"You never did tell me what you think of Commander Orlov." It took quite a few more minutes for the conversation to circle back around, meandering across various small policy matters, and more small talk. Studying the governor with a greater depth of information Ian did not find the answer any clearer. A truthful answer remained out of the question, but how much truth to put in remained a thorny problem.
Diplomacy remained the better part of valor, in the end. "I believe it is evident we have radically different problem-solving styles." Of course, such a vague answer would be asking for the start of the long, complex political dance all over again, but Ian felt more confident in that field than just out and out saying things.
The governor laughed, shaking his head slightly. "You do not have to be diplomatic, Commander. The political arguments of PMC officers are not my concern."
While a true statement by itself, giving a random politician the inside line to a feud between PMC officers served no one but that same politician. Further, because it was not his concern it did not need to be discussed. "Factual answers are not diplomatic, they are factual. We have very different problem-solving styles." Ian repeated before deciding he could give at least a little more than the bland facts, purely to avoid circular discussion. "I believe Commander Orlov would call me overly cautious and unwilling to act, and I find him hasty and far more interested in personal agenda than accuracy."
Extra information appeared to appease the man for the time being, as he settled back again, watching Ian with a less guarded expression than before. "Because you do not agree with his assessment of the situation?" A probing question that justified every concern Ian had, before he tamped those concerns back down again.
Assessments of the situation played very little into Ian's opinion of the other man, although from an outside perspective Ian could see how one might reach that conclusion. If nothing else, it gave him the easiest way to explain things away. "His assessment of the situation fundamentally doesn't matter to me, what matters is potential impacts. Supposing there is a dissident movement in the city, squashing a single cell with overwhelming force is unlikely to stop another from appearing, and with an even bigger axe to grind." Ian paused, watching the other man's expression for any change, then went on. "Even more so, if one supposes that such a surprising movement is given 'assistance' as such benefactors are swift to pounce upon weakness, and by that point a revolt is sooner than a resolution." He could see the governors' fingers beat an increasing beat into the arm of the chair as the picture settled in.
Silence hung heavy, one that Ian did not intend to break. Looking out the window, one could see the city sprawled out beneath them. Somewhere, out there, he knew that the real problem lay. What problem that might be, Ian did not yet know, and this conversation seemed unlikely to illuminate for him. "That is almost exactly the opposite analysis that Commander Orlov gave me." When the governor spoke again, the words were measured, pressuring for a more thorough answer. "So thoroughly opposed, in fact that were I a betting man, I would have said you arranged it to be so."
"Is that so." An edge crept into his voice, despite Ian's best efforts to keep it out.
"It is." The governor's nod seemed unbothered by the sharpness in the air between them. "I am, however, reliably informed that you have only spoken directly once, and evidence suggests such a conversation to be less than amicable." A package of cigarettes appeared from a pocket. He pulled one free, he offered Ian one, which he waved off. The box vanished back into a pocket, the cigarette twirling between fingers. "Ultimately, Commander, I am unconcerned with the how and why of all of this. What I care about is my city, intact and at peace. And myself and my family alive and unharmed."
Despite seeing the potential pitfalls of the statement he was about to make, Ian couldn't find any other response. "In that, we are aligned."
"We are." A shallow nod, as the twirling cigarette stopped, he fished for a lighter in another pocket. Pausing, he regarded Ian with an equally sharp look. "And thus, Commander, I have been presented two radically differing ideas about how to accomplish that goal." The crux of the matter at last. How then, should the problem at hand be approached. "The first, from a respected military man who has been in this city for years. The second, a highly thought of new arrival, backed by hardened tactical Dolls, and equal volumes of war experience, including in this very country." The lighter clicked, and the cigarette caught. The governor took a long drag, smiling wryly. "What then, is a man to do?"
Once again, the obvious answer 'not ask the soldier of your nation's enemy' didn't feel like a wise choice. Nor did dozens of the other options. Worse, he did not know what the diplomatic or desired answer in this moment might be. "In general, I am a firm advocate for taking the path that one finds sensible."
Another long drag, and Ian found himself remembering just how little he liked the smell of cigarette smoke. "And what, then, is the sensible path before me?"
"Not for me to choose." Ian did shrug this time. "I'm a soldier, not a politician."
"Are you now?" The space where a laugh should have gone opened wide and received no superior offering. In the end, the governor spoke again, with far more tiredness than before. "For a soldier, you do quite a good job of dancing, Commander Blackwood."
"Once you make it to a proper commission, you have to learn to dance quite quickly." For perhaps the first time he gave a truly honest reply. "At least, if you want to make it anywhere without resistance."
"On that, I shall defer to the wisdom of a soldier." Taking another drag on the cigarette the governor released a deep sigh. "Then, perhaps Commander, we can dispense with the dance for a moment."
"The last few people who have said that merely intended to walk me into traps of various varieties." Regarding the other man with what he hoped would be a suitable degree of skepticism, Ian hoped he didn't sound too confrontational about it.
Knocking ash off his cigarette the governor nodded. "Of that, I have no doubt. Few make it to this sort of position without stabbing backs." Politicians, perhaps, or Russian officers, although Ian had to concede to a context dependent matter. "I tend to find your position a persuasive one." A position barely articulated, held together by suppositions and intuitions borne of doing terrible things to foreign countries, and nothing that a court of law would accept. Not, of course, that Ian would say that. "However, those further up the food chain than myself are unconcerned with whose position is persuasive, just results."
