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master arminas - The Long Road Home « on: May 26, 2009, 12:44:01 PM »


Part One

Chapter One

July 4, Olympic Peninsula
North America, Terra
Empire of Amaris (Terran Hegemony)

The cold rain feel in an irregular rhythm—first light drizzle blown by the steady wind, and then a heavy downpour along with a solid gust, and then back to the constant light soaking cold.  Even through the heavy SLDF fatigue blouse Liz wore, she could feel the icy water’s impact on her hot, flushed skin.  Eighteen months of constant fighting—and fear—had taken their toll among her Ghosts, on her as well, and the unusual weather was not helping.  What should have been high summer was cold and miserable in this ‘year without a spring’.  The scores of nuclear detonations eighteen months ago—combined with a massive volcanic eruption five months past in Indonesia—had produced a nuclear (or volcanic) ‘autumn’ effect, causing world-wide temperatures to plunge.  Eighteen months.  Has it only been a year and a half since the Coup, she asked herself?

Slipping in the slick undergrowth of the steep hillside, she slammed her rump down onto the wet muddy ground, splashing more of the cold wetness up as she landed.  She shook her head, and sighed before placing the butt of her rifle solidly into the ground.  Reuben paused as he passed by and cocked his head, but she shook her own in an empathic NO.  He shrugged and carefully made his own way down the slope.  Using the rifle as a support, she slowly stood, making certain that her feet were braced on forest floor not quite as slippery as the rest.  When the leader of the guerillas was once again standing, she placed the rifles sling over her neck, and tightened the strap against her chest, the rifle pointing down towards the ground, away from her fellow insurgents.  Keeping the weapon tucked tight in against her right shoulder, she began making her way down-hill once more.  Just another thirty minutes, Liz, she thought—a half-hour and we can take a breather.

She almost took another misstep, but caught her just in the nick of time to avoid stepping onto the muddy rut in the ground where one of her people had slid three meters.  She stopped again, and tried to draw in a deep breath, but she gasped as her lungs ached.  She began to cough, a deep barking cough filled with phlegm that she spat out onto the ferns that surrounded her.  Overheated, she pulled open her jacket, and loosened the scarf she wore around her throat, letting the wonderfully cold air and moisture cause steam to rise from the red flesh below.  She was lagging behind—and she knew it—and she made her self take another step.  And then another.  And then the forest began to spin and everything went black.

*****************************************************

As she woke, she shivered and her head pounded.  She could feel a heavy warmth piled all around her, but she didn’t understand.  Where was the woods?  Where was the rain?  She tried to sit up, and once again, her world spun, and she retched a dry heave before she collapsed back upon the cot upon which she lay.

“Easy, Liz,” a gentle voice whispered.  She opened her eyes, but could not see—she felt a cool wetness covering them, and her forehead.  “You gave us quite a scare, you know.”

“Bear?” she croaked.

“The one and only; you were perhaps expecting Vince or Bernie to tend to your illness?” his voice sounded amused.

“My head . . .” she began, but Bear cut her off.

“Hurts like hell—and you can’t breath real well, can you?”  He snorted.  “How long have you been feeling ill?”

“A few days, but I took some aspirin and a few cough tablets.”

“Why, Oh Lord,” Bear intoned in the darkness around her, “why do people that KNOW better, insist upon treating themselves instead of letting me—the only QUALIFIED physician in the bunch—take a look and render a real diagnosis.”

She winced, as a sudden pain her temple hit her like a white-hot ice-pick, and then she began coughing again—a deep wracking cough that she did not have enough breath to finish.  Bear lifted her up into a sitting position, and she began to breath better, but even she heard a rattle from inside her lungs.

Someone else—several someones, in fact—were nearby, and placed some soft covers behind her back, as Bear laid her back down, laying at an elevated angle.  “Liz, you had a chest cold—but it is has gone and morphed into pneumonia.  I’ve shot you full of antibiotics, but you need some rest.  Here—this will help you sleep,” he said as she felt a sharp prick on the inside of her elbow, and a cool, almost cold liquid squirted into her veins.

