[FIC] Choices (Part 3A) {Chapter 40}
Posted: Sat Oct 25, 2003 12:23 pm
Words, numbers, colors. Some flashed, some swam, some stood still.
Kaname was surrounded by words. They came from deep within her. They seemed to pass through her or well up inside, looking for a way out.
It was almost like she could reach out and touch them. Yet, as intimate as they were, she could not get a hold on them. She could not bring them or any of her thoughts to a fully conscious level.
"Drain every last drop you can. Then, it will be MY turn." The voice sounded eager. It was masculine, relatively young. A strong voice, if somewhat bland. There was a terrible hunger. A sense of barely restrained madness.
The pulsating numbers and words faded to darkness.
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The tall slender man walked with a dancer's grace, his shoulder length platinum hair dancing along his back as he walked. He nodded as he passed guards and technicians, taking no notice of their responses. He felt no desire to talk with any of them. Their existense served a purpose.
He typed a combination of numbers on a keypad. The face of the control mechanism blinked green...on...off...on...off...on, and remaining so. There was a hiss of compressed air. A large door swung open, allowing his entrance...and the exit of a combination of odors. Smells of technology. A scent of humanity. The aroma of determination, desperation, excitement, and fear. That would be the scientists. A bouquet of arrogance, impatience, and a sickly sweet craving for power. That would be the members of the shadow group cadre.
There was also a balm of fleeting awareness, restrained consciousness, and transient fear. That would be the trail to follow.
The scientists took note of him as he passed their stations. They looked up, their faces showing a mixture of awe, jealousy, fear, and dislike. The guards pretended they did not see him as he crossed their line of vision. Their faces were more composed, but he could guess their feelings just as easily. Distrust. Concern. Discomfort. A desire to hide their feelings.
The cadre members stopped in their discussion to stare at him, silently. Their feelings were easy to read, too. They looked at him as a trained laboratory rat, not much different from the common rodents being used in their experiments. They saw him as a useful necessity, and as inconnu, an outsider. He was on loan to them, but they feared that he was much more than a tool. Part of them was avid to use his talents. Another part of them would be just as eager to see him dropped into the burning heart of the sun.
He paid little heed to any of them. As far as he was concerned, THEY were mice. Interaction came of his need, or from necessities of his mission there. His steps were not without purpose, and his mind followed the beckoning trail.
The man, moving like a breeze among silent trees, walked amongst closed glass canopies, each containing a nearly nude reclining human form. He could catch the rustle of their minds as he passed. No, not these. Over there.
He stopped outside of a particular enclosure. An onlooker could see that the unconscious subject within the canopy had hair of similar color to that of the observer. There were subtle similaries to the shape of the eyes, the turn of the mouths. There was an unbreakable sense of kinship.
His thoughts inscrutable, the man spoke his only words of that afternoon. "So, sister...we meet again."
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Sousuke tagged along with Melissa and Kurz as they headed for the introductory meeting with large numbers of foreign military personnel who had come aboard the TDD-1.
As they walked into the hangar bay, they noted that most of the equipment was under tarps. Large collapsable tables filled the center of the floor, surrounded by clusters of chairs. Foods and drink of various sorts covered the tables. Some had been culled from the stores of the submarine. Some had been brought along by the guests.
People were still mingling, but islands of soldiers, intelligence operatives, and support personnel were forming as men and women gravitated to others of similar rank or assignment. There was time to get to know one another before the general briefing for the rank and file, and prior to a leadership meeting for command level individuals.
Sousuke could see Sgt. Xiao entertaining a small group of soldiers from mainland China. Lt. Concepcion was smack dab in the middle of a group of intelligence operatives. Bobo was walking about and shaking hands with fellow mechanics and supply crews. Cmdr. Mardukas and Lt. Cmdr. Kalinin were clustered with a small number of higher ranking officers.
Small groups and individuals orbitted about the others as they looked for specific individuals, or simply wanted to find the place they best fit.
A small dark haired young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, walked towards Sousuke's trio. She wore the uniform of Germany's Bundeswehr, and held the surprising rank of Master sergeant. He name tag read 'HEINRICH.'