"I am familiar with the way Russia tends to handle problems." Even with his best efforts a bit of mocking drawl worked its way into the statement.
While a bit strained, the governor didn't notably disagree with that, expression pensive. "My predecessor was a Pole. Betrayed his country to collaborate with the invaders."
"And got a bomb for the trouble."
"Indeed. Treason, it seems, is rarely well received by the locals." Despite his best efforts, Ian grimaced. Few people or entities received treason well. "I expected a similar reception, being one of those occupiers. But, having kept my head down, and largely maintained a status quo, we have existed in a state of general distrust, but without violence." Another drag on the cigarette, before he mashed it into the ashtray with more force than strictly required. "Thus, I find this current state of things rather disturbing, even before considering the idea that someone might decide to involve themselves further."
"Which makes you more and more likely to go the same as those before you." Behind them, a TV playing the news shifted to live coverage of something, and not finding anything worthwhile to say, Ian did the mental work of trying to read the report backwards. While blurry and out of focus, he could understand enough to know that somewhere, police forces were laying siege to a warehouse. Someone behind them turned up the volume, which confirmed his crude reading. "It seems, Commander, I have taken up enough of your time."
A less charitable man might have believed that to be insincere, but Ian didn't have the mental space for that. A thousand other things played about, including that he'd guessed correctly, and that the odds that KSG would use him to perform some impromptu remodeling of the precinct house they occupied were only going up. "It does seem so."
-Faded Glory-
FAL did not enjoy admiring her enemies, but she had to admire the skill of the person who set this up. This warehouse obviously did not contain an ounce of hostility, but they played them so well that even though every soldier in the Sector smelled the rat, they had no choice but to treat it as a legitimate threat. Even more, they were limited in ability to maneuver around the situation, with the Commander pulled away by political obligations that would keep him well and truly occupied for most of the day, leaving them with an irate KSG who only reluctantly took on a leadership role, at least partly because FAL participated in pressuring her into it. A clever scheme at the time, with consequences none of them quite thought through.
"I can't be the only one who thinks this is fishy." FNC poked a pallet of flour with her gun, at last asking the question the more perceptive Dolls kept to themselves.
"You are not." Combining all the existing factors with the fact the only point of contact KSG had for guidance would be Orlov, and all of them could guess how that'd go, it did not pass any kind of test. Not, of course, that FAL expected the adjutant to go that route, but getting away without greater problems only because their adversary did not know enough about the American Doll to know that her base programming appeared to be made of loopholes provided FAL with cold comfort. Even if FAL supposed that Blackwood put some scheme in place, they were relying too much on chance and luck for her liking. Shaking that thought off as a morbid curiosity that did not bear further investigation, FAL set her focus back on the situation to hand. "Five-seveN?"
With most of the warehouse scoured by one of the three teams, and the entire area under strict scrutiny, they could start confirming at least some of the other suspicions running around. Now, stacked up on the last door before their section could be completely mapped, they had been waiting on FAL's order. "On it." Two flashbangs went into the room, and as the cracks rang out, they swarmed into yet another empty room, FAL and FNC leading the way.
"Nothing?" FNC lowered her rifle, kicking a chair, which clattered over in a cloud of dust, illuminated by flashlight beams. Stacks of boxes and other furniture filled the room. FNC grumbled under her breath, kicking another chair, and this time the thump upon the floor sounded odd to FAL's ears.
She caught Five-seveN's eyes "Hollow?" Her second nodded, the three of them backing away, weapons training on the offending bit of floor. They couldn't say for sure what might have been followed out underneath, with carpet covering the floor in its entirety.
"KSG?" While FAL could guess they would need to clear whatever existed there, KSG wanted to play this entire affair as by the book as possible, so she'd get her clearance.
The reply took a good fifteen seconds, and it felt as if KSG's attention were elsewhere. "Nothing in the plans. Take it slow." For a moment, KSG focused in on them completely. "Be careful." And then, just as fast, the attention went elsewhere, even the presence of KSG in the Zenner network feeling faint and half formed.
FAL could feel the questioning looks, as the others tried to parse what. In the end, she could only shrug, and gesture for them to start cutting the carpet. Fortunately, the concealment of the hidey hole had been rapid, and seemingly counting on the deserted room and dust to hide things more than good workmanship and within a few minutes they'd pulled up enough to reveal the trap door beneath.
FNC grabbed the handle, Five-seveN clutching another flashbang, which went down the instant FNC pulled the trapdoor open. As they went off, Five-seven dropped straight in. A mental signal for clear followed, and FAL and FNC followed more sedately.
Even inhuman eyes needed a moment to adapt to the darkness. When FAL could see clearer, she found a well made tunnel, walled with metal and strung with lights off the ceiling, albeit dangling from the roof. Gesturing to Five-seveN to follow, FAL started forwards. Distantly she noted that Groza's team also found a tunnel, although neither commented to her directly.
Only a short minute or two of walking followed, before the beams of their flashlights hit upon a door. Wooden, and not very thick. No light spilled around the edge, but FAL could feel the mounting tension. If there were hostiles, they would be on the other side of that door, in a perfect position to ambush, and worse, they were out of flashbangs, so they'd have to breach the room the old fashioned way.
