"Silly little girl. You know nothing. Absolutely nothing."
So saying, she walked off, leaving the befuddled Henrietta to her own confusion.
And to wonder why the words 'silly little girl' hurt so much...
Gunslinger Girl
Life Goes On
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl and Noir are not mine. So is the third series I'm introducing.
Chronology: This story is set after the first season of Gunslinger Girl and several years after Noir. It precedes my stories Her Prince Charming and Beautiful Alone.Characters and elements of a third series were adapted to fit into the Gunslinger Girl/Noir timeline.
Inspiration: Inspired by and incorporates elements from Nachtsider's various Gunslinger Girl fan fiction and Deathra's Daddy's Girl. The Noir element is courtesy Sho Tsuzuku and propelled by Soldat #75664 and Barbie's interest. And a little dash of a third series. Despite these, this story is still Gunslinger Girl.
Sixth
Memoria
(Memories)
The tourist easily caught the two lookouts' undue attention. She possessed everything a man could want: long, golden blonde hair, mysterious intelligence in those deep green eyes, a striking face, long legs, sexy body and great breasts. Appreciative, too, blowing a flirty flying kiss their way once she noticed their admiring gazes.
"France sure builds them fine."
"Damn straight!"
They laughed. The blonde –she was Corsican, not French– fondly smiled at them before disappearing into the crowded hotel lobby– but not before spotting, and unobtrusively gesturing to, the person she was looking for.
The young schoolgirl in the less crowded part of the lobby went almost unnoticed throughout her half hour wait. The lookouts briefly noted her somber presence, especially the way she possessively but cutely held on to her Amati violin case while staring at them like the lost little girl she was, before going on to more productive things, like the recent bombshell that passed by. Neither of them swung for kids. The younger man was an expectant father, even.
She spotted the blonde woman immediately. As earlier ordered, an arrangement confirmed by a subtle hand gesture, the girl did not react, waiting a little while longer so as not to be obvious. Ten minutes later, she finally ran off to meet with her partner.
"You ready, 'Etta?"
"Ready, Miss Mireille."
"Final checks, then. And call me Mireille."
"Yes, Mireille."
A Walther P99 came out of the blonde's Gucci shoulder bag and went into a side holster. Her suitcase carried an MP-7 PDW loaded with 4.6x30mm armor-piercing rounds. Her young companion's Amati case revealed a doughty Italian Spectre M4 submachine gun. After checking her primary weapon, the girl then drew the Kahr MK40 strapped to the small of her back, armed it, pulled the slide back to check if there was a round chambered and replaced it in its holster.
Mireille nodded to Henrietta.
"Let's go."
"Roger."
"We've received reports that the CRG is holding a big arms deal with an unknown party. NATO's deep penetration agent sent word that both sides will be holding serious deliberations in this hotel. According to our source, the arms dealers will be bringing certain documents as proof of their merchandise and good faith. NATO itself would move if they weren't so penetrated at a high level. That's why they approached us in secret.
"Our objectives are to capture those documents and, if possible, representatives of both the CRG and the arms dealers for interrogation. Our operatives' safety precedes that of the enemies'. However, if an opportunity to take prisoners arises, take it.
"The support teams will secure the area around the hotel. The Fratello teams will then move in to clear the area. Since the building is expansive and the enemy's entourage large, we will be committing all of our available operatives– including our Childville guests, if they don't mind too much."
Kathryn grinned. "We'll think of it as one big social event."
"Thank you. Continuing, since we will be fighting indoors, our teams will be equipping our assigned CQC weapons. Rico and Meir will provide support from outside. However, sniper weapons will probably not be very effective, so our indoor teams will be mostly on their own. The usual rules apply.
"One final thing. The military's deep penetration agent, codenamed Four, will be there at the meeting. You'll recognize her almost immediately as she is the only woman in the group. Be careful not to shoot her. It wouldn't do for extra-service relations if we kill an important NATO agent by accident."
Everyone chuckled or shook their heads in amusement at that light remark.
"Any questions?" There were none. "Good. Then good luck to all of us."
Blazing muzzle flash and terrible thunder of the Spectre preceding her, Henrietta tumbled out of the corner corridor and onto a partially kneeling position, killing two terrorists before they could react. Mireille gunned down the third, stood guard while her partner quickly reloaded. Once done, she switched places with Henrietta, her MP7 taking point.
