Gathering the mercenaries together had never been an easy task. Without the experience and authority of his father, Dylus’ voice had no weight to it. It was deeply ironic, then, that he was leading them all purely because he was too damn good with a gun. Fortunately, Brenner had some time off his schedule to rein them in. In an hour’s time, the Pursuit Specials had been re-assembled, ready for debriefing. With Yumiko and her retinue gone, the most veteran officers present was Brenner, Miriam, a towering green-skinned goliath named Yor-Urkaz and a wiry black-bearded demolitionist going by the ‘name’ of Bombacla. The former two were people he could confide with. The other two? He took Yor-Urkaz’s question to him during the debriefing as a very stark, unabashed image of this particular individual.
“So you tellin’ us, bogster, that we ain’t gonna drop some firebombs to flush out these rotten snipes? That we gotta do some talkin’ like a buncha businessmen to people who might shoot us up the rump when we look away just ta’ find ‘em? And dat yous gotta give them the one-two because yous killed the big metal beastie before?”
The answer was blunt and much to Urkaz’s toothy displeasure.
“Yes.”
The briefing continued. All sides traded questions and answers, some of which Dylus noted down mentally as well as in a small, brown book. A healthy discussion, by any means, one that the mercenaries were keen on contributing and participating in to get rid of boredom on the base.
Some of it was good, as in the case of Miriam.
“Captain, while I understand the need to get involved with the civilian populace to root out these issues and the ongoing siege in Yarma, are there really no reserve assets from the local army to help out? Not even air recon? If we’re going to find those raiders in these jungles quickly, we need some fast movers up high and on the ground.”
“I’ll send a query to Desjarnes about that, I didn’t have it on my mind. Chances are slim, however, as we might end up spooking the raiders in their hideouts or the villages we’re trying to cooperate with. Worse case scenario, we might lose a helo to ambushes and a few dozen good men if they’re carrying SAMs. Doesn’t hurt to try that approach if things get desperate at the other locations.”
Some of these questions were bad, coming from Bombacla.
“Do we get ta keep any spirits we find? What if the locals uh… willingly parted with their alcohol? The men might have a dire thirst in the midst of battle, Captain! That won’t do, especially if they were handling valuable, possibly explosive packages against the enemy.”
“That’s considered looting for the first part, strictly against our policy. The second part is armed robbery, also against our policy. You stick to our supply and by Tuah if I catch you trying to steal another truckload of Coalition moonshine with your sappers while enlisting some regs from the other side, I will relegate you to cleaning up the shithouses for a goddamn month. Understood?”
And some were incredibly strange.
“Oh, chum! If I get to find one of our targets and kill him, can I get first dibs on the body?”
Everyone stared at Wally in horror, except Urkaz. A booming voice acted as his support, “Yeah, me too! Except it won’t be in front of anybody. We’ll keep it far away, ‘cause we know you short ones don’t like us havin’ a-
“Absolutely not.”
Both Wally and Urkaz hung their heads low. Miriam tried to comfort the goliath, despite wearing a profoundly uncomfortable expression on her face. The briefing continued for thirty minutes more. Once it was concluded, everyone left their seats with renewed vigour. While their duties around the base were necessary, especially their extensive knowledge of megafauna and cartography skills, it had gotten a lot of them bored - Dylus included. Warding off dangerous wildlife and over-curious bystanders could only sate them for long, so Desjarnes’ assignment had given the entire mercenary regiment a boost in morale. In packing his own equipment, Dylus could only wonder how well timed the mission was.
By the time the sun had risen to its blisteringly hot apex, the Pursuit Specials had assembled themselves near Commissar Engli’s convoy. Their olive-green camouflage vehicles, marked by sabre-toothed emblems on their sides that were hastily covered up on Dylus’s orders, contrasted heavily with the dull maroon shades of their allies. Not only did it make them stand out like a sore thumb, but it also hammered home that their numbers were limited here. Brenner made sure to point this out to his young superior.
“You know something, kid? From the way it looks from here, the colonel’s got you running auxiliary instead of point on this op. Funny thing.”