A glance back told her the others on her team recognized that too, weapons gripped tight, all waiting for her signal. FAL took one last, slow breath, forcing her body to regulate itself better.
The door slammed against a metal wall when thrown open as they stormed into the room.
A flashlight beam appeared from around a corner, before FAL could take in the rest of the building. Dropping to one knee, she sighted the target, finger instinctively curling on the trigger before target recognition caught up, and she let the rifle rise. Sparks erupted as the four round burst hit the ceiling, the sudden new source of light throwing Groza's face in a rather ghastly relief for a split second.
The echo of gunfire carried on and on, longer than it had any right too.
"What's going on?" KSG's attention snapped back again.
"Nothing." FAL reassured. "Mistaken identity. No injuries."
The scare of nearly blowing her girlfriend's brains out averted, FAL straightened, and spoke aloud. "Nothing?" More flashlights swept the area, as their teams fanned out. By the time it all finished, they had a relatively large apartment, with facilities for at least four people to hide, probably more, and space where comms gear might have once gone.
"Nothing." Groza agreed, looking around with visible disgust. "KSG?"
Both of them expected a frustration riddled reply, or perhaps a defeated one. Instead the Commander's voice answered them, coolly professional, but with an undercurrent of base hostility. "No hostiles?"
"None." FAL confirmed. "Tunnels and a hidden safehouse or staging ground, but no inhabitants, and likely none for a while."
The orders took only a second to come through. "Turn that room upside down. Check for false bottoms, walls, any, and everything that might be not as it seemed." And in those orders, FAL got the same sense of concealed fury from the Commander she did from KSG, although its source would likely be quite different. Which, in FAL's opinion only made this more complicated, because something that managed to compromise the impossible calm of both those two would be considerable trouble. Even more because the entire situation rested on one or the other being calm and reasonable. "If anyone external to me asks for status updates, tell them nothing."
"Not feeling neighborly, I see." FAL got not reply, not that she expected one.
"Whatever he got dragged into annoyed him." Groza mused into thin air. "I don't think I like the implications of that."
"Hopefully, this room is as empty as it seems." Neither of them really believed it would be, but they both knew how to play the game of lies.
-Faded Glory-
Ak-Alfa did not really know how to comfort SRS. She might not have been a hard bitten Marine, or the poor bastards who only rode in IFVs instead of driving tanks, but that didn't mean the idea of fighting and killing were not burned deep into her circuitry. She'd killed, she been party to killing, and when that happened, it had been a straightforward situation, as much as war could be. None of that helped a wit when trying to figure out how to help her sibling in the process of grappling with the act of killing a human for the first time.
As SRS's dry heaving stopped, the sounds of gunfire in the distance faded as well. "Alfa?"
"Yeah?" It would have to be a short talk, but Alfa knew at least some of this would have to be talked about now. She glanced back, just to check, as SRS slowly made it to a kneeling position, before Alfa put her attention back to watching for anything that looked like it needed shooting.
"I- '' The words died in SRS's throat, strangled not by an artificial voicebox, but a true mental inability to voice them.
Alfa took her best guess. "Killed a person?" When no verbal reply proved forthcoming she turned around, catching a hesitation nod. "Yeah." Alfa could see the panic building again, SRS's eyes wild with conflicted emotions. "SRS." Her name at least brought SRS up short, and Alfa took her own deep breath. She knew her usual MO of saying something blasé or crude wouldn't help. She might have been an insensitive ass, but even Alfa knew this would not be the time, or place. The infantry found that funny, a schoolteacher from postwar did not. "I get it." That made her sister blink, firmly short circuiting the panic reaction. She could see the questions forming, and moved to head it off. "I'm not the right person to talk about it, but I get it."
"Why…why not?" As plans went, Alfa had to admit confusing SRS to distract her from panic was a stupid one. Or, well, it would have been stupid if it didn't work. She'd never tell anyone that though.
Answering that question proved tricky in a short timeframe, and without taking shortcuts to the point. "During the war, I drove a tank. That meant I got a front row seat to all sorts of genuinely horrific ways for someone to die. Sometimes, it'd be something I did. Sometimes my tank. Sometimes, the Marines woke up with an extra bit of bloodlust in them, or maybe we had air cover, and you let the flyboys loose and all horrors would rain down." Alfa could only shrug. "In a way, it's simple. Friend, or enemy. If you're shooting at me, you're the enemy, and in our little corner of hell, that meant you ceased to live in a hurry. Things like the psychological ramifications of turning a man into a mist cloud with a HEAT round weren't considered because we didn't have time. If you hesitated then you died, and after a while it all started to become normal."
"Oh." SRS gulped and did not look less green.
Sighing, Alfa turned away. "Sometimes, it'll hit at night. Just what all happened. Sometimes, you'll see someone, it'll trigger a memory." Her weapon grip creaked under her grip. "I started having those moments before the war even finished. I am deeply maladjusted so while I understand, I cannot help."
SRS did not have something to say to that, even as she stood up. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
"What you feel you can do." The words tasted sour, insincere. "I can only do what I know how to do." Alfa turned, giving her sister a long, heavy look. "That means I fight, either to find our wayward squad mates, or to feed their killers to worms." She shrugged again. "There is no shame in not being able to fight, SRS. You are not a soldier, and that is not a bad thing." It would, in some ways make Alfa's life harder, but she could make do, or so she hoped.
