Eight

Terminate (As In: Kill Stone Dead)

Or: “In Which We Are Told The Mission Finally Get To Hear The Fucking Mission Without Some Bastard’s Internal Monologue Getting Pissy Every Five Seconds.”

“I don’t go in for lies. This mission will be hard, but I have faith you’ll pull it off.”

Director Daniel Romero delivers the briefing for Operation Malice, March 19th, 2035.

“Your mission is pretty straightforward. This is a town called Stormhall in the state of Florida. Small place, built around a couple of villages, and best known for being the location for a Starfall Innovation National research building. This building, in the centre of Stormhall, is that research lab. Some of you know what Starfall’s business is. That’s good, because we’re relying on your inside knowledge to get us past some of their automated defences. What you probably didn’t know is that Starfall has been working with ESP for the last few years on various contracts, with an eye to developing defences against magical enemies. Obviously this began covertly, got more funding after the first Primus invasion, and then… well, let’s just say, business is booming for the burgeoning magitech industry. There’s an… we’ll call him, an asset. He’s stuck in one of those research buildings, and the enemy recently landed a division of Union Guard there in hopes of securing themselves a foothold and getting their hands on that research. The local armed forces, supported by ESP forces and a few… esoteric agents… have been working to repel them. While they’re in action, your team, led by Agent Clark, will locate the asset, terminate any high-ranking targets of opportunity you happen to run into, extract yourselves and the asset alive, and return to base for the ‘you didn’t die’ party. Any questions?”

Daniel Romero looked like he hadn’t been away from the military life at all. In many ways, Harrison Munro envied the man. He was pretty sure that if he had been the one who ‘retired’ after a botched mission, spent four years away from the military, and then was brought back just to run the same operation he had been ‘retired’ for botching, he would not have done nearly as well. Then again, Harrison Munro had never found himself quite as comfortable with the power aspect as Romero did.

Romero clearly loved being in control. Everything about his stance, the easy way he answered questions, the small smirk on his face, exuded the confidence that one could only have if one were exceptionally comfortable with being in charge. Even the way he answered Stark’s question – complete with the implicit threat of killing Stark, which Munro wasn’t quite sure was within ESP’s remit – was full of that brash confidence that had made Romero a great Director for ESP in the old days.

And now he’s working for me, Munro thought, a sense of not entirely undeserved smugness on his face. He was watching the briefing on a monitor; being in the same room as that many nutcases and powerful magic users wasn’t a good idea for the Director of ESP (he had learned that the hard way), but even through the monitor, he could tell that he had made the right decision with Romero.

After the main part of the briefing, Romero answered a few questions. Munro made a note about Jackson Stark’s antipathy towards Starfall – it made sense but it could prove problematic – but generally, Romero seemed to handle the questions well. One of the major hurdles of Team Omega conceptually had always been the fact that none of the people involved were really professionals – they were practically the dictionary definition of ‘a ragtag bunch of misfits’. Being able to field their questions and concerns was part of the job.

Eventually, the briefing ended and Munro switched the monitor off. He tapped the button of his intercom.

“Have Captain Romero sent to my office please,” he said.

“Right away, sir,” his secretary said.

Munro sat back in his chair and poured himself a drink – a somewhat expensive brandy, which was perhaps a touch indulgent at this precise moment, but who was counting? Besides -– these were difficult times. He pulled out a second glass, put it next to the bottle, and waited.

It didn’t take Romero long to get to Munro’s office. The captain took one look at the drink Munro was nursing, the bottle on his desk, and the empty glass, and then picked up the decanter and poured himself a glass without saying a word.

A moment later, Munro spoke. “I feel like that briefing went better than it could have.”

Romero raised an eyebrow, but Munro ignored him. He took a sip of his drink.

“You fielded their questions, you delivered the information, no one tried to burn the building down,” he continued. “

“I mean, none of them broke loose or tried to shoot me,” the captain said after a moment. “Which I take as a win with these people.”

“Wins all round,” Munro agreed. “Definitely more than some of my bosses would have expected.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You’re putting a lot of faith into this,” Romero commented after a moment. “Did you even tell the UN you were putting Team Omega back into the field?”

“They told me I had unprecedented leeway to pursue action as I saw fit, provided I didn’t break any of the rules of war,” Munro said evenly. He took another sip of his drink. “So I took it.”

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Romero chuckled. “Good man. I'd have done the same thing.”

Munro laughed. “You would as well, wouldn’t you. Well, I can’t say I’m quite as brazen as you, Dan, but I get the job done.” He took a third sip of his brandy. “Say, what was the name of that guy in the first team who did that?”

“Did what?”

“Tried to shoot you.”

“Guy called Jenks, massive asshole,” Romero said, downing his brandy with a heavy sigh. “Died first. Wasn’t quite a supersoldier – think he might have been a Project SLASHR reject.”

“Right,” Munro nodded. “Well, I dare say we’ve found you a better class of supersoldier.”

“Two,” Romero agreed. “Bounder’s going to be interesting.”

“My bet’s on him going rogue first.”

