The Doll never enjoyed the Berlin skyline. Brutalist and even now scarred by the war, it cast far too stark a light on their current situation. Brushing a lock of hair from her face she checked her weapon again, before turning back to the meeting behind her. As requested by all parties, she had disabled her audio sensors, rendering her effectively 'deaf' to the world. If she wanted, she probably could have read their lips, but being a bodyguard, that skill had not yet become useful.
Even without hearing the conversation she could guess enough at its contents. A Clandestine meeting between two intelligence agencies only ever had a few reasons. War, of course, would be the obvious one, but neither Germany could afford that right now. And if that were on the horizon, she would not be asked to deafen herself. That meant the strange conversation from the previous week, with the veiled suggestion that she review the reports from the 50s.
She had done so. They made no further sense of this, except to tacitly explain that the reason they were sitting here now was because the Stasi and West German Intelligence made a tacit agreement to play nice. A nice thing to know but did not tell her much else of value. Then again, she did not consider herself good at reading those reports anyway. That was not her specialty.
The meeting appeared to be winding down, as hands were shaken, and covert papers traded. Only when the door firmly shut, and nothing moved for several seconds did the Deputy Minister perform the hand signal that she could have her hearing back.
"What do you think?" The question came out of nowhere, as she started to sweep the room, just for good measure. They would disable the recording jammers later.
"That I find the Berlin skyline uninviting, and being unable to hear anything to be a rather uncomfortable state that directly compromises my ability to protect you." The Doll rattled off. "I also question the nature of this meeting at all."
"It is a farce, but a farce that everyone involved cannot deny the 'validity' of." The woman took a sip of the wine she'd poured but never touched to that point. "There is no proof that you or I are not back in Nuremberg at this very moment."
"Body doubles and Dummy Links are quite impressive, yes." She probed at a drawer without satisfaction. "They are also not foolproof."
"And even if someone knows we are not there, what good does it do them? My appearance is hardly unique, and your model is a ubiquitous choice for bodyguards, which any respectable West German would have when visiting Berlin. And you are evading my question."
"I do not read lips, ma'am. It is a security risk."
"Someday, we will need to work on your candor." Her superior sighed.
"They are untrustworthy, but no more than you are. You have a mutual goal and they are not working to cross purposes. They are not trying to kill us."
"Good." That appeased her. "Anything else?"
"Not at the moment. I would, however, prefer to take the morning flight."
"Of course." The woman laughed, shaking her head. "I will indulge your paranoia this once."
"My paranoia is what keeps you alive, and I would rather not have to answer to your mythical 'husband' about why you are dead." The counter rolled off her tongue before being considered, and did not get a quippy retort. The Doll paused, glancing at her boss, finding a small frown present on her face, and they did not speak again.
-Faded Glory-
Unlike everyone else, SV-98 did not consider this to be a nice, cushy assignment. While she knew she'd gotten a bit better about not being, to quote several others, 'a bitch', being stuck in a city full of civilians, in a country she'd helped defeat in a war did not settle her nerves. Or improve her general demeanor. Not wanting to be in the same city as Groza on a shopping trip, even less a Groza with a FAL and PPD-40, who appeared to share that duo's extreme issues with the idea of practicality and camouflage, meant taking the first chance to pretend like she had a plan to fulfill the Commander's request that they gather information.
That, as it turned out, meant finding a bit of a hole in the wall café in a corner, and finding the draftiest corner in the place and staking it out. SV-98 would concede they made good coffee, and while the building had a bit of a dull roar, the noise classed as 'bearable', which made her corner equally 'livable'. Of course, fleeing without any actual plan meant that SV-98 could only stew in misery and contemplate how to get herself back out of the situation she'd gotten into.
"Do you mind if I sit?" SV-98's head snapped around, fixing what had to be the least fortunate man in the building with a piercing glare. To his credit, he didn't flinch, just looked slightly uncomfortable asking the question at all. SV-98 didn't need to look back to know that everywhere else was in fact full. Said man almost passed under the eyes, as otherwise unremarkable.
Without speaking SV-98 slid over a bit, before doing her best to sink back into the booth. Fortunately, her new companion didn't seem to be interested in talking, leaving SV-98 to simply stew in her own rising misery, something that SV-98 would freely admit she was quite good at. Rustling paper beside her, prompted one opened eye, as the man pulled out what seemed to be work, full of numbers arranged in a variety of charts, and columns. Something to do with money based on what SV-98 could see, accountant or similar.
Closing her eyes again, the sniper let thought pass as well. The occupations of random civilians didn't concern her, even if it did make for a nice mental distraction. Briefly, SV-98 considered tapping into Zenner, just to see what the others were up to, and what stupidity she could mock them for. Or, as more likely, she'd get caught in some argument about food, or shoes, or equally inane things. Such as the one someone three tables over was having with someone on a phone, in what seemed to be a poorly coded drug deal. Or, the couple, trying very hard to keep their fight quiet. And so it went, her mind wandered, picking up the details, and discarding most of them in turn.
Equally, she could hear the quiet mutterings as the man sitting next to her started working through the math on the spreadsheets. Out of habit, SV-98 started keeping track of the math. That, as a mental exercise went, kept her attention far better than some idiot desperately trying to save his relationship when he'd been caught with literal pants down. Considering that he didn't have a calculator, doing it all by hand turned out well for him, and it took almost fifteen minutes before he made an error, and, more impressively based on what SV-98 gathered just from mumblings, managed to catch and correct it fast. Another ten minutes passed before he made another, and this time, didn't find it as fast. Opening her eyes at last, SV-98 skimmed the columns she could see. None of the numbers made actual sense, but finding the error took only seconds.
"You doubled the seventh line, fourth column." Exactly what compelled her to speak, she couldn't say. Impulsiveness, perhaps, or just creeping boredom. Whatever the reason, her words made the man jump a good three inches from a sitting position.
"Huh?" Truly, the height of eloquent responses. Then again, if someone who might as well have been mute said something to her, SV-98 figured she'd have jumped too.
"Seventh line, fourth column. You double added it. That's why you're struggling to match them up." SV-98 repeated, running the mental sequence back to be sure, even as the man started checking.
"I did." Scribbling in the correct answer, he flashed her a quick smile. "Thanks." SV-98 grunted, eyes closing, she went back to listening to the hum of the building. Nothing of actual note, although the good coffee did help make up for it. Another minute passed. "How did you know that?"
SV-98 could not figure out a good lie, and with all the confidence she could muster she went with the truth. "I can hear you muttering."
