14: The Escape

Agent Booker saw the gunship go down, finding it unexpected by not wholly surprising. These insurgents were well-equipped, there was no doubting that, and they were also well-organized. This was about as close as he would get to fighting the actual batarian armed forces short of being engaged in an all-out war, so the gunship being destroyed was almost to be expected. Sure, it should have been avoided, but one cannot plan for every eventuality, not really. Regardless, the gunship had done its job, with the more dangerous defensive positions now reduced to little more than smoking craters. The pilot and co-pilot of that gunship had been good people, and they would be mourned, but that would come later. Right now, Booker and his team had a batarian war criminal to catch and a turian to find.

He led alpha squad in through the main gate, through a haze of rolling smoke and light rain. Flames burned bright orange against the night and the air was thick with the smell of burning metal and element zero. The mounted gun by the main gate, a position Booker had noted during their initial survey of the camp about half an hour before, had been turned into a twisted hunk of blackened metal. The two batarians who had been manning that gun were little more than charred corpses, and not even full corpses at that. Another smell on the wind caught his attention then, that of burning flesh. For all the death and destruction he had seen in his time, first in the military and then part of SOTIG, the smells of it all still managed to render some level of unease. It was strange to think that he could recognize what species was burning by the smell, as batarians had a distinctly different scent to that of a human who had met an unfortunate and high temperature demise. The same went for vorcha and krogans, the two other species Booker had found himself needing to kill more so than others. Pirates, slavers, terrorists; he had fought them all, and here on Anhur was no different.

His team spread out as they entered the camp. They moved quickly, eyes scanning their surroundings, helmets providing night-vision and the like when required. At the moment, there was more than enough light brought on by the burning fires and the remaining portables to make night vision modes unnecessary. A rifle opened up from somewhere ahead, but it was quickly silenced by the combined fire of two of Booker's team. Another pair of batarians emerged from an outbuilding further to the group's right; Booker and the man closest to him on his right-hand side swivelled about and cut the pair down before they could even fire a shot, their bodies tumbling into the mud.

The main house was the objective, although the turian tracking signal seemed to be getting further away from them. Booker could see the beacon on the heads-up display provided by his Kuwashii-model visor, and he relayed this information to the rest of his squad. They would have to send someone out to intercept it, if only to determine if there truly was any turian involvement here. It could just as easily be a batarian using some salvaged turian-made equipment, unwitting as to the presence of the tracking device.

Booker turned towards the house ahead. It was still mostly intact, and as expected there was a sizeable batarian presence. About four of them were on the upper-level balcony, taking up positions behind improvised barricades. One of them was carrying some form of portable heavy machine gun, a Revenant model most likely, for the weapon began to bark rapidly. Tracer fire darted through the dark, slamming into the ground ahead of the strike team. They scattered for cover, with Booker and one other man taking shelter behind a wrecked buggy. The batarians on the balcony continued to pour on the fire, with their machine gun and with their rifles. Another two appeared at the front entrance, coming out firing.

'Sergeant, take out that damn gunner!' Booker looked to his left to the squad's designated marksman, a woman kitted out in black assault armour, face hidden underneath her helmet. This one, Sergeant Valentine, carried a customised Mantis-model rifle. Booker hardly knew the woman, having only been part of the Anhur SOTIG branch for a couple of months, but he had made it a point to commit the names of his team members to memory. The Sergeant was crouched behind the remains of some old stone wall, one that had formerly served to separate the gardens around the big house from the rest of the compound. With the rest of the team providing cover fire, she leaned about the wall, levelled the rifle and took a shot at the gunner on the balcony.

The Revenant gunner fell silent and the Sergeant promptly retreated into cover. Booker let fly with a steady stream of fire from his submachine gun at the two batarians by the front entrance, cutting one of them down. The other jumped behind a column by the door, keeping down as the team about Booker continued to pour on the fire. Another of the shooters on the balcony fell.

'Move in! Covering fire!' Booker and the others rose from their positions and stormed towards the house, weapons blazing. The batarian at the entrance was cut to ribbons by multiple rifles. Booker paused, raised his weapon and put a volley through one of the shooters upon the balcony above. This one fell forwards over the railing, landing in a broken heap several metres ahead of Booker's position.