“Where . . . tell Reuben . . .” she began, as the pain-killer and sedative started to take hold.

“Don’t you worry none, Liz; Reuben has everything under control.  Just go to sleep and give your body a chance to fight off the infection.”

She slid back into the depths of unconsciousness, hearing his voice slowly fade away.

wolfcannon Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #1 on: May 26, 2009, 03:55:12 PM »

iTS HEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   Cheesy Cheesy Cheesy

Takiro Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #2 on: May 26, 2009, 04:02:27 PM »

Getting sick sucks, but this story rules! Can't wait for more. Wink

Ice Hellion Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #3 on: May 26, 2009, 04:36:00 PM »

It is back.

scourge72 Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #4 on: May 26, 2009, 06:26:28 PM »

Yay!!!

master arminas Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #5 on: May 29, 2009, 10:50:28 AM »

Chapter Two

July 7, Olympic Peninsula
North America, Terra
Empire of Amaris (Terran Hegemony)

She rolled over in the warm bed even before she realized she was awake.  The room that she lay in was lit only by the crackling fire in a stone hearth set against the wall.  Her head didn’t hurt, that was her first thought.  She sat up, pushing aside the thick sheets and spreads that covered her, and she drew in a deep breath—or tried to.  Halfway through, she began to cough, and she retched up a tremendous glob of phlegm, barely getting the metal pan on the bedside beneath her in time.

Still, Liz felt better than she had when Bear had given her the shot.  Her stomach rumbled as she listened to the fire hissing and popping—and through the wooden door she could hear music.  She could FEEL music; the room seemed to vibrate with a thick, heavy bass even as the walls diluted the sound to something that was barely audible.  She put her bare feet on the floor—the COLD floor—and then held onto the edge of the bed as the room slowly spun for a brief moment.  Shaking her head, she waited until the vertigo faded away, and then attempted to stand.

The muscles in her long slim legs trembled, and she had to grab the bedpost to avoid falling over, but she stood.  Taking a long woolen robe from a peg set in the wall, she pulled it on over her body, and tied the belt around her waist.  There were three doors in the room she was in, and she picked one at random—it opened to reveal a walk-in closet, with clothes in her size hanging from metal hangers, and boots and thick warm socks and underclothes lined up a shelf below.

The second door led to a bath—and Liz filled the sink with water as she looked at herself in the mirror.  You don’t look too good, she thought to herself, as she considered the thick oily hair and her wan complexion.  She bent over and splashed the cold water on her face, and then turned to the ceramic tub.  Adjusting the water until it flowed hot and fast from the shower head, she found some soap and a bottle of shampoo, along with a sponge and several bathing clothes.  Closing the door behind her, she dropped the warm robe, grabbed the sponge, soap, and shampoo, and stepped into the tub, drawing the curtain closed behind her.

For a long time, she scrubbed her skin and her hair, her face, her arms, her chest, clean of the last lingering signs of her illness.  She scrubbed and she scrubbed until the water began to turn tepid and the steam began to die away.  Shutting down the shower, she grabbed one of the thick towels and patted her dry.  Standing before the fogged up mirror, she wiped one hand across it until she could she herself again, and began to wring the excess water from her long hair.

Shortly after, she stood once again in the bedroom, and she pulled clothes from the closet onto the bed.  There didn’t seem to be any weapons, none that she could find, at least.  Dressed once more, in clean, warm clothes, she braided back her hair in a single long strand which kept it out of her eyes and turned to the third door.  As she opened it, the music increased in volume, the pressure of the sound hard and heavy against her.

“Good evening, Captain,” Vince said from the chair he sat in outside her room, his feet propped up on a stool as he blocked the wooden hall leading towards a flight of stairs going down.  He set down the book he was reading and cocked his head towards her.  “Should you be up and about before our resident MD has had a chance to proclaim your health—or lack thereof?”

Liz snorted.  “Where are we, Vince?”

