The subway took them near the city limits, then they were obliged to hire a coach. The cab clattered along the cobbled roads very near the city limits, beyond where the urban sprawl gave way to well-spaced suburban villas with well-manicured lawns surrounded by parks, modern office complexes and quaint coffee shops. Couples were walking paw in paw, well-dressed children were chasing circles and jumping on freshly chalk-drawn hopscotch squares. The usual smell of manure permeating the city was instead replaced by the sweet, pungent smell of Purpurkrumb-based fuel, shiny automobiles going down the specially-made wide roads, leaving behind faint traces of purple exhaust smoke. A few of the exquisitely-dressed citizens looked at their carriage in distaste, wrinkling their noses at the faint stench the two equistilios pulling the carriage left behind.
Yet they went further still, asphalt and cobble making way for dirt roads and small houses surrounding large farm estates. The hustle and bustle of the city, smell of various modes of transportation, vendors selling their wares and incessant chatter of thousands in a single town square were traded for thousands of acres of precious green nothingness and the clean, neutral smell of valleys at the base of the Giradaina Mountains.
The Galtis Peak was finally properly visible, normally concealed behind an impassible curtain of freshly built high rise buildings and steam plumes from thousands of factory chimneys. Its top was coated in a permanent sheet of snow and ice, its base covered in great forests of pine trees, making it resemble the green skirt of a goddess. Fields were visible in the distance, mostly full of svini, equistilio and other pack ferals or livestock, grazing happily away.
Their carriage stopped in front of a large three-story building. The flowing curves, twisted columns and bas-reliefs of battle scenes and a certain desert lion god clad in ancient armor Achlos didn’t recognize set this apart as a mansion belonging to the previous era.
The tall iron fence with complicated leaf patterns were as old as the building itself, but the gate was clearly new. “Ignisdava Metro Police Academy” it proudly announced.
“Here, we are!” Tyras said, getting off and paying the cabbie, the moose following suit.
The old fence extended way past the Academy training grounds, Achlos saw. It encompassed a nearby train station as well to the West and a small new factory to the East. It was also far older than the buildings it encompassed. He supposed it had belonged to a long forgotten noble family, probably the one who had lordship over this region. Back when this mansion had been built, the Capital was some distant dream, a week’s coach ride away. Probably a lord’s idea of getting away from it all.
Then, the railway showed up, and whoever lived here had to sell the orchard for a train station. Then the automobile came and they had to expand the road network. There goes the promenade. Then, finally, the Burning Steel War began and a munitions factory had to be built and all they were left with was the front yard. Then something happened which compelled them to also give up the mansion itself.
Such were the wheels of progress. Perhaps someday, automatons would replace the police force and the academy would become a relic of its own.
Tyras had told him on the way how it would go: Since he wasn’t a constable, he still needed to complete the Academy, at least on paper. He would sign up, and then Tyras would step in, “taking over” Achlos’s training (which wasn’t even a lie).
Unfortunately, this also meant that Achlos would still need to complete the written and physical exams in order to be named a constable. The latter he wasn’t very concerned about, from what Tyras had told him of police physical and marksmanship exams, he could complete those in his sleep. It was the theory exam he was worried about. There would be books upon books of laws, procedures, rules of engagement, protocol and everything else a policeman needed to know in daily conduct. One look at the list of books Tyras had penned for him and Achlos swore he would never make another joke about the police force’s intelligence ever again. Thankfully, however, this was not why he was here. The training rotation wasn’t due to start for another two weeks. There wasn’t much activity save for clerical staff milling around with stacks of paper in tow or janitors making sure the memorial plaques and statues of the first Ignisdava officers from two centuries ago sparkled as much as they did the previous Era.
They quicky traversed the building and exited through the backdoor, where what had previously been an opulent garden as wide as a city park was now used as training grounds. There were obstacle courses, climbing walls and an oval running track which encircled a natural pond, still teeming with frogs, moss and small fish, a couple of weeping willows still left standing over the water where it didn’t interfere with the track. A large flat plane about two hundred meters long with targets of various shapes and sizes, either mammal-shaped or simple bullseyes dotted around at various distances undoubtedly represented the firing range.
