Chapter 10: Best Laid Plans

Crucis II - Haven’s Hold, Green Zone 3

Date of 241.11-13

  The northern edge residential areas of Haven’s Hold were rather sporadically placed, taking advantage of the more spacious boundaries. A particular apartment building stood aside and maintained in decent condition by Havens Hold standards. The complex had a traditional metal infrastructure with a synthesized concrete overlay, simple columns and bracing ran along the outside. For durability and simplification of material, this procedure was common practice when options were slim.

  Of the rooms, one filled with a rising commotion.

  It was a two piece layout, half bedroom with the other an expanded kitchen and living room. The single window faced the street in front of the building and was covered by light tan drapes. A green striped white couch with red flower patterns positioned in front of the window and a darker green recliner placed across from it. The wooden planks for the floor were full of nicks and dents, poorly hidden under a shoddy finish.

  “The blazing nova! What kind of back asswards plan is that?” Hobbes shouted aghast as his free hand curled into a fist. “Did someone throw you in an airlock for a little too long? They aren’t exactly going to throw out the welcome mat for us, kindly speaking."

  Hobbes paced back and forth in the middle of the room, boots pounding the floor in bottled anger and rage.

  I guess that partly explains the floor's condition…

  Matt let his fingers dig a little deeper into his forehead, screw a few extra wrinkles.

  “You heard correctly.” Greth’s voice projected from the phone’s speaker. “I’m rounding up required facets on my end as we speak. It's up to you to come through on yours, unless you want to back out at the eleventh hour. Don't you trust me?”

  Trust may be a bit of a stretch, the prison job aside…

  Hobbes eyed Matt with a contorted face of disgust. They were on the same page, not liking this idea on a few levels. After a job like this, they would only get more entangled the longer it went on. Calling this a job was an understatement.

  “No, don’t trust you more than an arm's length away. I sure as hell don’t like this one bit in case that wasn't obvious.” Hobbes had calmed down, at least to a point his spit was not flying ten feet in front of him. He took a seat in the empty recliner. "This one is bold, Martins, very bold."

  “I’m not asking you to like it, I’m telling you to do it.” Greth’s normal cheerful swagger soaked every word. “I will see this through to fruition, so help me whatever gods inhibit this sector.”

  “That’s good and all, but what exactly is your grand plan?” Hobbes sunk into the chair, but only a little. “We're dead men walking if we try to go toe to toe. You're betting too much on the odds.”

  “I’m calling on my matured investment.” The line crackled with Greth’s inflections. “Don't take me for some simple minded fool.”

  “Investment?” Hobbes ran his free hand through his hair, a few strands almost pulled too hard. “All your eggs on that damn ship?”

  Matt reclined into one of the corners of the couch, one arm hanging lazily off the side and thoughts distilling in his head.

  “I said I would create miracles and I’m about to make a damn big one. Be a good soldier and do as you're told, Hobbes.” That got another crease or two on both of their foreheads. “The grand reveal will happen, patience.”

  “Hmph,and yet I know I’m going to regret this in time.” Hobbes massaged the back of his neck. “I’ll coordinate on our end as you say, but this is going to go to shit real fast if you don’t pull through.”

  “You think I’m not aware of that?”

  “One can hope.” Hobbes huffed dismissively, sitting up more propper in the chair. “You have a lot of work to do.”

  “I have more invested than you know. I will hold up my end of the bargain, rest assured.” Even across the stars, Greth’s voice carried an almost visual presence in his words. “Are we clear?”

  “Fine, got it, be a distraction until you save the day like a daring hero.” The static of the transmission continued for a few more seconds before cutting off. Hobbes tossed the phone onto the unoccupied end of the couch, Matt’s feet tentatively twitching. It bounced twice, before resting on the cushion's edge. “That sounds about right, didn’t even say goodbye before hanging up.”

  Why the drama? Rheinholt Shipyards is why.

  It was built as a supply station prior to the Kronus conflict. As the fighting quieted down, the shipyard was expanded to exert the Coalition’s influence and oversight in the area. This meant it was a hub of Coalition activity, and that was a new level of trouble.

  Should they succeed, however, the Coalition would be in an opportunistic state of disarray for those of a more ambitious nature.

  They were really going to push their luck, Coalition or not…

  “Alright Hobbes, get it off your chest before anything else.”

  “Which part?” Hobbes fired back. “He plays it too close to his chest, acts like this is almost another war. Ironic, right?”

  “Yet, here we are.” Matt swung his feet to the floor and sat upright. “Still want to be a bloody martyr because of this?”