“Bill Tanner’s place, down in Sheridan.  After you collapsed, Elizabeth, we needed to find a place pretty quick—Bill’s a good guy and he took some of us in.  The other Ghosts found some deserted buildings about two miles up the slope and are hanging out there, but some of us stayed back here with you.”

“And you decided to have a party?” she asked, the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Oh, Heaven forbid, Captain my Captain.  Bill runs the only honky-tonk still open in Sheridan; what did you think he would close and lose money because a bunch of terrorist criminal traitors are hanging out in his upstairs rooms?”

“Vince,” she growled, and he held up his hand.

“He’s a good guy, Liz.  You needed to get out of the weather while you healed up—and me and Bernie and Bear have been here the entire time.  People around here don’t ask questions, and the few times any Rim-jobs have passed through, Bill covered for us pretty decently.  Just so you know, you are his sister Abigail from over in Boulder, come out here to help him and his wife with the twins born last year.”

“And you and Bernie?”

“We are Vince and Bernie—what else could we be?  Bill played a half-season our rookie year, but he blew out a knee and had to leave the NFL.  We’re visiting an old buddy from the days gone by—after all we aren’t exactly wanted by NAME, are we?”

“And Bear?”

Vince coughed.  “Well, we did need to come up with a reason for him being here and all, Captain.”

Liz frowned.  He was up to something, and she knew it.  “Spit it out.”

“Well, turns out Abigail is married, so we couldn’t have her come out here without her husband and, well you know . . .”

“And so you decided to tell everyone that Bear and I are married.”

“It seemed like the thing to do, Liz,” Vince said with an innocent grin.  “Poor Rob—that’s your husband’s name, by the way—been worried sick about his bride being on death’s door.  Which is why he is down-stairs dancing his troubles away.”
She shook her head and asked plaintively, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Vince’s grin widened, revealing gleaming white teeth, as his eyes glittered with amusement.  “No, not really.”

*****************************************************

After laughing at her situation with Vince, Liz carefully made her way down the stairs, still weak from her illness.  Spread out before her was a large space, crammed tight with tables and packed with people.  On a stage set off to one side, a local band was playing enthusiastically—if not especially well—and dozens of men and women were dancing.  A long bar lined the far wall, with two ladies behind the counter topping off drinks and collecting cash.   Four more women—girls, really—in tight shorts and half-open shirts moved through crowd, delivering shots and beer and baskets filled with steaming food.

Beside the front door, a big man—almost the size of the twins—sat on a high stool, sipping on a bottle of beer as he watched the crowd.  Standing next to him was Bernie, his foot tapping as he watched the dancers gyrate on the floor.  Bernie spotted her standing there, and smiled.  He lumbered through the room, the crowd parting at his passing like water in the wake of a battleship.

“Abby Girl,” he called out as he reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Awake at long last, huh?”

He reached her and gave her a crushing hug that lifted her from her feet.  “Right jacket pocket, Colt-Walther, one up the spout and ten in the mag,” he whispered.

Patting him on the back with one arm, she snaked the other into his pocket and quickly pulled out the weapon.  Hidden from view by his bulk, she slid the holster beneath her sweater and clipped it to the back of her pants.

“Bernie, how did you know what to get me as a get-well gift?” she chuckled.

“Liz,” he whispered, “I’d give fifty-to-one odds you’d rather be here naked than disarmed.”  He stepped back and looked down at her, cocking his head to one side.  “Of course, I’d be happy to pay OFF those odds if you were willing.”

She grinned and punched him lightly in the shoulder.  He pantomimed injury amidst the loud music, and took her hand, leading her to a table with three people sitting there.

“I’m so glad that you folks are leaving,” Bernie said as he loomed over the three young men.  “My friend needs a chair—but not the company.”  He smiled as he cracked his knuckles, and the men considered the situation for a moment.  The face of one twisted up, and he began to stand, but the other two pulled him back down as Vince came across from the stairs and grinned at them.  The three stood and walked away, and then Bernie pulled out a leather bound chair for Liz.