Before the woman had a chance to introduce herelf, Kurz made it a point to fire the first salvo, with his usual flair. "Oh yeh!!! Melissa...you are yesterday's news and today's leftovers. I think I have died and gone to heaven! Pretty lady, let me be the first to appropriately welcome to our humble ship." Kurz put every modeling trick he knew into his smile. He tolk the young woman's hand and brought it to his lips.
The womans neutral expression went south of the border. She quite purposefully frowned. "I am Oberfeldwebel Greta Heinrich...Master sergeant. I was told to meet with Arm Slave pilots. I was specifically told to meet with Sgt. Kurz Weber."
Kurz smiled, despite the young woman's sour look. She was certainly an eyeful, small but very attractive, hair cropped just above ear level. His natural and spontaneous tact erased any ideas he might have had regarding manners or military niceties.
"Then it would seem that we are both most fortunate, babe. I am Kurz Weber, most indespensable of the AS pilots. I will do whatever I can to make your stay here as long as possible...and as pleasurable as possible." He struck an exaggerated runway pose.
"There must be some kind of mistake!" Greta said, shaking her head with disgust. "Is this your commander's idea of a joke? If it is, you may report to him that I did not find it in the least bit amusing." She read the name tags. Her eyes grew large when she read 'WEBER' on Kurz' uniform. Her eyes then grew colder.
Melissa, trying hard not to smile, tried to reassure the younger woman. "I can certainly understand your reaction!" She started. Kurz tried to kick her, but was restrained by Sousuke. Sgt. Heinrich did not miss the exchange.
"I had understood that Sgt. Weber was supposed to be an exceptionally able marksman and a seasoned soldier. I had not expected him to be an annoying and inappropriate fool! This is not acceptable. I should NOT have to interact with such a man. This coming battle..it is anything but a joke."
Kurz was not amused. "Hey, Bundesbabe...don't get your hoschen in a knot." Sousuke was quite certain that such an approach would be a problem.
"You can save the iron lady routine for the junge back home. There's no shame in lightening up some. We're going to end up friends here, trust me." His intial anger had been replaced by the usual Weber effervescence. "You can trust good ole Kurz Weber."
Sousuke could hear the German soldier muttering 'arschlock' repeatedly to herself, quietly. He noticed the tight set of her jaw, the clenching of the hands.
"Trust? Trust! I have certainly heard that from men such as yourself. It will be no more true with you than it was for any of them. If you would be so kind as to remove yourself, I wish to converse with your superior here, and the respectfully quiet young man."
Kurz apologized. Or at least that had been his intention. "I'm sorry. I had expected a young woman to be open to humor. And a friendly greeting. No one here considers this mission to be a joke. We have friends who are captive. We all have difficult choices. A little levity couldn't hurt. Perhaps we should start again. I am Kurz Weber." His smile was friendly, within appropriate bounds.
Their visitor was not convinced. "A leopard does not change its spots, but a clown can change his suit. We shall interact in battle as the mission requires, but I have no use for you here and now. Please do not bother me any further!" Greta was truly irritated
"Sgt. Major, don't you have any control over you squad members?!" She looked like she was ready to turn and walk away.
"Hey, let's hold on a moment. Sgt. Weber is---" Melissa started to say.
"Don't bother, Sis. I'm out of here. It's people like her that make me wonder why the hell we want to save this damn world." Kurz normally would have brushed things off, laughing, probably escalating things evenfurther. The events of the last couple of days weighed very heavy on him, however. It was he who turned and left the room.
"I will talk with him, Sgt. Major." Sousuke was worried about his friend's reaction. That was not like any Kurz he had seen before. Kurz needed to be ready too. Everyone's role would be crucial.
"Wait, Sousuke. These days have hit him very hard. Mithril is the only thing he can call home, and that home seems like it's falling apart now. He needs to be alone for a while. It would be good to speak with him later, though." Melissa sounded compassionate. That alone concerned Sousuke.
While the conversation had not been not directed at Greta, she heard it just the same. Her anger diffused somewhat. "Things have been difficult for me as well---a close cousin of mine is among the missing. I should not have been so sensitive. I should apologize myself, I suppose."