"Over all the noise?" And of course, she'd spoken to an observant human.
Lying, SV-98 figured, even badly, wouldn't work. She sucked at it. And, at worst, she got herself an empty booth again. "Doll." SV-98 opened one eye to find him looking at her attentively, but without judgment. "Enhanced senses." A bit of a flush crept over his face, probably at the obvious answer. Or, obvious given the contextual information. "And math's far more interesting than listening to people argue about what to do on a vacation, or how they weren't sucking that guy's dick when she walked in."
"You're the first person I've met who'd say that." He seemed to ignore the last part, either for crudeness or just being off topic. It also seemed to capture his interest.
SV-98 swallowed an insult. While she could be slightly abrasive, being an outright ass in public would be bad optics. Or whatever stupid reasoning Groza would cook up. "Brain's wired for math." SV-98 shrugged, again opting for bland honesty over elaborate lies. "Numbers go in, numbers go out, that's nice and simple." He nodded along with her. "Way easier to deal with than people, that's for sure."
A slow nod, as he thought about that. "I suppose that's true." Cocking his head to the side, he went on, "You make it sound like you deal more with people than things you like."
"Unfortunately." SV-98 drawled, finding some amusing in watching him give her another once over, mental calculations whirling as the man tried to figure out the disparate hints she'd given. As their eyes met, he flushed, looking away, and SV-98 could only snort. Not like he'd been ogling her, but it did give a bit more time to decide what to follow that up with. Just dropping that she worked for Griffin counted on the bad idea list, but that problem of lying did arise. "You'd think a PMC would be less dealing with people than the military but somehow it's more." True, but vague enough to keep her out of trouble.
His eyes lit up with interest at that tidbit. "That sounds exciting?"
She couldn't help the bark of laughter. "Military life is the boringest shit you could imagine. "We need you to go there, right now, it's an emergency', and then we get there, ask what we're supposed to do, and you might as well be talking to a rock for all the good it does, so we just sat there, staring at the actual rocks."
"Huh." And, like most people when learning about the idea of hurrying up and waiting, he didn't seem to know what to think. "Not that different to corporate life." Her confusion must have shown, as he hastened to explain. "Lots of sudden instructions from on high without much explanation." Tapping the pile of papers for emphasis, he kept going. "Like this. Suddenly we have to complete an internal audit by the end of the week, and the scope is 'everything'."
"Surprise inspections are a bitch." Not the same thing, but close enough for SV-98s purposes, or at least, she figured it would be.
"And everyone else is stressing out about it. Makes being in the office miserable." He glanced at his watch. "If I'm lucky they'll go home early, and I can finish the rest of this in the office." A long sigh and a bit more quiet followed, which SV-98 took to mean that no matter what he wanted, the man didn't think that it would be happening. "Also, thank you for the help."
"Don't sweat it." The mental distraction helped but saying that felt wrong. "Gives me something to do instead of sulking in this corner."
The man frowned, tapping his pen on the documents, obviously working to put together the pieces that SV-98 so unsubtly laid out. "Are you between jobs then?"
"Something like that." Even that sounded like sulking to SV-98. "More of, this is the part of this job better left to others, so I get to do a good old hurry up and wait."
The pen stopped tapping, his expression sympathetic. "Don't sound happy about it?"
SV-98 considered her feelings somewhat irrelevant to the situation. "Doesn't really matter one way or another, things will get exciting again at some point." He started to ask the obvious question. "Always good. PMC work is either boring as shit, boring as shit, or unreasonably active."
The last one, as seemed to be the pattern, caught his attention. "Unreasonably active?"
"Getting shot at, attempted stabbings, attempted beatings, the random idiots who think they can punch me." Each new item made him blink. SV-98 cracked a smile at that last one. "Upside, I'm made of metal, so bullets aren't that scary. Downside, bullets still hurt like hell."
The man shook his head in open disbelief. "That sounds more terrifying than exciting."
"After a few years in the infantry, your idea of exciting gets a little broken." As soon as she said it, SV-98 realized that verged into too dark for the average civilian. "Much better to have your idea of exciting than mine, believe me." SV-98 shifted to be slightly more comfortable, abruptly aware of the sheer insanity of casually talking about her life with some random guy in a coffee shop. "Firefights aren't even fun the second time, and by the third or fourth, any excitement dies down."
"And the first?" She couldn't decide if he sounded more horrified or curious.
"Then they're terrifying." He hung on her every word, obviously more interested in her life than his work, something SV-98 would consider at a later date. If nothing else, this guy didn't have the weird starry-eyed worship she'd half expected to get instead.
"I should have guessed that."
SV-98 failed to catch her snort in time. "Eh, if you're guessing terrifying, you're doing better than average. You wouldn't believe the morons that joined up, thinking they're about to have the time of their lives."
Grimacing, the man looked away. "And end up in all kinds of trouble?"
"If one of the other Captains is to be believed, mountains of it." Honey Badger definitely fit the description she gave. "Not my squad but I get to hear all about it. Something about the worst combination of a frat bro and a Florida person, whatever that means."
"That sounds very American?" A tentative statement, more confused than fishing, so he obviously didn't get it either.
"Person saying it's as American as they get, so probably." Especially since Alfa claimed to be from Florida. She felt a mental prod. A moment later, Groza sent an image of FAL in a rainbow patterned sequin dress, except the color underneath them looked to be some shade of brown, and there were outrageous holes cut in the material at her hips, chest, and legs, and filled with a netted material of some sort.
How do I tell her that this is hideous? Groza seemed to be caught between demanding and pleading.
SV-98 resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, really not wanting to deal with her friend's idiocy or try and explain how the network between Dolls functions to a human. Don't ask me, I'd tell her she looks like what'd happen if you gave a child drugs and a paint set. Whatever reply Groza made in defense of her girlfriend went ignored.
Her conversation partner kept on, blissfully unaware of the brief byplay. "Definitely sounds more exciting than workplace drama in a bank at least."
"What kind of workplace drama would a bank even have?" SV-98 didn't catch herself before blurting the question out. "It's all number crunching, isn't it?"
"Number crunching is the easy part. But who gets which clients, seating, all those other things make for the day to day 'nonsense' as you described it." The man rolled his eyes, making it obvious that SV-98 would not get a better answer out of him than that.
"Sounds…mundane." Didn't that say something about her life, that the idea of drama over who got assigned which desk felt mundane, and almost silly? He blinked, taken aback. "In a good way. Would rather deal with that, compared to half the crap I've gotten dragged into."