The team moved for the entrance. At the other end of the compound, B-squad had swept in, weapons firing, cutting the frantic batarian insurgents down. Some of the insurgents here had fled, whereas others were surrendering to the second team. Booker could rely on B-squad to keep the outside secure, allowing him and the rest of A-squad to take care of those inside the main house.

He stopped by the doorway of the front entrance, leaning about the side to catch sight of the lobby beyond. There were a pair of batarian soldiers down there, partway up the stairs that led up to the next floor. Their rifles barked, bullets blasting chunks out of the doorway close to Booker. He stepped back, turning to the rest of the team as they spread out around the building. One of them went to the opposite side of the doorway.

'Get them with a flashbang,' Booker instructed the soldier, having to raise his voice as to be heard over the noise of the battle around them. The Alliance commando did as was instructed, pulling one of the flashbang grenades he had clipped to his armour and throwing it down the hallway. It went off with a loud crack, brilliant light flashing within the hall for an instant. Stumbling about, the two batarians began to slowly back away, scorch marks on their vision and ringing in their ears.

Booker and the commando rushed inside, weapons blazing. Both batarians were cut down where they stood partway up the central stairs, bodies tumbling down to ground level. Another one appeared on the landing above, and Booker swept submachine gun fire across the railing, blasting pieces out of the ornate wooden furniture. Several of the shots cut into the batarian rifleman, and he landed spread-eagled on the floor, blood spilling from the handful of holes that had been shot through his torso.

Booker wasted no time in going up the steps, one commando following, another trailing behind by several paces. The rest of the team began to move through the ground level, eliminating whatever resistance they encountered, moving systematically from one room to another. From the chatter he heard over the team's comms, the rooms they had searched so far contained little other than the odd batarian soldier, no Salak Vok or anyone else of similar importance. No turian either, and the beacon's signal had grown progressively weaker in the past several minutes. They could do little about it now, so caught up they were in their attack. If there was any chance that the notorious Salak Vok was here, then Booker would see the mission through. The bastard was long overdue for justice to be served.

Booker turned left, heading down the corridor on that side. The commando followed closely, with the third going to the right-hand corridor instead. Weapons fire thumped from the ground floor, albeit only a few short volleys, suggesting that the rest of the team was making short work of those defenders still down there. Booker, his heart thumping in his chest, kicked open the first door on his left and found nothing but two very frightened batarian women in civilian clothes. Servants or some form of support personnel, he could not be sure which. They screamed when he stormed in with his gun raised, cowering against the shelves behind them within the small storeroom.

'Is Salak Vok here?' Booker snarled, waggling the gun in the pair's faces. One of them slinked back, turning her head. The other met his gaze, her immediate fear having seemingly faded.

'He has an office, down the hall,' she told him. 'Can my friend and I leave?'

Booker nodded his head. He had no intention of killing noncombatants, and so he stepped aside to let the two females hurry past. The commando following him kept an eye on the pair, ever wary around batarians in general. Any one of these perceived noncombatants could pull a gun at any moment, although in this case Booker was confident his subordinate would catch them out if they tried any stunts.

So, Salak Vok was here. Or rather, he had been here. There was a good chance he had made a run for it, likely through one of many pre-planned escape routes. In Booker's experience, most wanted war criminals had a means of escape ready to go in the event of trouble. Nonetheless, he had to be sure, and so went back out into the corridor and started for the rooms at the end of the hall. He kicked open each door he passed, with his subordinate doing the same at the other side of the corridor. Most of these rooms were empty of personnel, and so this narrowed the search down to a door near the end of the corridor itself.

Booker was far too worked up to waste any further time, and so as soon as he came to the door he kicked it hard, tearing it from its ageing hinges. Weapon raised, he found himself in a small lounge of sorts, a space that was tastefully furnished with an open doorway ahead that appeared to lead into some form of office. However, there were two armoured batarian soldiers in here. At least one of them had been preoccupied with smashing the computer terminal before him. He did so with the butt of his rifle, slamming it again and again into the computer unit itself, the holographic terminal dying from the latest strike.

