GWOT 2 - In The Cold
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drewkittyGWOT 2 - In The Cold
"The well-fed, self-satisfied, egoistic soldier will never perform any acts of heroism. Only someone who has been driven barefoot into the mud and snow, who has had even his bread taken away from him and has proved every day with his fists his right to existence - only this kind of man is capable of showing one day that he really is the best." - _Spetznaz_ by Viktor Suvorov
Shawn failed. The Colonel is very much alive.
All of us are initiates of the mysteries of death. But I am anointed as if ready for the altar. Not only do the Dirty Mercs want me dead, but their foe the Resistance wants me dead as well.
Those who stand in the middle get hit from both sides. The Dirty Mercs are the dirty left hand of Homeland, doing the dirty work even Homeland's Special Troops shrink at doing. The Resistance has had it up to here with Homeland and with the War in general. The Site I protect is essential to the War, and therefore ...
"What do we do with the meat?" Shane Shreve asked.
As best I could remember, in many bitter months of war, this marked the very first time he had shown any initiative at all.
The meat was a Resistance assassin. She had come within seconds of killing me, and only Shane's instant willingness to bayonet someone he did not recognize had saved my life.
Arturo raised a finger.
"Boss. I think she succeeded."
Shane looked puzzled, as he always did.
I nodded. It was certainly a gambit worth trying.
"Shreve. You saw her kill me in that room. You then killed her out here. Give us a two minute head start. Arturo will handle the details."
I took off my uniform shirt with its damning Echo 18 nametape. Added my radio and my wifi cell. Arturo tossed the pile in the empty office as I headed directly for the basement via the nearest stairwell. Facilities keys got me into the maintenance corridors.
"Alert Two. Alert Two. The Reaction Team WILL RESPOND to..."
No cameras down here. We had made several plans for unpleasant contingencies. One was another overt invasion, a successful one, in which we would have to retreat into the warrens under Site as enemy infantry hunted us down with grenade and bayonet. To even hint that it might be Homeland would be treason.
Another was another nuclear attack, a more sustained one, in which only those parts of Site well below ground would be survivable for three to five weeks. We had laid in a supply of drinking water. We had wanted to store food, but between general shortages and Cartwright's mismanagement, that had not been possible.
The idea that we might have to hide a few people had crossed our minds. I had not thought that the person might be me.
The best way to keep the Resistance from trying again would be to let them think they succeeded. Also a potential approach for smoking out their agents on Site.
We were really, really careful about unauthorized personnel. The assassin has not teleported through our perimeter or into the building. She had help. We needed to know who so we could patch the vulnerabilities. Perhaps by transferring them to more appropriate duties, such as sorting recycling in the Trash Yard with a red PRISONER badge. Or pushing up daisies. Whatever.
My team was not stupid. Within minutes they would be reviewing cameras and badge traces, for as long as it took to link backwards from the leaky corpse to how she got in.
A side benefit would be tracking who was happy that I had apparently taken the Big Dirt Nap. I might enjoy their discomfiture when my resurrection was at hand. More importantly, it would further identify security vulnerabilities.
All that was required was that I stay out of sight for a few days. No badge trace would reveal my survival. As long as I stayed down here, in the subbasements.
I made sure I had a water bottle and an empty five gallon bucket with a tight fitting lid.
###
It was so cold.
I hugged my knees to my chest. The one thin cushion I had liberated from a pile of old office furniture kept the concrete floor from sucking the heat out of me.
I occasionally refilled the bottle of water from the little sink and toilet room off the sub mezzanine. I suspected it had been originally installed to use this entire area as a shelter, but forgotten about. It had no toilet paper, but not because we'd run out months ago. Because Janitorial has forgotten this bathroom existed some years ago, long before the Firecracker.
The toilet was balky but flushed with help from a full bucket of water. Not as good as I had hoped but much better than it could have been.
I had to wait until middle of the day to flush. Sounds down here might be investigated.
I dozed fitfully, when nightmares let me.
###
Approximately forever later, I recognized brisk footsteps.
Dr. Betty Rize with a blanket over one arm and a paper clamshell full of warm food.
