Chapter 39 – Coronet
Surrounded by people at the Canalave train station, I stood alone, waiting for the nine-thirty train to leave.
Mechanics, armed guards, technicians, and various other personnel bustled about the fortified station, loading an armoured train with supplies meant for the military training facility at Mount Coronet. In the fifteen minutes since Aunty Moira had dropped me off at the station, I'd seen a dazzling array of materials being hauled into the bomb-proof train, ranging from crates of ammunition to sacks of pokemon chow. It was certainly an eye-opener, if not anything else.
Curiously enough, the first cargo compartment had yet to be loaded. A lone commando was standing guard next to it, black armour glistening like a beetle and casting glances about the area through a reflective visor. No way to know if the commando was male, female, or even human to begin with thanks to that armour, really.
Just as the large clock above the station master's office struck ten past nine, a small convoy of armoured trucks pulled up outside the station, the crowds parting before them faster than General Harding could waltz through port control. Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing as a dozen elite troops hopped out of the parked vehicles, and proceeded to unload a large, blast-proof shipping crate from the truck in the middle of the little group.
A commando stepped out of the truck once the crate had been off-loaded, and directed the troops towards the train. They pushed it onto the platform using what looked like a heavily-reinforced trolley, and were stopped by the commando next to the train when they pulled up in front of it.
"Had a smooth journey over from the docks?" the commando asked in a voice distorted into an electronic deadpan by acoustic filters in its helmet.
"Affirmative on that," nodded the second commando, as it walked up to the driver's compartment. "Cargo is intact and ready for transportation."
Silently, they watched the troops push the crate into the train's first cargo compartment. From where I stood on the platform, I saw that the insides of the compartment appeared to have been lined with foam padding, not unlike that used to cover the walls of my cell back when I was allegedly insane.
Strange.
Just as I was wondering what the mysterious cargo was, and why the compartment had been outfitted as it was, the station master sounded her usual shrill whistle, and the cargo compartments were sealed shut, one after the other.
Only then did the thought strike me: if all the compartments were to be used for cargo, where was I supposed to be during the train ride? No other trains were in sight or pending departure, as far as I could tell.
Approaching her, I held up my transfer orders. "Excuse me, Miss?"
She turned about, gave me the briefest of disinterested glances, and cocked her head in the train's direction. "You're the one shipping out for Coronet, aren't you? Get in front with the crate."
"Pardon me?" I asked her, wondering if what I had just heard was correct, and I was to be riding to Coronet with the strange cargo.
"Get in the compartment with the crate and the commando. Now be a darling, do like a banana, and split, alright?"
Rolling my eyes at how little sense everything made – as they seemed to all be, these days – I walked up to the commando who was still next to the first compartment's open hatch, and held up both of my hands to show it that I wasn't armed. "Station master says I'm to board your compartment."
For a moment, it fixed its invisible gaze on me through its visor. "Orders state two pokemon and one additional guard. Confirm?"
Yup, sounded like me, alright. "Affirmative on that. Me, a shellder, and a wooper."
"Get in," nodded the commando, stepping aside and keeping one hand on the handle of its combat knife. "You first."
Moving slowly so as to not alarm it into any drastic action, I hopped into the compartment, and turned around to face the platform. As was standard protocol was moving away from a commando, I walked backwards until I was up against the compartment's wall, keeping both of my arms raised above my head.
Silently, the commando nodded, and stepped into the compartment. It tapped a few keys on the compartment's control panel, causing the hatch to slide shut. Several more tapped buttons caused two collapsible benches to unfold out of the walls, and it sat down, gesturing for me to do the same.
Through a small screen next to the hatch, I saw the platform in miniature. The station master was there, waving at the driver, who was boarding the train along with the second commando.
Not a minute later, we started moving.
The commando and I sat in silence for a while as the train moved. I kept myself occupied by continuing my earlier train of thought regarding the contents of the mysterious cargo – now not three meters away from me – and watching the landscape outside through the screen on the wall, which showed footage from several cameras built into the exterior of the train.
Interestingly enough, I caught glimpses of what appeared to be several flying digimon keeping pace with the train, as well as a pair of helicopters. When the cameras offered a view of the areas around the track, I saw several military jeeps as well as a couple of tanks moving along, their weaponry pointing away from the train.
"Might as well let your pokemon out – it's going to be a long, boring ride."
The voice, expressionless as it was, snapped me out of my little reverie. I turned to look at the commando, who was, for lack of a better word, reclining in a corner of the compartment on its bench.
"Go on, then," it continued. "They'd make for additional security, if anything."
I shrugged. "If you say so."
Two flashes of light later found Silas and Newton on the floor in front of me, looking around their surroundings with wide eyes. They spared the commando a passing glance, and then decided to investigate the crate.
