A/N: I'm sorry for the lateness of the update but sometimes real life gets in the way, you know? Anyway, I don't really have anything to say outside of the usual disclaimers - I don't own anything, by the way. I also want to thank not just the reviewers, even though you guys and gals rock, but also the people who have been favoriting and subscribing. It's always nice to know people enjoy something that you pour so much of your passion into. So now that thats out of the way, ON WITH THE SHOW!
You've got to find your balance, you've got to realize
You've got to try to find what's right before your eyes. – Finger Eleven
"Young Rand," the elderly man began as he walked with a student down the hallway, "You have shown remarkable aptitude in the Druid Arts. And you have been granted entry to our home, so that it may become yours as well and you may live up to your tremendous potential."
"Thank you, Master Drefuus,"the young boy bowed slightly to the older man, the gesture was almost totally hidden by his enveloping robes.
"It will be difficult, Rand."
"Anything worth having is."
"True youngling, true." The older gentleman was impressed with the wisdom and restraint possessed by this young boy, not yet in his twelfth year. "We push our students hard here; many do not make it passed their first year with us. And they are many years your senior."
"They do not possess my drive, sir."
"But they do, young one. If anything you only outweigh them with your potential, but they have several years experience to aid them in their studies and training. You will have to learn quickly, you will be pushed harder than anyone here. Because a special allowance has been made for you to study. Everyone will wish to test you, teachers and fellow students alike will wish to see what makes you so special."
"Then I had better be prepared to show them, hadn't I?" the boy said with confidence that far outweighed his eleven and a half years.
"That you shall, youngling." The older man said with a chuckle.
"Excuse me master, I must attend to my studies." The boy said as he came to a stop in the stone hallway that was sparsely populated by silent robed figures.
"You are excused young one. Happy learning."
"Thank you Master." And the young boy pulled his hood over his mop of dusty blonde hair and vanished into the mass of hooded figures in the hall with only his comparative lack of height to set him apart.
Everything came into sharp focus and with a few quick steps Raziel was able to get his feet back under him before the occurrence of what would have been an unpleasant meeting with the ground.
"Razz, you alright?" Michaels asked as he put his arm around Raziel to try and hold him upright.
"Yeah. It's just the adrenalin wearing off, you know?" he lied as he shrugged off his concerned superior.
"Yeah, man, I hear you. But look at it this way: We've survived, and won, our first real military engagement. We're soldiers now!" Michaels almost couldn't finish the thought because a giddy laugh had forced its way past his lips; most likely caused by thoughts of celebration and the lessening of adrenalin that had recently been flowing so freely just moments ago.
"I'd hate to burst your bubble sir, but we still have to finish our placement training," Raziel deadpanned.
Michaels' face lost all expression of joy as the stark reality of a bleak future came crashing back down, "You're an asshole."
"Yes sir." His mouth twitched, and after a brief snort both men were laughing like idiots, as was the rest of the platoon for one reason or another. The trip back to base with the scavenged equipment went relatively quickly with the raised spirits of the men, not quite realizing that the mounds in the back of the lead pickup, covered by borrowed blankets, were the corpses of fallen comrades; killed in the initial barrage, their lives snuffed out before they could defend themselves. They sank back into reality as Harland Base came into view over the last hill.
The once proud and invincible looking fortress stood decimated as fires raged and buildings continued to collapse. Walls were broken and crumbling, smoke and flames still leapt into the air from raging fires and men ran about trying to separate the dead from the wounded and get them medical attention, seeming oblivious to the acrid stench of burning flesh that assaulted the newcomers. All remaining thought of celebration left them as they were sent to relieve the men who had been on guard duty since before the fighting started, their own skirmish overlooked in the face of the larger tragedy. Because of the size of their platoon they were self contained; patrolling the perimeter, scouting the surrounding area and acting as relief. They didn't get debriefed for close to a week.
"Razz." A tap on the shoulder.