She shook her head in amusement, but sat down quickly.  Her legs were already trembling, and she knew that she needed to go back to bed shortly.  “Now, then,” Bernie yelled into her ear, “why don’t I get Donna over there to bring you a plate of food—but no alcohol.  Doctor’s orders.”

“Speaking of the devil, where IS Rob?”

Vince and Bernie both grinned and pointed at the dance floor, where the young former medical student was slow-grinding away with a girl dressed for partying.  Liz tried to hold back her laughter; the doctor was so staid and reserved, but he seemed to be relaxed and enjoying himself.  She sat back and languidly waved her hand at Bernie.  “Go on, I’m hungry enough to eat a horse.”

*****************************************************

After devouring half a cheeseburger, a basket of onion rings, and a tall glass of cold sweet tea, Liz pushed her plate away and relaxed back into the seat.  Bear had been by, and checked her temperature and the clearness of her eyes, and told her thirty minutes—no more.  Then back to bed.  Vince and Bernie were hanging out with Bill—the owner of the joint—over by the door, and Bear had gone back to his conversation with the twenty-something he had found an interest in.

Some marriage, she thought, as she smiled.  She couldn’t remember the last time she had been this relaxed, this at peace.

“May we sit,” a voice asked at her elbow.  Startled, Liz snapped out of her reverie and looked up at three men standing next to her.  Caught up in the music and the feeling of warmth and peace, she had zoned out and not even noticed as they approached.

“Sorry,” she said, flashing a blinding smile and raising her left hand.  “Waiting for my husband.”

“Thank you,” the oldest of the three said, as he sat down.  The other two also found seats.  One—the youngest—looked nervous, while the third kept his eyes on Bernie and Vince next to the door.

“I said no, or didn’t you hear?”

“Oh, I heard you, Elizabeth Hazen; but I think you are going to want to speak to me.”

muttley Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #6 on: May 29, 2009, 05:30:41 PM »

Uh oh, someone's in trouble...

Takiro Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #7 on: May 29, 2009, 07:03:22 PM »

The jig is up!

scourge72 Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #8 on: May 29, 2009, 09:19:20 PM »

What a way to wake up after being sedated.

blacktigeractual Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #9 on: May 29, 2009, 09:48:28 PM »

The jig is up!

  ...And gone.

master arminas Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #10 on: June 01, 2009, 09:15:18 AM »

Chapter Three

July 7, Olympic Peninsula
North America, Terra
Empire of Amaris (Terran Hegemony)

“I believe that you have mistaken me for someone else,” Liz said coldly as she considered how best to reach the pistol at her back.  Three of them and just one of me; best to play for time, she thought.  Vince and Bernie—hell, even Bear—will check up on me pretty damn quick.

The older man’s lips twitched in smile, and he shook his head.  “Zach, you are CERTAIN that this woman is Captain Elizabeth Hazen—former officer commanding, Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, Royal Black Watch Regiment, I Corps, First Army, Star League Defense Forces?”

“Yes, sir, Major sir,” the nervous young man answered, his voice low and in a whisper Liz could barely hear over the music.  “Well, facial recognition is at 99.9%, so there could be a slight possibility she could be someone else.  I could cross-check over the ‘net,” he said as he began to unfold his comm, but the third man gently—but most firmly—laid his own hand on Zach’s forearm.

“I don’t think any of us would appreciate having that information in the system, Senior Chief—and I doubt we would survive if you tried,” he said wryly, still looking towards Vince and Bernie, who had noticed Liz’s company at the table.

The young man—Zach—blushed, and put away his comm.  “Sorry, Captain, I didn’t think that through.”

“Who are you people,” Liz whispered.

The older man smiled again, and pointed across the table at Zach.  “Senior Chief Technical Officer Zachary Hancock, Brevet Captain Malachi Olds,” as his finger shifted to the third man, who nodded in return, and then came back to rest before him, “and Major Saul Weiling—all members of the Rim Worlds Army, Captain Hazen—or should I say Sarah Copland, or maybe even Abigail Jansen.”

