As his feet carried him out of the tent and into the airbase, these were the three thoughts that ran in loops inside Dylus’s head all the while:
I need to breathe.
I need clean air and a starry sky.
I need to take this damn uniform off.
No matter how far he ran, they kept looping over and over again in his head. The senses that kept him alive on the battlefield had turned on by reflex, making his body an uncomfortable and forcing him to seek out a hiding spot. In a quiet part of the airfield, not too far away from his own men, there was a hidden piece of shattered concrete left over from the battle.
He did not know whether it had been there since the beginning of the invasion, or whether it was placed there by some strange fellows on a whim. Either way, he did not care; it would be his refuge for now. The stinging pain he felt as his back slid down the wall distracted him only for a moment before his thoughts returned to the meeting.
It wasn’t disastrous. It wasn’t as if he had fudged his role up at all. Indeed, he delivered, spoke his mind, and satisfied two of his employer’s highest ranking officers by the looks on their faces. There was the Vinetar, yes, but Dylus knew too many people like him to start caring, so he became a tiny speck in his mind. Why then, in Tuah’s name, was his heart still so weighed down?
His lips tasted salt, the hair on his skin was uncomfortably doused with sweat, his mind was trying hard to calm him down. He tried to remind himself of the normalcy of the situation, only to find that it only made his panic worse.
“It’s just a meeting, it’s just the first meeting.”
The fearless mercenary commander curled up behind the block, crumpling his formalwear even more. His head turned to the night sky. There were stars up there, so many stars. Dylus tried counting them all quietly, holding his knees.
One, two, three, four…
When he reached fifty-four, Dylus was able to think again. The counting continued, but a recollection of everything that had happened today, the things that had happened before the invasion, and the very moment he agreed with his father to lead a small army into enemy territory began. It was a whirlwind of memories, good and bad, of all kinds of lights and sounds and feelings, of shapes and sizes bigger and smaller than him.
The panic stopped when he reached the last he saw of Yumiko’s face, the anger that stared at him before she walked away, the pain in her voice echoing in his ears in her mocking thanks. Only then did Wally’s words come back to him, hitting deeper than before and finally rationalising why he was so tense after the meeting.
He was, for once, truly alone without the harsh, old warrior that was his father; the war hero who could do just about anything that Dylus couldn’t. It just hadn’t really kicked in until the debriefing passed. There wasn’t a word that came into his head describing his meekness at the meeting at the time. With hindsight, the mercenary suddenly realised that he had turned back into the quiet, aloof shell he was back then. The thought disappointed him greatly.
He did his best, but his best didn’t feel like it. The moment had passed and here he was, dirtying up a uniform he couldn’t easily keep clean out here and being useless. Dylus cupped his face, feeling cold steel and skin pressing on it. Anxiety turned into embarrassment. He tried to laugh it away, stopping when it was clear it just made him feel worse. Resignation followed as his body relaxed, wondering whether the stars above were really stars or leftover satellites of the Old World.
His shoulder was getting sore underneath the spaulder. Undoing its straps delicately slowly brought some sense of calmness into his mind. When the last length of leather came undone, Dylus felt the tightness in his chest release through his breath. He held the metal piece aloft, rubbing its sheen as there had been dirt there. By sheer luck, a watchtower’s spotlight shone across his area, illuminating his father’s emblem.
That was the breakthrough he needed. To see that he wasn’t totally alone. When the light had passed over him, he sniffed and stood right up. There was still fear and anxiety in his heart. They would always be there. Now, however, he had to go back to his own company, get some rest, maybe tune up a few things to calm down more. Tucking the spaulder underneath his left arm, Dylus made his way over to their side of the base.
The walk was, for the most part, uneventful; everything else outside of his path was teeming with activity, however. The runway was getting ready to host a departing plane, a turboprop-equipped goliath whose cargo space was now empty after dropping off a few additional pieces of heavy artillery. Illuminated by several small lights next to a series of refurbished garages was the wreckage of a Coalition walker. Something in his gut made him guess it was the same one he had destroyed earlier, while his mind told him it was probably another that got wrecked in the fighting. Either way, it was being hauled off by little men from where he was looking into the garages. Tuah knows if they were planned to be repaired or dissected.