"I can't just let you-" Again, SRS started to hyperventilate.
"This is not about me." Alfa snapped with more intensity than she intended. "SRS, we're two Dolls against an unknown number of hostiles, who have armored support. This is a winnable engagement, but we have to be able to trust one another, and part of that is we both have to be on the same page that every one of them is eating shit. You will have to kill more of them if you fight. I cannot answer the question of if you are able to do that or not." Alfa allowed herself a bit of a wan smile. "I refuse to answer that." People answered it for her, for a lot of them in Sector 9 really, and she didn't want to do that to anyone else.
SRS took a heavy breath, seeming to slowly, meticulously pulled herself together. Alfa admired that about her. "Okay." A whisper, shaking with some combination of resolve and uncertainty.
-Faded Glory-
"Commander." While originally, KSG chose to inhabit something approaching a command post, a need to do something finally overcame her after minutes of waiting, and she'd started pacing, occasionally referencing a tablet, or stopping again to check more screens. All the information she actually needed to assess the situation, however, lived in her head, and she could trust the other Dolls of Sector 9 to act without being stupid. No one dared to interrupt her, either because of her obvious annoyance, or something else.
Watching the small nearby crowd of local Dolls part then, and Blackwood sweep through provided her some small relief. Eyes flashing with his own anger, the man flicked a glance at the building she used to set up originally, and KSG fell into step without question.
Only once they were out of any other earshot did he speak. "To sate my curiosity, how obviously bullshit was this?" Day to day, KSG characterized Blackwood as controlled. All things about him were calculated to fit some image that he wanted to project. Speech, motions, the very act of thinking were a part of the multi-layered mess of a human being that she now considered her superior officer. They also made him easier to deal with, and equally unlike any soldier she'd met, even accounting for the fact that every soldier she knew classed as insane in some way.
Times like this, however, strained that image. The anger, the frustration, those surface level, visible emotions? Those he controlled. Projected them to force everyone with a brain to move. Now, alone, they were gone, replaced by a vacuum that KSG did not know how to fill. She mentally reviewed where her weapons were. "You ever heard of an extremist suddenly having a change of heart?" A rhetorical question, to be sure, but it would convey the layers of the point. "Or, even if he does, suddenly spilling his guts, unprompted to his captors who he still professes to hate?"
A brow rose, Blackwood starting to pace, then stopping, hands shoved deep in his uniform overcoat's pockets. "Not exactly a subtle play."
"Given that I figured it out, no, it was not." Blackwood didn't respond, a small quirk of the lips suggesting that he found her statement mildly amusing, and in turn, KSG could feel herself slip into the comfortable role, the one that let her not think too much about other matters. "Or that I'm fairly sure PP-19 knew something to be off, given how easily she folded when I made demands. Highly convenient timing." Blackwood nodded, eyes closed, as he mouthed something that KSG translated as nonsense. "Was your meeting at least valuable?"
"Well." For how long he considered, KSG had to assume that no, he did not consider it valuable, or at least nothing that outweighed the mess they were in. "I would consider it an edifying experience." Clipped, controlled with a hint of frustration. Definitely not useful. "We are both analytical at heart, KSG. We make long stretching predictions about behaviors and then act based upon the predictions we make."
"That is correct." She decided not to point out how much of a pain predicting him was.
"Do you enjoy being right, KSG?" For the first time, KSG truly felt she saw behind the mask. A well worn man, overwrought by himself and those around him. He too, had seen much, and turned that bitterly earned knowledge loose upon the world. And, if she interpreted that question correctly, also found himself staring down the barrel of an assessment that gnawed at his psyche.
She swallowed the flippant reply. Blackwood was not Meadows, after all. "Suppose it depends." He didn't move, just staring at her, the expectation of elaboration clear. "Small stuff? What to get RFB for her birthday, if I'm going to beat the stock market odds? Sure. That's nice. Helpful even." She gestured broadly around them, instinctively bringing her hand to her shotgun, slung low by her thigh. "Things where I'm betting on life and limb?" A thousand memories came at once. None of them she wanted to revisit. "No, I can't say I usually do."
For a long time, Blackwood said nothing, eventually turning away, shoulders dropping. "I cannot say I do either." Now, KSG found it her turn to be silent and wait. "I rather wanted to believe that paranoia and bias were leading me to draw the worst conclusions." With a shake of his head, he gestured to a laptop, playing the feed from FAL's eyes as they swept the last few bits of the warehouse. "Instead, I find that paranoia and bias to have borne fruit, and in a way that leaves me outmaneuvered." He paused. "And more annoyingly, I cannot work out which one of them did it."
"Sir?" Now that, left KSG quite lost. She knew a lot, but there seemed to be some leaps of logic missing based on that statement.
"Well. Somewhat outplayed." The shrug seemed more obligatory than confused. "I wanted to avoid showing our hand until such a time as doing so would be more effective. An attempt that is no longer possible. Orlov got his spectacle of force, although no blood is split, so I shall consider that a way. However, in doing so, our hand is played, and the locals, whoever they are, now know for certain we are here, we are packing substantial firepower and more concerningly that we aren't an amateur act." He turned back, glancing at the tablet in her hand. "And, worse still, they will know before long that not only can we look good, at least some of us can backup that look. I cannot reasonably argue to keep the disaster with the supply convoy out of the media given the current landscape." Another thing KSG would have to speak with him at length about.