'Knock, knock,' Booker quipped, before he opened fire. He cut both of them down with a rapid stream from his Locust submachine gun, the batarian by the computer falling against the table before he tipped the whole thing over. The second one had been partway in raising his weapon before the rounds tore through his chest, punching through armour plating and sending him into a brief and awkward dance, jerky and spasmodic, before he simply crumpled to the carpeted floor in a bloody heap.

Booker charged forwards, headed for the office, heat emanating from the barrel of his weapon. He could feel it now, Salak Vok was close. Corralling that bastard would make him a hero to many, and promotion was practically guaranteed. Of course, this being a black op his involvement in the whole thing would be known to a select few. There would be no parades or public ceremonies for him or anyone else in his team. Salak Vok would be reported as having been apprehended, but the details as to that apprehension would not be disclosed.

He expected the notorious batarian war criminal to be in a panic, to perhaps have a weapon in hand ready to go out swinging rather than risk a long prison sentence. Instead, Booker found himself almost disappointed to find the man himself seated at his desk in the next room, his demeanour casual, even relaxed. A cigarette was in one hand, and as Booker stormed in with his gun raised Salak Vok simply quirked one brow ridge and offered the human operative a smile.

'I surrender,' Vok stated, in about as matter of fact a manner as one possibly could. He put the cigarette to his mouth and took a lengthy drag, keeping his eyes on Booker as the man approached the opposite side of his desk. He looked up in Booker's scowling face, and then to the barrel of the weapon pointed his way. There was no fear there, not even a hint of wariness. Salak Vok instead appeared as one very self-assured batarian.

'You made a mess of my camp, by the way,' Vok added, once the cigarette was gone from his mouth and the smoke had been cast out of his lungs. 'It was my favourite, having an old-fashioned, almost rustic appeal to it.'

'Salak Vok?' Booker had seen enough about the man in Alliance records to know him by sight. Nonetheless, he had to be sure. Everything he did here was being recorded by the camera attached to his armour vest, not to mention the visor he wore over one eye. Behind him, the SOTIG commando who had been following him stepped inside. His face was hidden underneath a helmet, yet from the way he seemed to pause it appeared even he was surprised to see Salak Vok so relaxed and unfazed.

'Let's not prevaricate, human. You know who I am, but I don't know who you are.' Vok tapped the end of the cigarette against the glass ashtray upon the desktop in front of him. Burnt tobacco fell away from its tip. 'You came here for me.' A pause then, and his four eyes lit up with curiosity: 'Or did you? Something else, perhaps, drew you here?'

Booker, without looking away from Vok, motioned for the commando behind him to approach.

'Secure this man,' he ordered. 'I want a guard on him at all times.'

'Yes, sir.' The commando deactivated his rifle, the weapon folding itself up into a smaller, more portable shape. This, in turn, was magnetically attached to the back of his armour. Hands now free, the commando stepped about the desk and grabbed Vok by one arm. The batarian did not struggle, he simply stood up and allowed the commando to handcuff him. Booker watched Vok with a deepening scowl, finding the war criminal's willingness to be captured all too troubling.

'May I know the name of the man who is going to bring me in?' Vok fixed his gaze on Booker. The operative said nothing in return, levelling as mean a gaze as he could muster instead. Vok, looking disappointed, emitted a quiet sigh.

'Very well, then. Just don't expect to be holding on to me for long, human. You have no idea what you're getting involved with here.

'You'll tell me, Vok.' Now Booker spoke again, causing the batarian to frown. 'No matter how tough you think you are, you will tell me.'

The drive was a hurried one, understandably. Sevarn found himself clutching the handle above the opening by his side, his eyes widening somewhat as he regarded Lyssa's driving. The buggy tore down uneven dirt roads, hitting just about every pothole and bump it possibly could. Behind them, the sounds of battle started to fade, growing further distant as the pair fell deeper into the Anhur wilderness. Headlights on the buggy cut through the gloom, with the silvery glow of the three moons above offering some small level of visibility across land. Nonetheless, it was hardly an ideal situation for Sevarn, who was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with this woman at the wheel. A glance at her hands suggested to him that she was far too worked up, the knuckles on both having turned white.