"Trainer!" Newton chirped happily. "I see we have started on our journey!"
"Must you always be so upbeat?" Silas blew a raspberry at him, narrowing his eyes as always. "Trainer, what's in the box?"
"Cute pokemon you have there," remarked the commando, sitting up a little straighter. "And I take it you've an affinity for water?"
"I…" Well, it was a little overwhelming, really. "One at a time, please!
"Newton, we're headed to the camp at Coronet. Silas, I have no idea what's in the crate. And as for you, umm, unnamed commando, yes, I'm water-attuned. Used to be Zachary Harding's assistant."
"Hot damn!" replied the commando, jumping to its feet. "You are talking about the Zachary Harding, right?"
Now that was certainly bewildering. "I believe there's only one, and thank goodness for that. What makes you ask?"
My travel companion sat back down, one hand over its armoured chest. "The man's a bloody legend, that's why! Sweet Arceus, how could you be his assistant and not know that?"
"He's crobatshit insane!" I retorted. "Do you know just how many times he's come to work without any clothes on? Or tried to molest me- hang on, more to him actually molesting me, really. And there's him being a hyperactive son of a-"
The commando spread its hands. "Well, he's Zack Harding, the Pornstar of Canalave! What else did you expect?
"And hold up there for a bit – you said that he molested you, right? Were you the guy who was involved in that threesome-"
"I am so not getting into a discussion about my former commanding officer's more eccentric antics in the bedroom, thank you very much!" I all but squeaked, feeling my face grow warm. "And you two better not say a word about that, either!"
Silas and Newton had turned from their inspection of the crate to fix me with wide eyes after General Harding's name had been mentioned, and Newton's rubbery smile appeared wider than it usually did.
"Noted, Trainer!" he said happily. "As such, I shall not say one word about that incident, but many!"
"You weren't even there!" Silas said haughtily. "I'll be the one spilling the sordid details of Trainer's mating habits, not you! Now, you see-"
"You two!"
"Attaboy!" cheered the commando, even as I flailed in my seat and tried to recall my two traitorous pokemon into their pokeballs. "Aww, you're no fun."
For while – a short while, but still – there was a blissful silence between the two of us.
And then, of course, Chatty the Commando decided to speak up again.
"So, I was told that you're only riding with us as far as the camp. Not going to the end of the line?" it asked, drawing its combat knife and flipping it about like a toy.
"Nah," I shook my head. "Marching orders were to report to Coronet's commando training unit."
"Oh? Which unit?"
I adjusted my glasses on the bridge of my nose. "Gimme a sec. Let's see… Inkblot."
What sounded like a muted buzz came from the commando's general direction. "Inkblot, Inkblot. I take it those sunglasses aren't just for outdoor use, then."
Turning back to look at it, I lowered my glasses and looked at it over the frame - a wonderfully intimidating gesture, for some. "Begging your pardon?"
A shrug. "Inkblot's one of the units specializing in night strikes, so all the guys there have real bad eyesight in daylight. Last I heard of it, the barracks was in this dim corner of the base camp, next to the explosives storage facility."
"That's comforting," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
"Anyway, the leader of the unit used to be a real charming shorty, callsign Ginger. Ghost-adapted," it added.
I nodded, and frowned as the full meaning of its words sank in. Poor eyesight. Night strikes. Ghost adaptation. To my knowledge, only a handful of affinities led to poor eyesight, and the majority of those I'd met or heard of with said affinities were hardly people you'd want to live and work with.
Psychics, ghosts, and dark-types. Bugs. Grounded pokemon. Poisonous creatures. Water, just like yours truly.
And then I remembered basic training, and some of the health issues associated with those same affinities. A knot formed in my gut as I recalled images of atrophied eyes, leaking sores, rotting teeth, skin as cracked as old leather, and a whole host of other diseases.
Very possibly, I was being sent to a unit manned by the dead and dying.
Sighing, I leaned back against the wall, watching the passing landscape through the screen that was our window to the outside world. The train was moving with what appeared to be deliberate slowness, and the escort vehicles were still rumbling along their routes a mere stone's throw from the tracks.
Periodically, the screen shifted camera angles to permit us a view from the top of the train, which gave me the chance to see just which areas we were passing through. By the looks of it, we were about a third of the way to base camp, if those low-roofed buildings along coast were any indication.
The fences of several makeshift detention facilities didn't escape my notice, either. We passed by a few of those, and I couldn't help but wonder if there were people I had known behind those fences.
Not that I had known that many people before I'd enlisted, but still.
A sharp whistle sounded somewhere in the compartment, and a voice spoke up through a speaker mounted on the ceiling.
"We're approaching the first checkpoint."
Through the screen, I saw the escort vehicles falling back, with others moving in to take their places. Similarly, the flying digimon that were our air support dropped back, to be replaced by a flock of fearow flying in formation.
