Original story based on and including characters and material created by Project Aces for Namco Bandai. The author claims no for-profit ownership over them.
In A Blaze of Glory (Soldier)
Chapter 8: When The Party's Over
"Teamwork is essential, it gives them other people to shoot at."— Unknown
KZRD-5 Las Violas Evening News
15 November 2010
5:30pm Broadcast
It was only three months ago when the 5th Street Piroshky in Ellington was the talk of the town, receiving a "Best International Food" award from the Las Violas Times and customers from all walks of life. Today, however, Misha is placing plywood over his windows and sweeping up broken glass.
"They smash my windows. They call me a terrorist, all kinds of names. But what did I do? How did I terrorize them? Why am I the enemy now?"
Misha's restaurant is yet another victim of a wave of vandalism and other hate crimes plaguing the Yuktobanian immigrant community both in Las Violas and elsewhere in San Adrian since the outbreak of the conflict last September. The LVPD have reported a sharp spike in reported incidents following the deadly terrorist attacks last week.
"We would like to make it clear that hate crimes of any kind are not tolerated under our jurisdiction, and that we are working with the community to apprehend and prosecute those responsible."
But the increased police presence has only deepened suspicion in the Yuktobanian immigrant community. Although community leaders have repeatedly offered the 5th Street Piroshky and other businesses neighborhood watch and extra security, Misha has turned them all down.
"These police and neighborhood watchmen are the same people that destroyed my restaurant. What if they demand protection money and still come back anyway? My mother cannot take the extra stress."
Their suspicions seem to be justified by the arrest of a number of alleged vandals, one of whom was identified as a member of a neighborhood watch group in Eaglewood. But there are more out there, and Misha knows the business is not safe until the violence dies down.
For now, the 5th Street Piroshky will be closed until the windows can be replaced. While he has come to distrust the community that his family lived in for generations, he still has hope that things will improve.
"As long as this war goes on, people will find a reason to hate my family. I hope it ends soon."
Larissa Gomez, KZRD-5 in Ellington.
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
15 November 2010
2222 hrs.
With no more assignments in my inbox for the time being, and nothing else to do until I received one, I decided to try finishing the assignment I was supposed to complete when I got here.
"How did you meet Captain Bartlett?"
That said, with my main subject still officially MIA, I decided to complete it by proxy.
The base was throwing a party to commemorate their squadrons' latest success, which would put almost everyone that knew him in an interviewing mood.
This included the base's top mechanic.
A records check showed that Pops and Bartlett had been part of an Osean squadron in an expeditionary force sent to bolster Ustio after its air force had been mostly destroyed by the Belkans. But they were also brought in about the same time that Ustio contracted an entire air division full of mercenaries - the Demon Lord included.
When his squadron suffered a high attrition rate at the hands of the Belkans it was folded into an "international air unit" along with a similarly-decimated Yuktobanian squadron. As the Yuktobanians made it a habit to keep an close eye on collaborative ventures with their rivals, they assigned a political officer to the unit that happened to be the same Spetsnaz major he would later have a fling with.
The rest, according to Pops, was history.
"We were shot down and we bailed out behind enemy lines during the last war. We made it through the bullet-ridden battlefield and made it back to the allied front line. I tell you, it was tough getting the Army to believe we were on their side."
Although the determination in his voice made it sound like he rehearsed that line, it was an answer I could believe. Another check revealed that Peter Beagle was a long-time veteran of the Air Force of Osea, and a veteran of the Osean-UEV coalition during the Verusean Gulf War in the late 80s.
"Shot down? You two?"
The notion that Pops could have gotten shot down before was difficult to believe. After all he had managed to weave a cargo plane out of Sand Island under a massive dogfight against Yuktobanian fighters that saw LTC Ford's transport as just another easy target. And from what I'd heard, Bartlett had only gone down because he'd swiped the tracking of a missile meant for Nagase.
For him to manage that under the most pressing of circumstances almost certainly indicated he was more skilled than he looked in his advanced age.
"Hey, it was a long time ago," he shrugged. "Everybody makes mistakes, right?"
"Oh no, I didn't mean it that way...even if you're not flying with those pilots, your age and experience provide a lot of support for all of them. I just wanted to tell you that."
Soon even I began to speak from whatever experience I had.
"I've seen that you really listen to what they say, and you always have helpful suggestions for them."
"Well thank you."
After all, I had been living with them for two months already. That made me a part of their family, with all the stories that came with it. Stories that wouldn't quite sway millions of readers, stories that wouldn't quite win awards.
"I think they're going to need your help, now more than ever..."
Stories still being written, and stories of being human.
"Okay."
And that was a curse as well as a blessing. They may have been the OADF's greatest weapon, but they were still human. Edge might have been able to keep her cool, but with Grimm accelerated up the ranks, Chopper feuding with other squadrons and Villa's acid tongue getting sharper by the day there was no telling how their unit cohesion would fare.
"These people...It's like they're walking on a tightrope that could snap at any second. And they're going to reach their breaking point sooner or later."
"Yeah..." Pops' attention was suddenly diverted to the crowd, which had suddenly turned from celebratory to angry.
I quickly stopped the recording as the two of us got closer, where a circle had been formed around some kind of commotion in the middle. I couldn't see what was going on, so I was forced to raise the camera and angle the viewfinder so I could get a better view of the middle.
One of Venom's pilots - Donny Stryker or Ross Landry from the look of things - had been knocked to the ground, apparently by someone who was screaming at him.
"You say that to my face again, you little shit! Come on!" Chopper was raring for another shot as Blaze and Grimm tried to hold him back.
A pair of MPs had arrived to divide the crowd as another of Venom's pilots stepped up to try to drag Stryker to safety.
The story of how allied squadrons would come to blows at that point was one of the hardest to write. Yet as I found myself staring aghast at the scene, it wasn't that hard to figure out.
1LT Ricardo Villa
Razgriz Straits
122 mi. WSW of Hvarci Island, Estovakia
14 November 2010
0920 hrs.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell, the advisor to HQ. That picket sub just sent an enemy-detection notice. The Hrimfaxi s gonna dive in one minute. Attack immediately!"
My efforts to stay awake during the trip around Estovakia weren't helped by my F-16's inability to pick up Estovakian military radio or Chopper's attempts at stand-up. The anticipation of destroying a monster sub that could flick me and my team into oblivion with a single missile wasn't as intense the second time around.
"Hey, our cover's blown anyway. I'm gonna start talking now!"
Dropping to cherubs nine and following the glaciers to the giant bullseye on our radar didn't help either, even when the ice was moving relatively faster below my plane's underbelly.
"You do that. Maybe they'll focus fire on you just so you don't clog their airwaves," I joked.
Getting through the picket submarines deployed all around the Hrimfaxi s perimeter was no problem because they didn t shoot back. All four of us would have to be blind just to miss the single blip in the center of the ring that marked the Hrimfaxi.
I just hoped we would actually make it from the outer coating to the creamy center in time. Even if we were damn close to shattering an iceberg with a sonic boom, the picket subs orbited several miles from the target they protected.
"30 seconds to Hrimfaxi dive!"
"Penguins hot!" I ordered, "Steady as she goes!"
To be completely honest, breaking radio silence above the icy straits of Estovakia was about the first genuinely exciting thing to happen during the whole trip.
