"Incoming!" A statement that could be considered superfluous given that for the last six hours they had nothing but incoming fire, but beggars could not be choosers, and he did prefer a bit of warning before everything exploded. Again. "Rockets, Oh-Four-Four!"
The comm bead crackled. "Sniper!" Cheerful.
"Second sniper, house, right side!"
Somewhere in the chaos, bullets whizzed back and forth, troops trading fire as the Soviets tried to push further into the city, and the beleaguered defenders struggled to hold the line, with progressively less success. In the past hours they'd surrendered half a klick, and with hours of daylight left, more would fall. The Soviets smelled blood.
He picked up the more old fashioned field radio. "This is Spade 6, requesting fire mission." No use in panicking, he thought, or at least, not right now. If the Soviet's wanted to push further into the cover of friendly guns, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Spade 6, be advised Fire Base Delta is under counter-battery fire. Directing your request to Beta-" The crackly reply from the radio prompted a few interesting mental curses, before the Lieutenant glanced towards the frontline.
"Don't bother." He slammed the radio down. With the pummeling showing no sign of slowing, the options were wearing thin. "Status."
"Snipers have us pinned, sir!" Came the immediate reply. "Soviet tanks moving up. At least two, possibly more!"
"Understood." Tanks advancing sealed it. "All units, prepare to fall back." That order hurt, but there wasn't a choice in it now. Without artillery cover, and with snipers pinning them down holding the line would rapidly become untenable.
"Yes sir!" They didn't need to take long to prepare, given the limited supplies and equipment that remained, but with the Soviet Forces pushing forwards every moment seemed far too long.
"Sir!" Sergeant Arielle Vaughn ducked into the ruined building they used as a command post. "Everyone is in position." She gripped her rifle tightly, rocking on her heels.
"Good." He took a long slow breath. "Wounded?"
"No more than before."
"Well, I'll take small mercies. Tell them to move the wounded first…I'll lead the last group back." He received a crisp salute in return, although her eyes told a different story, a fact he tried desperately to ignore
All things considered, the battle of Prague was going absolutely swimmingly, in his opinion. They'd done nothing but retreat, lost air cover days prior, and now apparently couldn't even count on artillery bombardment, never mind the fact that apparently some jackass couldn't even manage to keep the armor out of the city. Which meant his miserable little force now got to deal with the full brunt of at least one armored company on top of the infantry, that already were overwhelming his positions. And the Major wondered why he said it wasn't a winnable battle.
"Fight for your country, my ass." He muttered, flicking the safety off on his own weapon. "Go fight and die for someone else's more like." Not that such sentiment meant much now, given that he didn't plan on dying just yet.
"First group is falling back." Vaughn's cool tone sounded in his ear, and he nodded, ducking and weaving between rubble and walls, taking the occasional potshot at the things that appeared to be heads. "Wounded will be cleared shortly."
"Copy." The minutes wore away. The enemy seemed to realize they were facing less resistance, and pushed harder than before. Even as they were cut down.
Shouts of 'reloading' and 'falling back' became commonplace, as the second squad retreated, leaving only a few others at his side, and the Soviet advance grew bolder still. He planted a shot dead into the center of a Sergeant charging between cover, and as the man staggered, fired three more times, until the body stopped moving, and return fire forced him to duck again.
Pulling a grenade, he took stock of the situation. "Smoke in ten!" Affirmatives sounded in reply as he pulled the pin, and took a steadying breath. Fate held the key to his survival now. Smoke would buy them ten maybe fifteen seconds, maybe as much as twenty. After that, luck, and nothing else would keep them alive.
Lobbing the grenade, he dropped back into cover counting out the seconds, before turning and sprinting back. "Move dammit!"
Gunfire crackled behind them, a man going down from a shoulder hit. He caught his eyes widening in shock and horror before a wall separated them. The panicked sprint didn't end for minutes, long enough he lost track, until he collapsed back into the wall of a more intact building, wide eyed guards and soldiers from the back lines staring at his bloody frame in shock and horror.