Tyras led him to a small outbuilding which he knew had to be a changing and shower room. Inside, five neatly folded uniforms were waiting them on the benches. They were light blue in color, lacking any kind of pockets and they were made of a soft, breathable material. It was like something between the military fatigues he was so used to and a workman’s uniform, though much lighter and more malleable.
They’d arrived thirty minutes early for the first team roll call, probably in case anyone decided to arrive early. And arrive early they did. Kiah Senca and Eldar Dolnayu both arrived fifteen minutes later, obviously having travelled together, both saluting their superior as if on cue. The canine was dressed in a cheap, yet pristinely maintained suit. There was hardly a crease on his shirt or jacket, the plain grey tie seemed all but molded on his chest and his top hat was so clean Achlos almost didn’t notice it was a 20-year-old design not made anymore.
His lapin companion was clad in a dark blue dress, which was unusual enough for women of her profession, who usually preferred the far more flexible shirt and trousers should they need to spring into action. The fact that the garment covered her shoulders and chest completely and that it lacked any eye-catching design or decoration save for a bow around the bosom made her seem even more nun-like. Achlos tried to imagine her in a tanker’s uniform, that immaculate white and brown face covered in soot, those delicate paws coated in grime, shouting out enemy tank positions, reloading shells or aiming with the periscope. He had to do his utmost not to burst out laughing.
Tyras shook paws with the both of them and offered cigarettes to the three underlings present while they awaited for their final comrade. They all accepted graciously, Kiah in particular attacking the smoke, which for her was the size of a thin cigar, with practiced gusto.
A few minutes later, Rafil Caloris entered, his equipment bag casually slung over one thick shoulder like it was a jacket, whistling a merry little song which sounded like a marching tune. Said garment was one the burly dire wolf lacked, instead clad solely in a white shirt, blue waistcoat and grey pants with suspenders.
Tyras had his watch out and Achlos stole a glance. Seven sharp. The minute hand had literally just settled on the top of the dial the second after he entered. Not a minute later, but neither sooner.
He saluted and dropped the equipment bag. “Was I supposed to come earlier, sir? Was this another test?” He said half-jokingly, yet the chuckle carried a hint of anxiousness. Tyras chuckled back.
“No, no, it’s all fine, Sergeant Caloris. You’re in time for training and that’s all that matters.” He clasped his paws together. “Into training gear on the double, we’re on the field in one minute!”
At that, everyone immediately began undressing and putting on the cadet training clothes provided with characteristic military efficiency. Achlos noted that Kiah was completely shameless about undressing herself to the fur in the presence of four men, but the women in his regiment had had to do that plenty of times, and she certainly had been no exception. Tyras was done first, his elegant suit neatly folded into a locker and exchanged for the loose sports garb in less than thirty seconds. He wordlessly took a small wooden box from one of the lockers and got out, which caused the group of four to hurry up. In less than a full minute they were all outside and jogged over to their new team leader, who was now standing before one of the obstacle courses. The yard wasn’t as empty now, several constables standing nearby, one with a notepad and another with a first aid kit.
The four new recruits got into a perfect line without being asked to, their discipline coming at the forefront.
In that very moment for Achlos, the lion standing before him wasn’t his new roommate or friend, he was his officer, and he was to obey and show respect.
Tyras looked over each of them, his half-torn gaze scrutinizing. Achlos stupidly thought for a second whether he’d missed a spot on his boots or if there was still carbon build-up in his rifle, momentarily transported to his regimental inspection some eight years ago.
Tyras let a few more seconds pass, walking slowly from one team member to another.
“Why are you here?” He suddenly asked. For a second there was no response.
“To take the fight back to the pirates, sir.” Rafil answered first.
“Because I swore an oath, sir.” Eldar answered, eyes forward, as if not daring to look his superior in the eye.
“To continue serving the Light, sir.” Kiah said.
“To use our talents for something good…” Achlos answered. “… Sir.” He added eventually, remembering once again that Tyras was no longer his friend, but his commanding officer.
Tyras nodded.