It was an old lesson taught by Mireille's uncle, one of her better memories from those destructively driven days so long ago. She perfected the tactic with Kirika, using it with devastating effect during their final assault on Soldats. With Henrietta as her partner, Mireille became unstoppable.
The corridor split without warning. Mireille went left while Henrietta took the passageway on the right. The girl proceeded quickly through her assigned area, encountering no foes but keeping her guard up. Then she heard nearby automatic gunfire. AKs and a submachine gun that sounded somewhat similar to Mireille's MP-7. The thought of her partner in danger galvanized Henrietta into an angry run.
Everything went silent, still.
Two dead men, one splayed against the pockmarked wall, another sprawled upon the floor. Their AK-47s told her they were CRG, the enemy.
Sensing movement behind her, she spun around, finger on the trigger, ready to unload fifty rounds worth of death into the target not five paces away.
Henrietta stared into the muzzle of Claes' MP-5K.
"Hello."
She and Mireille went over the list the day before the meeting, memorizing faces and names. Henrietta did pretty well, needing only a couple of tries before getting them down pat. She wondered why her partner seemed distant.
All Fratello teams were present at the meeting. Per Mireille's instructions from earlier, Henrietta began identifying them. Rico was the blonde girl with boyishly short hair. The tanned Triela tied her longer hair into twin thin ponytails. Wheelchair-bound Angelica wore a cute blue ribbon on her own black mane. Liesel's defining characteristic wasn't so much her facial features but an aura of professional candor.
There were also the two Childville agents, both boys. Henrietta identified Meir by way of his European (Italian, specifically, Mireille curiously noted) features and his being almost always beside Rico. That meant Aharon would be the leaner, darker Israeli.
Finally, this last girl. Long bluish-black hair with flanking hair clips. Grayish-blue eyes. Eyeglasses.
Freda Claes Johansson.
Henrietta wasn't exactly sure why she chose Claes to approach. Maybe it was because she didn't hit it off with Triela at first, the blonde having all but openly threatened Mireille. First impressions did count. If not for that grave offense against her handler, she felt that they might have otherwise gotten along well enough.
She wondered how she guessed that.
"Hello. I'm Henrietta."
The girl didn't even stir."I know."
"Um, okay."
Claes refused to look her in the face while they talked. As if avoiding eye contact. Or denying that she was there, that she was real. Denying that she existed. Like everyone else was doing.
Why?
"Um... Claes? Have… we… met before?"
The dark-haired girl kept staring straight ahead at empty space. "No."
"I… I guess you're right…" Henrietta bowed her head, conceding defeat. "I'm sorry to bother you. I guess it's nothing, really…"
And that was when Claes turned to glare.
"Silly little girl. You know nothing. Absolutely nothing."
So saying, she walked off, leaving the befuddled Henrietta to her own confusion.
And to wonder why the words 'silly little girl' felt so painful...
Both girls lowered their weapons at once.
"Claes?"
That merited a curios tip of the head. "You remembered my name?"
"Of course. Mireille made me memorize everyone's names before the mission." Her smile faded upon noticing the brunette's piercing gaze. "Um, is there anything wrong?"
"Nothing." Beneath her breath, but still audible to Henrietta's enhanced hearing and definitely contributing to the girl's bafflement: "Nothing and everything…"
"Henrietta!"
Mireille was surprised to find her ward with a friend. "You're Claes, right?"
"Yes."
"Have you cleared your sector?"
"Yes." Six bodies, she didn't say.
"Good. Can you back us up?"
"Roger."
They ran. Mireille fought an urge to shudder inwardly. She did look over her shoulder once or twice. Grimly soundless, without a word or feeling, Claes followed.
Just like Kirika.
Again she fingered her right shoulder. Still there. The rough scar tissue from when they fought in those ancient ruins. It never healed quite right, remained the one blemish upon her otherwise fair skin.
Some old wounds never went away.
The enemy was ready for them this time, having the benefit of a warning from the two sentries Claes took down earlier. No less than half a dozen automatic rifles, submachine guns and machine pistols opened up soon as Mireille cautiously poked her head past the wall. She ducked back into the shelter of the T-junction's corner, stuck her Walther out and began firing blindly on the off chance she might hit someone.
Behind her, Henrietta patiently waited.
The MP-5 family of guns hardly made much sound, even when on fully automatic. Claes was even quieter. A ghost, she practically materialized behind the guards, emptying twenty rounds of nine millimeter hollow point into the backs of four unsuspecting men, killing them instantly. The survivors frantically turned. Henrietta saw her chance, darted into the corridor. Her Spectre stuttered, clicked empty, hit the floor. Out came her Kahr. Mireille's Walther lent its smaller brethren roars of support.