"Razz." More insistent this time, a gentle shake.
"Raziel." An eyelid pried open.
"Raz-"
"I'm awake," the young man in question snapped, "I haven't had a good night's sleep in over two months, I've been awake almost for the entirety of the last three days and I can't remember the last time I closed my eyes and didn't hear incoming artillery fire and the dying screams of my friends but I am awake. So I hope you have a good reason for waking me." Raziel stormed before adding, "Sir."
"... The best I can come up with is that Major Paine wants to see you." Lt' Michaels said after making a show of thinking real hard.
"Nothing but bad news, sir," Raziel said as he dropped out of his top bunk in the barracks, half full of still sleeping soldiers. "That's all you ever have for me is bad news. Very unfriendly," he added with a smile on his face that was swiftly hidden as he pulled a simple white tee shirt over his head before donning and buttoning his fatigue shirt. A little less than six minutes later he was standing at ease in front of the make-shift desk of Major Jonathan Paine, in the middle of what was left of the chow hall.
"Private Raziel," the imposing man began from behind a moustache that would no doubt look 'walrus-y' were it not for his strict adherence to military grooming protocol.
"Yes, sir?" Raziel asked, hoping to move the meeting along so he could get a little more bunk time before going back on patrol.
"Private Michaels tells me that you were involved in a skirmish with one of the artillery guns that were bombarding us, and that you captured it and used it to kill several of the other guns that were bombarding us." The nearly white haired man stated, doing a fairly good job of summing up the encounter, except that he got the Lieutenant's rank wrong but Raziel decided not to bring it up just now.
"Myself and the rest of the platoon, yes sir."
"I understand that, but the Private tells me that when the initial barrage struck your convoy he fell into hysterics, whereas you took the reins like an experienced combat leader."
"Yes sir, the Lieutenant was having a hard time coping with the reality of the situation." He laced extra emphasis on Michaels' rank so that the Major might pick up his error.
"And you weren't?"
"No, sir, I was. Somehow it just didn't cloud my training." He only partially lied; sure he'd gone into battle, so to speak, with both Batman and the Titans, he'd even been fired upon, but somehow it never seemed like the villains were trying to kill you. Especially in Jump.
"Which is why I'm promoting you." the Major stated.
"Sir?"
"You will essentially be taking Michaels' place as Company leader; responsible for training and deployment of your men on the missions you will encounter."
"What about the Lieutenant, sir?" Raziel asked.
"He will be demoted." Upon seeing the slightly confused and distressed look on Raziel's face the older man elaborated. "Both his own demotion and your promotion were his suggestions, son. And I agreed with him. You are a better man to lead the men; you have mettle and a good head on your shoulders and the men respect you."
"Thank you sir," Raziel came to attention and snapped a sharp salute.
"You earned it, son." The white haired man returned the salute form where he sat. "Now, onto important business." He took a moment to shift through some paperwork, and find Raziel the Bars that signified his new rank, before beginning anew.
"The enemy has begun intensifying their siege of our borders and troops at Bastoq are requesting reinforcements. Because they are holding the line just a half kilometre from the town of Bastoq, we have decided to honour their requests. You and your company ship out in two hours. Bastoq is the only place in our country that borders the sea-way, it has significant strategic importance and the Russians hope to cripple our western defences by taking away that supply route." the man explained.
"A question, sir?" Raziel asked, then continued upon receiving permission. "We technically aren't out of training yet, sir. We don't even have a company designation." Raziel informed him.
"I know that but based on your performance the other day you have a solid grasp of combat and unit cohesion. And as for your training," he looked into another folder. "All that is left is specific duty training, and that can be done just as effectively in the field as it can here." He flipped a page in the folder and continued, "According to this, yours is the eighteenth full company to leave this base, which means that your company designation would begin with the letter 'R'. Any suggestions?"
"How about Reaper, sir?" Raziel asked, thinking back to their unorthodox attach of the artillery encampment.