"Aye aye, cap'n!" Chopper echoed.
HQ had been a little more thoughtful when it came to our payload this time around, in the sense that they no longer had to worry about providing for support on either side.
Today our Falcons packed Penguin missiles designed by the eggheads from the Kingdom of Nordennavic. The small semi-island nation loved to proclaim that it was the Wellow of the East now that the Cold War was supposed to be over, but everyone also knew that they would still back the Crown over the Communists if push came to shove.
Same shit different day times three, but as long as it directly helped us I could let it slide.
My HMD beeped enthusiastically as the system drew a bead on the monster sub. All it needed now was my approval.
"Penguins out! Go go go!" I ordered, and with a push of the button a pair of anti-sea missiles joined the rest of the flock in a beeline to their designated mating grounds.
There was no way something so large could evade eight Penguin missiles. I just hoped the first barrage would actually affect it.
"Boom, baby!" I clenched a fist in albeit premature victory as we buzzed the chorus of explosions erupting from the Hrimfaxi s bulk.
Or at least what remained of it above the surface, as it completed its dive to put out the sick fires we had caused.
"Damage status on enemy sub unknown!" Nagase confirmed.
"No shit we didn't sink it," I muttered as I pulled up to circle its last known. "We didn't even get to play with its little friends yet. HQ, confirm damage status."
"HQ to Wardog. Satellite monitoring indicates you damaged the Hrimfaxi's cruise missile ducts. They'll have to surface to launch their missiles, we'll keep you posted."
"Fine by me, I've got plenty of fuel left," I snarled frustratingly.
The fact that we forced it to fight us face-to-face was good enough news that I didn't have to ask for the bad news.
"The Hrimfaxi's antenna has appeared above water. It's surfacing!"
The Hrimfaxi came back up to the surface swinging, launching a flock of armed UAVs and a burst missile for flavor. The drones quickly started spreading out though, their operators clearly not stupid enough to get them caught in the range of the missile they launched with.
"Time your attacks to hit the Hrimfaxi as it surfaces. Sink it before it deals any more damage to our ground forces with its missiles!"
"Break, break! What, no Freestyles?" I taunted, pulling my plane upward as we dispersed once again.
"They're lighter and more nimble than fighters. Captain, what do you recommend?" Edge queried.
Lighter, nimbler and much more disposable with much less guilt.
"Chopper and I will go for the sub. Edge, take Grimm and keep those UAVs off our asses. Switch roles if that thing tries to dive again."
"Good plan, kid!" Chopper concurred. "Let's do this!"
"Copy that, Captain. Switching to air-to-air missiles."
Plans being what they were, I had barely gotten the wwhale back into my sights before one of the drones got their sights on me. My reflexes kicked in right before the rest of the HMD went red, and I banked hard up and to the left to avoid an incoming Arrow.
"Motherfucking- They must've heard me?" As poor a joke as it was, I was fortunate my other squad members didn't hear it as I dumped countermeasures.
"I got this one captain!" Grimm shouted, my radar showing the drone sandwiched between the two of us but still hanging close.
"Just like old times," I replied, as I eased my Falcon back toward the ocean, "I'll keep 'er steady for you but don't take too long."
"Roger!" Grimm was almost as enthusiastic as Shadow was. "Easy now..."
If only his aim had caught up. A Sidewinder whizzed past my cockpit as the drone had barely gotten missile lock on me.
"Holy Jesus, what the hell was that!?" I shouted, leveling out and back into a climb again.
"Sorry, captain!" he pleaded. "Damn these drones are good..."
"No, you just suck..." I muttered, again with my intercom off as I approached the cloud bank. The drone kept close, matching me boost for boost.
Now it was time to see if he could match brake for brake.
A desperate spray of chain gun rounds flashed into view as I jammed the airbrake and pulled a corkscrew.
The moment the drone appeared from under my rapidly-rotating fuselage I sent some vulcan rounds of my own after it, clipping its wings good and tidy.
As it happened, Grimm had also followed it upward, and he also quickly overshot both me and what used to be several million rubles of advanced Yuktobanian unmanned combat technology.
"That's how you do it, Archer. Now where's that whale?"
I winced as I checked my radar. I could pick out the fast-moving drones, and my three teammates, but no Hrimfaxi to be found.
"Sonofabitch dived," I muttered before getting back on the horn. "How you guys holding up?"
"Got a hit or two in, kid," Chopper replied. "It's loaded with anti-aircraft defenses but I thinned 'em out good!"
"Good work. I'm switching you in for Archer when that thing comes back up for air."
"Burst missile impact in 10 seconds! Estimated impact range angels 2 through 5!"
"You know the drill folks," I sighed, pressing the Falcon toward the icy straits. "Hit the floor or the clouds and get ready to Foxtrot Sierra up when it shows its face again."
The flash of the first burst missile explosion I'd experienced in a few months didn't surprise me, not with Thunderhead's countdown timing it for me. The drones also used that opportunity to scatter as well, giving me a precious few seconds to check my radar with squinted eyes.
"Thar she blows," I announced to myself as a new blip showed up on the radar.
And, like clockwork, the circling drones funneled right back into the grand icy arena after me before I could even get a lock on the easiest target in the world.
"They're all coming right for you, Captain!" Edge shouted.
Suddenly it wasn't just my HMD lighting up. I could feel my cheeks tensing in a smile as I dumped flares and broke to my left to avoid another set of drone gunfire.
"Blaze, you've got several UAVs on your tail!" Grimm pleaded.
"Yeah, I think I can hear them just fine!" Or rather, my HUD frantically screaming that they had a missile lock. "New plan, the three of you light up the sub. I've got an idea."
"Captain, are you crazy!?" I was surprised that Grimm was still surprised.
"S'why I'm still alive, guys," I chuckled in the midst of another successful brake-and-barrel-roll drone kill. "Come on. Just keep that big w-whale busy while I take its babies for a ride."
After another few seconds of dodging bullets and wondering why i'd stuttered all of a sudden, someone finally worked up the courage to agree. Sort of. "You're not going to do it alone, Captain," Edge added.
"Just like last time," I said to myself. It wasn't like it was the first time for the both of us. Taking on a swarm of enemies at once, that is. The only difference was that we'd be dead in minutes if we punched out into these icy waters. "Just try not to kill too many of them, eh?"
"Burst missile inbound! Impact range estimated below angels five!"
My impromptu game of gazelle-and-lionesses took me directly over the Hrimfaxi, which was clearly as busy trying to keep the fires from spreading as they were trying to keep us from hitting it. Neither of which it was doing particularly well.
Not that any of it would matter if I wasn't around to see it.
"No hitting the floor? Fine by me." I chuckled darkly.
"Come on kid, climb!" Chopper was going to feel pretty bad if I died a hypocrite for bossing most of my team to climb the last time we took on a monster sub and its burst missiles.
"9...8...7...6..."
"Gimme a sec!" I shouted. Five seconds was about as long as I had before I did die a hypocrite.
I could barely hear the countdown over all the beeps and sirens emanating from my console. I pulled back on the flight stick and gunned the afterburners. The missile lock turned into an incoming missile alert as I pierced right into the burst missile's impact range.
"Almost there..." I could almost have sworn that a warhead had passed only a few feet over the canopy at a combined speed breaking the sound barrier.