"You look like shit," she greeted me amiably.
She had forgotten utensils, so I ate with the fingers of my right hand with the blanket wrapped around me.
"Wyatt and Arturo think we've got them all. An office clerk, a coder and a dependent. What we don't have is the off site link."
That was bad. That was the problem in a nutshell.
"So he wants you to hang down here another day. Up to it?"
I nodded.
She put a hand on my shoulder and even through the very welcome thin blanket, I flinched.
"I won't forget utensils next time. Um. Bye now."
Her footsteps, now hesitant and uncertain, retreated.
I returned to my hollow thoughts.
###
An endless time of half dozing later, someone was trying to sneak up on me, which was as good as a shout.
I sighed.
"Sarah."
"Sir."
"Report."
"We have a problem, sir..."
###
Both the Resistance and the Dirty Mercs were ramping up their efforts to intrude at the Site.
I couldn't do a damn thing about the Resistance. I had very little intel and no way to action it, or develop more.
I could do something about the Dirty Mercs. I knew where they were based. I had done a full mission profile for Shawn, sending him out with everything I knew.
To get killed.
So it was time to send a man to do a boy's work, instead of the other way around.
###
This was bound to be some serious bullshit. The manuals said you start with a good night's sleep, well hydrated and with full gear. You get dropped off by a vehicle near the objective. Infiltrate. Then go overt and do your Ramcommandonator bullshit. Then run away before your target recovers.
I am starting strung out, hungry, as mentally fucked up as I have been in weeks.
Good. Suffering is the path.
I exfiltrated the building, made a stop at the bomb shed, cached my keys and access badges and effects that linked me to Site, and started my night hike.
I had no firearms. I didn't need them.
###
The house with the Special Troops was as easy for me to avoid as it had been for Shawn.
My heightened awareness, like his, was enough to avoid the trip wires and trigger plates for the flares and directional mines.
I briefly visited each house. Left my present. Like Santa, or perhaps the Grinch. Treasuring what George and Mo had taught me.
The house nearest the top, that one had been the Colonel's. I left no present there. I could not dare a close approach. Like me, he feared assassination and had survived multiple attempts.
The last thing I wanted to do now was kill him. He was essential to my plan.
I waited loosely, fiercely hungry with my belly full of garden hose water, until each house below simultaneously exploded. Small explosions. But next to each house's propane ... ah, a big one. Another.
I could see into the Colonel's bedroom as he cuffed his sex slaves out of his way and opened his safe.
I threw a rock and shattered his window as he grabbed his rifle.
"Colonel!" I shouted. "Colonel!"
Then I moved. No pause, no hesitation, which was good as bullets kicked up dirt where I had been.
I had no firearm. Which removed a temptation to be killed, as I would never be as good a shot as the good Colonel.
But I was a much, much better strategist
###
My guards gathered to cheer me as I walked from the South Gate to my quarters in A building.
Sharon and Arturo brought me a jacket to conceal the ripped undershirt and bruises.
"Homeland is _pissed_ at the Dirty Mercs. They pushed the big red button but had no bodies to show. Just some burned houses and the Colonel swearing up and down it was you. Badge trace shows you were here the whole time."
Nice.
It was Brooke in the shower who gave me the dirty part.
"Four Resistance agents. The conduit was through the school. Volunteer to child to Resistance parent."
I was too tired to care as she scrubbed me down.
"We didn't have a choice. Janine decided."
A fierce whisper in my ear.
"All six are dead."
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I wasn't worth that.
I started to collapse as if all my strings had been cut.
Brooke grabbed me in the one place you don't grab a man. You just don't.
"Get your shit straight, soldier." Her grip was light but firm. Then she let go.
Slapped me on the back.
"You got this, sir."
I was poured into bed. Too tired to think.
Too tired not to.
The six deaths weren't for me. They were for the Site. We couldn't tolerate a Resistance direct link.
###
"Go," Janine ordered. "Do not come back!"
"But..."
She got out of the fire engine and raised an empty fist.
The four slunk away down the road.
It was not her fist. It was what she could order.