She paused a moment, the continued, her voice tauter, lower. "It is my problem, but I do not like flatterers. I do not wish to be associated with men who cannot see the value of a woman for who she is. The way he acted was disrespectful and demeaning. But I should be stronger. I should have acted better."
Sousuke was about to say something in his friend's defense, but a specific soldier caught his eye. He recognized his face. It would be hard not to. He nodded to Melissa and said "I see someone I have met before. I should go speak with him, so that it is not a surprise. Sousuke walked away. Melissa had seen that look before. Was some other trouble brewing? Now was NOT the time for any kind of discord.
"Perhaps this is not a good time..." Greta started. Melissa held her hand up and shook her head.
"There probably won't be ANY good times from now on out." Melissa sounded personable and realistic. "We should take some time and talk. First, however, I would like to tell you some things about Sgt. Weber. You may not find any reason to like him, but perhaps you'll understand him some. If the two of you are to work together, there should be as little friction as is possible.
Greta nodded her head, aquiescing. She and Melissa grabbed a couple of drinks and sat down.
"I'll start off by telling you how Sgt. Weber, Sgt. Sagara, and I became a team. Your initial reaction to him was tame in comparison to mine." Melissa recounted the same story she had once told Tessa and Kaname. Flashbacks to the time the three of them had soaked in the tub made the story all the more poignant for Melissa.
"That is reassuring, I suppose...his being a good soldier. But he still seems little more than a jester or a gigolo. I suppose if you have no choice but to have him on your team..." Greta was still not impressed in the least.
"You misunderstand me." Melissa said, her voice harder and firmer, taking her conversation mate by surprise. "Kurz Weber is someone I trust, without reservation. The three of us are a team by choice, not necessity. I am a good rough and tumble fighter, if I may sing my own praises. Sousuke is one of the best mobile fighters I have seen, and he's still learning. Kurz is the best marksman I know of, and a good all around soldier to boot. I would go ANYWHERE with those two at my side. ANYTIME!"
Melissa put much more into her voice than she had intended, but it was plainly heartfelt and honest. She quieted her voice before adding "We are not a force that exists to handle potential national needs. We are an active group, with more missions under our belt than any other force I know of. We have been successful...repeatedly...consistantly. And that is NOT by accident."
"I see...but..." Greta was not able to get a word in.
"I know what you are going to say. And I must agree, in part. I spend half of my time laughing at him, and the other half clubbing him into submission. He may not be the boy most girls want to take home to their mothers...but he's probably a damn sight better than most of the men they do!" A bit of emotion cracked Melissa's voice then.
She regained her composure, and she thought about other Weberian characteristics. She smiled, but did not mention that Kurz was a shameless flirt, a voyeur, and a wannabe horndog. Some things a person has to find out for herself.
"I am aware he is your friend, and your squad mate. I admire you for your loyalty to him. But none of that will convince me that someone who acts like that is worthy of my personal trust. I have been fooled too many times before, and can not afford to be fooled again. Especially not now." Greta looked both sad and angry at turns, thinking some private thoughts.
"I see. I'm sorry. I can't do anything to help you with your past. But I CAN tell you some of Sgt. Weber's past."
Melissa told of Kurz' upbringing, and how his parents were trying to force him to take up a role that his father had run away from. She spoke of his difficult times he had after leaving home. She described what he had gone through as a mercenary before joining Mithril. Greta's expression softened ever so slighly as she listened.
"I've probably said more than I should have already, and I've monopolized you for far too long. But, there is more I'd like to tell you about Kurz." Melissa got them each another drink. The look on Melissa's face was different. It was the look of pride.
"Kurz may look like and act like a playboy, but he has a very caring heart. He's been hurt many times himself...like you...and his extravagant behavior is his way of covering that up. It's his way of keeping people at a safe distance at first, making himself less vulnerable. It's also his manner of keeping things light and less serious."
Melissa smiled. "And, clearly, at times it is his way of getting attention, good or bad." He tries to grab good times in his hands, she thought. Literally and figuratively. The former often gained him a world of hurt, Melissa mused, grinning.
Melissa smiled briefly, then chuckled. "It might actually be interesting some day, to see what his reaction would be if someone actually came on to his spiel!"
"I see..."