Only two out of ten terrorists survived the hail of bullets from both sides, falling back into the room they were just exiting. Shouts of angry alarm sounded. More people inside. The bulk of the CRG delegation was still there.
Henrietta and Claes blockaded the entrance while Mireille radioed in their situation. "'Etta? Got any grenades? None? Claes?"
Both girls shook their heads.
"Damn. It's a stalemate, then." The sound of shattering glass, followed by a yelp of fright and a chirp on the team's radio, corrected her.
"This is Kathryn. We got one. He was trying to get out the window."
"The others?"
"Hiding. We can't get them from here, but we sure gave them something new to think about."
"How many left?"
"Not sure. Maybe six or seven. Meir! There!" Again the Stoner's muted report. "Dang! Missed!"
"Cease fire!" Jean. "Agent Four is inside the room!"
"Roger. Hold your fire, Meir."
Mireille debated her options. Sending Henrietta and Claes in to clear the room was the most obvious and efficient one. Two mechanical bodies were more than enough to eliminate what opposition remained while sparing the NATO undercover agent stuck in the middle of the war zone. Certainly both girls would survive.
But all it took was one look at Henrietta's eager face for her to decide against that.
"She counts the bodies she made for him."
Mireile stared. "She does?"
"Yes. She kept track of them. Like test scores. She really wanted him to be happy with her. Even if people must die, even if she needed to kill people, if only he was happy with her, then she was happy as well. All the girls do it, I believe. Some don't mention it. Some don't notice or care. But they do."
Jean turned. "And she will probably do the same for you."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because it is better for you to know what you're getting into, Mireille, that's why."
And because we don't want another Raballo, he left unsaid.
"Hirscher and Triela are proceeding up the fire escape. ETA is four minutes."
"Good." The blonde junior operative carried a couple of stun grenades. "Kathryn? Soon as they're in position, have Meir and Rico –" the latter sniper just arriving at Kathryn's station "–start laying in their shots through the windows. Keep the enemy pinned until Triela tosses in the flash bang. Then we'll hit them from both sides simultaneously, Triela through the window while we storm the front door."
"Okay. Looks like at least one of them is CRG brass," Kathryn noted.
"Try to take him alive," Jean ordered. "And remember, Agent Four is in there as well. Be careful."
"Roger that."
Manmade thunder erupted from within the room. Two minutes and fifty-four seconds too soon.
"Damn!"
"What the–"
"Miss Mireille!" In her excitement, Henrietta forgot to refer to her handler informally. "Something's happening!"
"What's going on?"
"Hold your fire!" It was a woman's voice. "I've got the situation under control now. We're coming out. Hold your fire. I repeat, hold your fire."
As she gestured for Henrietta and Claes to stand by, Mireille held her breath. Could it be–
Four men trudged out of the room, hands raised in surrender. The fifth and last person to exit the room was a young woman around Mireille's age, a captured Steyr MPP machine pistol leveled at her glum prisoners. She gave the gathered Section Two operatives a snappy salute before tipping her rimless aviator eyeglasses up her nose with a free forefinger.
"Sergeant Major Fiolina Germi, Italian Army Special Operations Branch, NATO Forces' Government Intelligence Agency's 'Sparrow Squad', codename 'Four'." The operative's small smile was one of warm relief. "What took you?"
Sergeant Major Germi –Fio, as she insisted upon everyone– was one of several deep penetration agents who successfully infiltrated the CRG months ago to pave the way for the terrorist group's destruction. Even now, a second operation against the CRG's leadership and main striking arm– a search-and-destroy mission by NATO's elite Sparrow Squad commando team– was coming to a victorious close. By the end of the month, the CRG would be rendered impotent by the combined actions of Section Two and Sparrow Squad.
The preliminary interrogation of the captured terrorists proved both fruitful and, oddly enough, entertaining. A one-way mirror provided an anonymous ringside view of the grim comedy. The terrorist was more battered than the surface of the old wooden table Hirscher was mashing his face into. The German was the very picture of his country's mythical Erlkoënig monster. In contrast, Jean was 'ineffectively' trying to restrain his partner.
"That's enough, Hirscher."
The man let out a flurry of harsh-sounding German oaths, but allowed his compantion to pull him away from his quarry.