An alarm on his watch chirped, and he swore. SV-98 mentally translated the Polish, and couldn't suppress a bit of a smirk at how sanitary even that swearing was. "Sorry Miss…"
"Nine-Eight." Nice and easy to keep her own nonsense straight.
"Miss Nine-Eight." He turned the name over. "It looks like I need to get back to the office, but if you're here again I'd love to chat more?"
"Not like I've got anywhere else to be." SV-98 offered a halfhearted wave, and only fifteen minutes later did she realize she never asked his name in return.
-Faded Glory-
9A-91 freely admitted that the last place she expected to find KSG would be a jewelry store. Even in 'civilian' garb, with a hooded black jacket, and equally dark tights, her hair made the whole look monochrome enough to stand out by itself. Especially in a rather upscale store where most people came in at least business casual attire.
"I do believe you have confused them." Stepping up beside her, 9A found it amusing that KSG visibly jumped when spoken too, and that one of her hands instinctively went for the knife hidden in her coat.
That only lasted a moment before KSG relaxed, returning to her posture of a woman considering jewlery and not a soldier out of her element. "Confused who?"
"The staff." 9A jerked a head in the direction of two humans and three Dolls all looking towards them and speaking amongst themselves. The attention felt intense but when more customers filtered in, they quickly headed off to assist them. "You are not the sort who usually comes here, but you are also quite sure what you are after."
If that assessment bothered her, KSG didn't show it, merely shrugged a bit as she looked. "Not the first time, won't be the last either."
On the scale of things 9A expected, a small but confusing insight into KSG's private life was not among them. "You routinely confuse jewelry store workers?"
KSG snorted, picking up a hair clip to examine it more closely. Behind her eyes, 9A could see analytics running, although of what sort and for what purpose she did not say. "Not routinely, but often enough to recognize the pattern." Setting the clip down and continuing to skim the collection, KSG took her time continuing the thought. "It's become a bit of a game, to see how long it takes for them to finally come ask if I need help at this point."
"Really now." 9A-91 circled around the case, eyeing various designs without seeing anything of interest. "And how are they doing?"
"Record shortest is eight minutes eleven seconds, record longest, if we discount never, is twenty-four minutes, thirty-eight seconds. I have been here for about six minutes so far, and there is enough other traffic that I estimate between six and nine minutes before I am approached." A beat, in which KSG glanced to the side. "Now that you walked over, likely nine to twelve minutes, unless either of our appearances suggests us to be quite lost."
Much more detail than she expected, although entirely fitting for KSG, and raising the entirely pointless follow up question. "Across a sample size of?"
"Thirty, if we count times, I was alone, thirty-nine if we count times I had someone with me." This time, KSG only examined the hair clip for a few seconds before putting it down, and fixing 9A with one of her piercing stares and then returning to searching. "Discounting two times I was with Marines as outliers due to the presence of Marines." That statement did not need to be parsed but did raise many many questions, most prominently why there were US Marines in a jewelry store. "Two different times, someone made the intellectually dubious decision to ask me for help picking gifts."
9A got the feeling KSG intended to lead the conversation this way, either to have it be meaningless, or for some other reason. But she would play along with that scheme for now, as it gave the best insights into KSG as a person, relative to anything else. "You seem to have a good eye for detail."
"Detail, certainly." Glancing across the array of pieces, KSG made a show of a shrug. "I can make good guesses as to the quality of gemstones and assess quality by eye without much effort. I can tell you if a price is good, bad, or indifferent. Any empirical fact or figure you might want is likely within my reach. I am, however, utterly useless as the matters of gifts that actually matter."
"By which you mean you struggle to find things you consider meaningful, or that you have a different idea of a good gift?" 9A paused in her examination of the wares, trying to decide what that note in the American's voice was. Not bitter, nor dismissive, but she got the sense KSG did not feel satisfied with herself.
"Both, and neither." And, if KSG had a plan for the conversation, this likely did not fit into it, based on the thinning of her lips. That did not compel her to try and course correct, however. "The concept of meaningfulness for me is different from others, true, but that is a problem that can be contextually adjusted for." A sweeping gesture at their surroundings followed. "For instance, RFB has a surprisingly large collection of clips and pins, but not many that are worth wearing to a more upscale ceremony, and even if she doesn't say so, that bothers her. Thus, I can overlap practical value with something that will be emotionally valued."
Thus, their current situation. "One would hope you understand your girlfriend, in fairness." On the scale of examples, that one felt a bit self-explanatory. Or at least, not proving much of a point, although 9A got the feeling KSG did not truly intend too. The words were as much to fill space. Pausing, she glanced back towards the staff, now whispering between themselves. Soft enough to be unheard even with enhanced senses.
"They would." The rueful smile as she refocused suggested it took KSG a while to get there. "It's a work in progress."
"I have seen few relationships that are not." 9A mused, filing away that fact that the topic appeared to relax KSG, when compared to her day to day life. "That is what you are looking for?"
"Mhm." With a huff, KSG tacked on, "Not had much luck."
9A decided against saying that she hadn't either. "Lack of options or…?"
"Plenty of options, quality is always suspect, and nothing that quite fits." The American chewed on the last word for a while, perhaps fittingly for how rationally she approached life. "And you?"
"A similar reason, I suppose." 9A-91 mentally tried to work out what she could, and could not, say. Their 'agreement' made all of this far tricker than it should have been. Even more when talking to KSG, with her mental catalog of goings on.
"Didn't realize you had a partner." If the earlier gaze felt piercing, this one tore through her without any resistance at all. The fact KSG didn't know stung, but all of that was overpowered by a weighty stare. "Someone with Griffin, or back home?"
The easiest lie contained the truth, in the end. "Griffin. As in your case, we are in very different fields." Vague enough that any digging would turn up nothing. Or so 9A hoped. "Mercifully, I don't have to worry about them getting dragged into quite the same kinds of trouble Suomi seems likely to drag RFB into."
"And you're not on the frontlines, normally." KSG's lips curled in amusement, taking the unsubtle bait. "And Suomi drags everyone into trouble, running her mouth as she does. You'd think the woman would learn, but in the five years I've known her, she just keeps going."
"Some people get very stuck in their ways, after so many years." And wouldn't she know something about that. Far too much about that, if 9A had to be honest with herself.
"You sound like you know a thing or two about that." And, of course, KSG would pick up on that sentiment. "One of their siblings?"
"No. They lack for siblings, for better or worse." Now, the truly dangerous game began, given that KSG would remember, and further information would lead her to the 'right' answer before long. "Just rather stubborn." A bit of frustration entered her voice at that, even if she didn't mean for that.
