- So this is it. The crop of our little search. - a small figure said in a raspy voice, as it sat in front of an illuminated monitor, surrounded by pitch black darkness.
The display cycled through stills of a total metal mayhem from numerous different perspectives. Each shot, swing and explosion, captured and cataloged. Tens of hundreds of hours of footage in total when taking into account just how big the recruitment pool was. Piles of scrap littered the artificial streets of the Ouroboros training facility #4 in each one. Some were shot, some burned, others utterly obliterated into tiny bits. Dozens of automatons destroyed per mere seconds as if they were mere junk. It was not the case. Those machines were not only highly sophisticated tech meant to mimic real soldiers, but Ouroboros also didn’t skim on their production costs.
- The cream of the crop. - another voice joined in from the shadow, standing just at the edge of the monitor’s cool light. - It’s astounding just how much hidden talent there is in the Empire. True untapped potential.
- Don’t get excited. They aren’t untapped. - the first voice corrected. -“Unchecked” fits the bill much better. “Unsupervised.”
- Well, now they will be. It’s part of the contract.
- For how long, I wonder.
- Long enough for us to achieve our goals. - There was certainty in those words. - So how’s the cargo?
- In position and awaiting transport.
- Good. And the selection?
- Already made. Our new temporary employees will be made aware of their assigned positions shortly.
The other figure approached the display and leaned forwards to get a better look at the various depictions of pure carnage. With a swipe of his hand, the footage played out in short bits before he skipped to a different perspective and repeated the process. One mercenary especially caught his eye.
- Still admiring Chernobog? - the raspy voice mocked.
- Admiring… huh? If only I could spare a moment for that. No. He worries me.
- That’s not something you get to hear often coming from your mouth.
- I’ve got people who worry about trivial things for me. - he snapped back. - This, though. This is different. Was he on the preliminary selection sheet?
- You made it yourself. Wouldn’t you know?
- No. No, he wasn’t. I just wanted to make sure that I’m not going crazy.
- Some amount of information leakage was within our calculation when we distributed the recruitment notice. We welcome it, even. Canon fodder has its uses too.
- But this is not fodder. No. This is something… unexpected, yet familiar. - he fell silent for a moment, lost deep in thought.
- He was certainly a surprise, considering how he looks like a hobo. Then again, we’ve seen plenty of other “colorful” characters this time around.
- So what’s his assignment? Did the other board members decide on that yet?
- It’s a mess.
- As usual. - he huffed.
- I’d want him guarding the cargo with the main force. Can never have too much security there. Probably somewhere high in the chain of command. He seemed dependable enough. Certainly more stable than some of our new acquisitions.
- That’s a mistake. - he shook his head lightly, face still pointing towards the monitor. - We need a better read on him. People like that don’t just walk in from the street. They get poached before their feet even touch the pavement.
- A mole?
- Perhaps… - he drummed his finger on a wooden desk. - Not to mention just how unruly he was.
- Seemed to have followed the orders closely enough in the second part. Can’t expect too much from hired guns. He was cocky, sure, but could back it all up.
- The first trial or the second… an unruly buck or a trained workhorse… - he paused. - I need to know which one is the real him before I can allow him to approach the cargo
- So what’s your verdict?
- The scouting unit. We’ll see how well he can work in a small group and move on from there.
- As the leader?
- You’re a funny gal. - a small chuckle escaped his mouth, for the first time breaking the veil of seriousness that surrounded him. - Let’s see how well he can drive.
- You are a petty man. - the little smile was almost audible.
- I don’t like cockiness. I much prefer obedient pawns.
- Very well. And for the leader?
- They can figure out who’s boss on their own. They would do that anyway, with my input or without.
- And–
- That’s enough. - he cut in. - There’s only so much responsibility you can push onto me. We are a board of directors for a reason. Ask the others. I’ve voiced my opinions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. This whole move is a bureaucratic nightmare, and those Empire bastards are doing everything to make my life as hard as possible.
- Alright. Good luck with that.
With the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the man left the dark room, stepping into the blinding light of the outside and closing the door behind him.
Somewhere else, far away from the pristine room filled with observation apparatus, Dirk sneezed.
- Don’t tell me you caught a cold after all those heroics. - Jason whispered to the aged man, not slowing down.
- No, must have been some dust. - the other responded, wiping his nose with a jacket sleeve.
- That’s kinda nasty.
- I told you, I’m not ill, so there is nothing to call “nasty”, just wiping my nose on reflex.
Regenerator didn’t seem convinced, but the doors to the waiting room were just a few steps away, so it was once again time to resume the play.
Chernobog swung the heavy doors wide open, getting the attention of everyone gathered in the hall before him. All the faces he saw when entering the testing chamber were accounted for, a few worse for wear. Except for Prusk, she didn’t seem to have gotten even a speck of dust on her overalls. But outside the group he already knew there were also others.