"Is he always like this?" Fio, there on request of the military, asked curiously. "Officer Hirscher, I mean?"
"You should see him on bad days," Priscilla told the soldier. "Like, when Triela puts him up to her usual antics."
"Is it just me," and Amadeo sounded rather intimidated, "or is Hirscher taking the 'bad cop' drill too seriously?"
"To the hilt, even," Fio agreed.
"Yeah, but Jean's even funnier, if you think about it. Who'd have thought he makes a really convincing 'good cop'?"
"Never!" Priscilla grinned at their dumbstruck 'guard'. "Well, Triela? What do you think of your Prince Charming?"
The wide-eyed junior operative stared at the sight of her partner terrorizing terrorists. A small gulp escaped her dry throat.
"Scary…"
Flush with the stellar success of their mission, the Fratello teams celebrated (or not) per their individual custom.
The dinner at a posh restaurant was subdued. Triela avoided directly looking into Hirscher's eyes, nodded in absent agreement at every topic broached and all but jumped out of her skin when he asked her to pass him the salt. While he found his junior partner's sudden spate of obedience a relaxing change, he was also a bit disappointed. Somehow, the day didn't feel complete without their squabbling over something.
And I took a leaf out of Giuseppe's book just for tonight. Looks like this routine only works on Henrietta, though. Ugh…
Meanwhile, Triela was trying to erase the diabolic baby-eating mental caricature constructed by her mind's eye for her handler. And failed miserably.
I should shoot myself in the eye for wishing Hirscher having more personality to him. My God, but what the hell was I thinking? I've created a monster, a monster!
Handler and junior operative both started when their gazes met by accident.
"The pasta was good!" Triela hastily assured. "Very good!"
Hirscher almost grimaced. "Oh. Okay. I see."
Ignored were half-eaten plates of fettuccine Alfredo and partially filled glasses of Amaretto.
"Mr. Marco? Could you read the pasta story to me again?"
"Sure. Okay, now where were we last?" He skimmed through the storybook, smiled as he found the page. "Ah. Here we are. When Prince Pasta met Princess Pizza…"
Rico was winded from excitement and running. Jean let her off early in order to meet with the Chief. She immediately went looking for Meir, found Aharon instead in the boys' quarters. He was helpful, though, clueing her to the general whereabouts of his teammate.
"Meir left a while ago. Try Kathryn's quarters. He mentioned he was going to meet with her. I'm sure you'll catch up with him if you run."
She took his advice to heart. Rico ran as fast as she could. Her head felt so light. Her heart thumped like mad, hammering so hard that she almost tripped. But she only giggled at her sudden clumsiness and kept running.
Is this what it means to feel in love?
And there he was. She was about to blurt his name aloud, but realized he wasn't alone.
"But I still think you could have nailed that second guy!" pressed the laughing Kathryn.
Meir laughed as well, even as he raised a hand to 'defend' himself from her playful bop. His handler had never stopped razzing him for his missing his second target during the operation, even mock-threatening to cancel his well-earned reward.
"But I could have hit Miss Germi…"
"Nonsense! She said she never went anywhere near the windows– and besides, you'd have certainly have recognized her as a girl even from that distance. Or are you telling me that you need eyeglasses like Claes?"
"Of course not!" Then he noticed the blonde girl not ten paces away. "Ah! Rico! Kathryn is taking me out to watch a movie. Do you want to come with us? We could ask Jean for permi–"
Without answering, she turned around and walked– no, ran away as quickly as possible.
"Rico? Wait! Rico!"
She wasn't listening or caring. The only thing she could see was Meir's joy at being with his handler. With Kathryn. Not her.
Oh, Meir…
Rico couldn't help but cry.
Her art pencil stopped in mid-stroke at the sound of knocking upon her door.
"Henrietta? Can I come in?"
"Miss Mireille! Oh, yes, please."
The older woman entered. She seemed hesitant, almost shy.
"Henrietta? Would you like to have tea with me?"
She instantly dropped everything in her overjoyed rush to stand up, including the art book. "Yes! I mean, yes, Miss Mireille. I would love to."
"Great. Come along. And call me Mireille."
"Yes, Mireille."
Before they left, Mireille glanced at her ward's abandoned draft. Her smile saddened.
A handsome man stared at the sunset from the balcony of his seaside villa. His smile was kind.
Claes locked the door of her private study room. On the third level of the wall-mounted bookcase, from behind the romance novellas she obsessed over, she withdrew a thin notebook.
