to the letter, she could follow instructions, that she had proven, but in doing so... Danilo knew best of course, but she still should not have let him get hurt.
She would not let it happen again, she wouldn't.
Eyes turning from grey hills outside, she instead settled her attention on her handler, sitting silent behind the steering wheel. Though not visible from here, she knew his left leg was trussed up and bandaged, bullet fragments removed and the wound stitched closed to heal on its own. That had been two days ago, and only now had he been cleared to drive back to Rome. She should have taken that hit, put herself between fire and Danilo. She was easier to repair.
Was he disappointed with her? He should be, she had failed, again...
"Umm... Danilo?"
There was a pause.
"Hmm?"
"Umm... I'm sorry, Danilo," she looked down at her hands, "sorry for letting you get hurt."
No answer, just the drumming of tyres on the road. Had she said something wrong? She hoped she had not said something wrong, then...
"Don't be."
"But."
"I said don't be."
"But I was supposed to protect you." The words were mumbled. "I am supposed to protect you, and you got hurt."
Another pause.
"Yes, you are supposed to protect me, but you are also supposed to follow my orders, which you did, and I would prefer it if you continued to do so." Now he sighed. "Sometimes following orders will mean letting me be in danger, and that you are just going to have to learn to live with, but so long as you do what I tell you, there is no need to feel sorry about the consequences. Consequences are for me to worry about, not you."
She opened her mouth again, then stopped.
"Yes, Danilo."
That was what Chiara had said too was it not? Do what her handler said, follow his instructions. Sometimes the mission would require her to be separated from Danilo, to let him walk into danger alone, and there would be nothing she could do about it. That was what Chiara had said, and what Danilo wanted. She would do what Danilo wanted, but...
...but Chiara was not here anymore, and neither was her handler.
Looking back out her window, the cyborg returned her attention to the bleakness beyond. The other girls had said this landscape looked beautiful in the summertime, rolling green fields peppered with trees, but now it was just dead, sliding past as they climbed potholed hill roads toward the Agency compound proper.
Chiara was gone, her friend was gone. She had not been able to help her, not been able to protect her, and that made her feel... nothing. She felt nothing, and that did not feel right. Her friend, possibly her closest friend, was gone. Surely that should have effected her somehow, made her feel something, sadness perhaps, anything, not... nothing, just a yawning emptiness where some emotion should have resided, like she knew its shape, but not how to fill it. So instead she remained empty, the part of her able to grieve hanging just out of reach, leaving her incomplete.
It did not feel right. Was it just her? Or did the other girls, the other cyborgs, feel like this as well: empty, missing a part of themselves?
Ahead, the SWA's main gate slid into view, and she watched silently as Danilo presented his ID to the guard stationed there. Accepting it back after a moment, her handler edged forward to bump over heavy tracks set deep across the asphalt lane beyond, stretching away toward the administration block, lined by evergreen conifers: life in a grey world.
Nothing had changed here, the Agency kept on, as it should, but that also did not seem right.
Chiara was gone. How could everything be so... normal.
Instead of pulling into the main courtyard, Danilo turned down the building's face toward the cyborg dormitory, idling along thick walls until the Lexus rolled to a halt by the colonnade stair.
"Out, C. Raych. Take your gear with you and I will see you in the morning. Five thirty."
Grabbing her bag, the cyborg paused. Danilo was hurt, and he still had their carbines.
"Did you not want me to help you, Danilo? I can help you."
"I'll be fine, go and get some rest."
She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again.
"Yes, Danilo."
Stepping from the car, she turned instead to close the door as his voice wafted out to her once more, barely audible, just as it sealed. "Be glad you don't need to deal with the same problems humans do, C. Raych."
That did not sound like something she was supposed to reply to.
Watching the car until it was out of sight, Raych picked up her bag, climbing now familiar stone steps and turning toward to the dorm's entry. Nothing new on the notice board, did Chiara not even warrant that? Surely there should be something, something to acknowledge what had happened, that she was now gone, otherwise...
...otherwise it would be as if her friend had never existed at all.
Pushing her way into the building's warm interior she paused again. Ahead, Triela was approaching down the generation one corridor, carrying a cardboard box, folded clothes stacked up inside it: a pleated skirt, a black skivvy top...
"Those are Chiara's."
The words were out before Raych even realised she was saying them and, drawing level, the senior girl stopped. "They are. There's no-one in her room anymore, so we have to clear it out. I've been putting it off but... you were friends with her, weren't you?"
The elder girl nodded, staring at the little pile of clothes. She thought she had been Chiara's friend, but had she? Really? Chiara was gone, and yet she felt...
"I am... I was." Raych paused again. "I was, I think, but..."
"But you don't feel sad now that she's gone. Like you want to cry, but the tears won't come, and the only sadness you can feel is for not being able to feel sad." The words were quiet, and Raych nodded again as they continued. "I know, we're all like that. It's the conditioning... sometimes I wonder if the doctors have really done us a favour or not, blocking those emotions."
The last words were bitter, and the elder cyborg looked down again into the meagre box of possessions, a few remains of her former friend.
"You know, I have been putting this off," Triela was speaking again, words accompanied by a sigh, but stronger again, solid against the silence. "Anyone could do it, the staff would be more than happy to, but I prefer to do it myself. Maybe it's just my way of saying goodbye, or making up for those feelings the conditioning has taken from me..." now she looked up at the generation two opposite, giving a small, sad smile, "...would you like to help?"
A pause.
Another glance down.
"Yes. I think I would."