"5...4...3...impact now!"
At that moment I thought my F-16 would be hurtled upward into space from the force of the explosion only a few hundred feet below me. With the explosion behind me, I watched the HUD clearing up, indicating a few hundred millions of rubles' more in experimental technology had been turned into molten confetti.
THe loud rumble also seemed to drown out every other piece of background noise other than that faint ringing in my ears that I could only hear in complete silence.
"Blaze!" Edge called out, "Are you okay?"
But the mere fact that I could still sense anything meant that I was still alive and fueled by the sheer thrill of karma being an angry pimp wanting his money from a customer that went a little too far.
"What? I can't hear you."
"What are you doing!? Attack you idiots! Are you just going to let them destroy our ground forces!?" Not that Commander Mitchell was gonna wait for his payday loan from the goddamn Moneytree.
I jammed the airbrakes and pulled up, letting the plane stall for my favorite maneuver. My organs reoriented themselves, my adrenal glands pumping like an oil spill.
"Edge...I'm just freaking peachy." I smiled, glaring down at my target beyond the familiar green glow of the HMD.
The faint jets of water spewing from the Hrimfaxi's side wasn't just some futile attempt at fire control. It was about to pull another dive, and I wasn't going to let it.
I set two of my three remaining Penguins to deploy at the same time, and the HMD began to glow faintly red with target locks: the Hrimfaxi's remaining anti-air batteries locking onto me, and my own missiles locking onto them.
Or maybe it was the red mist of exhilaration building in my eyes.
Same shit, different day, to the power of a motherfucking hypercube.
"Surprise, motherfucker!"
Albert Genette
Sand Island AFB, Osea
Later that Afternoon
"Albert, you did a good job out there."
"Uh, thanks."
My regular check-in with the Journal had begun better than the last one. For one, my bureau chief was actually pleased. But his congratulations didn't feel as gratifying as it should have.
"No really, we mean it. Our unnamed soldier's story is boosting our subscription rates among Weazel News' favorite demographics."
I smiled softly and chuckled a bit as I looked out the rec room's window. Clouds had been gathering, mixing in with a sun about to set the sky on fire with twilight.
"Yeah, thanks I guess."
As much as I knew my last article was little more than propaganda, it was relieving to know our relatively cooler heads were quite possibly putting Weazel News' parent company on notice among their native audiences. At least we kept our policy of redacting names for the safety of our forces abroad.
"By the way, we got a little message yesterday from a Kronus International Security Company."
"Damn." I had almost forgotten how fast news travelled. I reflexively checked my desk for the USB flash drive that I d gotten along with the now-destroyed camera only to quickly remember that Pops still had it. "It's, uh...already been taken care of."
"Yeah, they told us as much. But Albert, for the sake of doing what it tells us we can't actually have you taking these unnecessary risks. We know you're trying to be investigative but-"
"Sure, okay," I sighed. "Look, I'm just worried about...some things I saw." I hesitated to describe as I also remembered that every line out of the base was monitored for obvious national security reasons.
"It's called losing your war virginity, Albert," my chief replied reassuringly. "You've made the leap from Travel & Lifestyle to International Correspondent in, what, two months now?"
Somehow, being reminded how far I'd come since I first arrived hadn't lost its surprise.
"Okay. I'll try to put it behind me." For now, I reminded myself.
"Good, you do that. In the meantime the bureau's evaluating where we're standing right now, so we can schedule you for some R&R. You wanna come home for a bit?"
I let out a humored huff.
"Thanksgiving okay?"
"Sure thing. I'll get in contact with Hamilton and see if we can't get you a furlough for the weekend." he replied like a father rewarding his son for doing all his chores on time. "Thanksgiving and some Monday Night Football. Condors versus Prospectors in November City, you sure you don't wanna try your hand at sports reporting?"
I curled my lips in, forcing a smile. "Thanks, but I think I'll stick with the turkey."
"Heh. Don't worry about it then. But hey, who knows, maybe you'll be reporting from the steps of the Kremlin on Christmas Eve."
If my previous chuckle was sarcastic, the next one was almost genuine. The thought of actually covering the end of Yuktobanian socialism next to Jonas Stromberg was mouthwateringly tempting. And if my coverage didn't lead to a major journalism prize, I would almost certainly have a variety of international assignments served up to me on a silver platter.
It wasn't a half-bad way to get to the top from graduating with a community college journalism degree.
But the events I had witnessed at the destroyed AK factory would linger as the monkey on my back - or at least the monkey in the cage, as long as Pops still possessed the USB containing the evidence of my journey. I already had my doubts that I could take a Pulitzer with good conscience if it meant keeping something like this under the rug.
There was always an economic interest behind every major conflict, alongside the political and social ideologies.
But what happened when waging war became its own business? When companies thrived solely off the services exclusive to conflict zones?
"Anyway, Albert, I gotta go. The APOTOF is setting up for a major press conference right now and we're on call."
"Sure, talk to you soon," I replied after a moment's hesitation.
I remembered that the Wardogs had headed out to a "very important" mission that morning, and I could assume that its consequences were the reason for the Acting President Of The Osean Federation's press conference.
"Stay safe out there, Albert."
As I turned toward the crowd gathering by the rec room's TV set, I found myself hoping for the mission's success.
Journalism prizes and the safety of the pilots' well-being aside, my career depended on it.
1LT Ricardo Villa
120 mi. W of Hvarci Island, Estovakia
0932 hrs.
For a submarine the size of a small aircraft carrier, I was hoping it would go out with a fairly big bang. Instead the Hrimfaxi simply drooped under the icy straits and seemed to poof out of existence like an 8-bit video game villain.
It looked a blindlingly insignificant end to a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for our march to the Kremlin, but as I gathered my squadron back into formation, I was pretty certain the magnitude of our operation wasn't lost on us.
"You guys..." I began, once the wreckage was firmly behind us on the horizon, "...you realize we've just destroyed both of Yuktobania's megasubs?"
The magnitude of the return trip's boredom wasn't lost on me either.
"I can't believe it either, dude!" Chopper concurred. "They're gonna think twice if they've got a third one laying around!"
"I just hope it means this war will be over soon," Edge added solemnly. "Now that we're once again on even terms."
"Heh...damn. Now I can't believe it." I muttered. "You know...you don't sound so happy about it."
Saying that I was happy about what just happened was an understatement. I felt like San Rafael's backup quarterback getting a chance to shine during the playoffs and leading my team straight to the Mega Bowl.
"It's just that it doesn't feel right."
This wasn't just a dream anymore. We were the heroes. It was us. We were on a roll and the hell if anything was going to stop it. And I was happy enough that I could deal with Edge's idealism a little better.
"Edge, we just stopped a bunch of terrorists, cleared our names and sank two freaking monster subs in a month and a half." I explained as best I could. "We're winning a war we should've fought 50 years ago."
"But we still don't even know why they attacked in the first place," she countered, not skipping a beat.
She had a point. Whatever intel we had showed that the Yukes' initial strikes were part of a limited-strike policy designed to neuter our ability to strike back. The so-called disarmament of the past few years meant that was all they had left to try to beat our mutual rivalry over proxy-policing unruly satellite states.
Whatever reason they came up with to execute that policy, knowing full well that we would retaliate with full force if it failed, was clearly beyond their soldiers' pay grade.