Dylus snorted, checking his motorcycle, “You noticed it too?”
“You gotta keep an eye out for the finer details,” Brenner began. He almost continued when he realised what Dylus meant, “You’re joking, right?”
“Maybe.”
After a few tweakings to the engine and some oil on his face, Dylus stood up and went around the motorcycle. A firm twist of its keys resurrected the beast with a stunning roar- in the sense that Wally was literally knocked off his feet while he was resting near the exhaust. Brenner, who had grown tough from a life of being near explosions, simply went behind to pick up the critter.
“You sure you can handle the paperwork, oji?”
When the engine went quiet, the lieutenant only had a split second to respond to the sight of a shining keychain thrown his way. Brenner found himself on eye level with Dylus himself with only one hand and a stocky chest supporting Wally’s heavy mass. The commander smirked at the sight.
“Yep, otherwise we’ll be hearing it from your father’s best friend for days.”
“He’s just enforcing protocols,” said Dylus, “don’t worry about it. Take care of the bike then, it’s yours ‘till I get back.”
“Heh, cocky lil’ bastard. Still shoving my bet in my face after so many years…”
A proud yell followed that statement as the young man took off with Wally in tow.
“I won! You lost! That’s why, oji!”
Running a check on the equipment on his person - the rest had been loaded up into the command car - Dylus quickly craned his mechanical arm backwards to turn on his radio pack. Miriam was the first to be phoned, as he wanted to test the lines before leaving.
“Radio check one, two. Lieutenant Miriam, do you read? Over.”
A dozen paces came and went before she answered.
“Affirm, commander, reading you loud and clear.”
“Connections secured with the rest of our convoy?”
“Yup, working on linking up with the Merah.”
“Bombacla?”
“Busy managing our inventory in the trucks. He's a bit befuddled that we're carrying survival supplies for a few days on a simple mission.”
“It might be a few days before we can return.”
“Or a week if the trail is hot.”
“Either way, must be exciting being on deployment again, eh?”
“You betcha, Ten-Ten. Joint missions with you are always a blast. Literally, sometimes.”
“Just remember that you and Bomba are my wingmen for this op. Keep the others straight and calm if things get rough. I don’t want them getting scattered in a place we don’t know much about.”
“Same to you, young captain. Where are you now?”
In the distance, Dylus spotted a familiar shape sitting on top of someone’s head. Wally did too, speaking with an unrestrained tone, “Crazy person with a crazier hat spotted, is that Engli?”
Some soldiers passing by heard that and stared at Wally. The way their eyes darted between the crocodilian, themselves and Dylus gave away the fact they were more surprised by the talking crocodile than the offensive statement he had just made. To make up for such an infraction, Dylus approached the Commissar with a nasty vice grip over Wally’s snout. He responded to Miriam with a cheeky tone.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Introducing myself.”
Approaching the commissar, Dylus waved towards them for attention. One of her subordinates, a man in a beret with a shotgun hanging off his side, saw the commander and informed his leader promptly. The sight she saw when she turned to face Dylus did not amuse the officer one bit.
“Afternoon, Commissar Engli. Sorry about the presentation, he’s gone and said something nasty about you.”
“Hmm.”
Engli was easily taller than Dylus. Locks of reddish hair decorated what was otherwise a well-kept black bun hiding beneath a familiar peaked hat - a standard design, only marred by the memory of one particular wearer being turned into red paste. It was clear by the wrinkles around her face, the unnatural bend of her nose shape and the glass eye that the Commissar had seen some serious fighting. When she spoke again, watched by a dozen of her soldiers, Dylus could suddenly feel sweat running down his neck.
“It’s fortunate that it is your problem, not mine, otherwise I would send it to its creator in a shallow grave.”
“It won’t happen again, Commissar,” Dylus said, looking over to Wally and releasing his grip. A stern look and a shaking head was shot towards the crocodile, who rubbed his bluish-black bruise. He turned back to face the commissar after watching Wally waddle away quickly towards the safety of their own convoy, “mercenary’s promise.”