Many others.
Some he recognized.
- D-Chernobog! - a thick Russian accent roared from the crowd, garnering a lot of unwanted attention. - Took ya quite a bit, durak!
- For fuck’s sake…
The military veteran lamented, knowing well what was coming.
Throwing any semblance of caution or low-profile behavior to the wind, Misha proudly marched towards the recently arrived duo, joining them at the very center of everyone’s attention. Some eyes followed, some turned away, focusing on equipment maintenance or treating their wounds. Despite that, even those scarce few that focused on the interaction between the two friends rubbed Dirk the wrong way.
- For such a badass, you sure took your sweet-ass time. - the Ruskie wound up his arm. - Unless it was all planned, so that you might get a dramatic arrival as the last merc.
- Very funny. - Chernobog responded, mimicking the speaker's arm movement.
Being on the same wave, their limbs swung through the air, colliding in a manly handshake. That very extra interaction effectively caused all the remaining onlookers to turn away, not keen on observing some juvenile frat-rituals.
All except two, who instead proceeded to approach them.
- You actually made it, old timer! Even though you screwed the pooch there in that school. - Prusk spoke out loud with a wide grin.
Another woman tailed her, staying a few steps behind.
- Yeah. All thanks to your crossed fingers. - Dirk smirked, before putting his hand on Misha’s shoulder. - This is my old pal, Misha. Misha, this foul-mouth gal is Prusk, a fellow merc.
- Blyat! Now that’s a surprise. - Morozov extended his hand in a friendly manner towards the woman. - I thought most women would steer clear of Chernobog.
- Why’s that? - she shook his hand with strength befitting her stature.
- The old man smell and that homeless look. - the Ruskie grinned from ear to ear.
Without thinking twice, the mech pilot started laughing, with “Red Mill” following suit. Chernobog only exhaled, fearing this exact scenario from the moment the female mercenary opened up to him.
Thanks to Morozov he knew a thing or two about bothersome people, and now he had two to deal with at once, not to mention that their kind only grew more powerful with numbers. Exponentially.
- I like you, baldy. - the girlie used her free hand to wipe a tear forming in the corner of her left eye. - Misha, was it? Hope we end up in the same squad.
- Spasiba, but I think my good pal would get kinda lonely without me by his side. - the Russian gunslinger let go of the handshake first. - After all, his walking meat-shield isn’t much for conversations. For shame, truly.
- Prusk, how about you’d introduce us to your friend? - Chernobog interjected, remembering the odd fondness she held towards Argonaut. Letting this conversation go in that direction would only end up in an argument.
Not wanting to indulge such a fruitless exchange with a person who is not in on their little charade, Dirk decided to steer their little train-cart on a safer track.
To that, the boisterous woman’s eyes shot wide open, as if she just had an epiphany.
- Right. My bad. - the leather-jacket wearing pilot walked up to the other woman and placed a hand on her shoulder just like Dirk did on Misha’s not a minute ago. - Chernobog, Misha, this is my older sister-
- Felicia Rand, it’s a pleasure. - the woman finished the introduction herself.
Despite the declaration that they were siblings, they didn’t sound alike at all.
While there were a few similarities between the two, if one looked hard enough, they got easily drowned out by the flood of differences that riddled their images.
Where Prusk had a rich mane of hair, taken straight out of an old-timey movie, her sister’s instead fell straight down to her hips.
Where Prusk was a pile of muscles, her sibling looked almost eerily average by comparison.
Where the former's voice roared loudly and proudly, the latter sounded calm and subdued.
- Ha! You two are like polar opposites! - Misha said aloud what Dirk thought in his mind. - Still, nice to meet ya, lady.
- Chernobog, likewise. - the “thinker” chimed in. - And this is “Argonaut”, my regenerator.
Without a word, Felicia inspected the towering bioweapon, scanning him with a single hazel eye that wasn’t obstructed by a waterfall of hair. Her thoughts, however, remained an enigma, hidden behind an unreadable mask. There was no fear, disgust or worry, just simple silent acknowledgement.
That solemn demeanor made it difficult for the former god of war to judge her character, but it did not leave him dismayed. He came to this place fully expecting this to be the rule, and not an exception.
- My sis is also a pilot of a mechanized suit. - Prusk cut through the silence, pulling her older sister a bit closer. - But hers is much larger than mine, almost twice over!
- Really? - Dirk was genuinely surprised to hear that, but played it off as no more than keen interest. - That’s more of a city-leveling machine than a mobile suit, you know?
- Mechanized suits? - Misha chimed in, clearly out of the loop. - You two gals brought tanks on fucking legs for this job?