Fortunately, KSG didn't seem to notice, just laughing quietly, and shaking her head with some personal amusement. "As a stubborn idiot, all I can say is be patient, and honest." While the atmosphere still felt charged, 9A decided that perhaps she wouldn't be getting herself into more trouble going forwards. "We're good at getting lost in our nonsense, and often forget to step out of that nonsense and let other people understand. Or decide if our nonsense is actually right."
"I understand the reasoning completely." 9A's knew she was frowning, perhaps even venting. "It isn't an entirely stupid reason, but-" KSG waited, silent, head tilted to the side, simply observing. "-But that doesn't mean I like it, or that I don't feel pushed aside by it."
Surprisingly that didn't get an immediate or quippy answer, rather a long, considered pause, leading to a far more insightful question. "Too much focus on work, not enough on you?" 9A nodded. "Well." Another, long pause, as KSG's eyes slid out of focus. "Guessing there is some big thing coming up they're worried about, and want to focus on?"
"Close enough."
An absent nod, before she snapped back into sharp focus. "You want advice, or just a listening post?"
9A didn't know. She never intended to have this conversation and had no expectation of how it might end. But, if anyone might have some sort of useful advice, it would be KSG, or so 9A tried to rationalize it. "If you have some miracle advice, I am open to it."
"I ran outta miracles in the Corp, I'm afraid." The smile didn't make the other Doll's eyes. "And in relationships I'm a blunt instrument. I call it like I see it and have the density to match. Last time RFB got her head up herself, I told her she had her head up her ass, and she could either give me the time of day or get out of my bed."
"I will gather she got her head out of her ass." At least, that seemed to be the sort of dynamic those two had.
"Nope. She tried to tell me she didn't, and so I shoved her out of bed." In any other situation that sounded like it should have been a joke, but the deadpan delivery undercut that. "And she threw a controller at me."
9A shook her head, now entirely confused by the situation. "What, exactly did she expect that to do?"
"Break my nose." That had to be a joke. "RFB dated a few people before me, and far as I know all of them were human. So, it would have worked then." A beat. "Needless to say, I don't think that methodology is going to work for you."
"Probably not." The principle, however, probably did. While she went along with a lot of Natalya's nonsense, the playing pretend started to strain things, at least for her. "The point is sound however."
"If someone gets something useful out of my nonsense, I'll take it." KSG went back to browsing again. "Even if there is something very wrong about me giving you advice."
"Even I can't be an expert on everything. And some issues are too close to home for us to be rational." 9A countered. That prompted a snort, either of amusement or disbelief, but KSG didn't further comment, and 9A left it alone. She picked up a snowflake hair clip. It fit, in its own way, but also felt a bit too on the nose given the current topic. "We've exceeded your expectations."
KSG glanced at the staff once more, a small frown forming. "Unsure if they're perceptive, or cowardly."
"There is a surprising relationship between the two." That drew another snort.
"Ain't that the truth." A long sigh. 9A could feel there was more to that statement, but had no hope she'd get it. "You remember when I told you that I really don't enjoy being in charge of shit?"
"I believe your words were that you were a Staff Sergeant and so help you God if someone tried to turn you into a butterbar you were going to show them just how 'crunchy' they were." 9A recited, with a mental affirmation that she should not ask what most of that actually meant. Most military slang she understood, but the underlying implications were sometimes lost.
"Quite." Examining another clip, this time for much longer KSG sighed. "Consider that statement, in the context of me, at this very moment."
"I do not speak American military slang." 9A did, but KSG didn't need to know that.
"I'm a Staff Sergeant. Supposedly, a pretty good one. It suits my skillset, and my questionable people skills. I'm not an officer. I don't lead well. But, I'm also sharp eyed enough to know that the only other candidates around here for being an 'officer' want it even less."
"And so, despite doubtlessly being offered an out, you are too much of a coward stand up and take it." That seems to be what KSG wanted her to take away.
"In one. I go out of my way to not be that." A bit of a laugh. "Suppose that's really what I'm doing here. Avoiding all that nonsense for a while."
9A didn't say anything for a while. "When was the last time you took time off, KSG?" The American opened her mouth. "Without a mandate."
"Never?" A beat. "No. Four years? Closer to five, maybe six."
9A nodded along, deciding that directness would be the better part of valor. "Then perhaps you should listen to yourself." A blink. "Even a Digimind can only work so hard for so long. You may have a sufficiently advanced one, with a variety of upgrades stapled on over the years, but even you cannot avoid the need for a break. And as someone who works themselves to death, you do not get nearly enough time off, or rest."
"So, your professional advice is I take a vacation?" That, for some reason appears to deeply amuse KSG.
"My professional advice is that you take advantage of the chance we have been given. The Commander is going to be occupied with other things, and our various associates are largely self-sufficient, and those who are not as with someone who is. You do not need to worry about administrative tasks, about numbers, or who will take what patrol, or how to message the latest stupidity our superior has cooked up. You can, in fact, take the time to relax, decompress, and confront the feelings that I'm given to understand you Marines find so frightening."
KSG's look this time was different. Softer but also more piercing. "You're the third person to tell me that recently." Defying all logic, came off as more entertained than anything else. "And the second I take seriously."
"And the other two?"
"Desert Eagle, and my old Lt. Although he phrased it differently." 9A let a brow rise. "The wording doesn't bear repeating, but the intent was the same."
"Sounds like a smart man." 9A decided against pressing the issue.
"Smart? God no. He just knows me." Another huff. "I know he's right. You're right."
"It still bothers you."
KSG's glare didn't reach the level of venom, but it did come off as rather antagonistic. "That it does."
"Want me to leave it alone?" Taking the hint felt wise, at that point.
"Yeah." And then they were quiet again. "What did you do before becoming a shrink?"
"Huh?" 9A hadn't expected that question.
"Before becoming a shrink. What'd you do?" KSG repeated. "If you're alright with talking about it."
She didn't mind but she would have to be a bit circumspect about the truthful answer. "Worked at a café."
A brow rose, behind another hair clip that caught KSG's eye. "Doesn't seem like your thing."
"It paid the bills and was what I would find." A pause. "My other half also liked the uniform."
"Uniform, huh." That may have been a mistake to reveal, if the small, but growing smirk were anything to go by. "What, was this some kind of maid café or something?" 9A felt the flush rise in her checks under the scrutiny. "Didn't know the Soviets were into that kinda thing. Wish I had."
"Because?"