“Good answers… all good answers. But no. The reason you are here is because you can all do something others cannot. I am not talking about your Fortes or even your abilities in combat, though those in of themselves make you formidable. You are here because each of you, in your own ways, have gone above and beyond the call of duty. You did more than anyone ever asked of you in defense of this nation, its people and its faith, even if you do not fully comprehend them.” He gave Achlos and Eldar a meaningful look. The two odd men out, the ones who fought for a culture and religion they were not a part of, yet sympathized with and felt what they meant for hundreds of millions.
“There are war veterans aplenty in the Constabulary, most of them great fighters. I could have easily formed a team two dozen strong to respond to the most perilous of missions and probably whipped them up into shape just as easily.” He let another long pause fill the void.
“But, despite what our demagogues, priests and leaders say, simply fighting in this war, as arduous and noble a task as that was, does not guarantee a valorous soul will emerge out of it. It’s not something we wish to consider, but a not inconsiderable number of the Osnyan Territorial Defense Force chose to become pirates, outlaws and cutthroats themselves. Everyone who fought in the War and survived is a soldier, most of them damned good ones. But not everyone is a warrior.
It’s why I held that childish little waiting game yesterday. Because a constable, as dangerous of a profession as it can be, is still a deeply civilized profession. Your job is to ensure the continuation of civilization. And almost invariably, every night you return home to a nice cup of tea and a newspaper before bed. In the civilized, peace time world, what I did would be unacceptable. However, in war, it would be a day that begins with dawn. And eight years is a long time. Many veterans have severed the War’s insidious tentacles keeping them pinned in a state of constant defense and edginess and settled into the warm, inviting cocoon of civilization.
Not us. The War has followed us into our daily lives. We cannot forget it, and in small ways, we live as if Lunist artillery shells still rattle our bones and cover us in mud every day.
Therefore… First High Risk Reserve Unit… Are you prepared?”
“YES, SIR!” The four operatives cried at once. Eldar had shouted the loudest, grinning widely as his tail replicated a biplane’s propellor behind him.
“Good. Then your first task as a unit shall be this obstacle course.” He gestured behind him.
The four looked upon it. It began with an ardous vertical climb on a fake rock wall, then horizontal bars they’d have to hang off and proceed to the next platform, then down a 30 degree slope made out of something resembling roof tiles onto a sand pit. After that, it was a sheer run into a freshly built rectangular structure made of cheap plywood, the contents of which were a mystery.
Rafil gazed at the course, frowning.
“Sir, shouldn’t we be having a warmup first?”
“You are correct,” Tyras replied with an ironic smile. “The Lunists never attacked us unless we had our morning exercise in first.”
Achlos couldn’t help but chuckle, at which the black wolf glared at him.
“Drill Sergeant Vadim here will signal the start.” Tyras said, handing the small box to one of the constables, taking a position beside his team, ready to start himself.
Achlos tensed. There would be whistles… those damned whistles… well, at least he’d run like Gehl when they sounded. The constable, a middle-aged lynx, opened the box and took out a small, well-worn bugle.
Tyras then took position next to his teammates and settled into a casual running stance. Achlos stared at the small brass instrument, dented and scratched from decades of use. The constable wiped the mouthpiece with a handkerchief before pulling it up to his lips.
Tyras knew about his fear of whistles. And so, he’d replaced it for a far more ancient and martial instrument, but one without the connotations it carried. Achlos felt a wave of gratefulness towards his new friend wash over him. He gave Tyras a small nod, which was returned.
Then, the bugle sounded. It was a poor attempt at the cavalry charge tantara made by someone who’d only ever blown into a whistle, but the message was clear enough that all five runners ran off at the same time.
Tyras was first, which was unsurprising for the gaunt, sinewy feline. Eldar wasn’t far behind with the long, loping strides of the bloodhound that he was, the black dire wolf not far behind. Achlos and Kiah lagged behind, their nature being more angled towards endurance rather than rapid bursts of speed.