Not that they weren't deserving enough to pay that price after what they did to us, and everyone else in their way.
"We'll find out when we get to the Kremlin, Edge," I replied confidently. "I'm sure that backstabbing prime minister of theirs will be singing like a goddamn canary."
An Estovakian island slid into view below us, its peak barely sticking out above glaciers like the heads of the eternally damned where hell really had frozen over.
Somewhere down there, the damned were trying to put each other out of their misery as if torment on earth were somehow better than torment in whatever hell they believed in. The abandoned trying to find some hope.
And the knowledge that the four of us were the new lords of the inferno was, well, perversely gratifying.
"There's gotta be more than even he knows, too." Edge concluded.
Gratifying and corrupting.
Sand Island AFB, Osea
Rec Room
15 November 2010
2221 hrs.
"And I was like, motherfucker trying to style on my pretty ass? I pulled a motherfucking barrel roll and scared the piss out of whoever was controlling that POS."
Okay, so it wasn't exactly the Mega Bowl victory party. But since our little hit-and-run was conducted far enough under the radar that we weren't even going to get a Bronze Star for our trouble, this had to suffice. Everyone that wasn't supposed to be on guard duty was invited.
"You thought that scared the piss out of 'em, Ricky? You should have seen us deal with this squadron of Yuke 'aces' that tried to ambush us after we hit some T-90s the other day. I swear we're still ironing Shadow's piss out of the cockpit."
Even Vincent "Scorpion" Ramirez was eager to join in the banter. Shadow hadn't shown up, either because he knew he couldn't handle the banter or because it was past his bedtime.
"Hah! Talk about a million dollar stain," I laughed. "Oh man, I'm sure happy my little Grimm's growing up so fast."
Someone else on Venom Team was sure acting like it was though.
"Yeah, feels real nice babysitting from your fucking point of view." came a snide, emotionless voice from the side of the crowd.
The two of us turned to find Venom's #4 "D-J" Stryker sulking in a corner, shades pristine like it was still the 1970s and probably hiding eyes turning red as fuck from whatever he had consumed.
"Hey, DJ, you're drunk," squadmate Jacob "Ecto" Englebert called out. "Calm your tits, man."
Rather than calm his aforementioned tits, Ecto's comments only egged DJ further. He got up from the corner where he sat and got in closer. "Naw, naw. You think you're such hot shit out there, while we're doing all the hard work?"
Their motormouth's advance toward the center of the crowd was met by Chopper, who clearly dwarfed the scraggly-lookng DJ. "Hey, buddy, we're just trying to have a little fun here, okay?"
"Yeah, greasebag, have your fun. You and your goddamn ice queen and that fucking vato think you're all hot shit because you just got famous now."
"Hey. DJ. You wanna start something, huh?" Chopper moved closer, not fazed by DJ's remarks. "We can take this outside right now."
I had to admire Chopper for trying to defend the squad's honor, so I moved beside him, keeping an eye and a matching raised eyebrow on his counterpart.
"Chopper, just chill. Let him roll like he does." That probably helped considering what transpired about 20 seconds after I did.
"DJ. Shut the fuck up and get back here, okay?" Scorpion ordered, pointing at him in the most paternal fashion possible. "You can pull your shit as much as you want after the party's over."
"Fine." Stryker hissed, putting his hands up and starting to turn but retracting that decision only seconds later, "Someday someone's gonna shut you up-"
Stryker's attempt to threateningly point and poke Chopper's torso was met by a fist square to the jaw.
Five minutes later I was sitting outside a vacated briefing room next to Edge and Grimm, the ambience of pop-EDM switched out with the muffled sounds of the FFIC and Hamilton giving Chopper and DJ more than a good talking to.
The relative silence was deafening. I found myself sweating more bullets than I did the first time I encountered a Yuktobanian monster sub, staring at the thin line where the wall met the linoleum.
"You think he's doing all right in there?" It took about that long trying to decipher whatever was being said on the opposite side of that wall before Grimm timidly broke the silence.
"Better be," I muttered, staring at the wallpaper on the opposite side of the hall as if I were willing it to crack. "Everyone saw that little fucker run his mouth."
Speaking of that little fucker, the words had barely come out of her mouth when Stryker suddenly left the room, walking right past us without another word. Not that he could with the bag of ice he was pressing to his jaw. And the hell if I could tell if his eyes were teary from getting socked in the face behind his miraculously-intact aviators.
We kept stone-dead silent until we could hear the door close behind him as he crossed past the end of the hall.
"Fame is getting to our heads," Edge began, breaking the ice with absolute-zero-cold wisdom and a slightly accusing look in my direction. "Things are gonna get tougher from now on."
I knew she wasn't just talking about our upcoming assignments. Sure, the closer we got to Cinigrad, the harder the Reds would fight, and that would put even more pressure on us.
But with the exception of "DJ" Stryker and possibly Edge, we were still new to this whole concept of nation-defining conflict. And we were slowly proving ourselves unable to handle the pressure.
It was that lack of ability that showed on Chopper's face as he was escorted out of the room by two MPs. The inability to do something about that inability showed up on my face as I reflexively got out of my chair to try to talk to him only to be stopped by an arm - Edge's.
"I'll talk to him," Edge replied, giving me a quietly determined glance before getting up. "Don't worry about it."
"But is he gonna be-" I began, before being interrupted again by Hamilton, who stepped out of the room after them.
"Chopper's gonna spend the night in the brig," Hamilton explained as Edge went off after Chopper without another word. "What we do afterward is up to Ramirez and Stryker."
"Fuck." The harried expletive came out of my mouth about the same time I landed back in my chair.
"I wouldn't expect him to get off scot-free, but if it helps, I doubt they'll be too harsh," he continued, leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed. "It didn't look like it, but Stryker's in as much trouble with Ramirez as he is with us."
"Goddamn." I sighed, burying my face in my hands. "It's all happening so fast."
"Don't worry. It's not the end," Hamilton reassured me, patting me on the shoulder. Almost like a master consoling a good dog that disappointed him. "In any case, I'm going to take care of the paperwork, you get some shuteye," he added, before walking off in the opposite direction.
And just like that, it was just Grimm and I in the building.
"You think this is gonna be the end of us?" Grimm asked, leaning forward so I could hear him over the sound of my distressed breathing.
"We'll be fine," I replied half-heartedly, leaning back and slinging one arm around his shoulder. "We proved ourselves. They can't get rid of us on just one impulse."
"Oh man..." he added, "I hope not."
I expected him to sound almost whiny when he replied.
I just wasn't expecting him to lean into it.
"Shi- I...yeah. I hope not." I sputtered.
I didn't need a mirror to confirm that my face feel my face was going flush as fuck. Putting my hand over his shoulder wasn't meant to be anything more than platonic. And the hell if I wanted to get in trouble with the official policy that dealt with what happened when that gesture turned out to be more than platonic.
Edge was right. This war was getting to my head.
And if every heavyweight championship in the casinos of Las Venturas served me right, that was the right moment for a one-two punch.
Albert Genette
16 November 2010
1028 hrs.
I didn't expect the party to take the violent turn that it did, and before I knew it I had been escorted back to the room I shared with Chopper. It was hard enough trying to get to bed on the top bunk given the chance that my roommate might come back from the brig before I woke up the next morning.