"Been a lot easier to keep my dipshit Marines outta trouble if I could have told them maid cafés were a commie scheme to distract them?" 9A couldn't actually tell if that was a joke for a moment before KSG's façade broke, and they were both able to laugh. "It might have even worked on a few of them."
"I both anticipate, and fear, meeting these Marines of yours." Mostly feared, if even half the stories, both from KSG, and 74M were to be believed.
"Last I knew they were back stateside, so I can't say it's likely we'll ever run into each other." KSG seemed to settle on a set of hair clips at last, eyes darkening with those words.
The realization hit 9A like a truck, and she cursed not realizing it sooner. "You miss them."
KSG glanced up. "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
"Then why leave?" 9A picked up the snowflake hair pin after all. Nothing else fit, and she'd probably said enough to keep KSG from finding the rest. It wasn't as if Natalya wore anything fancy in public anyway.
If some of KSG's replies took a while, this one might have never come. "There is some old saying about loving something being knowing when to let go."
A deflection, and 9A could see that plain as day, but let it go. She'd pried enough of KSG's secrets from her, and some, it seemed, were still a little bit raw. Provided that the American actually took the time to relax, none of it would impact things for the foreseeable future anyway.
-Faded Glory-
First thing the next morning, Ballista sought out PP-2000. She did not care to get roped into FAL's likely shopping trip, Five-seveN's abject stupidity, or FNC and FN-49 obtaining every bar of chocolate in the city and committing general misdemeanors. Avoiding that meant she needed to be otherwise occupied as fast as possible, and that meant finding PP-2000, as anyone else would already be fleeing the potential horrors.
"Do I want to ask what they did?" PP-2000, of course, picked up on her intentions immediately, but notably did not object to them.
"Nothing out of the ordinary, but I also do not care to deal with them today." Ballista waved that concern off. "They will be both loud, annoying, and trading barbs about a time of our life I wish to not return too."
"Even though I know you're related, it remains hard to reconcile." PP-2000 pulled a jacket a bit tighter around herself as they walked.
"I've known them my entire existence, and I still struggle." Ballista didn't bother acknowledging the weather herself, ignoring the mocking mental voice of Five-seveN pointing out that the weather matched her soul. "Yourself?"
"Do I have siblings?" Ballista nodded, getting a vague shrug in reply. "No idea. Never done much looking into the people who made my model. Given everything, I suspect there are one or two, not many designers seem to stop at a single model." The pilot snorted. "Even less after my model got mass produced."
"Really?" Ballista never thought too much about that. While not one of a kind, she knew her model, and by extension the others, were not exactly mass production units.
"We're good pilots and flight attendants." PP-2000 stated. Ballista couldn't speak too much of that, besides her piloting skills, which seemed good. "Try not to think about it much, but I've run into 'myself' a few times before."
"Can't say I've had that problem." Ballista didn't know how she'd handle that.
"Advantages of being mass produced, I guess." PP-2000 did not make that sound like an advantage. "I don't recommend it, screws with your head seeing your own face." Stopping on a street corner, PP-2000 scowled up at the clouds. "Thinking about it, I'm probably the only person on base who has that problem. Maybe Tiss and 39?" She trailed off. "49 or FNC maybe."
"FNC and 49's models are not uncommon, albeit not in this area." Ballista offered up. "Regionally common at least back home."
Nodding absently, PP-2000 glanced at her. "What was home like, for you?"
"Belgium?" The blonde nodded. "Calm. Quiet. It's all smaller than anything out there. Contained." A pause. "I do not recommend the fashion industry to anyone; it is a ruthless place."
PP-2000 absorbed that in silence, and they made it a ways further before she spoke again. "How did you fit to that equation? You don't strike me as a model."
Ballista laughed. "No. They intended me to be, but I did not take to it. Apparently, a deadpan stare into the soul is not arousing. Something about 'ruins the appeal of my figure', or some nonsense."
"I don't believe I wish to examine anything about that more than I must." PP-2000 declared, and Ballista agreed. Some parts of the human mind were not to be explored. "So, what, you just stood around and looked menacing?"
"Five-seveN is, improbably, too much of a shark, even for them, so she started acting as a bit of an agent for FAL, who actually can do that sort of thing without being a societal menace, and I broke the hands of people who got grabby." Ballista glared off into the distance, fingers curling and uncurling with the unconscious desire to hit someone that was not there. "It worked for everyone, and the threat of violence kept people in line well enough."
"Sometimes just how much of everyone else's lives is based on violence leaves me rather uncomfortable." PP-2000 admitted, as they stopped to look out over the river. "I can't tell if it's me being insulated from the world, or if it's all just unusual."
"I would hazard a guess that it is a case of you being exposed to the worst parts of everything without any pause in between." Further consideration suggested that to be a good way to think about it. "And you lost the lottery of coworkers."
"I am led to believe I lost several lotteries there." PP-2000 leaned across the railing. "And yet it is starting to become something approaching normal." A sigh. "And now whatever this is."
"This, is a mess." Ballista declared, to a small laugh.
"Just a mess, huh." PP-2000 mused on that for a while. "A few months ago, I'd have considered the idea of all this, and the fact that it's going to end in violence to be horrifying. Now? I don't like it, but I guess, I just accept that it is what will happen. I might even be involved in it, and I know people that will be." She pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders. "And I'm just a pilot. Just a pilot, with a vitriolic friendship with one sniper who probably still hates my guts anyway, and a weird, I dunno what with another sniper who I'm screwing up my time with by moping."
Once again, Ballista could do nothing but laugh. "Being worried about the impacts of the screwed-up life we lead is an entirely reasonable thing to do. And I'd rather do that than contemplate whether I need to throw one of my teammates into the river."
"We could always split the difference and throw SV-98 in the river." PP-2000 offered. "I'm sure we could convince people to help."
"I'm more partial to throwing Five-seveN in the river at the moment, admittedly." Ballista's lips quirked. They could also find people to help with that. "For all her pig headedness, SV-98 is growing on me."
"When she isn't calling you slurs and wishing you're dead, her straightforwardness is rather refreshing." PP-2000 admitted. "Did you have to beat her quite so thoroughly at her own game?"
"She made the challenge; it is not my fault she can't back it up." Ballista had to admit it their little shooting contest had been closer than she expected. PP-2000 rolled her eyes, and they lapsed into a companionable silence once again. The wind snapped around them both, cold, and biting, throwing bits of river spray all the way onto their faces. "Griffin is the closest I have felt to home in a very long time." PP-2000 didn't say anything, although she did shuffle a bit closer. "Feeling safe is a novel thing."