“Before you do something incredibly brave and stupid,” he continued before she could respond, “and get all four of us killed, Liz—that is what you prefer to be called, yes?—let me preface this by saying that we are not here to take you into custody, nor are we going to call IntSec or the Makos or anyone else in a current position of authority.”

Both Zach and Mal nodded their heads, but the sandy-haired MechWarrior growled softly across the table.  “Company is inbound, and it looks mean.”

Liz looked up as Vince and Bernie approached the table.  Both of the big men looked grim—and determined, with Bernie cracking his knuckles as he closed the distance in a rather menacing manner.  Zach swallowed a lump in his throat, and then tapped at the table, as if judging how effective a shield the wood would provide.  Glancing back at the two former linebackers, he quickly shook his head in a rather empathic NO, and then slumped back in his chair, resigned at the thought of a beating, and looking rather glum.

Saul grinned, and popped the young man on the upper arm.  “Buck up, Senior Chief; there are far worse things that could happen than a few bruises if we don’t cover our trail.”

“Blow-torches, the rack, sharp needles under the finger-nails, pliers ripping out toe-nails and teeth,” Mal helpfully intoned from across the table, “all sorts of fun and games I for one would rather avoid.”

Liz’s jaw dropped and she shook her head.  “WHO the HELL are you people?” she whispered again.

“Just a few disgruntled men and women that have seen which way the wind is blowing, Captain Hazen.  We—the three of us and a few others—have decided we want to take our toys and go home.  We don’t want to play this game no more, you see,” Saul said, as Vince spun around a chair and took a seat.

“Are you gentlemen bothering my friend?” he asked in a surprisingly civil manner as he glared down at them.

“Yes, I think we are, Vince—or is it Bernie?  I can’t ever tell which one of you is which.  In your rookie season, didn’t the head coach tell you two to each shave a different half of your head, just so he could tell the difference?”  Saul replied.

Vince growled, but Liz reached out and patted his arm.  “Why don’t we continue this somewhere a little more private?”

“Excellent idea,” Saul answered as he stood, beaming with a dazzling smile.

“Hopefully not private enough for electro-shock, water-boarding, eye-gouging, or finger-breaking,” Mal grumbled from across the table as he stood as well.

Vince cocked his head, and looked down at Liz, who nodded back up at him, and then again at Bernie.  “Get Bear, and meet us upstairs, would you Bernie?” she asked.

As Bernie nodded and turned to the dance floor, Mal lightly tapped him on the elbow.  “Ask Denise—that’s the red-head your man is dancing with—if she would mind joining us as well.”

As Liz stared at him, he shrugged.  “Hell, I didn’t know if you people were just going to start shooting before we could even get a chance to talk—and I don’t like taking chances, especially when there are spooks involved,” he added, glaring at Saul.  “And don’t think Denise is the only one of my boys and girls present tonight.”

“Any spook in a storm, eh,” Saul chuckled.  “Come on Zach, looks like we get to live on and fight another day.”

“Hanging and branding and rubber hoses and vivisection, oh joy,” Mal mumbled as the group began to make their way towards the stairs.

*****************************************************

A short time later, the eight of them were gathered upstairs in a small den adjacent to Liz’s bedroom, Vince and Bernie standing to either side of the door—Vince with his pistol out and drawn, but pointed towards the floor.  Bear had already checked her temperature once again—and frowning at her, had made her swallow two pills and then covered her with a thick blanket.

The four Rim Worlders had taken seats around the room—after Bernie searched them for weapons, coming up empty-handed.

“All right, why shouldn’t we just shoot you and dump the bodies in the forest:” Vince asked.

“That would be a bad idea, Mister Patella,” Zach began, and then blushed and shut down once more, looking sheepishly across at the two older men and the red-haired woman.

Saul glanced across at Mal, who shrugged and then nodded.  Lightly kicking the young man in the ankle, he growled, “Well go on, Senior Chief—tell them why it would be a bad idea.”