"Sir!" Corporal Evans, first name forgotten, saluted when he caught sight of him.
"Corporal." A quick look over the troops pulled a frown from the tired officer. "Where is the Sergeant?" Every survivor traded looks, and the Lieutenant had been in his position long enough to know an unspoken conversation when he saw one. "Well?"
Evans, apparently, lost the metaphorical draw. "Sir. She went back to find you. Reports claimed you were overrun and…"
"Goddamnit." He spun, violent, precise.
"Sir!" A question, a plea, all rolled into one.
He didn't reply. Shoving aside the locals he stormed out, and back the way he came, for a vantage point, somewhere to oversee the battlefield.
"Vaughn." Radio static answered the demand. "Answer the damn radio!" Nothing. Pulling himself up a ladder, he almost slammed his face into the optic of his weapon to get a better view of the area he'd just left. "Vaughn!"
A quick sweep revealed nothing, and he was about to move to a new position when a figure stumbled into view.
Arielle Vaughn, bloodied and battered, staggered into his scope. She lacked a weapon, and at least one bullet hole in her torso. Slumping against a wall, she watched a swarm of Soviets surround her. Words were exchanged although he couldn't tell what they were. Vaughn nodded, after a moment, raising her hands and falling to her knees. His finger tightened on the trigger, holding fire for the time being. From the circle of soldiers, an officer appeared. Also wearing the markers of a Lieutenant, he traded further words with Vaughn, her expression suggesting defiance, even in surrender.
Without any warning, the officer's arm snapped straight, the muzzle flash of a pistol and the explosion of red giving no doubt as to what occurred.
For a brief moment, he stared in muted disbelief. Then, the officer turned, and although they didn't know, eyes locked across the distance. Every inch of his face forced into memory, white, receding hair, a sharp, angled jawline, and scar on the left check. He pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew high and left, the fighting clearly having battered his scope loose, but it didn't matter, the distance was too great for his rifle to be effective anyway, and he let the weapon drop to his side once again, sliding down the wall, a dull ache settling in.
Cold sweat coated his limbs. Vivid dreams were hardly new to the Commander, given his situation, but he couldn't say he enjoyed them, or what they dug up. Even less now, given recent revelations and upcoming events.
Swinging out of bed, he grabbed his phone, giving the messages a quick glance. Mostly nothing, a few old contacts performing the near obligatory check in, and one message on Groza's contact that was quite obviously not from Groza, given the broken English and slang involved. But, it did confirm what he suspected to be true, and it would simplify the next steps of this process. That also meant Kalina lost that bet, which brought a temporary smirk to his face.
Sending a quick confirmation, he staggered to the en-suite bathroom, splashing his face with the frigid water. Cold did little to wake him, and he sighed, staring into the mirror. Mismatched eyes glared back, and he rubbed at them. "You look like shit Blackwood." Then again, he always looked like shit. Shucking his shirt he made for the shower. Time, as it happened, didn't wait for miserable old bastards to agree on it's passing.
-Faded Glory-
As an officer, Ian Blackwood never liked being outside of the situation, or sending his troops into a hostile area without going along. And, as he paced his office, he safely concluded he still hated the idea, even as Griffon Sector Commander, commanding superhuman androids. Worse, Kalina's morning reports were done, leaving nothing to do except focus on the task at hand, namely, getting his soldiers back home, in one piece, and solving a few, final, problems. With the confirmation that the mayoral office contained a holo-projector, he could freely pace, and move about, which was admittedly freeing. Monologuing behind a desk reeked of villainy, and while Blackwood never considered himself one of the 'good' guys, he at least figured he wasn't an outright villain.
The pickup for the squad was also already in the air as of the past five minutes leaving nothing to do but stand, and stew. In yet another score for him in the bet with Kalina, Fleur confirmed she could handle setting up the connection with OTs-12, which meant even that she didn't need his input.