"It shouldn't be." A beat, then two, before PP-2000 asked in a low voice, "Because of those two?"
"Yes and no." Ballista considered the river for a while. "It is not their fault, and they did not help, or hinder. They simply did as they felt right."
"And how closely did the idea of right align with, I dunno, mine, or Tiss's?" The question lacked any judgment, conversational even. Yet, Ballista could feel the edge, the pointed meaning underneath, even if PP-2000 didn't intend for it.
"Rarely." Any other answer would have been a transparent lie after all. "It is a common cause of conflict between us." PP-2000 didn't comment on that. "They have toned it down in recent years, for which I am grateful." Grateful that she didn't need to have a go at them if nothing else. "Even so it generally meant that places rarely felt like 'home', or safe."
Slowly, PP-2000 worked it out. "That's really why you were up on the roof. Keeping watch."
"Yes."
The pilot hummed. "And now?"
"It's a good habit to have, but we can mostly trust those in charge to do their jobs." Taking the time to sweep the area again, Ballista could only shrug. "I have heard stories about what happened further south from our positions. We have good allies now."
She felt more than saw PP-2000's quizzical look. "Stories about further south? More than what KSG alluded to?"
Realizing she'd perhaps said too much, Ballista had no choice but to forge ahead. "KSG's allusions to the situation on the front confirmed things I heard, but those rumors continued for the entire war." Glancing to PP-2000, she could see the confusion. "Of all the former soldiers here, I believe only Groza and SV-98 came close to the intensity of combat that KSG saw. Battles I saw were grueling, unforgiving affairs. For SV-98 or Groza, they were relentless, unfeeling slogs. For KSG?" Ballista shivered, and not from the wind. "I do not know what sort of nightmares she might have, nor do I think I would endure them so calmly."
"You make it sound like this is something you think about a lot." Another probing question, although this one without so much meaning laced into it.
And, Ballista knew, she did. "Sometimes. Especially now. While I would like to think we don't need to worry about being stormed by rogue someone's, it is worth considering." A beat. "And now I'm the one being terminally depressing."
"We can call it even." PP-2000 offered, with a genuine smile.
"Sure." And they lapsed into a long quiet again, watching the river, and the passersby. "What are you doing while here anyway?"
"Helping with logistics, drone flights if we need them, and hopefully looking scary, in situations where an itchy trigger finger is not advantageous." PP-2000 rattled off. "I take that to mean playing bodyguard."
"I would say at least that is safe but…"
"From what they make it sounds like nothing around here is safe."
"Probably not." Ballista concurred. "At least, not when everything is all said and done."
PP-2000 hummed, silent for a while. "Then you owe me that date before this turning into a shooting mess."
The sniper snorted, shaking her head. "I think I can make that happen." One way or another, she would.
-Faded Glory-
"Miss Nine-Eight?" A couple days later, SV-98 took the same spot in the back corner of that café, both out of boredom and a desire to see something other than the same four walls for a while. If nothing else, it kept her out of the way, until the time when someone did something that required things SV-98 knew she was good at. That also meant her companion from the previous day appeared towards the end of the day, folder of documents under arm and two drinks in hand.
"Yeah?" It took her a few seconds to process the drink he put in front of her. It matched what she'd been drinking the last time she'd been there. "Thanks?"
"Of course." He smiled a bit, and SV-98 shifted to the side, letting him sit. "I didn't think you'd be back."
"Rather hide here than deal with my teammates." Not even a lie. "We've got leisure time, and my squad leader is the sort of psycho who spends that time in a clothing store buying things she'll maybe wear once, and these boots with a three-inch heel that if she weren't a Doll would shatter her ankles. Worse, we got a new one who likes the same things. Other options are this doofus who thinks she's all hot shit, and someone who is actually high speed."
"High speed?" He blinked repeatedly, caught entirely off guard by the sudden unloading of opinions that SV-98 never really intended but that had been building, and SV-98 huffed, folding in on herself as she tried to catch all her frustrations before going on.
"Special forces. People who get up the sneaky crap that us infantry didn't want, or don't get, anything to do with." That probably sounded more antagonistic than intended, so SV-98 hastened to add on. "She's alright, I guess."
"You…don't quite sound like you believe that." Unfortunately, she didn't quite manage to pull it off, based on the probing question. Granted, he did only seem legitimately interested in what she was saying.
"She's alright. My problems with her are a different thing." Some of which could be considered SV-98's fault, some of which were just general problems. "She didn't threaten to throw me out of a helicopter, which helps." Her timing could have been better, as the poor man choked on his drink.
Wide eyed confusion asked the question as he regained the question long before he regained his breath and asked it aloud. SV-98 elected to wait until that point, just sipping her own coffee with quiet amusement. "Was that a joke, or did someone seriously threaten to throw you out of a helicopter?"
"Dead serious. Hardly the worst thing I've been threatened with." Any further elaboration of that cheery thought did not merit doing in front of someone horrified by the idea of being thrown out of a helicopter. Didn't stop her from throwing in the afterthought, "Probably not even top ten."
"I can't decide if that sounds exciting or terrifying." Watching him work through that provided her with some amusement. "Well, terrifying compared to what I do, but maybe not for you?" He trailed off questioningly.
Ballista didn't rate that highly on the threatening scale in the end, but SV-98 did not care to explore that further, here, or ever. Instead, she seized on the easy chance to move the topic on. "What do you do? Accounting?"
"Exactly." He dropped the sheaf of documents on the table to demonstrate. "Customer accounts mostly."
"Sounds quiet." Nice, mundane even.
He nodded, also seeming far more comfortable on a more sensible topic. "It's boring, but I like it. Can't imagine it compares to PMC business though."
"What I do is sit on my butt and wait." SV-98 countered. "Staring out a bit of glass about this large, waiting for some poor sod to walk through." Closing her eyes, SV-98 swallowed the bitter taste of her own memories once again. "Which beats the hell outta charging like a headless idiot."
Another hacking cough, and she realized too late that had been a verbal thought. "You…did that?"
"Orders were orders." SV-98's fingers twitched, and her drink burned her throat in an attempt to stall for time. "Not much room to interpret 'Charge that position and take it at all costs'. Not that we didn't try. Never changed much." Horror bubbled up in his eyes, and SV-98 hid behind another scalding drink. Temperature warnings flared in her eyes, which she cheerfully ignored. "It got better later, but early on? Our unit measured life expectancy in days, and replacement time in half that." Setting down her drink, SV-98's arms crossed in a vain attempt to protect herself. "We'd go into fights short on parts, limbs, the works. Bit hard to shoot a rifle when you've only got one hand, but figured it out." Letting her hands drop again, SV-98 resigned herself to the memories again. "Lucky for us, PMC work isn't that bad. Most of this is just sitting and waiting, and when it gets interesting, we're at least getting actual support."