Once they hit the wall, it all changed. The three leaders began climbing skillfully, but they had to exert themselves, paws searching the best fake stone to find purchase upon before heaving themselves higher. When Achlos reached the wall, the moose’s claw-like hand hooves gripped a handhold and all but launched himself upwards. His cloven feet didn’t even need the “stones”, as he simply pushed himself against the wall to propel himself upwards with ease. He quickly surpassed all the fast runners struggling up the uneven vertical surface. The jackrabbit doe wasn’t far behind, climbing only a bit faster than her peers. She was very light, but sinewy and strong, allowing herself to propel her meager weight with relative ease.
Achlos reached the top, allowing himself a second’s worth of breath recovery before jumping on one of the bars. It was ardous work. This wasn’t like climbing, as there was no issue holding the iron bar, but the stamina and strength needed to move oneself was another matter. He was easily the heaviest, and his already burning arms reminded him with angry clarity that he’d slacked off on physical exercise lately. Tyras and Kiah quickly caught up to him, and he forced himself to go faster out of sheer competitive stubbornness.
He reached the end faster than expected, then propelled himself forwards to slide down the slope just after Tyras and Kiah did the same with admirable athleticism. He slid down the tiles, almost losing his balance before finding a controllable position, then jumped off right before the roof’s lip and rolled heavily into the sand pit. He grunted from the fall, sputtering sand, but the others were already getting up, so Achlos kicked himself into gear.
There was a sheer 50 meter sprint to the structure and all five runners gave it their all, Tyras as before leading the pack. The lion was tensing to bash the door open, but before he could do so, it swung open on its own, Kiah slowing down and holding a paw forward.
All five entered the building, slowing down as there was no clear way forward. There were two doors, both closed, and a tight spiral staircase that led nowhere. The corridor was narrow, much like an airship, littered with chairs, tables and barrels.
“The hull’s coming down!” they suddenly heard a voice from somewhere within the structure.
“The wha-“ Rafil couldn’t finish before he was almost knocked off his feet by a powerful blast of icy wind.
The wall to the left of them came down, revealing a giant industrial fan blasting away, tubes above it feeding it water which it also sent in a fine mist. The wind whipped at them relentlessly, getting into their eyes, the fine water droplets chilling them to the bone, the various pieces of furniture eventually also starting to move on their own accord as the wind buffeted them. Two constables were operating the machine, and judging by their wide smiles and giggles, they were having the time of their life.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“What the Gehl kind of exercise is this, lieutenant!?” Rafil demanded, struggling to remain upright as he moved at a snail’s pace. Kiah looked ready to be ripped off her feet, but Eldar came to the rescue, moving almost unperturbed in the maelstrom, catching her by the waist then flipping over a table to offer temporary shelter as they both crouched under it. Tyras took a completely different approach and jumped into a wall then pushed himself off it with both legs to reach the rafters, mostly out of reach of the awesome artificial wind and proceeded that way. Rafil took his example, proving to be equally acrobatic.
Too big to crouch under a table and too heavy to repeat the impressive feat of gymnastics his commander had showcased, Achlos merely stumbled forward. He was the heaviest, it would have taken the mother of all winds to bring him down, but it was far from pleasant. The wind buffeted at his fur, reaching the skin beneath and whipping it mercilessly, painfully. A chair slammed into his shoulder and he grunted, forcing himself not to change his posture lest he lost his balance. A sneeze was trying his snout, which he likewise stifled.
Kiah once again used her powers to open both doors, revealing that they both led outside to a rope swinging downwards. Her and Eldar took the leftmost one, while the other three took the right. Achlos was last through the door, almost falling over from overcompensating for a hurricane that was no longer there. He wanted to sit down and pant, but didn’t allow himself to just yet, jumping on the rope, wrapping his legs around it and sliding down. His two comrades had already reached the bottom of the ravine dug in front of the outbuilding and quickly rolled out of the way of the giant cervine.
All five participants stayed on the ground for a good few seconds, panting and shivering.
“Forty-seven seconds point two!” Another constable a few meters away announced, clicking a stopwatch.
Tyras got up first, followed by Eldar who helped up his lapin companion. Then the gaunt canine began to laugh out loudly, almost hysterically, slapping his wet knees.
“Lieutenant…” Began Rafil with contempt as he got up panting. “What the Gehl was-“
“Did I do well, sir?” Eldar interrupted as he also helped up his other companions, looking at his leader with large expectant eyes, his tail attempting to wag, but seeming too tired to do so yet.