Janine got back in the engine and made a three point turn. Back to Site.
"The well-fed, self-satisfied, egoistic soldier will never perform any acts of heroism. Only someone who has been driven barefoot into the mud and snow, who has had even his bread taken away from him and has proved every day with his fists his right to existence - only this kind of man is capable of showing one day that he really is the best." - _Spetznaz_ by Viktor Suvorov
Shawn failed. The Colonel is very much alive.
All of us are initiates of the mysteries of death. But I am anointed as if ready for the altar. Not only do the Dirty Mercs want me dead, but their foe the Resistance wants me dead as well.
Those who stand in the middle get hit from both sides. The Dirty Mercs are the dirty left hand of Homeland, doing the dirty work even Homeland's Special Troops shrink at doing. The Resistance has had it up to here with Homeland and with the War in general. The Site I protect is essential to the War, and therefore ...
"What do we do with the meat?" Shane Shreve asked.
As best I could remember, in many bitter months of war, this marked the very first time he had shown any initiative at all.
The meat was a Resistance assassin. She had come within seconds of killing me, and only Shane's instant willingness to bayonet someone he did not recognize had saved my life.
Arturo raised a finger.
"Boss. I think she succeeded."
Shane looked puzzled, as he always did.
I nodded. It was certainly a gambit worth trying.
"Shreve. You saw her kill me in that room. You then killed her out here. Give us a two minute head start. Arturo will handle the details."
I took off my uniform shirt with its damning Echo 18 nametape. Added my radio and my wifi cell. Arturo tossed the pile in the empty office as I headed directly for the basement via the nearest stairwell. Facilities keys got me into the maintenance corridors.
"Alert Two. Alert Two. The Reaction Team WILL RESPOND to..."
No cameras down here. We had made several plans for unpleasant contingencies. One was another overt invasion, a successful one, in which we would have to retreat into the warrens under Site as enemy infantry hunted us down with grenade and bayonet. To even hint that it might be Homeland would be treason.
Another was another nuclear attack, a more sustained one, in which only those parts of Site well below ground would be survivable for three to five weeks. We had laid in a supply of drinking water. We had wanted to store food, but between general shortages and Cartwright's mismanagement, that had not been possible.
The idea that we might have to hide a few people had crossed our minds. I had not thought that the person might be me.
The best way to keep the Resistance from trying again would be to let them think they succeeded. Also a potential approach for smoking out their agents on Site.
We were really, really careful about unauthorized personnel. The assassin has not teleported through our perimeter or into the building. She had help. We needed to know who so we could patch the vulnerabilities. Perhaps by transferring them to more appropriate duties, such as sorting recycling in the Trash Yard with a red PRISONER badge. Or pushing up daisies. Whatever.
My team was not stupid. Within minutes they would be reviewing cameras and badge traces, for as long as it took to link backwards from the leaky corpse to how she got in.
A side benefit would be tracking who was happy that I had apparently taken the Big Dirt Nap. I might enjoy their discomfiture when my resurrection was at hand. More importantly, it would further identify security vulnerabilities.
All that was required was that I stay out of sight for a few days. No badge trace would reveal my survival. As long as I stayed down here, in the subbasements.
I made sure I had a water bottle and an empty five gallon bucket with a tight fitting lid.
###
It was so cold.
I hugged my knees to my chest. The one thin cushion I had liberated from a pile of old office furniture kept the concrete floor from sucking the heat out of me.
I occasionally refilled the bottle of water from the little sink and toilet room off the sub mezzanine. I suspected it had been originally installed to use this entire area as a shelter, but forgotten about. It had no toilet paper, but not because we'd run out months ago. Because Janitorial has forgotten this bathroom existed some years ago, long before the Firecracker.
The toilet was balky but flushed with help from a full bucket of water. Not as good as I had hoped but much better than it could have been.
I had to wait until middle of the day to flush. Sounds down here might be investigated.
I dozed fitfully, when nightmares let me.
###
Approximately forever later, I recognized brisk footsteps.
Dr. Betty Rize with a blanket over one arm and a paper clamshell full of warm food.
"You look like shit," she greeted me amiably.