Right on cue, the chime sounded, the connection request appearing on his screen. Four quick taps and the low hum of the transmitter started up. For once, he felt pleased as the expense not being spared, even if Kryuger only intended it for meetings with other Griffon staff. Then again, nothing said he couldn't indulge on occasion.
The monitor on the wall lit up, revealing an opulent office, ten Tactical Dolls in various states of unease, and Fleur, standing between, but slightly behind, FAL and Groza. Groza's rifle sat in his hands, a low ready grip, while FAL's fingers hovered near her knife. And, behind his desk, the man himself.
"Well. You have moved up in the world, Lieutenant Hrejsa." The man jerked back when the Hologram snapped into place. "I did wonder what happened to you after this little skirmish in your good city, but it appears I should not have."
The Mayor to his credit, took the surprise appearance of a hologram using his own projector, and the direct address quite in stride, only one eyebrow slightly rising. "I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Commander, I do not believe we have met." A question hung in that tone. And the Commander gave serious thought to just keeping him guessing.
But, it paid to let someone else think they controlled the situation, right up until they didn't. "You would know me as the Commander of Sector Nine." Meeting the man's eyes, Blackwood took a breath, searching for any shred of recognition, but finding none, he carried on. "Now, your other question is substantially more complex, and I am afraid if you wish for that answer you will need to indulge me for a time." The Dolls shifted, and he hid a smile. None of them would object to hearing more of his past, of course, and he himself knew it was past time they learned, if he wanted to be trusted in the field going forwards.
"My schedule is quite clear. Miss Groza specified this meeting might take some time, although I do not see a reason for such. The perpetrator is caught, present…" Once more a leading question. While basic, the Commander could respect the tactic.
A nod to give the point all the attention it deserved. "Then perhaps I should start at the beginning." While holding up his end of the deal with Fleur never really came into question or doubt, it'd be good to lay down the ground rules now, and admittedly, reassure the girl that he wasn't selling her out. "You will not be taking Fleur into custody, and she will be returning to Sector 9 with my Dolls when this meeting is concluded."
That truly brought the man up short. "A considerable presumption on your part, one I see no reason to indulge." His hand drifted to the side, probably to some kind of panic button
"I cannot say that surprises me." Ian turned, as though to pace his office. "But, I believe you will find my arguments quite persuasive." He paused, just long enough to savor the moment, and watch the hand approach the button, but the muscles not yet tense as if pushing it. "As, I do believe you do not want the truth about those medals on your chest to make it to the general public."
The silence lasted for a few beats longer than a normal silence would. "I don't believe I know what you are referring to." A perfect monotone reply, the sort that Ian knew like the back of his hand. I didn't see who fired the shot, or a personal favorite, I understand your orders.
"No?" He turned back, giving Hrjesa a hard stare. "Perhaps I can refresh your memory of the Battle of Prague." If the Commander weren't looking, he'd never have seen the stiffening in the man's neck and jaw. "Specifically, its third week, as the Russian offensive started to regain momentum, and the air supremacy the defenders enjoyed began to wane. Planes were being redirected to Poland; leaving Prague to hold out against increasingly long odds."
Narrowed eyes and a hard edge crept into the tone. "I fought in the battle, I remember the progression of events."
"However, that third week had an interesting addition. The Czech army, while limited, managed to prevent the Russian's from effectively circumventing the city, forcing them to stand and fight its defenders. In turn, this prevented the artillery located behind those lines from being easily targeted. While Soviet counter-battery fire harassed at least one firebase daily, they never managed to suppress artillery cover entirely. As you recall, that changed in the third week. The Soviet guns located Firebase Alpha, positioned roughly northwest of the city, with stunning precision wiped it from existence. At the time, allied commanders believed this to merely be the result of a pilot getting a good fix on the base."