- You betcha! - the loud one answered for them both.
- Come now, Barbara, it’s just a weapon. Hardly a reason to get so worked up. - lady Rand chided her sister, showing some much-needed humility between the two.
Dirk smiled politely, somehow feeling soothed by having a reasonable person around to counteract the chaotic aura of their other companions. Though Dirk tuned out for most of the remaining small-talk, the conversation, mostly between Prusk and Morozov, continued for a short while longer as they hit it off pretty well.
But as the newly assembled quartet of mercenaries slowly got to know each other, unbeknownst to them, someone was slowly approaching the level 3 security doors leading to the gathering hall. They marched with steady steps, keeping a fat, sealed envelope tightly under one arm, making extra sure not to lose it anywhere. After all, the contents of the envelope held the fates of all the new hires.
With a short alert, the reinforced door cracked open, making all the mercenaries perk up in unison, ready to welcome the Ouroboros official with piercing stares of anticipation.
Their herald was a middle-aged man in a neat brown suit and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Male-pattern baldness was creeping up on him, showing big round spots of glistening skin at the top of his skull, but despite this, he bore a serious, if a little stressed expression. His overall build was scrawny and movements stiff.
- Who are you, little man? - one of the more meat-headed mercs asked from the crowd with clear pretense, probably having guessed the answer himself already.
- Roger Wicket, Junior Human Resources Acquisition manager. Starting from now, I will be supervising your assignment and assimilation process into the company’s structure.
“No void can be left unfilled, huh?” - Dirk thought to himself as he scanned the man, thinking back on Holder’s promotion. Ouroboros was quite fast to move its parts around. Promotions, demotions, moves, mergers, takeovers. Corporate world was like a battlefield all on its own with a million parts moving around. The god of war scoffed. He already much preferred the slower pace of the military structure, but alas, he had to hope that the company would spare him from their little rat race. He was here as a merc, after all, set on doing the one job he was good at.
- What happened to Holder? - another voice erupted from the crowd.
- That’s not for you to know, temporary employee Fergusson. - he referred to the man by surname without as much as looking his way, which seemed to have taken the man in question aback. - Your attention should be focused on the contents of this envelope. - he lifted the fat folder into the air. - It holds the results of your recruitment process. It should be of interest to those of you who have not been made aware of them yet… - he glanced at Dirk knowingly, but in a way that didn’t draw much attention. - along with your designated positions within the “Moses” convoy.
- And what of those who didn’t pass? - somebody asked.
- They will be asked to go through the scrubbing process.
- Scrubbing? - Another one chimed in, concern apparent in their voice.
- A simple memory removal procedure. Ouroboros medical company is determined to protect its assets at all costs.
- Is it safe?
- It has a 99.9% success rate. - the man answered each question with mechanical tone and precision, unbothered by the tension rising among the small army of hired killers.
- And what if I don’t agree with your brainwashing?
- Anybody who refuses to act in accordance with the company code of conduct, including the severance procedures, will be subject to immediate termination without compensation to their affiliates.
- Enough with the dystopian corpo-speak, baldy. We get it, you are threatening us. Just give us the deets and fuck those who didn’t get in.
The man scanned the room with his indifferent eyes and sighed.
- As you wish. Security. - he called out, mobilizing the armed Ouroboros personnel.
- On standby. - One of them answered through a voice modulator as 30 or so soldiers poured out of the woodwork and surrounded the mercs.
- Now, let’s do this in a civilized manner. - he cleared his throat and broke the crimson seal on the folder. - You will be divided among 5 specialized units. The Scouts, the Vanguard, the Guardians, the Main Force and the Rear Guard, coded groups 1 through 5 respectively. I will now call out your names along with a number. I ask you then to move through appropriate numbered gates in an ordered fashion. You will receive further instructions after your unit assembles. Those whose names are not called out are asked to follow the security force for scrubbing. Ouroboros medical company thanks you for your cooperation.
And so for the next half hour the scrawny office worker sent away each merc like a dealer tossing cards in a game of poker. Some moved quickly without much hassle, others had some issues with their designated units, but ultimately any resistance was futile when met with 30 gun barrels pointed at one’s head.
The gaggle of hired guns quickly dwindled, but so did the number of pages in the folder, and it quickly became clear that a great number of applicants did not meet company standards during their practical examination.
Dirk did not show even a shred of concern, though. He knew that he did great. Perhaps even the best among those gathered. So he simply waited with his arms crossed, face stone-cold, but paradoxically, completely at ease.
The same confidence did not apply to his new female acquaintance, Barbara, who nervously shifted her weight from one leg to the other, trying her best to keep a poker face.
- “Red Mill”, 3.