She harrumphed again.
“That means nothing to me, sellsword. Nothing but a way to say there’s an easy way out for you when things go south.”
“Some take that way, not us.”
“For your sake, I hope that is true,” Engli postured towards the convoy, “While I have received and acknowledged the colonel’s request to have you attached to my convoy, I would prefer that you and your forces stay out of our way while we work with the villages.”
“I… guess that works-
“And keep your men on a tight leash,” turning back to him, she was suddenly much closer to his face. The afternoon sun was overtaken by the eclipse that was her headwear, a pair of copper eyes bristling, intense storms that seemed to glare at him, “Desjarnes may trust in your reputation, but patriots like me don’t. What goodwill he has, don’t bother finding that with me, not even if you did fell a great beast for my people. Not after one of your kind filled my head with lead. If I hear anything regarding funny business, you’ll be nothing but friendly fire accidents, you get me?”
There was supposed to be fear in his heart, Dylus thought. Instead, what emerged from his lips was a pompous response that came out to defend his men. Just like before with Yumiko. This was going to be a recurring problem.
“Only if you can draw the gun faster, lady. You best start putting your trust with us, because we’ve got a mission of our own. I trust my men like they were family. Screwed up one, yeah, but we ain’t scoundrels. You got a problem with them? You bring it up to me, lead and venom and all.”
Her expression turned into a snarl. Rapid footsteps started to surround them. There was anticipation in the air, a brutal sight that soldiers of both sides wanted to witness. Dylus could feel eyes at the back of his head and mentally prepared to give them a show to behold for such an insult. The Commissar greeted him likewise.
“You put yourself on a pedestal, boy, one you might trip and fall off. There’s some spunk in you that I like, but the rest I have great distaste for. As the de-facto leader of our hired guns, that only makes you look worse for wear.”
“I’m more than happy to disappoint, lady.”
Both of them were primed to duke it out. Inside Dylus’ right ear at that moment was the whispering of a soft-spoken voice. Then there were two, then three, then a lot more. The same whisper that beckoned him at the battlefront, as it always has.
Go on, pick a fight. See what happens. Clean up the bones afterwards.
A clenched fist was behind his back. His teeth gritted against each other, his canines showing up and centre. Fortunately, better judgement came to pass within both of their heads just as Miriam arrived to check out the commotion, with the dark whispering forcibly removed by Dylus brute-forcing it away into its corner. Engli was the first to step away from Dylus, her hand on the hilt of an ornate kris in its sheath. Even then, she wasn’t keen on being entirely cordial.
“We’ll see to that, Captain. Prepare to move out in three. Keep in contact with me over the radio about anything you find. Do not take any action until I approve your next move. Is this clear?”
“Explicitly so,” Dylus said, then turned his voice into a mutter when he spotted Miriam and made his way over to her, “asshat.”
She wasn’t too entirely happy with Dylus’ disposition, it seemed. With crossed arms and a raised eyebrow, Miriam was more than justified in issuing a very harsh question, “The hell were you doing there?”
“Just addressing a potential issue, Miriam.”
“That’s how you address it? By making a horrible first impression and gathering up a crowd?”
“It all started with Wally,” Dylus looked around, “where’s the little prick anyway?”
“He’s resting off his bruise in our command jeep. The bruise that you caused on purpose, I might add. Poor thing.”
“I’d give him something more than that if Engli really did hear what he said.”
“Knowing him, it couldn’t have been that bad.”
Dylus thought about that more. When they reached their ride, a diminutive four-seater car with a machine gun on top, hardened armour plating all over and with Wally resting in the back seat quietly, he only shrugged.
“It was. Take my word for it.”
She gave him a much harder stare before going over the comms with a composed tone, “This is Helang Lead to all convoy vehicles, check comms and sound off. I say again, check comms and sound off, over.”
One by one, they all checked in.
“Helang-Two on standby! Got me a bottle, but-t-t I won’t drive on the road. Later, maybe, when Eckhon takes over, heh.”