A few minutes passed and he found himself at the entrance of their compound, marked by a makeshift sign salvaged from the remains of a tank’s side skirt above him. The luminous orange glows of barrel fires marked different sections of the camp, highlighting several mercenaries that were hanging around sniffing the night air. If they weren’t busy tending to weapons, chatting with peers or fixing up the place, they were fraternising with some Merah soldiers who had decided to come down for a look. The amount of souls clustered together made Dylus slightly jittery; he really just wanted to head back to his tent now.
On the way back, those mercenaries who got a good look at him immediately saluted or called for him. Flashes of their faces told him that despite the earlier losses, the lot of them were in good spirits. Nobody showed this better than Lieutenant Brenner, who was sitting around a makeshift crate table with several people. Thinking that it'd be nice to have a chat before disappearing, Dylus made himself known with a hand on Brenner’s shoulder.
“Lieutenant.”
Brenner looked up.
“Kid! Back from the meeting so soon?”
In his wrinkled hands were a set of cards, each depicting different numbers, creatures and colours. Dylus immediately recognized that they were playing Rook at the table. So far, it looked like his subordinate was a steady winner with the size of his winnings. When Dylus spoke again, he had gone back to staring at his hand.
“Yeah, it got me tired out. Glad to see you’re still up.”
The rest of the table looked at him. Those who were mercs gave an informal salute and delivered soft cheering, while the soldiers nodded and waved. There was definitely an air of reverence for Dylus, which made him feel even more uneasy. Brenner was quick to notice it, not in the least due to a small shiver in the hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, some bunch of fools here dragged me into Rook. Said they knew of my story and wanted to see if they could best it.”
“Really?” Dylus looked at the rest, “you guys really think you can beat this old coot with a sober mind?”
“No, but that’s why we brought a couple of bottles!”
The rest of them laughed. He joined in unconvincingly. Brenner looked up again and saw that he was sweating all of a sudden. The old man seemed puzzled by Dylus’ exasperation. He moved to ask more.
“Your head’s sweating up a storm, you doing okay, kid?”
Dylus cleared his throat to explain. Trying to do so resulted in a jumble of words that only confused everyone else. He didn’t blame them and felt guilty for being unclear.
“No. Nothing of that sort. I’m just tired. Really tired. Nothing happened at the meeting. Nothing much. Yeah. Run with that.”
“Kid, slow down,” Brenner said, then turned to the others, “you guys hearing this from our captain?”
“Sounds like he just came out from a firefight, datuk,” said one of them, “or he pissed off some lady-friend. I’ve seen a fair number of them walkin’ around the base. Real knockout types. I mean that literally.”
“You don’t get in the army without knowing how to crack a few skulls,” said a Merah soldier at the table, pushing in his bet, “good luck even trying to get close, though. They hate sweet-talkers.”
“Boy, I talk shit worse than a Paradiso drunkard on my good days. Maybe they’ll take that as consolation?”
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“Fat chance, man. Who’s turn is it anyway?”
Dylus heard it all. Just like before, it didn’t fully register in his head. Unlike Desjarnes, Brenner didn’t have a clue of what to make of his captain’s exhaustion. He looked miserable enough that he decided to say something else instead of inviting him over for a game of Rook.
“If you want something to drink, sir, we’ve got some spare drops around the table. I’d offer you Raman’s brew, but well, you don’t drink, right?”
That did register, however.
“Huh? No, no. You know I don’t.”
“Could take the edge off. A little bit of that away from ya helps all the same.”
Dylus furrowed his eyebrows. While there were no eyebags yet- there was plenty of rest before the assault- he could feel them coming on to weigh his face downwards. However, his mind immediately went about trying to defy the exhaustion in a way that didn’t seem jarring. A deep breath was extended, his chest was puffed. Dylus collected himself and spoke, looking upwards at the almost-dark sky.
“No, I’m good. Thanks for the offer though, old man.”
Brenner had pulled up the alcoholic beverage to show in the middle of Dylus’ dialogue. He put it back down and nodded.