"Which leaves us where?" KSG placed all of her focus on the man, feeling some small pleasure that he matched the intensity of that look.
"At which point, the game changes. We are no longer an unknown whose objectives are unclear, but a dangerous unknown who is packing enough firepower to tangle with some unreasonably well-armed bandits, while still putting on a sizable show of force in the city. It is not hard for a sufficiently primed mind to jump from 'guns down bandits with ruthless efficiency' to 'will gun down rioters in the streets'." His lips curled in disdain. "We have all the trappings of a Russian Counter-Terror unit at this point, and we are both versed enough in history to know how the sentence, 'Russian counter-terror arrived in a city' ends."
"Which benefits Orlov? Or the locals as you put it?" KSG could follow a little better, but who he thought was the enemy here still felt like a mystery.
Blackwood shook his head. "It benefits no one. It merely starts to heat the pan, as most parties involved achieved at least one objective." He held a hand, counting off as he spoke. "We, technically speaking, got what we wanted. A bloodless situation that did not escalate the situation that we do not understand. Orlov got a show of our force to intimidate these terrorists he thinks exist. Those hypothetical terrorists got fresh intelligence about us, and someone wins by getting a bunch of bandits removed. Somehow, everyone wins, and we still manage to lose."
With every point his expression thinned, the obvious displeasure from before giving way to something far more calculated, which only added to KSG's headache. "Someday, Commander, you will tell me how you get from A to B on some of these things." She made a point to make the words sarcastic, or at least moderately tongue in cheek.
"Just apply that analytical genius of yours to intelligence instead of crayon consumption." The quip felt forced, although it went in precisely in the place that a quip would belong, even if KSG expected a different one.
"You have a unique talent for the most obviously complimentary insults." She drawled, hands shoving into her own pockets now. "And I might suggest you apply yours to knowing why people find you an intolerable menace, but I prefer to make suggestions I believe are within the realm of possibility."
That, unsurprisingly, made him laugh. "I am entirely aware of why people find me an intolerable menace, I am merely bad at new tricks." Didn't that make for a hell of a summary of his character. "Even if those old tricks are useful when this job goes from mild annoyance to unreasonable complications with an acceleration curve that better resembled a straight line." KSG did not know quite what she could say to that. They had, once again, ran right past her expertise and knowledge and right into the strange realm of things that lived in the dingy depths of Blackwood's mind. "Those are problems for later."
"Sir." KSG let her mental awareness expand again, to catch back up on what had been happening during the discussion.
-Faded Glory-
While she had full control of herself, SRS did not know how they were supposed to fight something like an armored vehicle. A pair of somethings that Alfa seemed to recognize, even if SRS did not. Armored vehicles all blended together to her, but the people surrounding them decidedly did not. "What are we even supposed to do against something like that?"
"Load AP, should be fine." Alfa, predictably did not seem bothered. Or, SRS realized, Alfa was bothered, just not bothered in a way that SRS felt to be sensible. "If you can put a hole in them, we've got grenades, and can do it the way the jarheads liked." Even less of that could be considered encouraging.
Creeping closer, SRS desperately wanted Alfa to start insulting the powers that brought her into the world, the enemy, or even SRS herself. The eerie focused calm could not be considered a good fit for the most vicious of the four of them. Once they were close enough, Alfa stopped moving, sweeping the area once, then twice, as the milling enemies seemed oblivious to their presence.
Talking aloud felt like too much of a risk. "Alfa?"
A mental map pushed across the network prior to any words. I need you to hit the one in the middle right about…here. Alfa highlighted the vehicle she meant, as well as a specific spot on SRS's vision. "Should pop the ammo on the main gun, and failing that, will make a hell of a noise."
SRS gulped, deciding against asking just what Alfa would be doing. Her rifle wobbled as she took aim. Alfa pulled a grenade from somewhere, gripping it tight as she knelt down, at SRS's side, carefully holding up her weapon with one hand, and preparing to throw with the other. Her eyes flickered up, dipping in a small nod. It would be SRS's cue.
Despite the fact that time between the click of the trigger and the crack of the rifle would be shorter than a human could process, it felt like an eternity. Alfa lobbed her grenade, and then, something inside the vehicle that she'd shot detonated. A second later, the grenade went off, and then shooting started.
"Here, on the next one." Alfa instructed, laying down fire on the remaining bandits, who were struggling to work out where Alfa was shooting from, even as she started moving. SRS drew her bead on the second vehicle.
This time, the detonation resembled more of a vigorous fire rather than a true explosion, and SRS could see two people stumble out the back a moment later, quite on fire. They made it about four steps, and then collapsed, probably killed by Alfa.
Another grenade went off a few seconds later, and then, as SRS looked for new targets, all went quiet.
-Faded Glory-
MG4 hefted her weapon to avoid shoving the barrel into Honey Badger's mangled leg. The other Doll shook slightly against her back, but that had to wait. Hostiles were dealt with, but they had no idea when someone from the city would catch on that there was a problem, or when these bastard's friends would come knocking.
"MG4?" Honey Badger's voice stayed low. She grunted. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." More clipped than she intended, really.