Melissa held up her hand. "Just a little more. Kurz had a girlfirend who meant the world to him. He spent all of his free time with her between missions, and had started thinking about building a life around her, I think." Her expression saddened for a moment.
"It has taken a while for me to coax and cajole the story out of him---it's obviously something he needs to discuss with someone, but just doesn't want to talk about."
"She developed an incurable disease with a horrible and painful protracted course. It put a strain on their relationship, but he stuck by her. Not too long ago, she told him that she just wants to be left alone."
"Her condition requires very expensive medical care. He continies to covers all costs for her, as she has long since used up whatever resources her family had." Melissa looked proud.
Greta's look was very thoughtful. Melissa waited quietly, letting the younger woman have the freedom of unhurried contemplation.
"I see. I may have made a rash judgement. I will need to think about this some. For now, we should go and meet with some of the others." Here face was still somewhat tense, but there was a strange light in her eyes.
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Kurz had taken the books Joe had given him and headed for the TDD-1's gym area. As he expected, at this time, it was totally unoccupied. He began his standard set of exercises. He would not do any serious lifting without a spotter, however.
His anger fueled his performance, and he found himself doing many more reps than usual. The nerve of that bitch! He might not be the most appropriate person in the world, but she should have seen that everything was in good fun. She had no right to judge him like that, brushing him off as if he had no value whatsoever. Kurz Weber DID have value! Just the way he is.
Who gave a damn what some overly proper outsider thought.
Tessa gone. Kaname gone. Others gone. No room for errors. And...and...
Kurz stopped. Time for a mental breather too. He realized that he had allowed his feelings to take hold of him, and he couldn't afford that. He thought of Sousuke. He wished he had Sousuke's talent for absorbing pain and discomfort, defusing it, and packaging it for later appraisal. Sousuke still hid from some feelings and some thoughts, and that was no different from what he did himself. It just took a different form.
Sousuke was changing, a little bit day by day. Could The Kurz Weber do the same? How?
Realizing that he and Sousuke had their own things to work through, the thought occured to him that the same might be true with Greta. That wasn't his problem...and it wasn't his business...but just the same, he felt a momentary flash of guilt and uncertainty. She was headed into the same maelstrom the rest of them were. She was here, in an unfamiliar environment, looking for something certain, something to depend on.
The usual Kurz Weber routine might not look like much from the outside, especially to a stranger. Usually that didn't matter to him. But, in these emotionally charged times, doubt came knocking.
What should he do, apologize? Tone down his act purposely? Act like some cinematic gentleman, with 'thee's and 'thou's. Put on some armor and jump up on a rearing white stallion?
What was more important, letting someone know who and what you really were---no matter what they might think---or trying to fit someone's image of an ideal team mate? How would that be any different than a son's parents trying to force their him to be an ideal child?
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Every step Sousuke took was a step back towards the past. This was not he time for painful memories. He had been back to his homeland recently, and walked away with new things to forget.
During the first couple of steps, his mind was filled by a blurred picture of his parents, the focus misted by time. He heard what he thought was their voices. He saw images of what he thought was a church mission. The voices said something about his brother and sister. Brother and sister?
He paused, trying to shake the memories from his head. They left. Others replaced them.
Sousuke resumed walking, his steps attracting memories like flames draw moths. Explosions. A feeling of impact, falling. Pain. Screams. People running. Gunfire. Seeming endless echoes of gunfire.
He did NOT want to deal with these thoughts now! Obviously however, the thoughts wanted to be dealt with. His father, buried under a portion of the building roof. His mother being dragged away. An eternal void in his memory regarding his siblings. Men in uniforms. Russian uniforms. Running. And running.
Sousuke gritted his teeth, bringing himself back to the present. The soldier was walking towards the crowd. It would be best to catch him before there would be other people watching and listening. "Excuse me!" He shouted, watching the man stop.
His memories fast-forwarded. He was somewhat older. He was with his new 'family,' the mujahideen. They were avenging a recent Russian bombardment and subequent special forces attacks. Their methods were brutal. Some of the punishment was given to Sousuke to perform, a means of training, a rite of passage.