But the next morning my smartphone accidentally served as my alarm clock when I got a call from my editor. Like the pilots I hadn't taken any drinks at last night's celebration, but I felt like I was hung over as I answered it.
"Albert, good news!" My bureau chief had begun his call by skipping the greeting, which could only mean that something was up.
"...what?" I asked, rolling over groggily.
"You're not gonna believe this, those contractors want to make it up to you for what happened."
I raised an eyebrow. I was surprised they actually felt remorse for something I'm sure they could have justified as routine.
"Oh, really now," I yawned.
"Yeah. They rang us up this morning. Apparently they want to make sure that they're not looked at the wrong way simply because of their contracts."
At least my bureau chief sounded like he agreed with my sentiment about their work with certain Other Government Agencies. Kronus' billion-zollar contract had to include some kind of accountability clause, but that would mean little more than "no comment" if I worded my questions wrong.
"They can't just make a press release?" I asked. Had I been more awake I would have figured they could save themselves quite a bit of trouble by not bringing an investigative reporter to their headquarters.
"You know I asked them the same damn question. But they figured that now that they got you on file-"
"...they did their research and asked me to give them their hero moment, sure." I sighed. It didn't help my confidence as a reporter knowing that my supposed rivals had better research libraries than declassified records and internet search engines.
"You catch on quick. Look on the bright side though, you're not gonna go to Yuktobania."
I chuffed. That made sense though, a tour there would probably be a little too guided. "So where do they want me instead?"
"...My guess is either at their HQ in Cascadia or down south in Savannah. They've got a training facility in Pine Grove near where the President crashed, don'tcha know."
A small bell rang in the back of my head, a connection being made that I couldn't quite recognize for having just woken up. I needed to be sure this wasn't just coincidence, so I decided to press just a little more forward.
"So...what exactly is going to happen?" I asked.
"Same as last time. You give us the go-ahead and we'll have them make the call."
On the other hand, I didn't want to take the risk that they'd made that connection before I did, assuming that their Man in the Tropical Shirt also had a copy of my data. And they knew they'd do their best to give something as close to a standard press release as possible, with me putting a human face on everything for the papers.
"Um...I need to think about this. Can you get back to me?"
"No problem, just get back to me if you want this one. Remember, you'll also be representing our readers. You'll want this to be as good as if not better than the Wardogs and our friend the unnamed soldier."
"Sure. Got it."
"And I know I'm sounding like I'm going back on my word with this, but if you do take this then just try to avoid asking the kind of questions they're not going to comment on. I know you want to be investigative and all, but-"
"Yeah. Okay." I was still that much asleep that I wasn't entirely sure what I was agreeing to. "Talk to you later."
"All right then, talk to you later Albert. Bye."
Ultimately, I decided that their holding my data would mean they'd expect me to be on a tight leash anyway. If the article got me labeled a 'sellout,' it would work to my advantage as my cooperation was likely to get the heat off from them too.
As I rolled over, unable to sleep for Chopper not being present in the bunk opposite as well as my resolve to get deeper into Kronus' involvement, I didn't know what I had to lose.
1LT Ricardo Villa
52 mi. ESE of Poryv, Glubina Oblast
17 November 2010
1722 hrs.
"Sea Goblin Evac to Wardog. Fighting has broken out in the camp, do you have control over the airspace?"
Jail had become a recurring theme for me over the past few weeks.
First I'd been threatened with imprisonment, then Chopper spent the night in the brig for some needless escalation. Now, fortunately, we found ourselves on the right side of the metaphor.
"Affirmative Sea Goblin Evac, we have mastered the fog."
That afternoon our flock of Fighting Falcons attacked a gulag. That and they were forced to put Chopper on temporary probation with all remaining manpower still needed for our campaign to reach Cinigrad by Christmas.
"Good copy, Wardog. Looks like our taxi's here."
Just because our rampage across the Motherland had been so successful didn't mean that the Yukes lost every battle. While we were off destroying the AK's original birthplace a fleet of Red Army tanks battalion had managed to circle a village we had just captured, and round up everyone to send to the gulag we were about to liberate.
Fortunately for us, the Yukes had this little habit of placing gulags in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. That was supposed to ensure that nobody could run away, but thanks to the miracle of satellite photography it also meant that a bunch of marines could walk right in and secure the place without giving the Yukes much time to bring the rest of the Red Horde down on their asses.
With that said, all we needed to do was make sure the Marines and the prisoners got their ride out before "much time" elapsed.
"The ground's still crawling with weapons installations though, so they can't land. Could you clear them out for us?"
For three of us, the mission was business. And Chopper had gotten over his night in the brig with the quiet respect of everyone apparently waiting to see Stryker shut the fuck up for once.
"Affirmative Evac Team, we'll be rolling in hot from the Southwest in 30."
For Edge, well, it was pretty personal.
"I see the POW camp. The man I must-" The hesitation was sentimental, to say the least. "...the people we must help are in there."
After all, we did all hope that Captain Jack Bartlett was among those prisoners. Heartbreak One, last seen about to be fished out of the ocean by the goddamn KGB and hopefully not festering in one of their own little blacksites.
The same Heartbreak One that took a missile for her.
"We have to suppress the anti-aircraft fire first."
Clearing out the skies above the camp was not a problem despite the weather. The Yukes hadn't exactly brought out their newest models for the occasion, which made it easy for us to not waste the AMRAAMs we had brought along with the usual ground-pounding loadouts.
"Sea Goblin 1-1, I have visual on the camp, and I have you on radar."
As the Valkyries rode over the horizon on cue, it was now our job to make sure that our troops got the cavalry they deserved.
The force was formidable enough. Blackhawk gunships escorting Chinooks had a pretty good chance of clearing out a gulag's cache of prisoners, backed up with our loadout of Mavericks for insurance. All that said, the laundry list of targets on my HMD laid our job out for us as I buzzed the camp's watch towers.
"Edge, take Chopper and roll out Sea Goblin's red carpet," I barked as my Falcon easily dodged panicked AK and ZSU gunfire. "Archer and I will mop up around the camp."
"Aye aye, cap'n!" came Chopper's always-enthusiastic reply as his and Edge's Falcons rocketed past.
There was something off about the distinct lack of sarcasm in his voice. That was when I figured, what the hell, I needed to get the other night off my head.
"...you're not still angry at us, are you?" I asked, as I turned around to connect the watch tower dots with my vulcan cannon. "Look, I'm sorry about-"
"Pfft. Not at you. You're fine," Chopper replied, probably with a shrug. "Look, I'll talk to you in a bit."
I smirked, both from the half-satisfaction of a possible reconciliation as well as the actual satisfaction from the destruction of two watch towers and a ZSU that was looking the other way on the way out of the attack run. "All right. Grimm, how you holding up?"
"Thanks, Captain! That AA gun nicked me but all systems are still normal!"
"You need any help there?" We'd cut a fair swath through the camp but we'd also drawn their fire. I gunned it toward the mountains before turning around to align for another run.
"I'm trying to get a bead on the targets but I'm afraid of hitting the POWs!"
I would have facepalmed had I not had both hands busy arming Mavericks. "I swear to God if you kill Bartlett...just follow me and don't hit the big buildings." I cut myself off before finishing a joke that probably would have triggered Edge, if only because I had to change my flight path due to the fire from another ZSU that was especially persistent.