- Harasho. - the Russian nodded his head with a faint smile on his face, though there was no relief in his voice, since he didn’t seem all that worried to begin with. It was the kind of discreet confidence only a lifelong gambler could exude. He tapped Chernobog on the shoulder, then did the same for Barbara. - See you guys soon. - he reassured, then lightly hit Jason in the stomach as he passed him, knowing full well that the regenerator couldn’t react.
- Dick. - Dirk murmured, cracking a smile as he felt some of Jason’s killing intent bleed through the mask.
He wanted to ask Jason to pipe down a bit, after all, they were surrounded by armed folk. It would only take one itchy trigger finger to turn this already tense afternoon into quite a mess. Thankfully, the worst never came to pass. The next announcement provided an apt distraction for the regenerator’s simmering emotions.
- Felicia, 3.
A wave of murmurs disrupted the crowd. After all, most professional mercenaries chose to go by a callsign or an alias, hardly ever opting to reveal their names to a wider audience. It was either a sign of utter stupidity, or unbridled confidence, and Dirk already had his guess which one it was between the two.
“That woman might be a tough nut to crack” - the soldier thought, keeping a close eye on the two sisters hugging each other goodbye. - “I just hope that Morozov won’t do anything stupid”.
- Mr. Chernobog, it’s been a pleasure. - the elder sister spoke with a forced smile.
- I hope you’ll help me keep Misha out of trouble. - Dirk smiled back. - Your expertise in watching over kids should come in handy.
The “kid” in question frowned.
- I’ll think about it. - Felicia’s solemn expression showed that the joke did not land properly, but she did not dwell on it, moving on to her debriefing as ordered.
With another familiar face gone, it was only Dirk, his weapon and the seemingly upset hacker that somehow didn’t immediately get fired after the stunt she pulled during the practical exam.
- You’re calling your friend a “dick” while embarrassing me in front of my older sister. Low blow, grandpa, low blow. - Prusk voiced her displeasure, while giving her listener a side eye.
- My bad, it was meant to be a light-hearted ice-breaker, but it seems you two couldn’t have fallen from the tree any farther apart. - Dirk exhaled.
- What do you mean? - she didn’t understand the metaphor.
- Her being such a hardass, with that calm expression all the time.
- Yeah, she’s pretty cool, isn’t she?
The veteran looked towards the woman, quite bewildered by the way she interpreted his words. She didn’t seem to care, though, lost in her own thoughts, stuck with a dreamy smile on her face which stood in a stark contrast to her usual trouble-making demeanor.
- “Feli” is always taking life in strides, not letting anything bring her down. You should have seen her when we were younger, she used to whoop ass on the playground! Other kids treated her with reverence and respect I haven’t seen shown to anyone else since those days. She stayed a boss all the way through college and beyond. On campus, there was no limit to whom she’d steamroll with witty retorts if they were mean to me. Students, professors, she always found a way to shut them up. Cuz despite what you might think, I wasn’t as much of a unit as I am now, not to mention the degree I was pursuing at the time. She got called to the dean's office so many times, but never got penalized. Because nothing could ever keep my big sister down. Or, or that one time-
She spoke so genuinely that even Jason unknowingly broke character for a moment and looked straight at her. Deep inside, the young regenerator knew exactly how she felt. After all, he had his own badass to look up to.
- That’s a very special bond you two seem to share. - Chernobog managed to regain his composure, focusing once again on Roger’s list.
- She is the coolest person I have ever met in my life, and I would burn the world if she asked me to. Metaphorically of course. - both of them chuckled. - Don’t worry old-timer, she doesn’t dislike you, nor have you wronged her in any way. That’s how my big sis simply is, both at work and in daily life. Despite how it may seem, the fact that she smiled showed her sincerity, you know?
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“Prusk, you know that smile was forced, right?” - Chernobog wanted to say it aloud, but shattering the grand image of Felicia Rand so meticulously presented to him by her little sister would be way too cruel.
That childhood sincerity of Barbara was overwhelming, but a welcome reprieve from all those serious and hard-boiled people surrounding them.
It did raise a question in his head though - how old were those two sisters?
Not like he could ask.
You never ask a woman about her age and weight, after all.
Maybe once the “Moses” convoy got moving he could ask Tom about it. Bet he had all their personal files downloaded onto some PDA, or even memorized. He did seem like a guy that could do such a thing.
- “Garuda”, 1.
Another mythological reference in their expedition.
No way it was a coincidence. So the soldier simply…
- You have my sympathies. For not managing to be in the same group as your vainglorious sister. - his guess proved right as Barbara’s shoulders slumped.
- Blast it all. - she cussed quietly. - Now I’m just gonna be trailblazing for her, instead of with her. Just hope there’ll be someone to talk to in that squad.
- Don’t worry, I bet you’re gonna hit it off with someone new in no time. - just as the old dog said that, the moment he was waiting for arrived.