  There was a fire in Hobbes’ eyes, not necessarily one of determination or passion. The spark held its own against other flames. Matt could hear the grinding of gears, the human mind furiously spinning burnt wheels.

  “Yes, I'm not backing out, at least not yet. There are some questions still to be answered." Hobbes stroked his chin graciously. "One of them might be of some interest to you."

  "Oh?" Matt impulsively arched his back, leaning his ear further in. "Do tell."

  He had a crooked smile, an uncomfortable one at that. "Vorosh, our resident ghost."

  Matt waited for more that never came before speaking. "Are we talking metaphorically or…"

  "In the most realistic literal sense." Hobbes reached into an inside pocket. What he pulled out was no surprise, the unscrewing of the top all too familiar. "I've been doing some digging where and when I can. Most people leave a trace, but Vorosh doesn't even have a fingerprint."

  “The universe is a big place.” Matt receded back into the cushion, putting his boots on top of the worn coffee table between them. “There are no ghosts, only the cracks they hide in. You’ll find him in time.”

  “Most likely will, but this one is different.” Hobbes downed a healthy amount before screwing the cap back on. “Like the black ops kind of bad feeling.”

  Add to the list of issues not my concern at the moment…

  “Maybe he’s light-footed?”

  “Really?” Hobbes raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” Matt shrugged. “I guess, but you aren’t thinking…oh, that’s what you meant.”

  “Hope it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass, food for thought.” Hobbes stood from his seat and circled around, running his fingers delicately over the backrest. “Are you okay with the plan?”

  “Okay? Seriously asking? Of course not, but you’re the brain and we pull triggers.” Matt hoisted himself off the couch and slowly headed towards the door. “I’ll tell the others what’s up, have them hold questions for your final briefing at some point down the line.”

  “One more thing before you go, a small item really.” Hobbes called after him, halting Matt in his tracks with fingers latched on the rounded door knob. “Should this end up going bad, and I mean bad. I want you to be ready to go on a special hunting trip. Catch my drift?”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Those were the best kind of hunting trips, being able to outwardly vent frustration…

  The door slammed shut.

  Matt took his time down the stairs and continued on through the streets, the persistent heat beating down on the back of his neck. It gave him time to stew over some thoughts.

  As was mentioned only a moment ago, he and his crew were trigger pullers. They were not paid to gather intelligence on the enemy or critically analyze courses of action. He had given that a try once when he first joined the army, but was then relegated to logistics. That was long ago in another state of mind.

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  The silver lining here was Greth, his unknown agenda and all. There was high risk as always. But between Vorosh and Greth, there had been a subtle undergrowth that beat at a faster and faster pace. Matt did not consider himself a patriot to any flag or cause other than that of living. However, it was undeniable, a scent of change catching a favorable gust of wind. Matt would go along with it for now.

  Still, a lot of people had placed their hope in this little shindig for many reasons. If all parties at hand were to be believed, then there was significant investment in the works. And if you knew where to look, there’s plenty of willing souls to spare and fuel to feed the fires. Sometimes it only takes a small spark to spread a wildfire.

  Either way, the ride was proving worth the entry fee so far, for better or worse.

  Matt took a peek, away from his internal debating to see how far along he was. His feet had already taken him out of the Green Zone, past the Red Light District, and halfway towards the large raised cliff overlooking the one side of Haven’s Hold. Hardened rock and dirt towered high above, coated with sprinkles of green.

  His legs halted, going rigid but only momentarily, as long time habits are often too hard to break. Gunshots echoed from the distance. Adjusting his duster, he continued on his previous pace. The sounds of firearms being discharged caused no worry, rather, bringing a calm comfort that eased his mind with each step closer and closer to the source.

  Approaching the bottom of the cliff, Matt extended his stride and weaved his way back and forth along the beaten paths around the steep slope. His combat boots dug into the worn out trails. The pops and zings got clearer and louder as his vision crested the dirt horizon. Upon taking the last lunge and steadying himself on level ground, he observed a familiar makeshift shooting range. Freeman and Greta had put in extra time many months back to set it up.

  Holographic target pods had been placed at different distances downrange in front of the nearby tree line, of which the trunks now bore a decent share of battle scars. The holograms flickered with each passing bullet, not all necessarily because it hit. A crude but effective firing line had been sliced into the dirt. Some miles beyond stood the impressive heights of Razorback Ridge, one of the taller mountain ranges on the planet.

  A number of fresh faces filled the ranks of those present amongst a few recognizable ones. Freeman was nearest the line with a small crowd gathered around him, listening intently while he babbled on in his great wisdom. Greta was hanging back closer to the edge. After barely clearing the last feet of incline, she turned like a predator on prey.