“Alright, alright. Everyone has their own way to work off the stress of business meetings. Reminds me of the time I tried something else other than shooting people though, fellas, ‘cause I thought to myself- ‘Hey, I need a retirement plan, and I need one that doesn’t put me ten feet in the ground.’ No offence, kid, but mercenary pay can be utterly dogshit to the point you can end up in the red. So I went soul-searching and…”
Befitting an old soldier, Brenner had a library for a mind that recalled almost everything he had experienced up until today. The man was utterly and divinely gifted with speech. Dylus didn’t find this troublesome. Rather, it was an opportunity to bond, laugh or just daydream about what came before. As there was a spare barrel for sitting nearby, Dylus simply walked over, grabbed it and sat down.
Brenner’s story of a failed retirement plan and how he ended up under the Pursuit Specials went on for about ten minutes. He never failed to be amazed by the fact that he could keep talking even as he played Rook, a game that demanded guile and quick hands before your hand was taken by another. When Brenner actually won a hand, Dylus whistled.
“Sharp as ever, old man. Even as you started getting all deep and mushy about your old boss.”
“Captain, that’s not a normal ol’ boss he’s describing. That’s a Widow-addicted fuck machine with connections to Homebase Statesec. How in Tuah’s name did you survive this long under him, Brenner?”
“Well, for as long as I was in his good graces, I was just a clerk with a good pay. That was, until he made himself look like an idiot in front of the Hinkee Gang.”
“Did he now?” Dylus said, trying to recall the Hinkees. It only took him a while to reach the blood-splattered memories. The utterly horrified faces of the Hinkee abangs as he tore through them with a rusty machete was a sight worthy of a sinister smile across his face, “I’m still surprised that the gang even lasted as long as it did, old man.”
“You cleaned them up good alongside your Yakuza friend, I know, but back in the day, they were on par with the lower-ranked mercenary companies. Even had kill teams running around with Warpfall-salvaged tech that would make the Coalition cry with envy,” Brenner said, taking a sip of his bottle and counting his cards, “I think our Merah friends here know of that kind of danger, yeah?”
“They prefer to dislike you mercenaries instead of the raider gangs back home,” said one Merah infantryman, “it’s a load of bullshit. Politicking bullshit. Once you put your boots through the crap the gangs’ shit out, then only you realise that all the stuff they blame mercenaries now for are just stuff to win the favour of the civvies. You guys are solid, even if you did me dirty with that story.”
“Up your game, my friend,” dared Brenner, “win back your bet! We’ve got time to kill.”
They all laughed. The old man was certainly charismatic. Since he brought up Yumiko, Dylus immediately asked a question regarding her whereabouts.
“I’ve seen her a couple times around the bend. As usual, I can’t tell if she’s all good, sulking or angry at anything in particular behind that mask of hers. Last I saw her was near our armoury with her blades and armour in a bag. Think she’s busy repairing her stuff. Good on her.”
“I see, thanks. I’m here hoping she’s all good.”
“Why don’t you go and find her, boss? You two hang around each other a lot. Thought you both were kampadres after your contract in Ishimura, man. Feels bad thinking about the crazy shit that went down there.”
Dylus suddenly felt thirsty. There was the faint shuffling of feet that betrayed his nervousness regarding the matter. His suddenly-harsh answer didn’t help.
“I’ll find time for her soon. In fact, this is no better time to spoil the fun with a little reminder that we’re still working out here. You ain’t up before midday strikes helping out the Merah lads here, you bet your asses there’ll be real PT.”
A collective groan sounded from the table. The Merah soldiers snickered.
“Ay, yous’ forgetting yous’ in front of your boss, fellas. I reckon he’s got an even meaner bark once he’s all refreshed up from bedtime.”
Dylus turned to them, “I’m not your boss, but best I remind you that your sarges probably have something heavier on their mind.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, captain,” said one of them, a combat engineer, “we never disappoint our bosses. Unless, of course, we extend our stay here to get your winnings too in Rook.”
Brenner looked at his captain, “Sounds like a challenge. You gonna turn that down, kid?”
“Brenner, I'm crockshit at this game. I’m gonna go back to the tent naked if I play,” As Dylus spoke, he rolled up his sleeves. He was firm on calling lights out before it got too late. The timing for said lights out, though, wouldn’t strike for a few more hours. There would be little to no opportunities to relax like this going forward, so he felt it was best to have a little fun at the very beginning, “doesn’t mean I’m gonna go without a try.”
“That’s the spirit, captain! Here, here. Take the cards all back and shuffle ‘em again. This time, we play for keeps. Sound good?”