Sousuke felt an an eagerness and a stab of regret. These memories would be painful for the man who was now approaching him, as well. Sousuke had killed until he couldn't kill any more. The last man, he had only disfigured. He had drawn his kindjahl across one cheek of the begging Russian soldier. He had taken a dull knife and agonizingly sawed off an ear. He had spat in the moaning man's face.
He had worked hard to reach a place of peace within himself. For Kaname's sake. For Tessa. For so many people. What purpose did destiny serve? Was it a vulture, anxiously awaiting the scraps? Why should THAT man be here of all places. Why was he here NOW?!!!
The man was there in front of him. There had been no mistake. Sousuke felt somehow irresponsible or cruel, not being able to remember the soldier's name. "I am Sousuke Sagara, sergeant of Mithril. We have met before. I thought it best that we meet at this time, not later. I must apologize, I cannot remember your name."
At first, the Russian soldier---a captain by insignia---could not place Sousuke's face. It was the height and age that did it...they did not match his memories. But, when he caught sight of the younger man's distinctive scar, his expression changed, went pale.
Placing his hand where his right ear once was, the man spoke with an emotionless voice. "I am Grigori Stakanov, captain in the Russian Mobile Ground Force. You...you I remember. Only too well!" His hand went to his belt, as if he regretted not having a full holster.
The two soldiers stood staring, each buffeted by storm driven thoughts, neither wishing to give away any advantage. Their surroundings disappeared to their eyes. Only two individuals existed at that moment.
Sousuke was not a tailor, and he had no desire to iron out any wrinkles. He could not fix a ripped sleeve. He could not mend a missing ear. At that moment, it did not matter. "It is not my purpose to bring up painful memories, or to renew our struggles." Souske's voice was even, reasonable.
"Struggles?" Grigori's held disbelief. "I was the only one struggling, you butcher. You demon child. You held me by no power of your own, but you cut off my ear. You killed my comrades. I had lifted no finger against you directly, but you treated me like an animal. You gave no respect to a prisoner." He was becoming furious, looking as if he wanted to strangle his past assailant.
Sousuke found his anger burning, the coals fanned by his memories. "You lifted no finger? You acted against my friends...you killed them...and you think that did not act against me? It seems that the offender never forgives." Sousuke threw a Russian proverb at the man, but would have wished for a grenade.
"You little bastard. You coward with big friends. Why do you think we were there? Your so-called friends had raided our camp, killing men in their sleep. We were merely doing our duty, yet you treated us worse than dogs!" Both hands were clenched, and a vein pulsated at his left temple.
"Revenge does not remain long unrevenged." Sousuke had brought forth another Russian proverb. "Your duty called for destruction of civilian lives and the destruction of their way of life? You justify the killing of men who were merely defending their country against brutal invaders?" Yes...Sousuke was getting angry.
"What would YOU do to a man who entered your house...killed your dog...slaughtered your children...raped your wife...and told you it was your fault!" He imagined Kaname treated that way. His soul shuddered.
"Their lives were forfeit once their fellows took up weapons. We did not always have time to sort things out. Our targets were strategic, but we would not be stopped by those who were unfortunate to be in our way. They should have known better...their fate was in their own hands!" He paused when his voice caught in his throat.
"It was civilians that ambushed Nicholas...my older brother Nicholas. His fellow soldiers told me he was helping a wounded child when he was shot from behind!" The man's eyes watered, but no tears fell. "They acted like animals. They were NO MORE than animals."
Sousuke was by no means interested in a pissing match, but the man's plight echoed his own. In his mind, it did not eclipse it. It did not even come close.
"Once bitten by a snake, a man always fears the rope, does he not? One bad thing done by a civilian is justification for the deaths of countless civilians? Is this your pride? Is this your honor?!"
Sousuke walked up to Grigori, and stared him right in the eye, daring the man to lift a single finger against him. "The war cost you a brother...I take no satisfaction in that. Many people lost brothers. I lost a brother. And a sister. A mother. And a father!" He was shaking, but still managed to control himself. "They were in a mission. They were in that country to help people. They were killed by Russian soldiers. You lost an ear, but I lost EVERYTHING!"