  “Was wondering when you’d show up.” She strutted to a stop and crossed her arms. Her weapon was slung across her back. “How’d it go with Hobbes and Greth?”

  “I’ll give you four guesses and the first two don’t count.”

  “Uh, okay.” Her voice faded into uneasiness. “Usually that phrase goes a little different, but you do you.”

  “No, you get...nevermind.” Matt rolled his eyes as he let out a deep exhale, she was right. “It went in some direction. Long story short, this is going to be a rough one.”

  “Damn, wouldn’t mind an easy job that doesn’t raise my heartrate now and then.” Greta rested hands on hips, shifting naturally to one side. “Shit end of the stick, right?”

  “More or less, the usual.” He shrugged in agreement. “Care to know the target?”

  “In due time, not all answers need to be rushed.”

  “Hmm, wise words.” Matt crossed his arms, right hand occasionally playing with the talisman underneath his shirt. “The new volunteers shaping up?”

  “Considering circumstances, they could always be worse. I mean, it’s better than I hoped but they aren’t perfect.” Her eyes toured the prospects across the line before coming back to Matt, lingering on his fiddling hand. ”Feels odd to say, but I’m getting the feeling something may actually come from this.”

  “You? Something other than money?” Matt leaned back, honest curiosity. Greta was not usually one to look at the greater good, not to say she was an awful person by any means. “Since when do you care?”

  “Truthfully, I really don’t. It’s just a wishful thought in the eventual coming shit-storm.” She bit her bottom lip, shook her head as if throwing away a few thoughts. “Anyway, do you have a ‘no later than’ for these orders or are we on stand by until further notice?”

  “Yeah, get your shit together now.”

  “Like that? Huh, such is-.”

  Before Greta could colorfully finish out her statement, one of the new faces stepped in alongside with a cocky grin. Medium length dark hair and blue eyes, a tight yellow shirt showcasing his muscles, brown cargo shorts, and an Arkel Mk. 22 Shotgun resting on his right shoulder.

  “Hey, nice to see another face. My name’s Rotgur.”

  “Matt.” The reply was curt.

  “Cool, good name.” Rotgur nodded with a faint smile, seemingly sensing the unease. “Would I be far off in my assumption that you’re one of the originals?”

  “Originals?” Matt dropped his fiddling hand to his side. “A possibility, but that really depends on your perspective. Any reason in particular?”

  “Well, if you were involved in the Linova incident, then there’s some interesting rumors going about.” Admiration singed deep in the new guy’s tone. “Before you ask, you just look like the part, an ‘original’.”

  “Really now?” Matt’s head bobbed between Greta and Rotgur once or twice. “I’m curious, what exactly do these rumors entail?”

  “Nothing short of you guys are fucking badass, and that the Coalition has a reason to worry.” Matt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, strongly resisted. “Y'all are pretty much ghosts, in the sense of how people talk about you.”

  Well now, Greth hasn’t been slacking on his end in a few regards at least. The recruitment campaign seems to be catching the right crowd, and that better be all it catches…

  “Good to hear.”

  Also…ghost? Ironically timed comparison…

  Matt looked back over to the rest of the gang still busy on the range. Hines was standing on the opposite side of Freeman, seemingly tallying up scores for those circled around him. A sense of reverence indeed.

  "Where did they dig you up from again?” Greta inquired.

  “Small mining settlement in the Rylock System. Said screw it, as I wasn’t leaving anything of value behind.” Rotgur adjusted his shirt, causing the sweat to soak in a little more. “Not to mention, the Coalition’s hand has pilfered its share of profit from our mining operations. I figure why not join up, hopefully do something for the betterment of the folks back home kind of thing.”

  “Can’t argue with that, mostly.” Matt honestly could not, personal opinions and motives aside.

  “Yeah, mostly.” Rotgur rolled his fingers, softly tapping his weapon’s handle. “Anyway, a quick question. If you’re in the know, what’s the next target may I ask?”

  “Hmm, next target...” Matt harbored a thought then replied. “Rheinholt Shipyards, more to follow when I get it.”

  “Sounds awesome!” Rotgur smiled wide as he looked back and forth between the two. “So, uh, where and what is Reinhur, -hat...Rheinholt Shipyards?”

  “Not pulling the pin, nope.” Matt raised eyebrows while shaking his head before turning to his counterpart. “Greta, I’ll let you take that one.”

  “Uh, sure.” She shifted closer to almost whispering by his side. “Are you serious about this?”

  Matt looked back, cocked his head a second before straightening out his posture, then let the corner of his lips curved ever so little.

  “Breskin Depot, NLT 0900 tomorrow. You’ll get a full briefing there.” He gave his orders and marched back down the hill, catching bits of their fading conversation.