"Don't feel alright." Honey Badger countered.
"A few holes isn't an issue. GSh can fix them." She'd suffered worse anyway.
"I didn't mean the holes." Honey Badger shifted, and MG4 winced as the other Dolls weight pressed into one of said holes. "I mean the fact that there is something sticking out of your back. A lot of something."
"Shrapnel." Probably. MG4 couldn't quite say that for sure, but it felt like the right answer, given the circumstances.
"Uh huh." Badger stayed quiet for a while, as they neared the edge of the road again. "Then why are you so tense? And more tense than before." MG4 hissed as her foot slipped and they tumbled. "And clumsy."
"I thought you would be aware that we have something akin to an adrenaline high as well." She gathered herself up again.
"Sure I am." Honey Badger almost snapped her spin from the force of her grip. "And you aren't acting like that. You're not shaking or jumpy, you're just, sort of off. I'm pretty sure if a guy jumped us, you'd just throw me at a tree and kill them or something, but you just about fell on your face, and don't tell me it's because you're carrying me." Honey Badger rattled off in a hurry, and with something approaching concern in her voice.
"You are surprisingly heavy for such an agile frame." Honey Badger resisted the urge to complain, MG4 could feel it. "Not sure if that's an improvement, or a downgrade."
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" MG4 shrugged, she hadn't meant it as one, but it could be taken as such. "Right, you're absolutely not okay if you're making jokes."
"Do you want to walk, or me to carry you?" Not that MG4 wouldn't carry Honey Badger, but she also absolutely would make it less comfortable.
"I can't walk, so not really a question." Came the reply, sharp, snappish even. "Look, MG4, I know that I'm sometimes a bit of a clueless idiot, but I can tell something is not okay."
"You remember when you were asking how I knew those armored cars were worth shit?"
"Yes?"
"I know they aren't shit because I made it my business to shoot the occupants and not the engines." Honey Badger blinked, seemingly taken aback by the bluntness. "Ambushes like that? I used to be the one doing the ambushing." MG4 turned her head, eyes only inches from Honey Badgers, intense enough to force her passenger to recoil, and the question died in her eyes.
They crossed the treeline into the burning wreckage on the road. Hazily, through the smoke, Alfa and SRS appeared, the sniper ashen gray, and Alfa tall, full of a fiery rage that MG4 knew full well. They locked eyes, information flashing between them. MG4 glanced at SRS, and got a negative push across the network. Her frown only grew.
Honey Badger shifted enough to pull MG4 out of her thoughts. "Now what?"
"Friendlies are coming." Alfa rasped, then coughed to clear her throat. "Finally got through." MG4 got the impression the former tanker seemed to have more to say. "Apparently some bullshit went on back cityside."
"Define bullshit." Honey Badger asked, as MG4 set her on a rock, trying not to hurt the other Doll too much. SRS's eyes were wide, moving to look at the wound
"KSG didn't say. Just said it was bullshit, and they handled it." Alfa shrugged, and MG4 knew from the off that to be a lie. "You good?" Her eyes landed on Honey Badger.
"Fine." Improbably, she seemed to be, aside from being short half a leg. "Not sure about her."
Alfa glanced at MG4, who met her eyes, all but daring her to argue the point. Fortunately, in her own way, Alfa did understand. "MG4'll be fine."
"Bullshit." Honey Badger snapped, her willingness to fight with MG4 not carrying over to Alfa. "You two are so full of shit, she is not okay, you aren't okay," A finger jabbed at Alfa, "and you are not going to hide behind some 'we're soldiers' crap. If I'm the one thinking something's up, that's probably not a good thing."
Over Honey Badger's shoulder, Alfa's eyes pleaded for MG4 to have something to say, but she could only shrug. Words were Alfa's domain, and thinking would always be KSG's. MG4's own acquaintances often joked that the three of them made one whole functioning person, and times like this showed that weakness. Groaning, and rubbing her temples, the former tanker seemed to make up her mind. "Not now, Badger." The wounded Doll made to object, and Alfa cut her off. "If you want to talk about it, we can talk about it back at base, when we know we're safe and-" Something in the distance crunched. In a single motion Alfa spun, drawing her sidearm and firing, even as MG4 did the same. The hazy smoke folded around the bullets before to where it had been, as bullets pinged off metal in the distance.
"When we aren't jumpy." MG4 took over instinctively shifting to watch the opposite direction Alfa did.
Honey Badger seemed more than ready to keep arguing about it, before deciding against it. "Fine." The sound of Honey Badger reloading followed.
MG4 couldn't say how long the uncomfortable silence lasted for, or just how many things made enough noise to get shot at. Adrenaline faded away to a lingering unease, then spiked again, in a long cycle. SRS and Honey Badger did not seem to understand, both watching uneasily as the minutes dragged to hours, and the sun set in the distance.
Sometime after that, KSG finally touched the local network, followed shortly by the AR team. It would be another few minutes before the group came into view, KSG's ballistic shields tucked in close to her legs, the AR team sweeping every inch of ground with a wary eye. Whatever KSG felt, MG4 could not guess, beyond anger. As they approached, the AR team visibly relaxed, even if KSG did not.
"Anyone else?" Clipped, precise. Alfa shook her head, and only then did their leader slightly relax, weapon falling against her chest, and only then did MG4 realize that KSG had not bothered to throw on a plate carrier, instead just wearing her usual civilian jacket. "M4, take your team, sweep the area."
