Today is in my home country Germany 'the day of German unity' so happy holiday. I don't think this chapter is very good, but tell me your opinion. I appreciate all comments and ideas.
"What a piece of shit." Escape First Class Sergeant Ronald Wilson. In the war he was a feared fighter. He was a saboteur, a spotter, a tracker, a messenger and an expert raider, just like everyone else. But the problem is that the war was more than 10 years in the past. On top of that, there was the restructuring of the military and since he was a veteran, he would have been discharged from the military. Luckily, they were looking for veterans for the new military police, as people seem to start stealing each other's food rations and more.
He was accepted, which made him very happy. The military was his life and he couldn't imagine doing anything else. Recognising and collecting evidence and details he already knew how to do and he had soldiered so many children that he could tell when someone was lying. Now, instead of taking away those fears, he reinforces them to make witnesses talk.
He took a drag from his cigarette and looked at Corporal James Roberts. He too was smoking as if next to the crime scene. A narrow road where a new industrial estate is soon to be built.
"Yeah." He agreed with him. The corporal's hair was red, though it was beginning to turn pale, betraying his age of 32. He had attacked superiors and comrades more than once, including himself. He looted, kept xeno weapons and more. Ronald was surprised to be made a corporal in the first place, but despite being a bastard, he was always there when needed. Both in and out of combat and he was glad to know him.
There was a big black car in the alley. Two holes in the windscreen, blood on the front seats and two body bags beside it. A woman with gray hair was walking towards them. Dressed in a gray plastic suit.
"You died like I think?" He asks her as she stands in front of him. she snaps her fingers. "Died by gunshots to the head, one shot at a time. It sounds better than it is, a lot of people can do it."
He hands her a cigarette "Right." And lights it.
"Tire tracks from at least two trucks. They're wider than standard, I think they've been tuned." A drag from the cigarettes and smoke rose from the three mouths. "There's no sign of a struggle either in the truck or on the road, except for the two gunshots."
"All right. Thank you." He said to the old surgeon. "What about witnesses?" To the corporal.
The woman replies "there are no cameras and no witnesses that we know of."
"There is always someone who has seen something like this. We just have to find him. Come James, work is waiting." Dieset starts to move silently and sits on the driver's side of the car, getting the investigator.
"What do we do now?" James asks as they sit in the car.
"Let's think about it. Weapons and skills." He looks at his partner.
"A lot of weapons weren't reported after the war and it's kind of everyone is a veteran." He looked back and spoke as if he found it boring that two high marshals had been taken.
"True, but the trucks are interesting. Especially if they've been modified?"
"To the logistics office?"
"Yes."
The logistics office was a large building with seven floors. From there, local, central and global transport was managed by trucks, trains and, more recently, ships. Apparently a job that required many people.
They got out of the car and walked towards the building. In front of the entrance they showed their identity cards.
The building itself was a mess. People with files and papers went from one office to another. They move through the chaos until they find an office of someone seemingly important.
Without knocking, they walked through the door.
"Who are you and why are you here?" The man was balding and very unhappy with them.
"We need a list of all the trucks that are stolen or missing on this island." Ronald said to him.
"Why would I even do that?" Before Ronald could stop him, James pulled the bureaucrat out of the chair and pressed his back against the window behind him.
"We're military police." Said Ronald calmly and walked up to the two of them, pulling out his ID card as he did so.
"Ohh." He simply replied. "I understand. I'll get right on it." He fled the office and didn't return for an hour and a half. When he was back, he had two thick file folders with him and gave them to the three of them.
When they were back in the car, James began to complain. "We weren't in it for anything. There seem to be too many trucks disappearing on this island."
"Calm down. It was just step number one. Next we're going to scare up some dirt."
The area was bombed and badly damaged. However, some people have resettled in the area, including the workers of the building they stopped in front of.
They got out and walked across the square covered in rubble and debris. A thick tarpaulin served as a door and offered some protection from the noise. Inside the building was a workshop where there was hammering, repairing, welding and swearing. The two men in uniform crossed the workshop and almost immediately attracted all the attention.
"Welcome." A man of Ozian descent approached them.
"We are looking for two modified trucks. Do you know anyone who would like one of these?" Corporal James asked immediately.
"Why would I know such a thing?"
"You know every illegal vehicle in the whole of London. Besides, you should know or there'll be an MP raid and if you run you'll be hunted down and killed because you were involved in the kidnapping of two High Marshals."
"The King wanted two big trucks with armor, better engines and tires. I didn't ask why."
"Thanks. The help is etched." Says Ronald in a cold voice turning and leaving.
"We're going to see the King." Says he to James as they sit back in the car. James nodded and starts the engine.
The place was large and was used to distribute the large amounts of food to the hungry population within the city. Although the state sent enough so that no one would starve, there was too little for anyone to get anywhere near full.
Fortunately, there is someone who deals in food. And with everything else he can get his hands on. Strictly speaking, he doesn't trade himself, but just watches everyone who does it for him.
A car stops and two men in military police uniforms get out. They enter a narrow alley and pass three large men with guns. They then enter a cellar. The cellar serves as a bar, brothel and casino. You can get almost anything here. For an expensive price, of course. Although it is cramped, everyone tries to make room for the two men and they can move through the crowd without much trouble.
A staircase leads even further down and at the end of a corridor and protected by two bodyguards is a door.
They walked past the men and through the door.
"Welcome. I knew you would come eventually. May I assume that you have been entrusted with this terrible tragedy near the industrial quarter?"
"May I assume you know something?" Ronald asks back coldly.
"Maybe?" The man the two were talking to was fat and dressed in a red suit as if he were a marshal.
"What do you want?" The fat man just smiled.