“Nah.” Romero shook his head. “I have an advantage there. He’s been making googoo eyes at Blood Templar.”

“He what?” Munro choked on his brandy.

Romero grinned and poured himself another glass. “Watched the two of them while I gave the briefing. Bounder’s psych profile is full of his ‘desire for attachment’.”

“So he made ‘googoo eyes’ at Blood Templar?” Munro hissed. “I take it back. He isn’t going rogue. He’s going to fucking die.”

Romero shrugged. “I mean, she was either giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes or ‘I’m going to murder you in the most painful way I know’ eyes.”

“I’ve read her file.” Munro shook his head. “Trust me. It’s the latter.”

“Noted.” Romero sipped his brandy this time. “Should I draw up the paperwork for replacing Stark?”

Munro frowned. “Why, because he has terrible taste in women and it’s a HR nightmare waiting to happen?”

Romero shook his head. “Because she’s going to murder him and it’ll save time drawing up the paperwork now.”

Munro laughed. “Nah. I have a very competent secretary who’s very good at getting those forms filled out, in triplicate, basically the minute you tell her to.”

“Good to know,” Romero said. His expression had soured. “I have a horrible feeling we’ll need those forms a lot in the months to come.”

Munro nodded slowly. He took a final sip of his brandy and finished the last of the glass. He poured another glass. “You know it’s worse than they say.”

“I didn’t know, but I had some pretty nasty guesses,” Romero replied. He sighed. “What do we know?”

“So far, Europe’s had several major targets hit,” Munro said quietly. “We’re worse off in some ways. The army’s stretched thin. National Guard’s stretched thin. The Union Guard don’t seem to have the numbers to hold too many footholds, but hit-and-run tactics seem to be their modus operandi.”

“Great,” Romero grumbled. “Love that. Getting hit-and-run by mediaeval tactic high fantasy nutjobs.” He paused. “Regalia Sol hasn’t shown her ugly face again, has she?”

“Not since the battle with the Paragon.” Munro shook his head. “Poor bastard.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Romero said. “We’ll remember him. And we’ll make that bitch pay.”

Something in his tone struck Munro. “What are you thinking, Dan?”

“What am I thinking?” Romero echoed. He chuckled. “You brought me back to run Team Omega, and you’re giving me a ship. That sort of implies you trust me, right?”

“Right…?” Munro suddenly had a hollow feeling in his stomach.

“I told you I’d take a few shots myself,” Romero said. He downed what was left of his second glass. “You give me enough time, enough resources, and I intend to do more than that, Harry. Much, much more.”

Munro took a sip of his brandy. His mind was racing. Oh God, I got Dan fired up.

It was a risk with Daniel Romero. The man didn’t do halves. He never had.

But then again, Munro thought, we’re in an apocalyptic war against a pseudo-goddess from a high fantasy alternate universe.

“And by ‘much more’ you mean -”

“We have an enemy, and I intend to terminate that enemy,” Romero said. He put the glass down with more force than was strictly necessary. “Terminate as in kill stone dead.”

Munro nodded. His mind drifted to the casualty reports he had already seen. He smiled, and then picked up the decanter and poured them both another glass.

“Well, Dan,” he finally said. “That sounds like just the thing we need.

***

Daniel Romero sat on the bed in his makeshift quarters. ESP HQ had a bunch of these for all sorts of officers and people, special rooms where ESP’s Agents and high ranking officers could work on their shit without worrying. So far, there hadn’t been any time to personalise the space. He had, after all, only just accepted the job of ‘Captain’. Nor did he expect any time to personalise; if he was lucky, he would be getting a ship soon, and he could personalise that space to his heart’s content.

He picked up the standard issue tablet that ESP gave every officer. It was common knowledge that the military always cheaped out where they could, so it was hardly a top-of-the-line model, but Romero was amused to note that it was more advanced than the one he had used when he had been the Director.

Munro had already made sure he had access to… well, everything, which was nice. There were a lot of files – most of them to do with various projects ESP had ongoing. A few with a great big REDACTED marking, which meant that no clearance short of God himself was ever going to read them.

Then there were the listings about the ‘Aeclissian Resistance’ – a somewhat overly-formal name for a collection of ex-Templars, scholars, knights, and a few thousand refugees who had escaped from Aeclisse and Orvis both before and after Regalia Sol had decided to go insane. Most of them had arrived using stolen portal spells captured from the Empire, and there was even a file about an underground movement that was smuggling more people.

Romero opened a notes app on the tablet and quickly typed out a reminder. Investigate recruitment from Aeclissian refugee movement.

There was no sense in having a whole bunch of people coming from the world with magic if he didn’t at least consider that some of them might be able to help. He would have normally remembered, but he and Munro had polished off the entire bottle of brandy and he was old enough and stupid enough to not trust that he would be entirely ‘with it’ in the morning.

Another file blinked at him; Project Excalibur. It was listed under the collaborative work being done with PACE, one of the other agencies that dealt with paranormal phenomena. Romero tapped the file, and his eyes widened as he saw what it was all about. He scrolled through, skimming the file, and a small smile graced his features.

Well, he thought. Now I have ideas.

***