"Got it." And, with that, the AR team vanished back into the smoke again, leaving the five of them alone.
"Badger?" KSG's question lost a bit of the edge, visibly reigning herself in.
"Can't walk." Honey Badger shrugged. "Patched up fine." KSG's eyes flickered to MG4, who dipped her head in agreement with that assessment. "Won't take that long to fix."
"Last time someone told me that, they were in the repair bay for a week." The counter sounded forced, overly dry and distant. Honey Badger shrugged with a smile that indicated she didn't think so.
"What happened?" MG4 broke the forming quiet. confluence
KSG's lips drew thin. "A confluence of idiots." MG4 cocked her head. "I'll explain later. No one hurt, nothing bad happened."
That proved to be the magic set of words, as Alfa relaxed, and MG4 finally let herself do so as well. Too many things had gone wrong today, too few trustworthy moments, but she could still trust KSG's judgment. "Any ideas?"
"A few." Silence. "Need to talk to the Commander, compare notes."
-Fade Glory-
By the time KSG made it back to their makeshift base, the sun long since vanished, and another long, foggy night set in, but equally she could also tell there would be no sleep. Far too much had happened, and far too much would happen to let her mind slow down, without just forcibly rebooting herself.
Normally, KSG passed nights like this by talking to RFB, but her girlfriend's team would be out on a mission for several more days. That cut down on most of her social circle almost entirely by default.
Almost without thinking, she hit the next name on the list, then had thirty seconds to regret the decision, before it connected. Immediately the muffled sounds of music, and people blasted through, before fading as the person on the other end kept walking.
"You don't have to leave the bar on my account." KSG drawled, as the short cut brown hair and weatherbeaten face came into view.
"Uh huh." Nate Meadows narrowed his eyes. "You're not the type to call a man in the middle of the night." KSG would give him that much, however much she hated doing so. "Finally had enough of the PMC life?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not re-enlisting, jackass."
He didn't even have the grace to look apologetic. "Man's gotta try. You know how hard it is to find good help?"
"Unfortunately, yes." KSG sighed, adding one more item to the list of generalized sins someone had to pay for. Meadows blinked. "I asked for an extra member. I got a frat girl with less sense of danger than the average Private." Meadows cackled, doubtlessly remembering her ranting and raving in the past. "You want me to feed you to a gator?"
"You keep saying that, and I remain quite whole."
"Used to be it was insubordination to feed you to the wildlife. Now, nothing is really stopping me, except human decency and a lack of gators." A beat passed as KSG pretended to think. "I suppose the murder charge, but well, it's not my fault you walked into an area full of angry lizards."
"Sometimes, KSG, you worry me." She hummed, not really sure what to say to that, and Meadows made a show of throwing his hands in the air. "I'm supposed to be the reckless, angry idiot."
"It's been a long day, Meadows, I don't want to hear it."
"The 'my boss is actually a moron and I want to feed him to a prehistoric lizard' kind, the 'nothing is going well, and I hate living' kind, or 'I ran out of ammo and another goddamn Russian jumped into my trench' kind?" Despite the bizarre scale, the question did mean that, however drunk that Meadows was, he wanted to help. It also reminded KSG of why she'd subconsciously done this at all. The man understood.
"None of the above." She slouched back, taking a while to sort out her thoughts. "The kind of day where I have to question myself, my choices, and my life." Meadows blinked, obviously not expecting that. "What are you idiots doing in a bar?"
"Getting drunk?"
"I realize that we're Marines and we don't need a reason to get drunk." She glared at the screen, getting a cheeky grin in reply. "But usually, you aren't starting the drinking at…." She did mental math. "Eleven at night. Normally drinking started more than a few hours before this." Let her head loll back again, KSG sighed.
"And you aren't normally calling me at ass o'clock." The man shot back. "Nor are you usually this transparent."
"I ever told you to fuck yourself?"
"Routinely, although not recently." No hesitation in that retort at all. "At some point that usually just meant I'd said something." That, KSG conceded, was true enough.
"Anyone else retired?" And, if she didn't want to walk about things, she'd have to get him on some other topic.
Meadow's eyes narrowed, the man knowing full well what she was doing. "Nobody you know. Couple new, all meatbags."
"One of these days, you're going to say that to someone you shouldn't, you know that?" She drawled. "What's some Colonel gonna do when you call a buncha Marines 'meatbags'?"
"Laugh, and ask which one of my 'toasters' taught me that?" She paused, unsure if the man was screwing with her. When he didn't break into laughter or a smile, KSG had to confront the reality that he was not.
"Please tell me you didn't tell them about me."
"Wasn't too long after you struck out on your own, so damn right I did." KSG groaned, standing and wandering over to the fridge, fishing for a beer of her own. Or something stronger. "Got a good laugh out of it. Wanted to meet you."
"Strongest thing in this fridge is bottled piss, so keep your stupidity to a manageable level, yeah?" KSG grumbled. "Next thing you're going to tell me someone else does that too."
"You're not the first Doll to start calling us meatbags." Trust the man to be utterly unsympathetic. "Someone did dig up that combat audio from November, and admits that you put a sort of vicious spin on it."