'Lyssa…' He started, but the woman hit the accelerator harder then, causing the engine to rev loudly. They were on a reasonably straight stretch of road now, going further north, which in Sevarn's estimation was about the opposite way in which they should have been heading. They needed to get closer to New Thebes, for one, and that was in a general southerly direction. Sure, they could hardly go back the way they had come, but Sevarn was not at all keen on heading further into the untamed Anhur countryside.

'Lyssa, slow down.' His voice was level, yet it was drowned out by the roar of the buggy's engine. They hit another bump, a much more severe one, and he felt his stomach drop out of him at the sudden change in height. It was a fleeting sensation, but it was enough to make him pause as well as tighten his grasp on the handle above him.

'Lyssa, slow down.' He spoke again, a little louder this time. He was sure she had heard him, but she kept on driving. Was she ignoring him? Sevarn did not like to yell unless absolutely necessary, and it appeared now was coming to be one of those times.

'Lyssa, for the love of all the spirits, slow down!'

He was wearing a seatbelt, but even in that he felt himself lurch forwards suddenly. Lyssa had slammed on the brakes hard, bringing the speeding buggy to a grinding halt in the dirt road, tires kicking up wads of mud behind them. Sevarn managed to keep himself from becoming too disoriented with his grasp on the handle, yet that had made the sudden stop no less startling. Lyssa swerved the buggy just off of the dirt road as it slowed, bringing it to a stop on a stretch of overgrown grass within a slight depression by the road itself. She switched the vehicle to its stationary mode, but otherwise kept the engine idling.

'What is your problem?' She demanded, turning to him with anger in her eyes.

'You're driving like a maniac in the dead of the night,' Sevarn countered. 'That's my problem, Lyssa. No good getting out of that compound if we're going to kill ourselves in a crash.'

'Those batarians—'

'Are far behind us now,' he interrupted. She looked uneasy, borderline frantic. After what she had gone through, he was not surprised.

'They'll come after us,' she said.

'Maybe, but I suspect they have bigger concerns.' Off in the distance came the odd crack of gunfire. There was still a battle raging, and it bugged Sevarn that he did not know who it was that was attacking the batarian camp.

'We need to keep moving.'

'A little slower, then.' Sevarn allowed himself to relax into his seat. Around them, the forest was dark and quiet, save for the growl of the idling buggy engine and the rollicking call of some unseen nocturnal animal. There were few predators on Anhur dangerous to humans or turians, or so he had been told. Even so, the gloomy woodland flanking them on either side was no less ominous.

'Where to?' She appeared to relax somewhat as well, releasing her grasp from the steering wheel. She flexed her fingers, stretched her arms and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

'My superior, Colonel Venarus. He said he was in a settlement further south. We'll meet him.' He saw the way in which Lyssa quirked her brow then, and he added: 'Or rather, I will meet him. He may be willing to give you a means off of Anhur.'

'I'll need protection from Cerberus,' Lyssa said, and Sevarn detected the pain in her voice as she said this. Her own people had betrayed her, and what likely bugged her most was that she did not fully understand why they had done so.

'My people can protect just about anything,' Sevarn replied, allowing some small measure of pride into his tone. Lyssa, however, appeared unconvinced.

'I am curious as to who attacked that compound,' Lyssa said.

'As am I.'

'Better yet, why now? Why when we're there?' She rubbed her eyes, tired from the day's events. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the fatigue was seeping in. 'That camp has probably been active for months, years even. Why the attack when we're there?'

Sevarn narrowed his eyes. She was certainly insinuating something, and it took him a moment to work out what.

'You think we're being traced?'

'It's a possibility. I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on falling into the hands of whoever attacked that camp.'

Sevarn nodded his head in agreement. Whoever they were, they were not likely to be friendly. They could have been Cerberus for all he knew, and they were hardly the sort to treat a turian soldier such as him with any decency if they apprehended him.

'Same way we were found by the batarians,' Lyssa added.

Sevarn reached down, loosening one boot in order to pull the small disc-shaped communicator from within. As he held it up, Lyssa's eyes fell upon it, recognition flashing across her features.

'You had that hidden on you?' She asked him.