"Reaper, like Grim Reaper; Harbinger of Death. It'll raise an ominous association in the minds of our enemies. I like it." the man proclaimed with a slightly cocky smirk on his aged features. Realizing he still hadn't presented Raziel with his Lieutenant's bar's the Major stood up and came around the desk, aided by a polished cane, and pinned the little gold bar's to the collar of Raziel's shirt and handed him a small case containing the appropriate shoulder patches before exchanging a final salute and going back to the business of getting the base up and running again, waiting until Raziel was gone before he called down to the supply shack and told them to fashion some Grim Reaper inspired company emblems. Raziel turned sharply on his heel and left the Major to his work.
From afar, coming down the mountain, Raziel could see smoke and crumpled buildings on the edge of town furthest from where they approached and what looked like an active sea port on the side closest, along the river and farthest away from enemy fire. Given the advantage of elevation he could even see where friendly troops had drawn the line to defend the port-town, just on this side of a river that looked like it could almost be called a lake, and where the enemy had set up their own fortifications. The Russians, with their larger force and greater cache of supplies, occasionally fired over a small barrage of artillery just to keep the Mordozan's heads down and hopefully wear down their morale. From what he could tell of the Russian firing pattern, they were actively trying to avoid hitting the town, while also attempting to wipe the opposing army from existence.
Cheers could be heard as the convoy approached the town, the people happy that more troops had come specifically to protect them from the enemy. Raziel felt like he was Santa Clause in the annual Christmas day parade, waving and cheering and trying his best to look like he deserved their admiration and praise, just like the rest of the company was doing.
"You're already heroes to them." a man said as he approached Raziel and his men, separated from their transports so that the weapons and supplies they were riding with could be distributed. The insignia on the man's collar denoted him as a Captain.
"I got that feeling also, sir," Raziel said as he snapped to attention and gave a smart salute, purposely keeping his voice indifferent.
"Wonder how I finally got on the Major's good side?" the man asked rhetorically with a knowing smirk. When Raziel asked for clarification he added, "Last time I requested more men I was told that things were tough all around, and that if my platoon wasn't full of such babies we would be pushing into enemy territory already. Awfully nice of him to finally send us some reinforcements. What's your company specialize in?" the Captain, Donald Forrest, asked.
"Fighting, sir." Raziel answered simply as he followed the Captain to the offices to get everything sorted out, the men were already being shown around the encampment.
"Very funny, Lieutenant," the Captain said, slightly losing his sunny demeanour, "We all specialize in fighting."
"I guess you could say that we specialize in infiltration and psychological warfare."
"I could say?" the older man asked around a grape cigar that he had shoved into his mouth upon reaching the confines of his similarly scented office.
"We've only seen action on one previous occasion. Our convoy was attacked by artillery fire on our way back from leave, we had just finished basic training."
"You haven't even been trained yet? I knew it was too good to be true," the man fumed, then he collected himself and said, "Tell me about your engagement."
"We were riding back from Antillis, through the woods approaching the mountain when our convoy was struck by artillery fire. Some Russians had snuck in with cannons and troops to defend them. Their plan seemed to be to demolish the training facility and then strike the frontlines from both sides. We made our way up the mountain on foot and dug in about a hundred and fifty yards from the enemy's defensive perimeter."
"Ok, then what?" the Captain asked as he took notes.
"We tore up our blankets to make night cammo for half the men and went in after dark and took out the roving sentries and made our way behind the encampment. We drew their attention by approaching from the forest at their rear, dressed as approximations of Grim Reapers, and kept their attention long enough for everyone else to get over their defences and kill them all. Total casualties were three, sustained during the initial assault on our convoy. There were also minor injuries amongst our ranks." Raziel finished.
"Interesting tactics, Lieutenant," the man said, hinting that he was somewhat impressed. "What made you think to utilise such theatrics?"