The newly appointed Junior Human Resources Acquisition manager found him in the crowd. Dirk knew they must have been impressed with his performance during the evaluation, so it was a given that he must have wanted to share at least one impressed look with him. Their eyes locked, and three words filled the room.
- “Chernobog”, 1, Driver.
- What? - Dirk could hardly believe his ears.
- Well, well, well. Hello there, “someone new.” - Prusk’s face lit up as she mocked through her apparent excitement. - Name’s Barbara, let’s get along. - she shot him a smirk, glancing back and forth between him and Jason.
- There has to be a mistake. - he mumbled under breath, completely ignoring the woman as he shot forward towards Roger.
The frail-looking man was in the middle of packing up the documents, ready to leave any second with a group of four guards, but spared a glance at the freshly appointed driver as he power-walked towards him. Taking notice, the guards put themselves between the two men, ready to neutralize anything and anybody at a moment’s notice.
- Excuse me, sir - Dirk called out, stopping with a quick soldierly salute at a respectable-yet-somewhat-threatening distance from the cluster of Ouroboros employees.
- I’m listening. What is it, mister Chernobog? - Roger answered in a rather unimpressed tone. Clearly, he had other places to be. - Be quick, however. Time is money, and the company has little to spare.
- Can I look over the file with my assignment?
- You cannot. - he accentuated this denial by locking the folder shut in plain sight and putting it under one arm.
- There has to be a mistake, I–
- There is no mistake, mister Chernobog. Any and all information disclosed to you concerning your deployment has been prepared and approved by the board of directors. - he explained in a manner only an overworked office-worker with decades of experience could. - They make no mistakes.
- But–
- Any complaints regarding deployment can be directed to the “Moses” convoy’s direct HR supervisor after the initial unit debriefing. I ask you in the name of the company to either follow the company procedures or immediately proceed towards the scrubbing chambers before more drastic measures are employed. - he shut him down without mercy, taking his leave with unwavering confidence. - The Ouroboros company thanks you for your cooperation.
“Fuck.” - Dirk mouthed the word in silence, feeling his fist ball up all on its own.
“Is this a joke? Did I not ace this damn test? And for what? Being in reconnaissance is one thing, but as a driver of all things? Ridiculous!” - his hurt ego flooded his mind with doubt and frustration.
It was a waste of his skill.
His potential!
His…
He paused this train of thought and took a deep breath to calm his mind. Nothing good would come from letting his hubris do the thinking for him, and yet he couldn’t ignore it.
“The debriefing.” - he thought. He needed to go to the debriefing to even have a chance at clearing up this mess.
With a meaningful look towards Jason he darted towards the numbered gate with the young lad close behind, dashing straight past Barbara without even as much as acknowledging the fact that she’d been waiting for him, too blinded by his swelling rage.
He also ignored the scuffles between the few rowdy rejects and the groups of guards trying to pacify them. Any other day he would have taken his time to assess the competence of both his ex-competition and the Ouroboros guards, but now his focus was singular, guided by his outrage.
He navigated the corridors swiftly, led along by the same glowing arrows on the floor as the ones he’d seen before his first test, and soon enough found himself in another chamber filled with people. This one, though, was visibly smaller, and the group counted no more than a dozen people, not counting him, Jason and the freshly arrived Barbara.
The room was rather dark, lit up by sparsely placed ceiling lamps whose light fell down in almost perfect columns, similar to that of spotlights in a theater. Old dust kicked up by the mercs was floating through the air, illuminated by the lamps. Clearly, this room was scarcely ever used.
Under one of the lamps, Dirk spotted just what he was looking for. Or rather, who he was looking for.
- Alright, that’s a full house. - Tom Holder clasped his hands together and the doors closed behind Dirk and Barbara right on his tail. - Have a seat and let’s get you up to speed.
With those words, the floor cracked open and two rows of metal seats emerged from within, along with a white canvas up front right beside the Human Resources Acquisition manager. As the mercs scrambled to take their seats, the lights dimmed before Dirk could even get a word in.
With a grumble, he sat down. Jason stood tall right behind him without as much as a peep escaping his mask.
The canvas suddenly lit up as colorful lights washed over it. It seemed like they were in for an old-school corporate presentation.
- Now that we’re all gathered, let us begin. - said newly promoted corporate worker, starting his calm walkabout around the stage.
The canvas flickered, and on top of them appeared bright-blue words and lines.
- First things first, as most of you might have already heard from Mr. Wicket, the convoy codename “Moses” will be divided into five distinct combat groups, their call signs were provided to you already, but as a refresher… - as he said so, five names appeared on the whiteboard. - Now I will proceed to give you a quick rundown of what their assigned duties will encompass. After the presentation concludes, each of you gathered here will be provided with a file containing critical information, but listen well, and I might just throw in some extras for you.