Grigori, still enraged, was at a loss for words. Sousuke used that opportunity to continue. "Russian soldiers stole my family from me. They chased me until I found safety with those who chose to fight back, rather than lay down and die. Murderers---those just like you---made me what I was then. In effect, it was YOUR hand on the knife! Once cut, you had a chance to heal. But that knife keeps cutting me. My life bled out of me then...I still bleed now...I do not know how to get it back again!"
Grigori stared at Sousuke, clenching and unclenching his fists. The anger slowly ebbed from his eyes. He could still hate this boy...but at least he could understand him. His own memories---including crimes he had committed after his disfigurement---were no less forgiving of himself.
"Yes. Men are blind to their own causes, are they not? And, blood cannot be washed out with blood. You should not have gotten me started using proverbs!" He did not smile, but his posture relaxed considerably, as did Sousuke's in response.
Sousuke felt the anger leave him slowly, as if someone had pulled a drain plug. "I had done some reading lately. I remember another proverb. I have probably reached my limit." Sousuke stopped to appraise the other soldier, to see whether he too was becoming more amenable to talking rather than exchanging accusations.
"And, that is..." It seemed he was.
"A man with a chip on his shoulder has wood higher up!" He surprised himself by grinning.
Grigori too was the victim of an unconscious response. He laughed, quietly at first. The laughter grew louder, as if he had been waiting so long for any chance to laugh. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. Sousuke was beginning to take proverbs more seriously.
Quieting down, Grigori said "That must be an American proverb. It certainly sounds American!" He was suddenly shocked, realizing his own response. His face closed up some. He willed himself to remain angry.
Souske did not miss the change. Sedately, he said "I believe you are correct. And I think that we may have taken a small step." He looked at the Russian, as if daring him to call him a fool.
"Yes. I will NOT mention the Chinese proverb. But we have taken that first step. I may never forgive you. You may never forgive those like me. But we must work together, is that not true?" His look was wary, but composed.
"That is correct. And I propose a number of other steps. If you care to listen, I shall tell you of my time in the RK92. I shall then introduce you to Arbalest, if you do not mind walking under a tarp. I would then be interested in hearing about your Arm Slave. I have faced newer Soviet models, and have found them to be good adversaries." Sousuke's voice and appearence were sincere, and his Russian counterpart could see an echo of himself in Sousuke's professional interest.
"Da. That is a good idea, young man. The youth is unavoidable...but I am now given to believe you are a man. Though doubtful, perhaps I will come to forgive a man for what a boy had done. I too will speak. I too will gladly listen. If you are to be on my team, I would like to hear the tales of battle my comrade has to tell." He tentatively extended a hand, which Sousuke shook firmly with no reservation. "First, if you do not mind...perhaps I should grab us a bottle. Then we shall decide if we should kill each other some day!"
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Melissa had spoken with Greta some more, and had then gone on to speak with other potential squadmates. She realized that she had gone too long without a drink, and made her way back towards her favorite table.
"Mao? Hey Mao...is that you? Melissa!" That voice was masculine. Very. Familiar. Intimately so. From the past. Could she just wish it away?
Melissa had taken extensive inventory of her soul, and believed she was ready for the upcoming battle. If she could prepare for that, she should be able to prepare for anything. However, she was not prepared for THIS! Why here? Why now?!!!
She knew what she would see when she turned around. Or rather, who. Sergeant Gordon Freiman. Slowly, she willed herself to turn against all of her unconscious reflexes.
She was wrong.
It was CAPTAIN Gordon Frieman, USMC.
"Gord." Her voice held no emotion, outwardly. Her inner voice was speaking in many tongues. The Tower of Babel would have been tied up for month. Then, a bit of irritation. "Gord...what the f@ck are you doing here?"
"Same old Melissa. I should have brought that bar of soap along! And some baby oil. Whipped cream. Harness..." Capt Freiman looked to be about Melissa's age. A man of medium height, he stood with a boxer's balance, his eyes defensive despite his playful tone.
Melissa said nothing. She didn't even swear. She wasn't in the mood for joking.
"I think you know why I'm here, mam. Uncommon valor is a common virtue, right? I've been working hard since...you...left. I'm just about the best the Leathernecks have to offer. Looks like you found a good gig. Guess they don't have a mailroom, either...right?!"