"Anything sounds better than that."
"The lowest bar to clear, but you are not wrong." SV-98 couldn't help but laugh. "No clue how the hell I got here. Blame Groza."
"Groza?"
The question took a second to process before SV-98 remembered she'd never actually said the name. "My…boss? Squad captain? Minder?" SV-98 shrugged. "Direct superior. Been with her since the first days of the war, and I dunno if I'd say we're good friends, or just so used to each other we don't know what to do without each other." A snort. "Well, I don't know what to do with her. She's off terrifying some poor store with questionable life choices, and I'm hiding in a corner."
"You didn't seem to be hiding to me." SV-98 suspected that her look must have been disbelieving from how he hastened to affirm that statement. "You aren't curled up, or trying to not be seen. You're maybe a little grumpy looking, but that's not hiding."
That took some time to process, and frankly, SV-98 did not personally buy it. "That right?"
A sharp nod, and a bit of a knowing smirk. "There's a guy at work that hides in his corner, and just looking at him makes him jumpy. I had to go ask for something once, I thought he was going to die just talking to me.
Now that, in SV-98's opinion did not make sense, although she'd concede that perhaps she couldn't really judge, "What's somebody afraid of shadows doing in a bank?"
"I think he's a programmer?" The man scratched his chin and shrugged. "I don't actually know what his job is." Involuntary laughter probably did not qualify as an expected response, but it happened all the same. "All of us agree they're a weird bunch of people down there."
"Down there?"
"That IT and programming corner. They're helpful, but also a bit weird."
A statement that required some manner of qualification, or at least, elaboration. "Define weird. Drinking American beer weird, or…" She trailed off realizing that everything else that would follow would make absolutely no sense to him, due to being framed in a military context.
"Just…weird." He shrugged. "Little strange, and hard to talk to, but they're good at what they do."
SV-98 intended to answer, when the mental link from Groza opened. How soon can you be back?
The petty asshole in her wanted to ignore the question. Ten minute walk. Why? Deployment?
Not sure yet. From the tone of voice, Groza seemed to think it all a bit stupid. PP-19's passed on some request; I got some part of 'presumption asshats' before people passed out of earshot. Seemed better if we're ready just in case.
Fantastic. Just the opposite really.
"Miss 98?" The man's brow furrowed, either confused by her sudden lack of communication, or perhaps just the abrupt silence.
"Talking with Groza." SV-98 shook off the annoyance. "Apparently something's come up, they want everyone back." She downed the rest of her drink. "Which is stupid."
"Uhm…why?"
"Everyone dangerous is already there, and if they can't handle it, my sorry self isn't going to make anything better." She'd been enjoying a more laid-back day, and frankly, whatever this meant, even if nothing just ruined the entire thing.
She made to stand when he cut her off. "Wait, Miss 98. Assuming this…thing…doesn't take too long, are you doing anything tomorrow?"
Probably the actual mission they were getting called back for today. "Cussing at my bosses probably, otherwise nope." SV-98 shrugged to emphasize her point. "Why."
"Would you," He visibly stumbled over the words, "Maybe we could get dinner or something like that?"
A way to get away from the idiocy, and maybe actually have a relaxing conversation sounded good. "Sure." Swiping his pen she quickly scrawled something approaching a readable ID onto the top of a folder.
It was not until she made it halfway back to 'base' that SV-98 mind caught up with reality.
Groza. Several steps passed before she got a reply.
Even electronically, Groza sounded bemused. Yes?
I think I've been asked on a date? In hindsight, telling Groza that would not be a good idea, but SV-98 did not know a way to retract electronic messages. The hell am I supposed to do?
-Faded Glory-
PP-19 felt herself to a rational person. She did not succumb to fear, or even intimidation. This encounter however, standing across from AK-74M did scare her. The other Doll regarded her with what PP-19 defined as a suppressed disdain, or at the very least, dislike. Even when racking her brain, PP-19 couldn't think of why, given that she'd never met any doll of that appearance before, even less one who might have been wearing that specific unit insignia.
"Have I done something to you?" Finally, she could take the tension no longer.
AK-74M took her time speaking, eyes narrowing a fraction, lips thinning even further. "Someone with that same face did." The other Doll adjusted the grip on her rifle, instinctive, perhaps even preparatory. "Trying to decide if I'm seeing ghosts."
PP-19 could tell where that would be going, even without the intimidating armed Doll standing there. "I assure you-"
"Even if you had, you wouldn't remember." A dismissive statement, 74M taking a hand off her weapon to wave the very idea aside. "Last I recall of her, she'd gotten vaporized by about three tons of explosives." Even though she could not recall such a thing, PP-19 shivered. That sounded like a horrifying way to go, and an even worse memory for 74M to have. Although by the sounds of it the other Russian seemed to think it to be a good thing. "Happened to pick the day we didn't have on sight backups." Turning away from PP-19, 74M started walking. "If you are her, we will find out."
"And when we find out? What then?" PP-19 did not care to die, but she also did not appreciate being threatened. Even if she were even being threatened at all, which no one else would probably believe.
The other Doll stopped, looking over her shoulder, considering. Either what she would do, or if she wanted to answer at all. "I will do what is asked of me." Nothing about those words could be called a threat. A statement of the obvious, but equally mysterious. While knowing that AK-74M would follow orders seemed obvious, whose orders did not feel quite as obvious. Presumably her Commander, but some old order, from 'before' might also apply. Or some other power, because PP-19 did not believe for a second a Doll like her would be assigned to Griffin without some ulterior motive.
That also made poking at the other Doll unwise, but PP-19 couldn't resist. "That didn't answer my question."
A thin smile played about AK-74M's face. "I shall take that as a good sign." Turning away again, she kept walking, and thus left PP-19 standing in a hallway more confused than she'd started the encounter. While there was an undoubted low level hostility toward them from Sector 9 in general, this felt different, and more targeted.
"PP-19." Before she could consider that position much further, Commander Blackwood stepped out.
"Sir." The routine nature of saluting a superior provided some small comfort.
"At ease." She caught the small twitch of displeasure, and filed that away. Annoying this man, in PP-19's estimation, would be a very bad idea. She did not have the same data that her own Commander did, but she could tell on a deeply instinctive level that their 'help' did not enjoy being played with. "What does Orlov want?"