She had forgotten utensils, so I ate with the fingers of my right hand with the blanket wrapped around me.
"Wyatt and Arturo think we've got them all. An office clerk, a coder and a dependent. What we don't have is the off site link."
That was bad. That was the problem in a nutshell.
"So he wants you to hang down here another day. Up to it?"
I nodded.
She put a hand on my shoulder and even through the very welcome thin blanket, I flinched.
"I won't forget utensils next time. Um. Bye now."
Her footsteps, now hesitant and uncertain, retreated.
I returned to my hollow thoughts.
###
An endless time of half dozing later, someone was trying to sneak up on me, which was as good as a shout.
I sighed.
"Sarah."
"Sir."
"Report."
"We have a problem, sir..."
###
Both the Resistance and the Dirty Mercs were ramping up their efforts to intrude at the Site.
I couldn't do a damn thing about the Resistance. I had very little intel and no way to action it, or develop more.
I could do something about the Dirty Mercs. I knew where they were based. I had done a full mission profile for Shawn, sending him out with everything I knew.
To get killed.
So it was time to send a man to do a boy's work, instead of the other way around.
###
This was bound to be some serious bullshit. The manuals said you start with a good night's sleep, well hydrated and with full gear. You get dropped off by a vehicle near the objective. Infiltrate. Then go overt and do your Ramcommandonator bullshit. Then run away before your target recovers.
I am starting strung out, hungry, as mentally fucked up as I have been in weeks.
Good. Suffering is the path.
I exfiltrated the building, made a stop at the bomb shed, cached my keys and access badges and effects that linked me to Site, and started my night hike.
I had no firearms. I didn't need them.
###
The house with the Special Troops was as easy for me to avoid as it had been for Shawn.
My heightened awareness, like his, was enough to avoid the trip wires and trigger plates for the flares and directional mines.
I briefly visited each house. Left my present. Like Santa, or perhaps the Grinch. Treasuring what George and Mo had taught me.
The house nearest the top, that one had been the Colonel's. I left no present there. I could not dare a close approach. Like me, he feared assassination and had survived multiple attempts.
The last thing I wanted to do now was kill him. He was essential to my plan.
I waited loosely, fiercely hungry with my belly full of garden hose water, until each house below simultaneously exploded. Small explosions. But next to each house's propane ... ah, a big one. Another.
I could see into the Colonel's bedroom as he cuffed his sex slaves out of his way and opened his safe.
I threw a rock and shattered his window as he grabbed his rifle.
"Colonel!" I shouted. "Colonel!"
Then I moved. No pause, no hesitation, which was good as bullets kicked up dirt where I had been.
I had no firearm. Which removed a temptation to be killed, as I would never be as good a shot as the good Colonel.
But I was a much, much better strategist
###
My guards gathered to cheer me as I walked from the South Gate to my quarters in A building.
Sharon and Arturo brought me a jacket to conceal the ripped undershirt and bruises.
"Homeland is _pissed_ at the Dirty Mercs. They pushed the big red button but had no bodies to show. Just some burned houses and the Colonel swearing up and down it was you. Badge trace shows you were here the whole time."
Nice.
It was Brooke in the shower who gave me the dirty part.
"Four Resistance agents. The conduit was through the school. Volunteer to child to Resistance parent."
I was too tired to care as she scrubbed me down.
"We didn't have a choice. Janine decided."
A fierce whisper in my ear.
"All six are dead."
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
I wasn't worth that.
I started to collapse as if all my strings had been cut.
Brooke grabbed me in the one place you don't grab a man. You just don't.
"Get your shit straight, soldier." Her grip was light but firm. Then she let go.
Slapped me on the back.
"You got this, sir."
I was poured into bed. Too tired to think.
Too tired not to.
The six deaths weren't for me. They were for the Site. We couldn't tolerate a Resistance direct link.
###
"Go," Janine ordered. "Do not come back!"
"But..."
She got out of the fire engine and raised an empty fist.
The four slunk away down the road.
It was not her fist. It was what she could order.
Janine got back in the engine and made a three point turn. Back to Site.