I circled around to line up the other pair of watch towers with a small convoy of Gecko missile carriers on the other side. Beyond those, Edge and Chopper were bringing in the cavalry.
"Stay low and get your countermeasures ready...now!" I could practically hear Grimm trembling on the other side of the intercom as we blitzed a path straight through the camp's opposite corners. The lead gunship was actually there to greet us on our way out.
"This is Sea Goblin 1-1. We're going to sweep the south end of Building B with gatling fire."
"Roger that gunship, we've taken care of the snipers," I confirmed, sweeping around right after having finished my attack run with Grimm. "Looks like the LZ is clear."
"Those POWs will be free in a few minutes." Grimm responded, hope finally seeping out of his rookie tension as he banked around left to see if we missed anything.
"Wait till they're back at their old jobs being overworked like us. I'll bet they'll wanna get back in that camp." Chopper replied.
"You're saying that after SERE, good buddy?" I added back as I moved outward to mop up whatever was left behind. "And that shit was just simulated."
"Heh. You're right on that one." Shit, now I could tell things were looking up. At least from the way he didn't take my comment with sarcasm. "Wardog 1 to Team, let Sea Goblin complete evac, fan out and mop up for stragglers."
"Okay, thanks for taking out the trash. We're taking the POWs outside, can you see their smiling faces?"
Finding nothing of interest out in the near perimeter other than the smoking remains of several ZSUs, it was the only image I could think of to pass the time. It was cathartic knowing we'd exacted sweet vengeance on the folks that had given me the image of the faces of charred corpses by a burning ferry.
"Those people, I wish I could see their faces from up here."
"Well shit, I got nothing out here, you wanna go see?" I asked, figuring that if Bartlett was down there he'd really appreciate a flyby from his nuggets. Of course, I was still circling the Falcon in an outward spiral looking for something to dump the rest of my ammunition into.
"Heh, she's actually going down there to look."
"Sea Goblin 2-1 reporting, looks like we've got everybody in."
"2-2 to 2-1, everyone's accounted for here too, we're dusting off."
And it was about time too. My Falcon was already skirting across the outer edge of another Yuktobanian winter storm.
"Okay team, CAP's over. Return to formation above Sea Goblin and let's head home," was my casual order as the storm made it to the camp ahead of me, my HMD and altitude indicators helping me find my way through the fog.
"Wardog 2 to Sea Goblin 2, is Captain Bartlett there? Check for a Captain Bartlett."
"...This is 2-2...hmm, nobody named Bartlett here. What about you, 2-1?"
"2-1 to Edge, none here. None of the POWs ever heard of him either."
"But that can't- look, just check for me one more time?"
So maybe Captain Bartlett wasn't there after all. It was disappointing, but then again it wasn't the only gulag in the entire damn Yuktobanian prison camp system. Still, after all the shit we'd been through in the last couple of weeks, things were still turning out better than expected. We'd manage to keep the war effort going, and at the same time keep team cohesion intact. I figured the only thing left to do now was head back to Sand Island and get some semblance of rest before we did it all again.
"There's plenty of other camps in this hellhole, Edge, we'll find- fuck!"
That was immediately before I had to deal with a SAM bunker that flickered onto my HMD in the chaos and fire a missile that locked onto Edge's exhaust.
"Ah- dammit, Nagase!"
"Flares out, Edge! Come on!" I barely had a bead on where she was with the storm picking up.
The SAM bunker vanished in a cloud of fire and ice as Sea Goblin's gunship swept it on the way out.
"After all the Captain said to me, I-
I didn't know if she meant me or Bartlett at the very moment that the blue icon that marked her plane on my HMD disappeared from my radar. That didn't make it any less my fault for my sin of omission.
"You all right!?"
"I'm fine. My plane's trashed but those are always replaceable."
"Jesus fuck, anyone got her last known!?" were the first words out of my mouth as I pulled up in some stupidly vain attempt to get a better view of where she could have landed.
"Sea Goblin 2-1 to 1-1. We're taking our guests home now, can you guys rescue her?"
"Roger. We got plenty of extra room but weather conditions are getting worse. We'd better step on it."
I turned my head to locate the gunship and pointed my Falcon in its general direction when I found it hovering some distance off.
"Landing point confirmed. Moving in for extraction."
I grasped the dogtags nestled under my G-suit like they were a lucky charm and hoped that religion hadn't left me as quickly as it found me so many times before.
"Windspeed is increasing. Watch for the trees."
"Shit, tail rotor just clipped the trees, we can't-"
I tapped my radar. Then I slammed my hand into my helmet, hoping my HMD wasn't suddenly malfunctioning.
There was no way the rescue helicopter could've crashed.
"Sea Goblin 1-1 has disappeared from radar. Repeat, gunship down."
And just like that, it was over. For the next few moments, everything felt as hazy as the winter storm that had just moved in.
"Dammit, the storm's too strong."
"We can't just leave her behind."
"Look, I hate it too but we have to wait for conditions to get better before we can do anything!" I should have known things had gone completely FUBAR when Grimm was the most mature member of the team. At least the most mature of its now-survivors.
"Dammit, is there nothing we can do!?"
"I...I..." There was no triumph shattered into failure, no happiness shattered into sadness. I couldn't even feel the rage against the communist military machine that I had for most of the war. There wasn't even any survivor's was only silence and fear.
Like I was the backup quarterback of San Rafael getting a chance to shine during the playoffs, leading his team straight to the Mega Bowl, and missing the comeback of the goddamn millennium by five fucking yards.
This was my fault.
Sand Island AFB, Osea
Later That Night
If I had ever voiced the idea of the trip back from Estovakia as the longest stretch of soul-crushing air travel boredom in my entire life, I would have taken it all back with the return trip from the middle of Yuktobanian buttfuck nowhere.
None of us had said anything on the way back apart from the usual landing protocol. If they did, I either had the comms channel off or wasn't listening. It was bad enough that I automatically assumed that the only things they could have said would have accused me of failing my team. It was even worse that my chances of reconciling with Chopper had gone down with her.
That made it perfectly appropriate for us to have landed back at Sand Island under pouring rain.
Perrault ordered SAR for Edge and Sea Goblin 1-1 when conditions improved, and postponed Chopper's punishment for decking D-J Stryker until the mission was over. If we could believe the weatherman for once, we'd be flying out as early the next morning. And if I could believe him, he was actually making his first effort to sound sincere. At least if the squad's promotions to Captain - and Grimm finally out of enlisted rank - meant anything for that.
As for me, I needed to clear my head. The gym wasn't going to cut it, Grimm had already gone to bed, and the hell if I was gonna try one more time to reconcile with Chopper with him having his extra-special venting playlist blaring in my head.
Instead I headed to the rec room looking to shoot a private rack.
Lo and behold, Vinny "Scorpion" Ramirez had the pool table racked up and ready to play.
"Hey..." I began, with almost no enthusiasm left in my body, let alone my voice.
"Ricky. Buddy. You wanna shoot some?" For someone who was supposed to be some kind of straight-up tough-guy from the Alderney barrio, Scorpion was sounding like a college graduate that left it. But I didn't mind.
"Sure, why not," I shrugged. "You wanna break?"
"Okay," Scorpion replied, matching the shrug and bending to break while I pulled a cue off the wall and chalked it up.