He raised one of his hands and began the enumeration.
- Scout team, their job is to simply trailblaze and detect incoming threats on the road ahead. They are the first line of defense and our eyes and ears in more hostile environments. - Dirk could have sworn that Tom shot him a glance with a wide, mocking smile. - If they were to ever engage a threat beyond their capabilities, the whole “Moses'' convoy is encouraged to reroute and leave them behind to stall the opposition.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” - the old vet couldn’t help but cuss in his mind. - “So I’ve been posted with the expendables?”
Most people would try to raise a ruckus over learning that their lives hold less value than their peers. Maybe even quit or try to negotiate some type of deal with the “powers that be”. Still, Dirk remained worryingly calm, at least on the surface. He wasn’t exactly normal.
The news were grim, but somehow they caught his attention. To him, this wasn’t a sentence, it was a challenge.
Was Dirk being played with? Did Holder orchestrate Dirk’s assignment, knowing full well that he wouldn’t back out? Not like it mattered.
Dirk intended to show those Ouroboros higher-ups what a miracle worker he truly was. That’s what they would get for wounding the lion’s pride.
- Second team, Vanguards, are the next line of defense and the only team allowed to assist Scouts if their situation were to be “salvageable”. - Human Resources Acquisition manager continued. - Bearing heavier ordinance and larger number of personnel, if the Scout team resides within a five-kilometer radius away from them, they are free to choose their own RoE and proceed with aid.
As Tom continued talking, the whiteboard became cluttered with information. A mockup of the intended distance between all the teams, the average number of personnel assigned to each one, the placement of Ouroboros trucks and so on. It was all there.
Contrary to what Holder said at the beginning, he didn’t really share much useful info himself, instead letting the projector do most of the work as he skipped through the slides.
The privilege of the higher rung on the corporate totem pole. Not giving a shit.
- The Guardians are entirely composed of artillery and heavy support units. Their job is to ensure that any immediate threats do not approach close proximity to the convoy. Their weaponry is to be always ready to open fire, and they are allowed to engage at will, as long as they do not leave their designated position. - that description made Dirk quite confused as to why the hell Misha was assigned there. - a Small group of Guardian squad is also armed and selected to patrol the dead zones within the artillery range, preventing any stragglers from slipping through.
Whoever made this presentation for Tom sure was thorough with the explanations. So much so that the digital whiteboard started expanding its holographic display outside its square boundaries. There were loads of information, perhaps too much at once. Dirk never went chasing higher education, but he could fathom a guess that that’s how university lectures must have felt.
- The last two teams, the Main Force and Rear Guard, are tightly intertwined. - to accentuate his point, Tom clasped both hands together. - Within the Main Force will be three trucks hauling the mission-critical cargo, callsign “Bush”. - the reference wasn’t lost on Dirk, so he chuckled slightly. - On top of that, there will be four more dummy trucks, driven by Ouroboros company employees. None of you shall be informed which payloads are real and which are dummies. The Main Force and Rear Guard will both sport an equal amount of personnel and ordinance between them. All to ensure that in the case of an unforeseen ambush, the goods can be exchanged between the two teams to make up for any losses. On top of that, the Rear Guard team will be the closest to the Main Force out of any group.
Holder began looking around, inspecting the attentiveness of all gathered, or maybe he was looking for someone?
- Is everything clear? Any questions? - Tom asked, clearly ready to move one to another slide.
Memorizing all that info was a cakewalk for someone like Dirk, but he did wonder how all the other mercs felt. Were they too stubborn and professional to ask questions about something they didn’t get?
It was an interesting conundrum. To lose face, or the potentially life-saving information. Dirk had seen it all too often in boot camp. In some military circles, one’s pride was one’s lifeline. To throw it away asking asinine questions like a little kid was often as good as forfeiting one’s life. It was interesting to–
- Yes? What is it? - Tom spoke, noticing someone's hand arising from the crowd.
In response, like startled animals, all heads turned towards the inquirer.
- So what you’re telling us is that you want us to bust our balls off for the same pay as all those other mouth breathers cozily cooped up with the main force, with ten times the risk and one third of the manpower? And then you can… no. Then you will leave us for dead the moment we encounter any resistance? - a scruffy looking guy in khaki cargo pants and a tank top gave voice to the thoughts that were probably bouncing around in everyone’s heads.
His tone was miffed to say the least, and he was clutching a sort of back-tank between his legs connected to a weird hose in his hands. Probably his personal weapon.
- That’s one way to put it. - Tom didn’t seem too concerned with the question, nor did he feel any remorse for dropping the dire news on the mercs as bluntly as he did.