“You all did great.” Tyras announced with satisfaction, at which Eldar’s grin grew even wider. “You took the unforeseen element in stride and each made stratagems best befitting your abilities to overcome it. And to answer your question, Sergeant,” He turned to Rafil. “We are to counter airship piracy. And in such situations, the possibility of part of the ship’s hull to be destroyed at high altitudes and winds is all too real. In fact, I wasn’t the one to commission this track, it was for the new batch of Air Police recruits a week ago before they shipped off to the training facilities off in the mountains. Now, granted, they knew it was coming, but I believe being obliged to adapt and overcome a shocking twist is the best kind of test.”
Rafil dusted himself and smiled smugly at his leftenant.
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a couple of sunrays short of a clear sky?”
Tyras let out a hearty laugh.
“Myself most of all!”
----------------------------------------
One week later
Kiah crept through the dark hallway, cringing as her booted foot caused a floorboard to creek. The armor she was wearing was not much unlike the one she’d worn as a tanker to protect her from flying shrapnel: which was to say it was lighter than one imagined, but still restricted movements. Still, it was sturdy enough to stop a pistol or shotgun round… perhaps.
She looked above the sight of the ECW Harbinger like Tyras had taught them. The side-loaded Lunist SMG had been modified for the standard 8.5x25mm pistol cartridge of the Osnyan military and police. She’d have preferred the lighter 7mm round specially designed for Class I mammals such as herself, but apparently there weren’t sufficient Class Is in the constabulary to justify the extra expense…
Achlos was leading the stack, a massive steel shield in one paw and a giant, ugly handgun in the other which more resembled a misshapen steel ingot with a fence post glued to it.
The five-man team moved in a diamond formation, Achlos offering cover with his shield while Tyras aimed a 10-gauge autoloading shotgun beside him, ensuring both solid defense and offense from the front. Eldar was beside her, like he’d always been, covering her flank, the semi auto carbine and chestplate he’d picked from the armory being far more advanced equipment than he’d even been granted, yet he’d acclimated in stride, quickly learning to utilize the unfamiliar bespoke tools to their fullest, like he always did.
Behind her was Rafil, taking up the rear with another SMG. His own, a Helvi production, the well-varnished wood and polished brass fittings looking more like they belonged on an expensive cane rather than a soldier’s tool of death.
As she was the smallest and lightest armored of all five, the team leader assigned her to the center. Hiding behind others, as always…
They moved efficiently, sufficiently spread out to not be easy prey for a single burst of fire, yet tight enough to serve as an effective unit. They stuck close enough to the walls that they could rapidly take cover if they encountered resistance, yet not so close that they could be hit by ricochets. When they met a split hallway, they branched into two groups and tackled each end simultaneously, not leaving a single angle of fire uncovered.
“Any interior populated by armed hostiles laying in ambuscade is analogous to a trench. It’s a good job we spent seven years turning trench raids into a science.” Lieutenant Maloko had explained. And indeed, they’ve needed precious little training to acclimate. She felt quite self-conscious about the fact that the majority of her fighting had been from inside the armored womb of a war machine. She knew nearly nothing of the brutal close range, often hand to hand combat which had characterized the war for the vast majority of her comrades. Sure, tankers hadn’t had it easy either. The claustrophobia, the constant stench of purpurkrumb fuel, the shrapnel shotgunning off the hull onto their bodies from every solid hit. The visage of the tank next to you getting turned into a burning heap of twisted metal and knowing that if the enemy had chosen to take the shot half a degree more to the left it would have been you…
Yet somehow, it had all felt somewhat sheltered. The few times she’d been forced to fight as regular infantry due to her machine being destroyed or under maintenance had been the most hellish days of her life. She didn’t know if she’d have managed to remain sane as a ‘mere’ infantrywoman.
Yet, that’s what she had to do now.
They’d cleared most of the building, except the final room and met no resistance. Which meant that the three hostiles with their hostages were all in there. The floor plans showed that the room was a wide event atrium, with a single double door being the sole way in. Large room, lots of potential cover for hostiles, one way in. Worst case scenario.