'I thought it might be useful.' He gave it a closer examination, wondering just who might have been tracking it. The possibility was certainly there, yet at the same time he had to wonder whether the batarians had been able to trace the signal beforehand. They had come upon that foundry quickly enough, and Sevarn did not believe much in coincidences.

'Get rid of it,' Lyssa told him. 'We can find your Colonel without it.'

'True enough.' He tossed it out of the opening by his side, where it bounced once or twice upon the gravel road before coming to a stop in a puddle. With that done, he turned to Lyssa again, wondering if the woman was in any real shape to keep driving. After what she had been through, he figured she could do with a rest.

'I can drive, if you want,' he told her. 'Besides, you don't know the way to my Colonel.'

'Yeah, sure.' Lyssa pushed open the door at her side without question, stumbling out of the car. She wavered on her feet for a moment, before she put one hand against the car itself in order to keep her balance. Sevarn watched her, feeling at a little bit of a loss for the simple fact that he could not really imagine what she had endured in the custody of those batarians. After all, he had not been hooked up to some pain-inflicting torture device. How could he possibly relate, in all honesty?

He shifted seats, settling down in the driver's position. Lyssa made her way around the vehicle and climbed into the now vacant passenger seat. As soon as she was on board, Sevarn shifted the vehicle into gear and turned the wheel to direct it back upon the road. Lyssa remained quiet, apparently in little mood to talk further, and instead lay back in her seat and closed her eyes. She was trying to get some sleep, easier said than done when one was trundling along a rough dirt road, every bump knocking them about. The road ahead seemed to go on forever, heading deeper and deeper into the wildlands of Anhur. Settlements would be few and far between this far north, and the road itself was already beginning to fall into an even more severe state of disrepair.

It would be a long drive to where the Colonel had specified. They would have to get there without attracting the attention of any of the insurgents and outlaws who roamed this wilderness. Out here, one could never be too careful, and Sevarn had read enough about the state of this particular Terminus Systems colony to know that there were few truly "safe" places on this planet altogether. He simply followed the road, and eventually (and as he had expected), it began to turn to the east, presumably headed for some other point of interest rather than simply continuing into the unsettled outlying countryside.

Beside him, Lyssa had somehow fallen asleep. Exhaustion had overtaken her, and if it were not for that it was unlikely she would have been able to get any sleep whatsoever. Sevarn envied her, in a way; after everything that had happened, he was far too worked up to just doze off. Lyssa was truly something else, unlike most humans he had met during his lifetime. Granted, he had not met many, but of all those he had encountered on Anhur, Lyssa was certainly the most unique. By all rights he should distrust, even dislike her, but he found he could not bring himself to be that way towards her. They were stuck in this mess together, and so their odds were much better if they cooperated.

At least now he had a direction, a task to complete. Hopefully Colonel Venarus could get him off of this planet. Of course, Sevarn knew there was a chance that, as the sole survivor of the strike team, he might be blamed for the loss of the others. It was unfair, but the higher-ups back home would need someone to blame, and Sevarn made for a convenient scapegoat. Even if there was no official inquiry, there was a good chance he would be transferred to a less illustrious position. And yet, with all this in mind, what was he to do? He certainly had no desire to stay here, where his simply being turian made him a target to many.

He chanced a quick glance over to Lyssa. Slumped in her seat, she appeared oddly peaceful. Under the moonlight, her face appeared pale, almost white. He recalled how he had found her back at the camp, and he knew he would be lying to himself if he did not admit there was a certain allure to her form. The thought was a wayward one, inappropriate given the circumstances, and he quelled it quickly. Even so, he could not shake the image out of his mind, reminded somewhat of the much bluer asari models he had sighted in certain titillating publications. Human females were not too dissimilar, that much was apparent to him now. And a headstrong, commanding woman was something a lot of turian men found very alluring indeed.

No, he could not think about this now. He had a job to do, a mission to complete. Chances are, he and Lyssa would be parting ways soon enough. Once he had a means to get off of this planet, the choice would be offered to Lyssa to either go with him or head her own way. And in all honesty, what self-respecting human with Cerberus ties would want to risk a trip into the heart of the Turian Hierarchy?