The conversation continued as the cue ball scattered the other 15 across the table, beginning with the obvious starting topic.
"Sorry 'bout your teammate there," he replied, after the first break pocketed the 7.
"She'll be fine, she can take care of herself down there," I shrugged as Scorpion took aim. Yeah, they're probably 'enjoying' her with a side of fucking vodka.
"Yeah, ice queen in her element," he added before shooting, and raising his hand when he recognized his barb. "Sorry."
"Hell, I'm sorry about the party," I replied, shaking my head even as he got the 1 in the corner pocket. "Should've kept my motormouth on a tighter leash."
"Don't worry 'bout it. You should've heard DJ run his mouth while Shadow was runnin' his bladder the other day. I swear if he opens his mouth about some Kamata or Terrazi rice rocket again-"
My mouth shot into a toothy grin as I chuckled darkly. "And I thought my motormouth was bad."
"In any case, we talked him outta pressing charges. Your guy's probably gonna be doin' KP duty tops for the rest of the- damn." His streak ended when he couldn't put the 2 in the side.
"What's been up with you anyway?" I asked as I chalked up the cue.
"Heh, trying to keep up with you," he responded, with a quietly snarky respect as he let me aim for the 11. "Saving the country from terrorists and taking out your second monster sub? You gotta have Mark 82s for cojones."
"Hey, you guys fucking totaled that weapons factory," I countered, taking my turn to knock the 11 out the corner. "They got you leading from the front every other day."
"Still haven't got my own personal photographer yet though," he bemoaned sarcastically. "Oh right, the bossman says they thought you guys caused all that shit the other week?"
I felt a slight tingle in my spine recalling the tribunal. If a weapons factory, a Yuke megasub, and Thunderhead's black box couldn't at least calm their suspicion, I didn't have a goddamn clue what could.
"Yeah, that's why we were all the way out in Oured that day," I sighed. "Fucking bureaucrats wanted to lay it out on us but hell, we were 30 miles out." 14 to the side, clipping the corner but ending up close. "Hamilton had to play Thunderhead's black box for everyone. Just can t please the man."
"I know what you mean," Vinny replied, before trying for the 6 in the side and missing. "Back when I flew with the Fighting Wasps in '95 we socked it to the damn krauts on a daily basis."
"Now I get why they never stopped talking about you at the Academy," I replied, finally getting the 10 where it was supposed to go. "Oh man, those were the good old days, weren't it."
"Well it was fun while it lasted." he chuckled grimly, nailing 3 in the side. "But after the nukes, bunch'a my own wingmen went No Boundaries and it was like the AFO couldn't tell the good ones from the traitors."
The fact that Scorpion had actually confirmed my suspicions about returning soldiers probably killed me a little bit inside. Then again I was also pretty damn numb from all that action to notice. "And you still stuck around anyway?"
"Yeah. Even though everyone was looking at us like we were the damn villains thanks to those mother-..." he grumbled, breaking the 6 off against the wall with some angry spin right where he would have finished that word. "In any case, yeah, I stuck 'round. Figured they were still gonna need us when those Yukes came knocking."
"And hopefully they'll be damn grateful for not throwin' us away this time," I concurred. "S'why we're flyin out to rescue her and Sea Goblin soon as the weather clears."
"Yeah well," he sighed, "Good luck on that one."
I raised an eyebrow before recoiling the stick for another go at the 14. "S'that supposed to mean?"
"Nothin' man. But you know those Yukes'll wanna get their hands on her," Scorpion waved it off. "They ain't gonna take the loss of their prisoners too good."
"Ah, you're right. But yeah, what did you do these past 15 years?" The cue ball twirled like a goddamn Cinigrad Philharmonic ballerina as it sent the 14 lurching successfully toward the near corner.
"Patrols. And a bit of consulting. Teaching other countries' pilots how to fly."
"Like what those Belkan contractors are doing." The 12 ball was a stubborn bastard, bouncing against the corner walls before stopping a half-inch from tipping over.
"Chrono, right?." Scorpion replied, before taking the cue and going for the 4.
"Kro-nus," I filled in.
"Yeah, you got it," he replied, the 4 also being as stubborn as the 10 in trying to fall into the pocket. "Hear they make pretty good money too."
I sighed and made my way around the table, bending over almost like I'd dropped the soap to aim at the 9. "I know right? Sometimes I wonder if they'd like me better there than in here."
"Yeah, well, at least when you're officially consultin' for the air force you're actually doin' something good by your country." Scorpion almost sounded like the ads that lured me into the OADF in the first place.
"Doin' good for my country ain't savin' my mom from the hood or-" The shot impacted both the 9 and the 8 - but the 8 slid off to one side and pocketed itself, the 9 miraculously avoiding the corner pocket. "Aw, tits."
"Geez, tough break." Scorpion chuckled softly.
"Them's what they are," I smirked, shrugging as I backed away from the table. "Good game, man."
"Likewise."
"Anyhow. I got to hit the hay. Can't keep my girl waiting, eh?" I replied, offering a hand to which Scorpion confidently shook.
"Yeah, no problem," he replied with a knowing smile.
"Catch you later," I added, putting the cue back on the wall and heading out.
As I turned to leave, Scorpion made just a little room for some deja vu.
"Hey Ricky," he said, just loud enough for me to hear from the other end of the rec room. "My offer still stands, and you can take her with you. Might be room for two up with the best, okay?"
I almost felt sorry for Shadow, knowing who he meant to replace without naming names. As for DJ Stryker, well, not so much.
"I'll think about it," I shrugged, not in the mood to make a counter-offer. "Night man."
I turned to leave, making my way down nondescript halls I'd long since memorized. But I'd never quite gotten to memorize the surprises in store.
"Lieutenant Villa?" A plain-looking MP in an even plainer uniform stepped out of a room nearby to greet me.
"Yeah?" Not that my body hadn't overloaded its nasty surprise meter for the time being. The two of us kept walking to the front door, and I kept him in a sideward glance.
"You've got a phone call, outside line."
"Who?"
"Kronus International Security," he continued.
He sounded like the idea wasn't new to him. But I stopped in my tracks, images of a certain Kronus Corporation bouncer immediately coming to mind.
"Oh Jesus." I groaned, "Am I in trouble again?"
These thoughts were immediately followed by the mental recollection of the images Genette showed me right before he got bounced.
"Not actually, but he d really like to talk with you now."
"Fine."
I followed the sergeant toward the crew room's phone, where the caller was no doubt on hold.
"Y~ello?" I asked almost dismissively as I picked it up.
"Lieutenant Ricardo Villa?" The voice on the other end of the phone had a distinct Ratian accent, authentic as a multi-generational family pizzeria in Centrum and most certainly not the ominous snarl of Mr. Veiss City from a few days ago.
"This is he," I replied with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm Co-lo-nel Enrico Amadeo, from Kronus International Security, and we are interested in someone of your talent. We would like to schedule a meeting with you."
It was at that very instant that precisely three moments from my past flashed before my eyes - Cap'n Freddy telling me he was going to work for that company, my encounter with said company s agent, and Scorpion's mention of the company mere minutes ago.
"...excuse me? This isn't the time..."
Immediately after those sequence of events, I also remembered that I had just potentially lost a wingman to the Yuktobanian winter under my watch, and I wasn't going to be in the best mood to interview.