“Sorry, Sir.  Well,” he continued as he looked back up at Vince, “we tracked you people here through the survey sats.  I crossed-checked local security footage from every camera in town, along with voice-prints across open phone and ‘net lines, and got positive IDs—almost positive IDs, at least—on the four of you.  The rest of your group—the Ghosts, I think you call yourselves—are 3.81 kilometers up the valley at the old Windham place; been deserted for ages, so it makes a pretty good hidey-hole.  Of course, I did all of this on my own system—deleting all info queries into the main-frame for sat redeployment and computer time, so there is no data there linking you people together.”

Saul sighed.  He had tried to bring Zach along into becoming a more outgoing individual, but he reckoned while you could lead a techno-geek to a dance floor you couldn’t make him dance.  “The techno-babble and magic that that young man can do with anything remotely related to sensor surveillance aside, the reason it would be a bad idea is because there are a couple of dozen ‘Mechs of his,” he pointed at Mal, “battalion holed up half-a-klick away from the rest of your group.  Any of our vitals drop off the grid—or even go unconscious—and they have orders to level it.”

“I was getting there, Major,” Zach said, a faint smile breaking across his face.

“I know you were, Senior Chief—but sometimes your getting there takes half of forever.”

Zach nodded his understanding, and then frowned.  “Not that we WANT that to happen, though.  It’s a fail-safe, just in case.”

Bernie frowned and glared down at Zach.  “And how will they know that your vitals change?”

“I am really, really GOOD at my job, Mister Patella.  I got this place so dialed in that I could tell you the blood alcohol content of your urine from earlier today.  And the blood-sugar levels—you might want to consider getting your doctor to check you out, those are a little bit high; but that could just be a daily fluctuation of your physiological systems.  You need to watch your cholesterol count as well; it is elevated too.”

The former pro-ball player’s eyes bulged outwards as the Rim techno-geek sincerely nodded up at him like a loyal puppy, and Saul Weiling erupted in laughter.

“If I believed in Black Magic, then I’d say Zach here sold his soul to the Devil long ago—but as it is, he is the BEST damn surveillance analyst I have ever frakkin’ seen.  If he says he did it, then I for one believe him.”

Liz spoke up from her chair.  “You said downstairs you ‘don’t want to play no more’.  Does that mean you intend to ask us—a bunch of wanted terrorists on the run—to offer you asylum?”

Saul and Mal exchanged another look—a wry one, this time.  “And join you on the lam?  At the moment, Captain, there is very little you can do to help us—but when the time comes, there might be a LOT that we can do to help you—and General Kerensky.”

He paused, clearly thinking over how to phrase his next few words.  “We didn’t know what was going to happen when we were sent to Terra.  All we knew was that we were given sealed orders to be opened at 0600 on December 27th—and by then it was far too late to stop the Coup.  Not that I would have at the time,” he said squarely while meeting the gaze of Liz.  “I was a loyal officer to the Rim, Captain, and Richard was an ass.  But I can’t say that we got much better.  His Imperial Majesty has lost it—if he ever had it.  Taking the Hegemony was one thing—but this constant stream of brutality he has unleashed against its peoples is something entirely different.  And Kerensky is out there, waiting to return.  After the use of WMDs on a dozen worlds—Drac and FedRat alike—and him giving the orders to kill the wife and unborn child of the Last Cameron, we—the four of us and a few others—have decided that we are dead men and women if we stay loyal to Fat Boy and Vampire von Strang.”

“We want OUT, Captain.  None of us have committed atrocities—oh, we have fought for our homeland and our gooney master—but we aren’t guilty of mass murder or rape or any other war crimes.  Thing is, we wait until the SLDF comes back—backed up the Free Worlds, the Federated Suns, and the Draconis Combine, no less—and there is a good chance that they won’t be taking prisoners after what Fat Boy has done to provoke them.  From a certain point of view, he is a genius—because now most of his troops will fight to the death to defend themselves against a foe that is going to kill them anyway.  But I don’t like the outcome of that binary set solution—and neither do these people with me.  I want a third answer that lets me—and my people—live when this is all over and done with.”