"If someone dug up combat audio from that first November, I don't think that's quite what they said." She'd understated this beer's level of 'bottled' piss, but it would do.
If Meadows noticed he didn't say anything. "I'm told they got a good laugh out of it, yes."
She sighed, a bit of a smile flickering over her face. "Next time I get time, I do need to come knock sense into you." Meadows blinked. "Been spending too much time with this lot." She motioned vaguely. "Can't really cut loose."
"What, don't feel like fightin' a whole bar full of Russians?"
"Bar of Russians is fine. My sorry ass got shipped to Warsaw, and I don't fancy my odds when the Poles find out that I'm one of them sorry bitches who didn't bail them out." KSG's lips quirked. "I value my life a little more than that."
"Fair, fair." Meadows shook his head. "Just tell us when."
"I don't think there is a bar stateside that is willing to let most of a company of Marines take over for a night. Never mind the fact the Corps isn't going to pay for that." KSG thought about it for a second. "And the odds I'd manage to line that up with the Ball is nil." Then again, Blackwood would probably go for that.
"We could always come visit you."
"I am not letting any of you meet this bunch." KSG downed the rest of her beer, and grabbed another. "God help me, not sure what'd be worse. The conscripts, or the high speed one." Upon consideration it'd be 74M. She'd bite back. "How are things?"
"Things are-" Noise could be heard in the background. Someone could be heard talking. "KSG-" More talking, and then two more faces muscled into view.
"The shit's got you calling?" The one on the left, still boyish even in his thirties, demanded, waving his own drink. "Thought you told the Captain here to choke on a bag o'dicks, or something."
"Hello, Johnston." KSG audibly sighed. "Perkins. I see you two haven't managed to drink yourselves to death yet."
Perkin's kept it up. "Aw, don't be like that."
"You're a pair of delusional alcoholics, and there's a reason you two aren't making it anywhere but where you are." She shot back. "Unless you're gotten a hell of a lot better at giving head."
"Ah, fuck you!"
"Neither of you are my type, Perkins." She waved her drink. "There ain't enough of this on the whole damn planet."
"Remember she's got herself a girl." Johnston took over without hesitation. "Hot, smart, puts up with our dipshit Staff Sergeant, pretty great woman."
"And she's got the look that says if you don't shut up, you're going to wake up tomorrow to find yourself dead." Meadows rumbled. "If you're lucky."
"Why waste a couple perfectly good targets." KSG disagreed. "Got snipers that need to practice after all." Watching them pale would never get old. "If you're done perving on my girlfriend in absentia, how's it?"
"Been better, been worse." Johnston shrugged. "Ruskies are rattling sabers again, Italians are all jumpy."
"Good for the Italians." KSG drawled.
Three snorts answered her. "Pretty sure Harris got himself a girl."
"The day Harris figures out what to do with his cock is the day the world ends." KSG snorted. "Any woman in his presence has been bribed until I have evidence to the contrary from her own mouth."
"We'll let him know."
"Good for you." She narrowed her eyes. "Now, how's about you fuck right off and let us talk in peace." Meadows snorted into his drink. Both Marines looked ready to argue, but something in KSG's eyes stopped them. "They're idiots, but they're our idiots."
"That they are." Meadows agreed. "Better or worse than your current idiots?"
"Eh." KSG considered. "My boss is some kind of hush-hush high-speed bastard and I've got a ragtag combination of ex-infantry, civies and clueless idiots. Matter of debate if that's better or worse than a boss whose a dumbass and a bunch of frat house idiots with a combat boner."
"You say the nicest things." Dry humor failed to penetrate the serious atmosphere; as they reached the point that neither of them knew how to navigate without the thunder of artillery, and the screams of the uninitiated.
"I try." Even more of a deflection than usual. He hummed in reply, leaving them a thousand miles apart, staring into phone screens. In the end, KSG broke eye contact first, regarding the ceiling for a long time. Then something gave way. "Thanks."
"Forget all the other bullshit, KSG, you're a friend." In his own way, she knew Meadows did understand. Had too, by now. A bit of a smirk formed, as he tacked on, "Shit gets too wild, just say so, you know that right?"
"I refuse to be responsible for the international incident calling in the Marines on some poor sod in NSU territory would create." Despite that, KSG couldn't help a bit of a smile.
Meadows saw his chance and jumped on it. "Bet that boss of yours wouldn't care."
He absolutely would, in KSG's highly informed opinion. "If I'm convincing Blackwood that we need to drop a hundred Marines on the problem, I think the resulting international incident can be considered a minor issue." She shook off that consideration, not wanting to imagine just how badly their lives would have to go to make that happen. "You should probably go make sure the idiots don't burn the place down?"
"Sure sure." He flipped her off, knowing that her discomfort with a conversation that she didn't intend to have finally boiled over, but unwilling to entirely let it go. Then, a seriousness flashed over the man's face. "Take care of yourself, Staff Sergeant."
KSG saluted him halfheartedly with her beer can. "You too, sir." They both managed a wan smile, before the connection cut. With a sigh, KSG finished the beer, staring at the can in silence, before crushing it into a ball, and hurling that into the nearest can with a bit more vigor than required.
AN: I Think this took longer than planned, but I ended up needing to unbreak some parts of it…and also shorten it, so I didn't get fed to a gator myself.
As usual, questions, comments, concerns are always appreciated .