- Cut the shit, corpo-boy. Is this some punishment game? Are we here for your bosses’ amusement?
- I cannot disclose any information concerning the upper management at the moment. - Tom smiled the most fake, placating smile he could muster. - But despite the apparent negatives, I think you will quickly grow to like working in this unit. Look around you and tell me what you see?
- A rag-tag bunch of greedy fools and nobodies.
- Hey! - Barbara couldn’t hold it in at the rude comment, but was quickly interrupted by Tom.
- I beg to differ, but alas. What you see is what you get.- he smirked, crossing his arms on his chest and sweeping the room with an expectant gaze.
- Will there be any Ouroboros grunts? - another merc chimed in, taking a stab at what the HRA manager was hinting at. This one was in a full ghillie suit despite being indoors and sticking out like a sore thumb.
- An excellent question! - Holder pointed at the man with a finger with excitement. - No. There will be no company representatives posted in your unit. You will, however, be in close and constant contact with the two units directly behind you, and you will have to make regular reports to them.
- You said that we are there to trailblaze and identify, but never said anything about neutralizing threats. - Dirk threw in his two cents, his mind now in full combat analysis mode, his ire from before long forgotten.
- I love to be working with attentive employees. - Tom snapped his finger to accentuate his words. - Indeed. You are a scouting unit, not an assault one. You are to relay information first and foremost. Unless the convoy’s fate relies on it, you will not be required to directly engage enemy cells. While there’s no guarantee that your potential foes won’t try to engage you, as long as you warn your two sister units about the incoming threats, you are allowed to scatter and regroup later as much as you need. Which isn’t to say that you won’t have to defend yourselves.
- And this lineup of clowns? - the tank top spoke up again, still stuck on the issue of his coworkers. - Doesn’t exactly scream “stealthy” if you ask me. - He twisted around in his chair, looking at each merc for a second before getting stuck at Jason.
- While remaining undetected can be a great boon, the management deemed it more important to provide you with versatility. Your unit has been constructed to ensure that you are self-sufficient and ready for most threats. Just the reduced unit size should allow the company issued jammers to work wonders on your detectability.
- Some versatility we have. - some guy too far away for Dirk to see in the dim room spoke up. - We’ll see how “versatile” the loudmouth with the back tank is when he falls over in the snow. - he snorted, making the man in question shoot up from his seat in anger.
- Now listen here, you little–
- Gentlemen, please… - Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. - let’s get through this briefing without getting the security involved, yeah?
Dirk pondered for a second.
“Versatility…” - he echoed in his mind as he looked around. - “So the management is going for a group of hyper-specialists who are supposed to cover each other's weaknesses. A fool’s errand, really. There’s no team here, just individuals brought together by circumstance.”
- Is it too late for the scrubbing? - another voice chimed in, much to Dirk’s amusement.
- Perhaps I got excited too soon. - Holder murmured under breath, ignoring the question altogether, but composed himself quickly as befitting a professional. - If it’s going to ease your worries, as the one overseeing your examinations, I can personally assure you of everyone’s individual skills. - he flashed Dirk a brief coy smirk and continued. - Then again, I’m not the one going out into the field. I will finish the presentation and if by then you are still unsure about this arrangement, I’ll allow you a one-time opportunity to volunteer for scrubbing. Still, even in my current position, I can only dream of the payout you people will be getting at the finish line. - he turned around with a shrug to face the whiteboard.
- Nice push and pull there, corpo-boy. Very sly. - the prickly back tank guy shot a comment his way, squeezing a barely audible tongue-click out of Holder.
- The main way you will be assisting the convoy, aside from the reports, will be by placing detection beacons along the way to map out the trail and give your sister units proper sight of the way ahead. Though the overall path is already planned, in case of a reroute you will also be in charge of scouting for the most accessible trail. - the slides started moving again, showing the sleek-looking devices marked as “beacons” and a few pictures of the harsh Russian landscape torn up by old wars, with a few ruined cities sprinkled in, all caked in a meter-thick layer of snow. The Russian essentials in the current day. - But with responsibilities also come certain benefits. You will be visiting cities and settlements along the way to regroup and resupply. In bigger hubs, each of you will receive what our logistics specialists call a “maintenance fund” to spend as you like, and with being at the forefront of the column, you will obviously get the first pick at anything the locals offer. What it will be, no one can tell, but know this. To survive the Russian wasteland, you need a little more than wits and guts.
- Is the “maintenance fund” taken out of our final payment? - Barbara got a word in at last, and a sensible one too.
- It is fully independent
- Now you’re talking my language, corpo-boy.
As the veteran watched the entire room voicing their satisfaction with the premise of even more money, he could only smirk. He wasn’t some ascetic monk, being able to live off the land and scoffing at the dough thrown his way, but the ease with which those men and women alike became bribed into committing assisted suicide in the Scout team was just tragic.