“Now, between me and Zach here, we’ve got Planetary Surveillance sewed up pretty damn tight.  We, along with a few men and women in the department, can insure that no one will track you.  Olds and Gallagher,” he said pointing to Denise, “are with the 23rd Light Dragoons.  That regiment got so busted up by your SLDF comrades in SouthAm and guerillas and insurgents in Europe, they have been rotated out here, since we are rated as a ‘low-intensity area of operation’; and I’ve ensured that Olds will be on hand for the immediate future.  In fact, I’ve got a transfer in the works for him and his people to serve as our perimeter security—local terrorist activity should sharply scale up in the near future, I’m thinking.  Especially after we begin to feed you specific targets of opportunity.”

“Why should we trust you?” Bear asked.

“Who the Hell said anything about trust?” Weiling snorted.  “It’s quid pro quo, Captain—I keep Vampire von Strang and his bunch off your ass, AND give you heads-up on some juicy targets that I would not mind seeing go down, and in exchange when Kerensky comes back you take us in and vouch for us.  I’m not looking to know the locations of all your secret caches that you have been bouncing back and forth from—but I will let you know some of them are not quite as secret as you think.  The one you are heading towards up near Wasilla, for example; that one we found three weeks ago and its being watched.”

“And if we don’t keep our end of the bargain, Major Weiling?” Liz asked softly.

Saul shifted a bit in his seat.  “If we come to an agreement, Captain Hazen, I think you will keep it—honor of the regiment and all of that.  If you don’t, then we are all dead anyway.”

The unspoken threat hung over them all—I found you once, it said, I can find you again and that time give you up to the other Rim forces.  Liz nodded in agreement.  “I can live with that, Major Weiling, but for this I will have to consult with the others of my group’s leadership.  They might not all agree.”

The Rim officer waved his hand.  “I’m not asking them; I’m asking YOU—based in large part of what Zach here has dug up on your psych profile from SLDF records.  You give me YOUR word, and I’ll run with it—what those others say or think don’t matter a hill of beans to me.”

He rubbed his face over his chin and mouth with one hand, and sighed.  “And I will sweeten the pot, Liz.  Give her the file, Zach.”

The young man grimaced, but reached—slowly—into his jacket and pulled out a data-chip, which he handed to Bear, who gave it to Vince.  Placing it in his own pocket-comp, he scanned it for electronic whisper bugs and viruses, and noting it was clean, handed the entire device over to Liz.

She took it in her hand and looked down at the screen—and froze as the face of the Rim officer who had ordered the bomb strike on her brothers hospital appeared in the center.  Her head spun, and her jaw dropped; her pulse quickened and her face flushed.  She could see it happen again—the officer turning to his staff and nodding, giving them the go-ahead to fire-bomb the still full military hospital.  The hospital that contained four hundred and seventy-four military patients, one of whom had been her baby brother.

“His name, unit, and current location are in the file, Captain Hazen.  Along with where he hangs out, what he drinks, and what type of woman he likes to hit upon—literally in this case.  The man is a pig that gives all Republicans a bad name, so I don’t give a shit what you do to him.  But is it worth a ticket for a chance at life for a few dozen people who just want this to be over?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered as she stared at the face staring at her out of the screen.  “Oh, yes, Major Weiling, it is worth that much and more.”

Rainbow 6 Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #11 on: June 01, 2009, 12:23:17 PM »

That Rim officer is a dead man walking.

muttley Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #12 on: June 01, 2009, 01:57:07 PM »

Wonder how many pieces he'll end up in?

Takiro Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #13 on: June 01, 2009, 04:14:53 PM »

Defectors huh, not bad MA - not bad at all. Problem with traitors though is you can never quite trust them. 

scourge72 Re: The Long Road Home « Reply #14 on: June 02, 2009, 07:31:58 PM »

I just hope this guy just gets utterly uber-pwned.