Nods around the room, from both Hrjesa and his own soldiers, as Ian began to pace in earnest, getting into the swing of his story. "However, over the following weeks, locations Delta, Beta, Foxtrot and Gamma were also hit with surprisingly accurate counter-battery fire, and the loss of heavy guns to cover the edges of the city pushed the defenders back. Even the local forces, having valiantly fought to stay outside the quarantine walls, fell back into the city, increasing the intensity of the fighting." He paused for a breath, dramatic effect, and to keep his thoughts in order. "However, by this point, both officers on the ground, and those within command were starting to suspect something beyond just lucky pilots and well-trained gunnery crews were responsible for the metal raining on the fire support. At some point, the enemy knowing exactly where you have more your guns in the dead of night, without any overhead watchers, starts to get suspicious."
"I recall there being thorough investigations, and no such person ever being found." A warning note, eyes darting to the various Dolls about the room. "And I fail to see how-"
The Commander cut him off. "While it is true the Czech intelligence community did exonerate all parties, other countries did not agree with this conclusion, and continued to dig. Parties such as the Eastern United States meanwhile came up with an interesting theory, that in fact a traitor existed within the local defense forces. A person leaking intelligence to the Soviets, providing them with detailed locations of firebases, troop movements, and more." Granted, NATO didn't support that conclusion, but he'd keep that to himself for now.
"Given that the Americans didn't bother to help with the defense of the city, I fail to see why we should listen to what they have to say. Even NATO didn't care much for the words of the American intelligence services if my memory serves." The mayor crosses his arms. "You are wearing on my patience, Commander."
"I'm sure. But, it seemed appropriate to establish salient details. Including, for instance, that the Americans did, in small numbers, fight in Prague, namely, special forces on your front lines, pilots in your skies, and guns covering your city. Thirty-one American pilots died while flying sorties over Prague, and almost a thousand troops died either in front line combat, or in rear line positions. Of those dead, at least half can be directly ascribed to this mysterious traitor…and given the state of Eastern America at the time, any loss would be called utterly unacceptable, so the remains of the CIA were quite keen to get ahold of the name."
Hjresa sat, stone faced as the Commander stopped to take a drink from a prepared glass. They glared one another down, him daring Ian to go on, and Ian quite amused by the squirming. It felt good, in a horrible way, seeing the bastard squirm. "Well, you obviously have a point. Get on with it."
Ian didn't, finishing the drink with amusement bubbling in his chest. Setting the glass back down, he made a show of thinking, as though trying to recall where he'd been, before nodding. "Ah, yes. The traitor. In the search for a name, the CIA, and Army, began polling soldiers and officers who had fought in Prague, prior to the flight from the city. Most American troops on the ground died quite horrible deaths during the Soviet push on the last days, when they started to pull in Dolls and other autonomous soldiers into the fighting. But, a few did survive. Notably, a then Lieutenant Ian Blackwood, who had since been deployed into North Africa."
Several people made to interrupt. He kept talking. "Over time, a clear picture of the battle, and the treason formed. And a single name kept coming up, one I'm sure you can guess."
At this point, the man appeared to be resigned to what was happening, as his panic button didn't appear to be working as intended. "Whether I can or not, spin your tale, Commander."
Such generosity could only be rewarded, after all. "As you wish, as you wish." He stepped forwards, a gesture more for theatrics than actual intimidation, but it helped to have that much more visual leverage over his foe. "It is simple, truthfully. The name, Hrjesa, was yours. According to a number of credible CIA and Army reports, you spent the latter half of the battle of Prague feeding information to the Soviet High Command." A certain lightness settled in his chest at finally uttering the word aloud, putting them plainly on the desk of the man himself.
"Enough." Hrjesa bit out the word, visible fist clenching white. "What do you want?"
"Two things." He held up the requisite fingers. "First. Fleur here, will be coming with us, and all of your pursuits of her for 'justice', will cease."
The Mayor grimaced, but didn't appear bothered by that, waving it off. "Yes, yes, as you wish. And the other?"