"The Commander does not currently have any requests for Sector 9." Doing her best to stay calm, PP-19 failed to contain a sigh of relief when that seemed to relax the man. He motioned for her to step into the room he'd emerged from, which appeared to be a hastily converted office.
"If not Orlov, then I will gather the local authorities?" He sat down at the desk, fingers steepling in front of him.
"Yes sir. The Governor has requested to speak with you." Accessing the mental file took a moment, as PP-19 could guess some of the follow up questions. "As there is not an established line of communication, they forward the request to the existing Griffin detachment."
"And thus you are here." Blackwood nodded along. "When do they wish to meet?"
"There was not a specific time, but I have been authorized to recommend tomorrow over lunch." Something in that phrasing amused the other Commander. "Unless you wish to suggest a different time."
"By a rather interesting coincidence, I am free to speak with the Governor tomorrow over lunch." Blackwood's toneless delivery made it clear that they were both aware of the game being played, and PP-19 sent the message. "In your professional opinion, should I expect anyone else of note?"
"No, sir." She shook her head. "The Governor is looking to speak with you in specific, and to my knowledge the local Griffin forces will be involved in a training exercise at that time." Only because the entire situation left her on alert did PP-19 catch the small tensing at her wording. "If you are amenable, a staffer will collect you at the appointed time."
"Given that my own units are currently tasked, that is appropriate." Blackwood's hands settled down, folding before him, fixing PP-19 with that same scrutiny that AK-74M had, with the difference that were he eyes promised reckoning, his appraised and judged. "Unless circumstances change, I believe we will be working quite closely in the near future."
"I believe that is a fair assessment."
For a long while he did not speak, but without a dismissal, PP-19 did not feel safe fleeing the room. "And how do you conceive of those interactions going?"
"I don't think I understand." More accurately, PP-19 did not feel safe answering that question without more information.
"That is fine." And he leaned back in the chair, still holding her in place with his stare. "If there is nothing else, I imagine you need to update the relevant individuals of arrangements."
"There is not." PP-19 took her chance then, and fled the room with as much dignity as she could.
-Faded Glory-
Tomek stared at the reports on the table in front of him. Griffin Dolls had indeed arrived and seemed to be taking a far more cautious approach than anticipated. No reports in the media or from the underground that heavy infantry slammed in doors, blasting everything that moved. That either meant they were cowards, or their leader to be more forceful than he'd expected. A third, distant possibility that they were merely biding their time existed but could be discarded out of hand. Orlov would be making demands, and bidding time in that context didn't make sense. Neither they, did the lack of doors being kicked in.
Likewise the effort expended to monitor and track them surprised everyone. From what the various groups that Tomek kept some contact with could tell, they had visually ID'd about half of the newly arrived Dolls, and all of those identified so far were merely doing civilian things. Shopping for jewelry. Drinking coffee. Taking scenic walks on the river. If you didn't know better most of them couldn't even be identified as Dolls at a short glance. Hell, one of them only got identified because some's wife had a magazine with a picture of the same model, well, modeling. No one could figure out what they were doing, and the best guess so far was that their superior gave them a couple days of rest time before the door kicking would commence.
They also had no visuals on the new Commander. The man, for they did know that much, proved a total ghost. His soldiers were out and about, but he himself had yet to be visually confirmed. Not an inherent problem, but Tomek had all but counted on the idea that they would be able to use that as a way to gauge what to expect.
"You've been staring for almost fifteen minutes." The man glared up at Lucjan. "What's so bad about that stack of reports?"
"It's what isn't bad about them." Slumping back into the office chair, far beyond when it creaked in protest, Tomek threw up his hands. "Four squads of Griffin heavy infantry arrive in the city, and Orlov doesn't have them kicking down every door in the city?" He waved the tablet in his hands for dramatic effect. "Our people can only find about seven of the bitches, those German lapdogs claim to have another four identified. Couple that with that bullshit," he pointed at the television screen to the left, where the images of a burning convoy, and a banner detailing that this was the fifth such attack in a month played, "And we're getting run into a real tight spot."
Lucjan regarded the news. "You think that's some else then."
"Have to be. You don't do that kind of damage to an armored car without a hell of a lot more firepower than you or I have. AT missiles, maybe light vehicles. Far as I know, that shit is exactly why we can't get missiles out of them."
"Because they think we'll start blasting food shipments to outlying settlements." The other man's incredulity ran strong. "Because starving our own people is a good response to occupation." Tomek could only shrug, as he too did not understand. "Putting that aside, we've got problems. What's the solution?"
Ever the question. Tomek rubbed his arm, stopping to glare at the scars there. "All we can do. Continue as we are, gather information, see if we can't get the german lapdogs to give us something more substantial." Galling as it was, the direct aid of the German intelligence services did aid that bunch quite a bit. "Orlov's a bastard, we just need to wait for him to make a mistake, and be in position to capitalize when he does." Unspoken went the additional 'not be the target when he does'."
"You sure?" Lucjan cocked his head. "I know you've got Orlov locked down, but he's not the only one to worry about, and this new Commander doesn't seem half as stupid."
"For now they are holding back. Whether out of reticence or something else, we don't know yet, but for the time being any mistakes will be Orlov's." Tomek considered for a while. "Even more so if we," He fished for the word, "Induce such a mistake."
"And who would risk that?"
"Those safehouses in the northern quarter. Are they still used?"
Lucjan's eyes lit up with understanding. "Infrequently. I would suggest avoiding the one that is used for dead drops."
"Of course." While callous, perhaps even cruel, Tomek long since decided that he would do what his country needed of him, and that bunch were halfway to traitors anyway. "Explore the idea. If it is not practical to leak the information, don't bother."
"Well see what we can do." As always, that is where they would leave it. "Any other considerations?"
"No." Tomek shook his head. And, with a sloppy salute, Lucjan departed, leaving him alone with his thoughts. They needed more information. Information and resources. Trying to work out how to get ahold of that information and material, however, would be the hard part. But, the others put him in this position because he did the best job of massaging the reports in the way they needed them.
AN: If I suddenly stop uploading, I've been creatively dispatched by Branded for the gall of having a 10k+ chapter. Which, to be fair, I did not intend, but I coudn't find a way to split this guy without changing anything in the middle or screwing my pacing for the entire story going forward. So, instead have a massive chapter to tide you over for a while, and provide a brief respite before we return to a more traditional model of Polish-Russian relations.