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Chapter 9 - Infiltration - Part 1
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I didn't sleep. I should have gone to the doctor and asked for medicine, but I didn't. Why didn't I?
All those things I was told about, that entire story, Gros was either very drunk or a total asshole to tell me such things now of all times. Do I believe him? No, no I can't entirely, I just can't – But some of it is true, the disappearance of Templar, Gros being his oldest friend, the Caravels being ships used by the old Knight-Brigades like Mr Richard said.
Was all the rest lies? Could some of those heinous things have actually been the truth? That's what I spent most of the night unable to put aside.
“Heya Kris, mornin’!” calls out a jovial voice, catching up to me as I groggily make my way down the gun-metal-coloured corridors of the ship.
“Oh, hi, Birgit,” I manage to mumble, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Don't tell me you didn't sleep? I guess even you can get nervous too, huh?” He grins.
“Bit rude, what about you?” I murmur back.
Brigit’s smile broadens, smacking his own chest, “Not today! The doc' gave me the very strongest stuff he had. Put a horse to sleep it would! The lads had to shake me awake.”
I do my best to grin back at his light tone as he says, “It was awesome, Kris, for three hours last night, Templar tutored me! I think it’s ‘cause I held my own against that Casnel; now he trusts me, or something like that. We used the simulator in the Type-C, way better than the one on the bridge. And he gave me notes, showed me videos, even let me watch him using the simulator. Man, I learned so much so fast; he's crazy good, ya know!”
'Templar taught him last night? Of course, that must have been his version of the speech Gros gave...' I think to myself.
Birgit takes my silence as his queue to move things on, “I hear you had a meeting with boss Gros, right? Heh, sharing inner secrets of the mechanical world, no doubt. It got me thinking; I know we didn't start off on the right foot, but, well maybe in ten years, we could be like them, the next ultimate pilot and mechanic duo. So ah, 'amma keep getting better at piloting, and you should keep learning how to fix my mech when it breaks ya? Though, I guess I got a head start, taking out that Casnel and all, hahahaha!”
Birgit’s mix of nervousness and giddy pride should be infectious, but I barely react – Would we be like that in ten years? In five even? Not just the best but also the worst – What lengths might we go to for our cause? Would we have to kill innocents someday? Resort to brutality and torture if needed in the line of our goals?
A part of me wanted someone to talk to and confide in, but who could I possibly tell what Gros has told me? Shane is no doubt exhausted, having worked the night fixing the Type-C, and now I meet an elated Birgit whose eyes shine the same as mine did just a day ago. No, I have to sort these feelings by myself this time. I can’t burden anyone else.
“Ya, we'll both keep getting better. Good luck today,” I finally reply somewhat noncommittally.
Birgit nods, looking pleased; “Aye, that, same to you bud. I'll ensure you and all the infiltration team make it inside that dome, and one day, I’ll be as good as Master Templar!”
Will we be like them in ten years? Not heroes but villains? I just don't know anymore… Surely we are too ordinary, a grunt pilot and a junior mechanic. Perhaps our capacity for evil is as minor as our ability to be heroes. But then, I’ve seen Birgit looking awfully like a hero already…
My reservations and sleeplessness aside, I continue on my way to the changing rooms, where I’m met with the rest of the infiltration team and handed far more gear than I was expecting. When we boarded that disguised TSU supply ship, what feels like months ago now but is really only two weeks behind us, we had gone in lightly equipped – I’m not looking forward to wearing the pile of tactical gear that’s now placed in front of me.
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Lt Vitka personally hands me the final piece, a holster with a very shiny handgun in it. He nods firmly as though to give me some of his strength. I put on the gear.
It’s not long before the nine of us are charging into the hanger bay. A small capsule, more acutely the Caravel’s only lifeboat, will be our carriage. The oval pod is silver, with little porthole windows, and, of course, it is airtight. We shuffle in, cramped together on two benches facing each other. The Captain is giving a quick speech over the intercom. It’s probably quite inspiring, but I barely register it. I seriously should have gotten more sleep…
I glance out the window to see the gargantuan hand of the Type-C reaching down to pick up our little pod. It dawns on me that my heart is racing, thumping as though trying to pump its way right out of my chest!
The SMG in my hands, the pistol to my side – The men and women surrounding me with their stoic expressions. This is it for real; there is no backing out now.
In the 0G, we don’t even feel ourselves being picked up; however, the light outside fades as we exit the hangar into black space. I briefly see the Crusade, painted grey in an attempt to maybe confuse the enemy, if just for a second or two. It’s flying at a ninety degree angle to us, ready to be our decoy.
How do I feel about that? Is Templar being heroic playing decoy? Is it simply the most tactically sound move, or was Gros telling the truth? Does the knightly mech go now merely to draw a line under the tab of horrendous deeds carried out in a distant past?
My heart is thumping. The gear is uncomfortable. I wish I’d gotten more sleep.
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Running, running, running.
There is gravity here, more potent than our home planet’s even. This is Bhaile level gravity. The equipment I'm wearing doesn't help; I'm weighted down, and everything feels so heavy.
Metal-soled boots on metal floors, though the walls around us look more like a domestic office block, comfortably high ceilings with flush inbuilt lights above us.
A sturdy helmet on my head, a bulletproof vest, armoured griefs and pads. A submachine gun cradled in my arms, a sidearm in a holster on my hip. Pockets line all my body, each filled with memory drives and cables.
Johnny, besides me, is dressed much the same, so tightly clothed in armour that you can’t see a trace of her usual tomboyish looks. Gros however, is geared like the six in the assault team. Same protective gear, but carrying plastic explosives galore and with the SMG clipped magnetically to their legs so they can instead carry tactical assault rifles as their primary weapons.
Gros, Vitka and five others I had no idea had a background in the special ops or even infantry. The likes of the ship's quartermaster and part-time dinner lady, as well as the kindly old janitor Mr Richard – now run in a tight formation with a lightness to their step and alert postures; their gear fits snuggly, and their movements are professionally honed. The seven of them are used to this – they are real soldiers.
We've already engaged an underprepared enemy. Birgit dropped us off four minutes ago, and we've already wounded at least a dozen and killed five or six. No, maybe they all bled out and died, for all I know.
So far, we've taken no hits, but alarms blare all around us; it’s only a matter of time before we trade bullets once more, this time with an ever-lessening element of surprise.
My leg goes from under me as my heart and lungs labour to keep up – Gros and Johnny both grab one of my arms before I can fall entirely. We don't stop for even a second. I'm already back running.
Gros shoots me a nasty look, “Of all the blasted times, you will not daydream today, got it?! Fall again, and you can stay behind,” he growls. I nod back dumbly.
This is a war, a real war. The weight on my body, the cold metal in my hands, the chance of death at every turn of the narrow corridors, the possibility of ambush in every room we sweep.
This is what war looked like before space, before mechs and laser guns – No, this is what war still looks like, I just hadn't seen it yet.
I thought that day on the battleship, staring up at the barrel of an enemy mech, was a gross anomaly that only a hero could’ve saved me from. Now I see it better: This is what our ‘adventures’ as followers of Templar really look like.
****