Fortunately, Colonel Amadeo knew that too.
"I understand from your superior officers are also going through a rough time right now, so perhaps we can schedule it for sometime next week?"
The radical activist conspiracy theorist that resided in my tired cranium had prematurely put two and two together. That the references to this private military corporation and Scorpion trying to get me to "trade up" were more that just coincidence. That all this was planned out to target me, and me in person, two countries worth of soldiers be damned.
That conspiracy theorist was met by the same voice that told me that joining the Air Defense Force was a surefire path out of the ghetto for me and my mother. That we no longer had to live in a house vulnerable to sudden gunfire, concealed-carry parental escorts to the school bus, or worrying if one day I would be framed by some corrupt cop wanting to bail himself out of an IAD investigation.
It was good money.
It was desperation.
It was finally a way to earning the respect I'd been wanting all my life because any desire for accountability disappeared when I'd been this close to a successful frameup by the Joint Fucking Chiefs of Staff.
It was just that much more attention-catching than the sight of Albert Genette sitting on the nearby couch and reading Edge's book.
The same book one of my would-be stepfathers once read to me only a few nights before I nearly caught a stray bullet in the head while I slept.
"Okay, you've got my attention," I said, as that great fuzzy circle of metaphors completed in my head.
All of a sudden, I wasn't worried about rescuing Nagase anymore. I knew we could make that happen if only because I didn't want to live with the death of a teammate hanging over my head. Once we got her out I could transfer out to Venom or Kronus with a clean conscience, Chopper's headstrong idealism and temper notwithstanding.
Osea would win the war and everybody would go home happy, except for maybe Edge. I'd go home with the reputation of a hero, not a murderer. I'd be able to help my mom find a nice place where we wouldn't have to worry about stray bullets to the head, concealed-carry escorts to the bus stop or corrupt cops looking for frame-ups.
I would just never realize that these choices had already been made for me, and they weren't the ones I wanted to make. Not until it was too late.
Albert Genette
Johnson-Pacifica International Airport, SV
August 2017
In international news, the government of Terceiro has put its armed forces on high alert following the refusal of the EPRL leaders to come to the negotating table.
The Leasath rebel group, which claims ties to the international Valahia terrorist network, is reported to be mobilizing forces in its occupied territories for a major operation. This follows similar mobilizations by San Martin and Gran Adama, both in response to the joint military exercise with Osea and the Security Enterprise private military. In a statement to the media, the EPRL called these exercises a "provocation to which we have no choice but to respond."
A spokesperson for the Leasath military government said today that the military is already conducting operations to reclaim the territory still occupied by the EPRL, which includes several key ports and military installations. The AN has called an emergency meeting of the Security Council to discuss whether forces from private security firms can assist in the event of an emergency as part of the AN's Independent Peacekeeping Force mandate.
"How the hell did it all come to this..." Villa grumbled, looking at the news playing on the screen.
"Come to what?"
The two of us were sitting in Air East Osea's departure lounge waiting for our flight to Laurus, where 'Eduardo Trinidad' made his official residence. Blaze was already trying to get himself hung over in time for the flight.
"We never really changed anything, did we?" he continued, his tongue still sharp as ice. "Laid my ass on the line between two superpowers and all that happens is I'm forced to leave town and change my goddamn name."
"That's not true, Bl- Eddie," I replied, my voice exasperated. "Without you we couldn't have stopped them."
"But just look at the fucking news," he groaned, gesturing angrily yet almost casually at the TV screen playing. "Nothing's fucking changed. I'm working for the same people I thought I brought down, and I'm still flying the flag of the oppressor."
He reached a finger around to his other arm and tapped the gap between the two badges bearing the General Resource logo and the flag of Sapin, though I understood the meanings behind both.
Although it wasn't occupied by Erusea during the war, ISAF forces transited through the Fort Grace Islands - Blaze's country of heritage - en route to Comona and the amphibious landings. The country's president also opened the country to accommodate more refugees from the mainland than North Point, and proposed relaxing their trade barriers to revive the regional economy.
But for the people of a country that had fallen under the colonial influence of Sapin, Osea and North Point in the span of half a century, ISAF was just another round of neo-imperialism. The threat of Erusean fascism was bad enough. But to the Grasyanos the puppet strings of an alliance led by the same North Point that occupied them decades before and led the rebel fleet to their islands in 1997 were little better.
After the war ended, the Grasyanos capitalized on popular resentment and elected an opposition politician that ordered the ISAF troops and refugees to leave, and vetoed the free-trade legislation. The people were happy to see their sovereignty protected, and the powerful families that ruled their provinces were happy to have protected their interests.
GR's arrival gave small enterprises there the kick to compete with that clout, and many began to see their international span as another foreign interest's ploy.
"The Valahia are serious bad guys, Eddie," I countered. "You saw what they're capable of."
"Yeah, so?" he grunted.
The Valahia hadn't just won the sympathies of rogue organizations with their boldness and aggression. Now they'd even gotten the support of so-called "rogue states" across the world whose rulers were already making waves with their hard-line stances against the superpowers.
And that put the Grasyano elite in a bind when they found themselves caught between GR and a revived communist insurgency fueled by the Valahia.
"So maybe there are still bad guys out there?"
"Fuck, between the bad guys "out there" and the ones I'm working for?" he retorted with oozing sarcasm, "I'm just glad I'm finally getting a goddamn paycheck out of it."
"Blaze, you ever once for a moment think that it's not just about you?" I finally added.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Blaze looked like I'd slighted his family.
"I don't know," I replied, "Maybe the stuff you did for others might have changed the world for the better, and maybe watching the world improve is thanks enough?"
"Easy for you to fucking say," he snarled. "Your newspaper buddies bailed you out. You never got separated from everyone you loved. You're not even officially dead to everyone except the people you write back to."
By now his ranting had attracted the attention of the nearby diners - something that he was also quite painfully aware of.
"Oh God. I'm sorry..." Blaze mumbled, burying his face in his hands.
"No, it's okay," I replied, putting a hand on his shoulder.
I wanted to believe that he was wrong. That he did light a spark of hope that he should not have regretted.
But despite everything he did, despite the respect and enmity he d acquired from forces powerful and sometimes nameless, he was still a human being like me, like my editor in chief, like everyone that read the papers. One out of the billions that inhabited this lonely blue marble in the middle of the universe.
To say that neither of us could have doubts about what we did was delusional, at best. Especially to the degree that Blaze had.
I looked up at the TV, which had gone onto business news. If change was coming, it was slow as the progress of time, if any at all.
"Oh...Albert..." Blaze looked up, remembering something.
"Yeah?"
"I guess I gotta say this but...It's funny. I'm in a relationship now."
"Huh, that's good."
"With who?"
Blaze smiled. It was, of all things, a genuine if not knowing one. A smile of love. "They're gonna meet us in Laurus. It's not who you think it is, but I think...you'll be pleasantly surprised."
The irony was that I knew him enough that the revelation might not surprise me at all.
In A Blaze of Glory - END
A/N: Apologies for the long delay. Sorry it's not quite as good but I wanted to leave it on a cliffhanger for the time being.
A/N 2: Also, Scorpion Ramirez was directly inspired by Rico from Just Cause. There, I said it.