Tyras looked at the door, or rather, through the door, unblinking and focused for a few seconds. He clenched his fist then held three digits up, which he then pointed left, right and center. “Hostiles. Three. Spread out.”
Then he put his paw over his maw like someone was grabbing him and held up four digits. “Hostages. Four.”
Tyras then nodded at Rafil. The wolf moved to the double door, placing a stick of dynamite on the center of each door, as well as a smaller charge around the lock. He didn’t light it. He didn’t need to.
A gaslamp nearby went out and he suddenly felt warmer. He held up three fingers. Eldar pulled out a smoke grenade and she took out three flare shells: little more than firecrackers.
Three… two… one.
She’d mentally prepared for the blast as the wolf shifted the heat from within him to the explosives, yet it still shook her innards to the core, her sensitive ears ringing unbearably. The wooden doors were torn apart, broken and flung into the room like matchsticks. Eldar pulled the pin from his smoke bomb and tossed it in. Remembering her own duty, she lit the noisemakers and tossed them in as wide an arc as she could. They went off, three tiny, yet sharp gunfire-like pops. This was their cue.
Speed, surprise, violence of action. The latter two had been achieved, now it was up to them to accomplish to former.
Achlos went in first, his giant tower shield giving them sufficient cover as they followed suit through the smoky haze. Tyras’s shotgun was already roaring and belching buckshot, his Forte allowing him to see clearly through the mist.
The hostages were screaming, left, right and front, an operetta of terror drowned out by the roars of firearms. Ignore them for now, focus on pacifying the threats first.
She and Eldar advanced to the left, when something stopped her dead in her tracks. Her side-loaded magazine had bumped against one of the two pillars which formed a makeshift tiny entrance, and it had come loose ever so slightly. She cursed. Of all the-.
“Fix it, I’ll cover you!” Eldar bellowed, crouching and snapping off a handful of rapid shots from his carbine. She quickly took the mag out, a single round falling out as she did so. She made sure the other rounds were properly seated, snapped the stick back in its place and racked the charging handle once again, using a tiny bit of her power to ensure the round was properly unjammed.
She rounded a corner and came across a hostile, a lynx holding a goat hostage, his gun pointed at her. She instantly let loose an automatic burst, the weapon kicking back against her shoulder with bruising force as the first round found his chest and the rest tore his face apart. Gunfire was echoing from the others as well, the small, efficient bangs from Rafil’s own SMG and the bellowing blasts of Tyras’s shotgun and Achlos’s handcannon, both sounding more like artillery more than small arms in the confined room. The final remaining hostile was behind the bar manning an MG, its bellowing roar and flamethrower-like muzzle flash filling the room even as he fell dead. His finger must have remained stuck on the trigger. Kiah glanced at the weapon. A Lunist Thunderstorm Mark I. A dead simple MG the Eclipse Empire had produced in the hundreds of thousands, but was prone to jamming. She made sure to push it over the edge, making the spent shell casing flying out of the ejection port slow down only just, enough for it to get stovepiped into the bolt. The strain caused her head to feel woozy and she felt something warm and wet beginning to form in her nose, yet her job was done.
She and Eldar continued clearing their sectors, only coming across another hostage huddled and cowering beneath the bar. This one, they hadn’t even bothered assigning a species to. Just a vague shape with hands outstretched.
“Clear!” She announced loudly. “Clear.” Eldar said beside her. “Clear. Clear. Clear.” the others agreed.
A buzzer sounded from somewhere and the large, round form of Chief Phoebus stepped in, holding a stopwatch, a grin on his equine features.
“Thirty-two point four seconds to clear the entire compound. Good, Tyras, good!” He chuckled as was his custom when delivering good news.
The constables which had acted as the screaming hostages came out of their bulletproof hiding places, searching for water as the acting had been an ordeal on their throats. One of them first went over to the bar where the blank-firing MG in front of the molded sack representing a threat. He made sure the magazine was empty and removed the weapon from its pintle mount. They all smiled and gave the team thumbs up as they carried the targets and various training equipment to be later reused.