“Helang-Three on standby, over. Ammunition, medical supplies, additional weapons and equipment accounted for. Waiting for further.”
“Helang-Four revved up, over. That fresh new minigun we have is ready to do some logging, over.”
“Helang-Five ready. All personnel are strapped in and fresh outta the loo. I’m gonna throw a fit if one of them needs to take a piss on the road.”
Miriam looked at Dylus and nodded, “That’s all of us.”
“Five to eight, huh? If I’m gonna be told that this line of dancing mankyets with guns is a peace convoy by gunsha standards, I’ll probably bust a gut and tell them to piss off with a rusty pistol.”
Miriam adjusted herself in the driver’s seat, her mind processing the reasoning behind getting such a huge convoy for peace talks, “Getting peace in these times isn’t a simple exchange of words, Ten-Ten. They might be out of harm’s way, but they’re still people of the enemy state. No doubt they’ve heard bombs and seen warplanes above their heads. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re quick to turn their backs on us if things go south.”
Dylus cocked his head to the side.
“That’s not a whole lot of faith in them, especially if we wanna make them cohorts.”
“Faith shouldn’t compromise reason,” Miriam started up the car, a deep rumbling shaking the insides, “and the Commissar’s mission isn’t our primary one. Maybe the Regalia’s way of dealing with locals is effective, or maybe it’s not.”
“You ever hear the other attempts to coerce the rest of the Coalition's territory live? Particularly Pribady? I’d figure you’d be on it as a radiobug, I’ve got too many forms to fill nowadays.”
They both watched as Regalia regulars streamed into their trucks and jeeps. Engli’s shadow whirled her fingers around before disappearing into her rather regally decorated jeep. Soon it’d be covered in mud and a thousand scratches even where the sun doesn’t shine - and that’s if the raiders don’t choose to simply strike on their way there.
“Only bits and pieces of screaming for that one. The rest had some requests for help, but nothing drastic. Some niceties too, given that some of them aren’t too fond of the Coalition themselves.”
“Huh, interesting,” Dylus adjusted his boots, “sucks for the first one, though.”
“Well, villagers turning into guerilla fighters are a brand of scary on their own. Luckily,” Miriam’s eyes glowed for a split second. The power of the sun shimmered in her irises, “we can do a lot more than a bunch of regs.”
Dylus’ expression turned ugly, “Sometimes, Lieutenant, you scare the shit out of me more than Yumiko does on a daily basis. Ain’t that right, Wally?”
From behind, a groan and shuffling leather sounded, “She scares me all the time. Never seen anyone so fond of me like that, not even you.”
“Well, you could be more fond if you’d shut up a lot more.”
“That’s a whole lotta richness coming from you, chum. I have a machine-gun for a mouth, you have a minigun instead.”
“Such is life, bud. Only way to shut me up is with a bullet in the skull.”
Miriam sighed, “Can’t you both get along for now? Big sister’s gonna be cranky if she’s gotta deal with annoying kids for the rest of the trip.”
There was a chuckle. Before one of them could say anything else, Dylus’ comms came alive. So did the car’s radio. Both of them reverberated with Engli’s voice, carrying a tone of discomfort as she apparently tried to saddle up properly in the car.
“This is Commissar Engli of the 154th Ranger Platoon, this is an open communique to Sapland and all relevant personnel. We’re combat-ready and carrying supplies for an important diplomatic assignment, accompanied by guard elements of our hired mercenary company. We have completed all checks and secured all equipment, leaving the base now, over.”
Both mercenaries in the car looked at each other and nodded. Dylus delivered his own statement on the Pursuit Specials’ own private line.
“To the Pursuit Specials on reserve at Sapland, this is Captain Dylus. Me, Lieutenants Miriam and Bombacla are departing to join the 154th on their diplomatic mission and begin our search for unaccounted Coalition raider forces beyond this base. You’ll be missing us for a couple of days, but I’m sure you guys will make this place safer than a Cold One’s vault even when we get back, yeah? See you guys then, listen up to Lieutenant Brenner and glory be your day. Over and out.”