  “I can’t help but ask.” Rotgur inquired as he left. “Is it a bad omen when he’s like that or is he always like that?”

  “A little bit of both.” Greta replied. “Pack your shit.”

~~~

Crucis II - Havens Hold, Starport

Date of 241.11-30

  Air rushed past thin eye slits and rustled the yellow feathers of its body. Black wings rhythmically flapped against the soft breeze of wind while its red pupils scanned the horizon. The raaka cawed loudly from its toothless beak as it spotted four personnel transports descend groundward. Careening to the left, it begrudgingly gave space to metal and fire.

  Hines followed the path of both aviary objects. “Wish those dumb birds would shut up, make too much of a damn racket.”

  “We’ll be off the planet soon so ju---whoa! Lower the weapon, Hines!” Matt’s hand pushed the raised barrel down. “Save it for later, please. I would rather not have an accidental bullshit over an itchy trigger finger.”

  “Aww, never like to push the line.” Hines rested his weapon against the wall and mumbled a few choice words, only a few understandable. “Reverend Killjoy over here.”

  “I’ll keep preaching all day if it prevents stupidity, though, that may be a lost front.”

  The crowd moved around them, mostly in ignorance of their actions or discussion. Being a resident of Havens Hold had some side effects, desensitization being one of them. Even Matt had to admit it felt like living in a den of thieves at times. The raaka above cawed in appreciation.

  The whole lot of them were taking up residence along a low stone wall that ran most of the outside. Bags, weapons, and miscellaneous bullshit were packed and stacked awaiting movement. All of them were in full gear and would be an interesting sight, that is if anywhere else but here. Freeman was already making hard progress on his cigar.

  “Related question since you mentioned, where are Moran and Faust in all this?” Hines asked.

  Moran and Faust, the two wayward members of Matt’s crew. They had been on leave for a couple weeks prior to Linova. Good people, as they got the job done and rarely talked back.

  “In the middle of something last they mentioned, supposedly personal.” Sometimes something is the best answer you will get, much to Matt’s chagrin. “Should join up with us after this excursion, assuming we’re alive.”

  “Of course they get to miss out on all the amazing fun, lucky bastards those two!”

  “Enough chat, rides here.” The transports gingerly approached various raised landing pads within the zoned section designated as Havens Hold Starport. “Let’s move. Freeman, that includes you.”

  “About damn time, getting tired of waiting.” He tugged at his collar padding a few times. “This gear isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing to be in all day, let alone this thing called blazing heat.”

  With the sun out as is, he isn’t wrong…

  All gear accounted for, Matt’s squad and others encroached upon their respective landing pads. The raised metal platforms that acted as landing pads were scattered across the area, the skeletal-like structure sturdier than their given appearance. The simplicity and size of the setup meant only smaller sized transports were allowed ground access. Larger ships meant having to go elsewhere such as the city of Rhea, or try their patience with a large open piece of terrain.

  “I guess we aren’t going to see this place for a while, especially if we’re successful.” Greta shuffled to Matt’s side. “Gonna miss it.”

  “Yeah, home is hard to not miss.”

  Matt got a closer look at their ride. Rusty blue paint coated the top and sides while black burn streaks surrounded the thrusters, first signs of heavy use or lack of care and maintenance. Each transport also sported a personal touch by their pilots as expected, though more tame than other cases he had seen before. The one in front of their group showcased a pair of skeletal wings sketched along each side. Underneath the right wing in barely legible script were the words, “Die Toten haben Augen”. Loosely translated to English it meant, ‘The Dead have Eyes’.

  “I like that we always get the top quality equipment, and the most artistic pilots.” Hines snarked as he passed by.

  “We get the best only for you.”

  True, it was an older variant that had found its way into the black market. While a lot of outdated equipment was condemned for the scrapyard, many a willing person was up for turning a personal profit. If the records were adjusted accordingly, then no one would miss one or two items gone missing. Additionally, some of the older stuff turned out to be built better and more reliable than newer models.

  “Well, at least Greta may get along with this pilot considering the fancy wording.” Leon commented as he walked up the open ramp. “And the inside isn’t as bad as it first looks.”

  “Maybe, but I hear Germans were one of the fiercest of fighters in history.” Freeman strapped in his gear, having followed right behind him. “They may throw punches at each other before a handshake.”

  “Har har, smartass.” Greta chirped behind them. “I take after my mother’s side, thank you very much. Though I may speak my mind over some beer if that comes into play.”

  Blazing nova, let’s avoid that if possible…

  Matt stifled a groan. For better or worse, may Lady Fortuna ever be on their side.