Tyras nodded, setting his heavy shotgun on a countertop (which was in reality only an empty plywood box), looking decidedly less pleased.
“Right,” He said, looking at his team. “What went wrong?”
“I used too much explosive. It could have injured a hostage.” Rafil conceded.
“I went in too fast. My job is to provide cover for everyone, not rush in.” Achlos said.
“I… stupidly got caught up.” Kiah grit her flat teeth, looking down at the Lunist SMG and its side-loaded protrusion of a magazine. Of all the places they could have had the magazine, they chose the side, which just begged to get hung up on things while indoors. She’d heard it wasn’t a huge problem in field reports from Osnyan soldiers who’d used captured examples of the weapon extensively, yet she’d had precious little time to acclimate.
“We’ll see if we can acquire a new SMG for the team.” Tyras said. “The Lunist ‘Harbinger’ SMG is a great weapon, but its shape is not the most contiguous to indoor combat. The Helvi one is a fine piece,” he nodded to Rafil’s well-maintained weapon, at which the wolf grinned with national pride. “-but it’s expensive. More expensive than the bean counters in City Hall are willing to allow us. The Nyteri have developed a Mark II improvement over their heavy belt-fed ‘Persuader’ SMG, with a detachable underloaded mag and lighter construction. But it can only be ordered in bulk packages of at least 20. Well… we’ll find a solution.”
He then turned to the rest of the team. “Weapon acquisition aside, there will always be things we can do better. Things we can improve and focus on. What is important is that they’re not things that may cost lives, be that our own, our squadmates’ or innocent bystanders. And mistakes that seem small or inconsequential in training may prove to be the reason you’re standing over a closed casket once you’re in the field.
Make no mistake: our enemy is constantly training. Be that shooting bottles on the fence, drunken brawls, or even full-on pirate training camps led by veterans whom the horrors of war compelled them to go on a dark, abyssal path. We will be facing an enemy that is well trained, motivated and merciless. Our only chance is to better trained, better motivated and more eager.
But I like what I’m seeing so far. I couldn’t ask for a better team. You may not feel it, but we are becoming the most formidable fighting force in Ignis-Dava. In a mere two weeks, I believe we’ll be ready for deployment. Now, to the showers! I’ll join you soon.”
The team all saluted, weary, yet sincere smiles on their faces as they exited the ‘mystery house’, all save Tyras, who stayed behind with Phoebus.
“So,” began Phoebus, lighting a cigar and offering another to Tyras. “What do you think?”
“They’re good cops and better soldiers.” Tyras said, blowing smoke a long string of bluish smoke.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there.” Phoebus pushed.
“They lack the synergy we had. All the training and skill in the world only gets you so far when you’re part of a team. What made us so successful was not how good each of us were, but how we all worked together to create a single, unstoppable force that none, no matter their number, training or defensive advantage, could hope to stop us.”
“Until I led them all to their deaths in one night.” Tyras didn’t add.
Phoebus nodded. “Well, you can hardly expect them to act like blood brothers after a week of training. That sort of thing takes time, Tyras. Your own unit didn’t truly have that synergy and almost supernatural ability to read each other’s intentions until after your first one or two real missions, not after your three months of training.”
“Yes, at the cost of three injured and one dead. I do not want that for them. Besides, we’re to become active in just another two weeks. I do not have that sort of time.”
Phoebus shrugged. “There’s not much else you can do besides keep doing what you’re doing now. The ‘mystery houses’ are a truly ingenious idea. It’s as close to the real thing as you can get without strolling into the Dark Zone to shoot up some lowlife hangouts.”
There were a few seconds of silence, at which Phoebus glared at his subordinate.
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Tyras chuckled, finishing off his cigar. The horse smiled back, and slapped his friend on the back.
“Well, go home to that lovely wife of yours and get some shuteye. You and your team have been training like devils and you’ve earned some rest. That’s an order!” Phoebus turned and was about to leave.
“Killhouses.” Tyras said.
“What?”
“I think I’ll call them killhouses.” He gestured at the mock-house around them. Phoebus chuckled again, fishing another cigar from his coat.
“Yes… has a catchy ring to it!” he giggled quietly as he lit up, watching Tyras leave.