Someone groaned- Dylus knew for a fact that it wasn’t him. The rest hollered and raised their hands. Calming them down, he slouched on his barrel chair and opened up his prosthetic arm’s shell a little bit. The gesture meant nothing practically, but showed the rest of the soldiers that he was feeling much looser than before. Rolling his neck, he offered his bet, several wads of paper credits and someone’s dogtags. The table took it gladly.
The moon had risen in the sky when the game of Rook ended. Most of the players left their ‘table’ with defeated looks, Dylus included. Even his abstinence from alcohol failed to help him match wits with the tipsy Brenner. At least the money was going back to him in some way.
The two parties split up and shook hands, wishing luck to each other for the next day. Dylus found himself partially holding on to Brenner back to his tent with one of the mercenaries for help. The other one took his leave, last seen walking towards a crudely constructed outhouse in a hurry.
“Good matches, kid. You look much-”
The old man burped and chuckled.
“-much better than when you first came over.”
Dylus nodded, “Yeah, Rook and a crazy life story brought me out of my daze.”
“Guess the meeting was the problem after all.”
He lied, pretending there was no breakdown from earlier, “It’s not. Really.”
“Either way, you’re gonna be in a lot of them. Ain’t got no Headmaster to do the talking in your steed. You’re the boss now, you’ve got a new world of responsibilities that aren’t just shooting up some bad guys, you know?”
Dylus shrugged and weakly smiled, “I know. I wish it came easier.”
“You gotta start somewhere, kid,” said Brenner, patting Dylus’ back, “Life here don’t give you much choice between easy and hard for that start. You take what you get. Most of the older guys like me already went through this and I bet your father did as well.”
“Heh. He has. I know it with all my heart,” Dylus shook his head, “for some reason, knowing that he wants me to take over the company and does so by throwing us into a contract of this size makes me feel a bit sad.”
“What for, kid? You feeling a little sad gets us nowhere, kampadre,” Brenner burped, “chin up, buckle up, do whatever to get your head straight. You did well leading us against those Coalition boys, keep doing the same. You hear me?”
They arrived at Brenner’s tent, which he shared with his squad and Osman’s. The mercenaries winding down there immediately got around to helping Brenner, freeing Dylus from his task. He watched as the old man resisted them for a little bit to say something more to his captain.
“You did good. Run with the flow. Glory be with us every step of the way like that, eh?”
“Glory be with us, indeed,” Dylus said, “good night, old man. Same to the rest of you. Rest well, mercs.”
A chorus of ‘yeahs’, ‘yeps’ and ‘yes’ escaped the tent. After that, there was only a quiet walk back to his own quarters. Everyone was too busy wrapping things up to notice him slinking away into the night. Finding his tent was easy, as its roof was much higher than others in order to accommodate his small garage. Arriving at its doorway, Dylus looked left and right for signs of Wally and, seeing no trace of his friend, scurried inside.
Two sets of weights were immediately lifted off his shoulder. Halfway through taking off his uniform, he heard a series of crashing noises from within the tent. There was no attempt to investigate, already knowing who was responsible. Sure enough, the culprit spoke with his mouth stuffed with snacks.
“Chum, you’re back early. Want some snacks before bed?”
Dylus answered as he came across his mirror, checking his scarred body, “Nope, and don’t eat everything in one go.”
He ran a hand across his chest. The gunshot wounds from earlier had seared themselves together, leaving behind pallid grey patches that clashed with his own colour. Pallor mortis would soon pass, but seeing them here was a grim reminder of what he was. Even the skin around his metal base was a reddish hue, more livelier than the skin that the thing in his head put together out of selfishness.
A brief flash of green lightning zipping between his hand and body immediately made him put on his sleeping shirt. He felt guilty about not being entirely human. It was out of his control, yet he found nothing but contempt anyway. He quietly took off his mechanical arm, put it on a rack full of other custom-made arms and rolled up in bed, hearing Wally hungrily chomping down on snacks.
“I’m turning in, Wally. Kill the lights before you head for the hammock.”
Wally said a muffled ‘yes’ right as he shoved a crunchy piece of meat into his mouth. Dylus smiled a little and shut his eyes; and so the night passed. His dream was a moonlit wasteland, echoing soft and sinister laughter throughout, and the smell of ozone wafting all around him. Same as it always had been, same as it always will be.