-Faded Glory-
Groza witnessed the shift in the Commander's stance, at that question. While before he carried himself in a relaxed manner, obviously in control of the situation, but making no effort to present himself as anything beyond someone who was spinning a tale for the benefit of his subordinates, this man radiated cold fury. While before he gave the air of being concerned for Fleur, now, his eyes screamed personal vendetta, his jaw locked in a hard line, he stood tall with shoulders set.
"You will resign your post, withdraw all overtures you have made to the Soviets, tell them they are unwelcome, and depart for private life." A calm, cool, command, given in the same way he'd given Groza and her squad orders, with assured knowledge of the order's completion, but without the underlying faith that he showed Groza. No, this command rang with the undertone of threat, one that Groza well remembered from a different time and place in her life.
"And why, Griffon Commander would I do such a thing? Need I remind you-"
"My name is Ian Blackwood." He cut the man off in a soft tone, split the words with a knifelike ease. "I fought in Prague, bled and suffered at the edge of this city, day in and out. I lost friends fighting out there, while you cowered in a command bunker selling us out to the bastards trying to kill us. You may not remember me, but I remember you, Hrjesa. The push that broke through, that day, you were in the command point just down the road there," He motioned vaguely to the city at large. "You were on the radio when I returned from the line, with what remained of my squad, to report the destruction, yapping away. You, miserable shit that you are, killed one of my only remaining friends with your treachery. I got to watch a Russian put a bullet between her fucking eyes when she surrendered because of you!" His voice rose to a shout by the end, the hologram stepping forwards to jab a finger at the now quite still Mayor. For a moment they stayed that way, the Commander's entire body shaking, before he relaxed, arm dropping down. From somewhere, he pulled a small flash disk. "I have all the evidence I could ever need to prove my claims, message transcripts, photos, and more. I cannot say the CIA didn't do a good job."
The Commander turned, striding back to his desk, or so Groza assumed. There, he stopped again, taking more consideration with the next words, at least to Groza's eye. Before he said a word, Fleur finally lost her cool. "And if that isn't enough, you used that service to get yourself elected, and now you just let the city rot while the Russians give you a blowjob on the side!" Putting a preemptive hand on the teenager's shoulder, Groza tried to decide if she would let the girl have a go at him if she made a go for it. "Do you know what's happening to people who live here? Do you even care?"
The Commander took the opening. "Of course, he doesn't care. The only thing this slime can look out for it himself, which is why this is quite simple. Either he plays along with what I want, or I ruin him, publicly, and politically. I can flex the war hero cache far more effectively than he, given that I can prove I spent a lot more time fighting on the front lines of the conflict, spent time on other fronts, and so on and so forth. I also can flex the paramilitary muscle required to protect journalists and other media outlets who might be willing to report such stories." Possibly a bluff on his part, from what Groza knew, but she wasn't about to interfere. "You will find that your Soviet buddies are less than accommodating when you outlive your usefulness, if you catch my drift."
Groza didn't even realize she was shifting, assuming a combat posture as the tension continued to build, until the click of several safeties being removed sounded in the room. The Mayor's hands jerked back from where they had been, and Groza eyed him, for a while. Even at his best the man wouldn't present a threat, but it said quite a bit about the atmosphere of the room that she assessed him as such. "If you go for a weapon you will be incapable of using it." She stated it plainly, without any of the usual intonation she might give such words. "You will be presumed to have acted to provoke our response and legal responsibility will be yours." If he wanted to be under Soviet rule so badly, he could deal with the way Soviet laws were written.
"How long have you been planning this?" A bit of grudging admiration entered the Mayors tone, as the realization began to sink in.
The Commander's hologram shrugged. "Since the end of the war. Hell, earlier than that. From the moment the intel arrived that you were classed as an enemy asset, and any information given to you was to be considered compromised, I've considered how I might go about this. If I'd kill you in your sleep, publicly humiliate you, or something else." A pause followed by a rasp of laughter. "This specific plan? Less than five days. Fleur there gave me the opening, and I took it."
"I see." They waited. An absurd situation really. A hologram, ten tactical Dolls, and a traitor. "Why would the people take your word over mine, Blackwood? What does your story have that mine would lack?" Groza found it amusing they spoke as though the accusations were true already, the man no longer denying any of it.