"Necessity, sir. I thought that if the enemy saw soldiers coming they would just kill us and be done with it. The disguises bought us the element of surprise and the time necessary to capitalise on it."
Shortly after his meeting with Captain Forrest, Raziel was making his way around the nearest section of town. It was within range of enemy fire, so the army had commandeered it for military use. It was just after six in the evening when he got his room sorted out and met up with some of the men he'd trained with. They invited him along to one of the eateries not so far away; Frosia's, one of the many places where soldiers and officers went for food and drink. Frosia's was a favourite because it was also frequented by civilians. He explained that he just needed something to eat before grabbing some bunk time but they eventually roped him into it, saying that it would be a good way to get the lay of the land and get to know the area. The mention of girls being there didn't hinder the allure either.
Raziel joined Ramirez and O'Malley and they met up with a few other soldiers, who were already stationed at the base, but to everyone's slight disappointment, the room was mostly populated by fellow soldiers with the exception of the matronly bar owner and her two young daughters. One of the other men tried flirting a little with the eldest daughter, for whom the eatery was named, as she bought him his beer but a glare from Raziel, his superior, shut down that particular avenue for the foreseeable future.
They chatted as they ate; trading stories and jokes in equal measure. Raziel continued his habit of using his time with the Titans as a basis for his stories and then obscuring the details slightly so that no one would know he used to wear spandex and armour and leap off of buildings, or that his best friends were a young man who was roughly half machine, a green shape-shifter and a half-demon Mage. Or that he had a 'brother' who could run from America to China for authentic Chinese food and be back before it had cooled off. Or that his girlfriend had been an incredibly beautiful alien princess with fiery red hair and sparkling green eyes.
He was almost over come by the urge to go home then, to see his friends and kiss Koriand'r and tell her everything she'd been dying to hear from him. It would be easy. Short of some of the Demi-Gods in the League, no one on this Earth could stop him from doing as he so desired. The only problem would be Slade, but chances were that he could get back to Jump City and then get help in dealing with the man who would be his master.
Ultimately he decided to stay and it broke his heart but he was a hero and he could do some real good here; save a lot of lives, especially if he ended the war like Slade told him to. But there was another reason: Fear. He wouldn't admit it except in the darkest, most private parts of his mind but he feared the man and not just for the physical and psychological torment he could no doubt bring down upon him. He had just recently found out that Slade had survived the encounter with Trigon and in all that time he could have done any number of things: used more Nanites on the Titans, or Batman, or Barbra. Or perhaps he set up some sort of poison gas dispersion system that could kill an entire city should Slade activate it.
He shook those disturbing thoughts out of his mind but the longing ache didn't leave his heart so easily. He barely heard the other men leave, saying they had to be up at 0200 to sneak into enemy territory and try blow their base to hell. O'Malley turned to him.
"Razz, are you OK man?" he asked with hushed tones. "You look like you're about to have a break down all over your fried chicken."
"Yeah man," he answered demurely, "Just thinking of home, you know?"
"I hear you man," he answered with a sigh. "My girlfriend sends me pictures and videos and stuff but it isn't the same."
"I don't even get that," he said, letting his facade crack just a little, "I was going to school in the states and one of my friends thought it would be funny for me to end up in Mardasa instead of Palm Beach for spring break. I fell asleep on the plane and by the time I realized I wasn't even in the States anymore, I was already fleeing a search party and the Airport wouldn't let me back in. Last I heard they were told I'd died."
"Fuck," the darker skinned man let out a breath before shouting for a bottle of whiskey, assuring Raziel that as long as he drank a bunch of water before going to sleep that the alcohol would both dull the pain and help him sleep, the water taking care of his potential hang over. Raziel shrugged and tipped the shot glass back, the brackish liquid causing him to cough as it burned its way past his throat and into his stomach.
A/N2: Well there goes another update and for some reason I feel unusually proud of this particular chapter, so I hope you guys like it as well. Big thanks to the DarkPrince for his epic beta services. Remember to read and review!!