"What's in the crate, anyway?" I asked the unusually silent commando.
It held a finger to its faceplate, presumably in front of its concealed lips. "That's classified."
Figures. I settled for toying with the thought of releasing Newton for a chat, but thought the better of it.
Out of boredom, I decided to talk to the commando. Again. "So, you'll be watching it until the end of the line. Anyone else stepping in as the second guard when they let me off?"
It gave me a nod. "Yes. Some kind of digimon, apparently."
After a moment's pause, it let out a low drone, which I would later learn was what a sign sounded like through a commando's helmet speakers. "Not that I dislike the digimon, but I'm hoping the one that they're sending in will be pleasant company.
"Just between you and me? It's almost as if they didn't trust us humans and pokemon any longer."
I raised an eyebrow at that. "You do realize we're under surveillance in here?"
A snort, identifiable even through an acoustic filter. "There aren't any recording devices in here, kid – the cargo would fry those thanks to the input feed."
It hesitated. "Perhaps I should kill you for that."
"Not my fault you had a big mouth!" I sniffed, as I cast a glance at the bulky crate in the compartment. Foam padding on the walls was most likely redundant given the blast-proof crate, but such crates weren't often used to transport radioactive materials of any sort…
Realisation hit me like a jeep driven by General Fen. "That's why the convoys are following us, aren't they? They can't keep an eye on the cargo, so they're watching the train.
"Wonder why they didn't fly it to the terminal at Coronet, then?"
All I got as my answer was a resolute silence from the commando.
Fuck it.
xxx
Two hours and three checkpoints later, at somewhere past one-thirty, we pulled up at the Coronet base camp. The station was nowhere near as heavily guarded as the Canalave station, but I spotted at least half a dozen commandos scattered about the place, and what looked like a few members from the explosives ordinance disposal teams.
So it seemed whatever was in the crate was some pretty dangerous stuff. Considering I might be spending the rest of my days bunking next to a bomb warehouse, though, that didn't really faze me.
Once the rest of the train had been unloaded, our compartment was unsealed. We were ordered to stand up against the wall, and two bomb disposal troops stepped in, equipment in tow.
"The cargo is intact?" asked the shorter of the two as it approached the crate. "No unusual sounds, lights, vibrations, or temperature changes during transit?"
"Negative on all of those," replied the commando I'd had to travel with. "Cargo is secure."
With a slight nod, the two disposal experts pulled out their equipment and began inspecting the cargo. It only took a few minutes, but the tension in the air was easily heavy enough to outweigh a snorlax.
"Very well," declared the taller troop, as they started to pack up their equipment. "We're getting an all-clear, so the kid can disembark."
They left the compartment, and I hopped out behind them. My duffel bag was nearby, on top of a large, empty cage. I walked up to the cage, wondering what it was there for, when what sounded like a muted thunderclap made itself heard on the platform.
Everyone seemed to freeze on the spot, except for their heads, which turned, almost as one, to view the muscle-bound creature that had just stepped out of the station master's office.
It was easily seven feet tall, and had skin that was a dark shade of green. Rusted chains criss-crossed its torso like a metallic toga, and a massive battle-axe was strapped to its back. Numerous screws and bolts protruded out of the pitted and scorched metal mask that covered its face, and its fists were wrapped in what looked like barbed wire. Even the creature's loincloth appeared to be made of metal, resembling the chain-mail worn by medieval knights.
"Holy shit," I faintly heard the commando in the train saying as the metal-wrapped digimon lumbered towards the train.
People, pokemon, and digimon hurried out of its way as it crossed the platform, and when it boarded the train, I swear I saw the compartment sink a little lower towards the track. Magnetic levitation or not, the behemoth was clearly a heavy beast. Part of me wondered if the brutish creature would have difficulty moving in the compartment thanks to all the magnetism employed by the rails, and yet another part of me pitied the commando for having to endure even ten minutes of its company.
With a hiss of well-maintained hydraulics, the door slid shut behind the digimon, and the station master blew his whistle. It didn't take five minutes for the train to pull out of the station, and by then, life on the platform was pretty much back to what it had looked like before I'd been posted to Canalave.
Shouldering my duffle bag, I headed towards the well-worn road that led to base camp.
xxx
Many things looked familiar as I reported for duty at the commandant's office, and got directions to the Inkblots' barracks. But then again, many things didn't, and I couldn't help but feel older as I made my way towards the explosives storage facility – true to the commando's earlier words, the Inkblots were still resident nearby thanks to the relative dimness of the general area there.
Had it really only been two years since I accidentally electrocuted that goldeen and got posted to Canalave?
As I walked past the physical training fields, I saw blocks of new recruits marching about, and rows of pokemon being trained in hand-to-hand combat. Several groups of digimon were also there, undergoing the same training as the pokemon troops. The instructors were still shouting their heads off as usual, too.