"Two things. Documentation. A lot of it, with plenty of official US stamps all over it. Europe doesn't like the Americas any longer, but everyone respects the work they used to do, and I can leverage that to my advantage…that and it's not like they are going to get pissed at top secret intel released now. Second, I know all the right stories to paint the Soviets as monsters, and all the right rebuttals to the stories of NATO matching them." Groza wasn't the only one to jerk a glare towards him.
"You seem to have planned this quite carefully."
"Like I said, I've had a long time to figure out the loopholes…and while just having someone shoot you in the face would be personally satisfying in the short term, I'm not ignorant of the consequences of that act, so we can do things this way instead." That did leave open the option for shooting him in the face later, Groza thought, and from FAL's expression she also picked up on it. How…troublesome. Hopefully that would not involve either of them.
"Indeed." The mayor produced a sheaf of papers from beneath his desk. "You do realize it will not be as easy as you claim, correct? To undo everything I've built."
"Ease is not our concern." Five-seveN popped up, with far too much giddiness in her tone. "Our concern is your compliance…and the Commander's gloating, I suppose." She added the final part with a lazy, amused drawl, that Groza found rather concerning.
Hrjesa's eyes boiled in fury, as he regarded the hologram. "I should have shot you when I had the chance."
"Probably." The Commander shrugged. "But you didn't, and now you can regret that, ja?" He clapped the sound ringing. "I'm tired of my own voice. You going to play along or not?"
"It is not as if you are giving me a choice is it?"
"I believe this is the part where I am supposed to insert a trite line about there always being a choice, but no, there isn't." The hologram crossed his arms. "I am, however, not a total ass-hat, so you have a few days to get things in order. But, if you fail to comply, you and I will become more personally acquainted."
"I am aware." The man gulped, nodding a few times. "I'm sure the public will not complain too much if I need to retire to attend to my ailing mother."
"I do not care what lie you tell. Do as you wish." The Commander waved the words away, turning to Groza and FAL. "We are done. The Helicopter is on the roof." Groza blinked in surprise, before nodding, making a small motion with her head to signal them to leave, as the Commander's hologram snapped out of existence.
"Have a good day." Five-seveN jauntily waved as they left, and Groza suppressed a smile, and Fleur only made it past the door before bursting into giggles.
"That's horrible." The young woman proclaimed, while Five-seveN shrugged airily. "But I think I love you."
Groza tuned out most of the rest of the exchange, as they scaled the building, to the roof, where, sure to his word, their ride waited, and the group piled in, now somewhat more cramped with the six additions.
"So, uhm…" Fleur broke the quiet. "What exactly happened now? I've never been, well-"
"I don't think the Commander expects you to fight. I believe he wants you around for your sneaky skills, not for shooting people." OTs-12 tossed out her opinion, while still looking out the window. "Actually, you might be coming back, if that idiot down there doesn't play along. You're probably better to do that than us."
"Okay…?" Fleur's expression suggested otherwise.
"For now, don't worry about it." Groza offered. "Things are in flux for Sector 9, so the Commander should be more than willing to be flexible." That seemed to appease her for now.
"So, you're not going to comment on any of that?" Groza could feel SV-98's stare in her side.
"What is there to comment on?" She challenged. "We learned our Commander fought in the war, which we suspected before. The extent of that service remains a mystery. We know he is willing to enact vengeance on his enemies, which I believe we all figured out. So no, I do not see anything worth commenting on for the moment." None of them brought the Commander up again for the rest of the flight.
AN: And that's a wrap for this arc. We'll be on to Sector 9, and starting into the main thrust of the 'story' from here on out. Not really that much more to say.
Thanks to Branded for reading as always, even if he talks shit about my inability to not have errors on page one. Go read Toy Soldiers, Clearly deserves more love...uhm... that's all I got.
Reviews, questions, comments are always appreciated.