The neat, precise handwriting spanning those pages was hers. The words and thoughts contained within were not. She was merely a recorder, a scribe who copied the work of another– and the recipient of that very same work.
It was a journal. The life story of a man who had once been very close with her, long gone, only now remembered.
In a sense, he was her father.
Today, Claes frightened me.
It was during a weapons training sessions. Giuseppe and his mechanical body– Henrietta, that's her name– were there with us. Everything was proceeding fine. Then Henrietta's gun jammed. She made a traditional rookie mistake. Curious, she looked into her gun's barrel while her finger was still on the trigger.
I reacted. I knocked Henrietta down, batted her gun away. Otherwise, the damned thing would have- might have fired, killing her instantly. Giuseppe stepped in. I lost my temper and hit him, calling him a fool for being so lax. I didn't realize that Henrietta saw me hitting Giuseppe. She picked up a table and was about to throw it at me.
Claes jumped in. She put herself between me and Henrietta. And she was about to shoot Henrietta in order to protect me.
I knocked her gun away. Luckily she hit nothing but ceiling and wall. Giuseppe called off Henrietta. We avoided disaster, but only by a small margin. Claes was returned to the hospital for repairs– for brainwashing. Giuseppe managed to keep Henrietta from suffering the same fate.
He really is stronger than everyone gives him credit for.
As I think about that incident, I realize what an old and useless fart I am. And how much Claes frightened me. She was willing to kill anyone and everyone if I was in danger. I don't know how to control that kind of automatic killing instinct.
And I worry. I worry for her. She's a good girl. She doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. She ought to be living a perfectly normal life instead of being made to kill people, like she was a weapon and not a–
Claes blinked. Her glasses were all misty. Her eyes were wet. Removing them, she spotted blots upon the last lines and wondered.
Perspiration? No. Tears? Was I crying? When did I begin crying?
She didn't ask why. She only knew she remembered.
She remembered.
She remembered him.
"Sir Raballo…"
"The operation was an unqualified success, Chief," Jean reported.
"And Henrietta's performance?"
"Excellent."
"I see. Her reconditioning was worth it, then."
"Yes. Yes, it was."
"I understand Miss Bouquet took command of the operation towards the end?"
"Yes. She was in the best position to do so. It was a good call on her part. She did very well."
"Your choice of her as Henrietta's new partner was prescient."
"Luck of the draw."
"Being modest, are we, Jean?" When he only nodded, Lorenzo continued, "Anything new?"
"One of Section One's commando teams was wiped out yesterday. They lost ten mean, two complete squads."
Such news would have been cause for secret celebration a year ago. There was no love lost between the two organizations. Section One resented its upstart, unconventional sibling's success, doing everything they could to hinder Section Two short of a direct military assault on the latter's personnel and base.
But things were different now. Draghi was dead for almost a year now. An old friend of sorts replaced him. Though rather full of himself due his major promotion and recent marriage, acting Section One Chief Pietro Fermi was an affable man, very helpful and friendly. Section Two had Giuseppe and Henrietta to thank for the current reign of relative peace.
And look how we thank them, Jean bitterly thought. We bury my brother with honors, but give Henrietta over to a stranger.
Gratitude is a disease of the dogs, indeed.
"What happened?"
"They don't know for sure. It was supposed to be a relatively easy mission. The targets were not especially well-armed or trained. Certainly they possessed neither the capability to effectively resist a raid or any reason to expect one."
"Do we know anything Section One doesn't?"
"Only hearsay, nothing solid."
"Hearsay?"
"That the commandos were wiped out by a single person."
The room went silent.
"It was a young boy," was Jean's dark addition.
A strange dread began to build within the Chief's office. "How young?"
"Perhaps twelve or thirteen."
"That is news," Lorenzo finally murmured.
Both men knew what that could have– did mean.
Massi and Bianchi arrived. The latter bore a thin stack of documents. Both men were grim.
"Bad news, Chief, Jean." While Massi talked, Bianchi handed his superiors the papers he carried. "These are copies of documents we captured from the CRG and arms dealers. It's something we've suspected for a while, but never really confirmed until–"
Jean stared.
There was no mistake. He was no technician or scientist, but he recognized the depicted weapon system. He should. After all, he was intimately connected with their development and production, currently commanded a number of them, and was personally responsible for one such unit.
In his hands were plans for a mechanical body.
This boy has a mechanical body. But he is still a thirteen year old child. Next on Life Goes On Il Ragazzo (Young Boy)