Ah, boot camp. How I'd missed it.
Just past the fields, the ground started sloping upwards, where base camp had been built into the sides of Mount Coronet. There were the barracks where I'd been assigned to for my basic military training, and there was the pond – much prettier now with that bush next to it – where I'd electrocuted the commandant's pet goldeen.
Just next to the mountainside, locked in by the rest of base camp, was the explosives facility. It was little more than a cluster of bunker-like concrete buildings, surrounded by barbed wire fencing and gorilla-like troops patrolling its perimeter.
While it had always been there since I'd joined the army, only now did I notice the small, garage-like structure practically behind the explosives bunkers. Nearly hidden from view behind the bunkers themselves, it was tucked into a depression in the rocky side of the mountain, and looked as if it had been built there to help keep the slope from eroding.
Once I got closer to the squat little building, I saw that a misshapen plank had been fixed above its door, on which the word 'INKBLOT' was written in black paint. Closer observation revealed that all of its windows were also opaque, the glass looking either tinted or painted black.
As I got nearer to the creepy-looking place, I noticed that a small amount of apparently random objects had been placed between it and the fence of explosives storage. Ranging from a closed aquarium to a bundle of bamboo canes, the motley collection had been neatly arranged against the barracks' wall. Chancing a quick look at the other side of the building revealed a small clothesline, with several standard-issue tank tops hung out to dry.
Funnily enough, I heard crickets chirping once I got to the door. A few steps to the left of the door and a quick look at the aquarium – closed and locked with a lid made of mesh netting – showed a veritable colony of crickets inside it, swarming about bundles of leafy vegetables like flies on roadkill.
The proximity to explosives storage was fine by me. The possibility of being buried alive during a landslide thanks to the location of the barracks was alright. Commandant remembering the fate of his late pet and not liking me, that was cool.
Somehow, that tank of crickets just gave me the chills.
When I at long last got around to knocking on the barracks door – following the knock rhythm the commandant had instructed me to us – no one answered. Repeating it thrice yielded the same results.
Hesitantly, I tried the doorknob, and to my surprise, it opened. The door swung outwards, revealing the barracks' darkened interior, but not its occupants.
Six bunks were arranged along the sides of the long room, and somewhere in the shadows at its other end was a door that probably led to the head. Of the six bunks, only four had footlockers next to them, those which were furthest from the door. The floor was perfectly clean, and a shoe rack had been placed next to the door, with several pairs of military boots on it. Mindful of the clean floor, I took my shoes off and put them on the rack, noting that the boots, bulky as they were, weren't much bigger in size than my shoes.
I stepped into the barracks, setting my duffel bag down on top of the shoe rack, and saw that of the four bunks with footlockers next to them, only three had mattresses.
My footlocker was only due in with tomorrow's train thanks to the security concerns, so who did the fourth footlocker belong to? The bunk frames were spindly metal things, and sleeping on one without a mattress would be damned uncomfortable.
Where were my barracks mates, anyway? The commandant did just tell me to get here and report to them.
Deciding that I might as well pick my bunk – plenty of choices given the apparently deserted room, really – I went over to the shoe rack, grabbed by duffel bag, and unzipped it.
What on Earth?
A squinted in the darkness, making sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me. There was, in my duffel bag, a small package wrapped in brown paper. I certainly didn't recall putting that into my bag.
The strange package was curiously soft, and the paper crackled under my fingers. It had been wrapped clumsily, with as much tape and wrinkles as you'd expect from a child who was wrapping his first Christmas gift, and did not have a note attached to it. Five seconds and a removed wrapper later, I found myself staring at what was, unmistakably enough, a standard-issue tank top.
When I unfolded the puzzling piece of clothing, a piece of paper fell out of its folds and to the ground. What got my attention instead, though, was the little smiley face which had been sewn onto the tank top's back.
It was the stereotypical smiley face, except that the words 'Screw the nice guys, they finish last' were written on its forehead. Realising who the package was likely to have come from, I squatted down and picked up the piece of paper that had been folded into the top, and turned it over. Someone had written something on it, and the messy scrawl did look familiar.
I suck at farewells so all the best, rookie! Someday, if the world becomes a better place, we'll grab a drink, m'kay? If not… well, the afterlife ought to be one eternal party, anyway. Fen says Allan's doing alright, and Aunty Moira sends her love. Take care of yourself and Newton, and try not to boil Silas, you hear me? Zack H.
Engrossed in reading General Harding's note in the near-darkness of the room, I didn't notice that I wasn't alone until a black bag was slipped over my head and the muzzle of a gun stuck in between my shoulder blades.
"Well!" drawled a distinctly accented voice. "What 'ave we 'ere, lads?"