Still, those people were the team he was assigned to. One which Holder assembled with all intent and purpose to be led by him, probably as some form of entertainment on the side of the Executives.
Dirk was self-aware enough to make peace with that, as annoying as it was.
- No more complaints? No scrubbing candidates? - Tom asked one last time.
But before anybody could chime in, Dirk got up and headed for the exit. Tom said all there was to be said, and the topic brought up by the tank-top guy could only lead to more questions about money. He got all the necessary info, anything else would be simple futile negotiations. Jason mechanically went after him, spurring a few more mercs to get up, following their example.
Near the door, just as it was mentioned during the seminar started, stood two Ouroboros soldiers, ready to hand out snow-white folders and some sort of electronics. Seeing Chernobog’s questioning gaze, one of them held the thing up and started an explanation.
- This terminal, property of Ouroboros, functions like a credit card, housing all the “maintenance fund” money allotted to each of you. - next he grabbed the boxy apparatus by the side and pressed a few buttons on it. - As not all transactions in the wastelands can be digital, the terminal also has a function to print most sanctioned currencies you may encounter along the way of the convoy.
Dirk scoffed, but as ridiculous as printing money on the fly sounded to him, with a very low cricket an ordinary Imperial bill exited the terminal. The guard grabbed it and gave it to Chernobog for inspection. It looked genuine
- How did Ouroboros obtain a permit from the Empire's mill to print their currency? - merc asked.
- You do not have access to this information at the moment. - security officer responded bluntly. - If you’d like to know, you can file a request to gain access to related documentation reg–
- Forget I asked. - the veteran cut the discussion short, knowing all too well how the requesting process worked in any bureaucratic environment.
He wasn’t interested in wasting the next three weeks filing papers only to receive a file filled with 99.9% of its content redacted. Without any more questions on his mind, he took the folder and the terminal, waved away a complimentary “Ouroboros company thanks you for your cooperation” and pushed the door open.
According to what Holder told him on their merry walk back at the very end of the evaluation, all mercs now had 45 minutes to pack their shit, receive the company issued equipment and amass at a designated location. There was no need to ask anyone about directions, as the surroundings changed yet again. The clinical and empty corridors were now filled with neon arrows, stretching across the walls and ceilings, pointing towards all the facilities employed mercenaries had to go through.
- They even added numbers next to the names of facilities. - a well known female voice resounded from behind him. - For all those who don’t like reading. - she fanned herself with a folder of her own
- Da, for those truly gifted in the arts of not knowing how to follow simple orders. - Misha chimed in, apparently done with his own presentation and having a sixth sense for finding his way towards him.
Dirk took a glance over his shoulder and, just as he presumed, Barbara’s sister was with him too, at a more than respectable distance, of course.
- How was your briefing? - he asked the pair that belonged to squad 3.
- Forgettable. - the jovial Ruskie summarized on account of himself and Felicia.
- Weren’t you people interested in how much money you can spend on private provisions and pointless trinkets? - Chernobog threw a light-hearted comment, heading where a giant arrow with “Armory - 1” written across it pointed.
- Knowing how big pharma works, I’ll just go out on a limb and guess that it’s enough to buy a house. - Misha responded, following suit. - Through down payment, of course.
- Me and my sister have already brought enough provisions and ammunition to carry us through the entirety of the road-trip. - Barbara added, speaking for both sisters.
- Where do you carry all that stuff? - the Russian asked what Dirk was thinking. - I know your tin-cans are large and all, but something doesn’t add up in my head.
- One of the trucks within the Main Force is ours. - she explained with a bit of pride. - Giant-ass one to boot, with caterpillar tracks and shit, one of those UG-25’s, in off-road configuration.
- Jebutie pierogi, do you gals have some money-growing trees in your garden? That thing isn’t even a truck, it’s a god-damn land-ship!
- Yeah, but it’s on the smaller side, so it falls under the category of a really big truck. - the younger of the Prusk sisters smiled. - On the money side, it’s all my big sis, she got hitched high you know?
All the eyes turned towards Felicia, who acted indifferent to the attention.
- My husband is a corporate executive. - she explained.
- And here I thought he was the Emperor himself. - Morozov joked, quite baffled. - Because that’s a lot of money to throw around.
- He isn’t “throwing it around”. - Felicia enunciated. - He simply purchased a vehicle to accommodate his wife’s needs. Like a caravan for summer holiday.
The corridor went quiet, but it was simply silence before the storm. Like thunder, Morozov exploded with laughter, cackling like a hyena
- Blyat, rich people truly live in a different world. - he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
- You should take notes then. - the older sister responded, seemingly not amused. - Once the convoy reaches its destination, you’ll be one of them.