"Stow it, Gord. I don't have the time or the energy for any sad little puppy shit! You got the picture. That should have been a good enough message."
Melissa had sent Gordon a copy of a photograph of the two of them, from the days before her expulsion. She had torn herself out of the picture.
"Yes. I got the message. It seemed a bit much, even for you. What did I do to deserve that? No warning. No note. Nothing. I stop by to see you...and you're gone!" There was a touch of anger in his voice. Anger, and an old question that had never been officially answered.
"Get real, Gord! What?!...did you want to see me cry, or something. Great f@ckin' memory that would be, right? And if I told you, you would have talked some noble bullshit...something like wanting to leave the Corps and come with me. Right?!" She was part angry, part regretful. Both were struggling to see which would fill her heart first. "And even you wouldn't have been stupid enough to ask me to stay with you after what I went through!"
She heard the ringing sound of a gavel echoing. Saw the stone faces of the tribunal members. Savored the surprise on her council's face when she gave her response. Going to the gallows would have been more fitting...and equally unjust.
"I see. You make a mistake...and I get to pay for it?" Gordon crushed the empty cup in his hand. He thought about throwing it at Melissa.
Melissa seethed. She turned to leave, but was stopped by hands on her shoulders. Her response was a violent one. At least it would have been with most men. She found she could hardly move. The grip on her shoulders was becoming more painful by the moment. That pain expressed her ex-lover's displeasure more than any words could have.
Unable to move, she was still able to speak. Her voice came out venomous. If she had a rattle, the warning would be loud and clear. "Mistake? You know it was no mistake. That bastard lied. He laid his hands on me. He got what he deserved!" She dared him to say otherwise.
"Lissa" His voice softened some, but his grip remained firm. "You know what I'm talking about. I was at your trial. I stood up for you. I got blackballed for over a year because of our relationship. It wasn't fair, but I fought through it!"
"Whoopee shit!!! I must have missed the invitation to the f@cking award ceremony. Did they shove the medal up your ass, with all the rest of the shit you're shoveling me?!" She relaxed her legs entirely, falling from his grip as he moved to remain standing. "I didn't ask you to do ANY of it!!!"
"You didn't HAVE to!!! What would you be saying to me now if I hadn't! I'm the one person who tried to help, and you sound like you're ready to tear my head off! What the hell crawled inside of your heart and died?!" He was more hurtful than he intended, but he refused to back down. This had been a long time coming.
Melissa stood still, her eyes two pits of bubbling tar. Gordon couldn't have pulled away if he had wanted to. She walked up slowly. Gordon held his ground.
"Somebody deserves to have their head torn off. YOU are convenient. You are still part of the Corps. If you had said 'Semper,' 'fi,' or fidelis' you would be dead now!" A junkyard dog would have had its tail between its leg by now. "And what f@ckin' good is a heart, anyway!"
"Why? You know...once a Marine, always a Marine!" He flung that in her face, knowing that saying would be just as incindiary. "You aren't going to back ME down, Melissa. You can run away...you can shoot me...but you will NOT back me down. Don't waste your time trying." His look was stern, but he was smiling lopsided. He would not be moved. "Get thee behind me, Melissa!"
That biblical refernce set her back momentary. She smiled an evil smile. "I kicked the Devil out, Gord. You're in my world now."
Gordon just stared at her, shaking his head. "I've seen more smoke and fire from my grandma's barbeque pit. You don't scare me Melissa, at least not as much as you scare yourself!"
"Ohhh...so tell me mighty Wizard, how do I scare myself...hurry, almost time for me to head back to f@ckin' Kansas!" Melissa laughed, but felt a bit uneasy. She klicked her heals together, then shrugged her shoulders.
"You're afraid of feelings, for one. Don't ask me how I know that...I must just be psychic! You had control problems, and back then you weren't happy about it. You..."
"Control problems? I should have KILLED that son of a bitch. He had it coming. He lied. He got me kicked out. One of his best f@ckin' soldiers, and he got me kicked out!" The memories flooded into her, shaking her to the core.
An officer. An officer making advances, once too often. And officer putting his hands on her, in places he should have avoided like the plague. An officer who ended up looking like a jigsaw puzzle. An officer the Corps belived---or at least officially said they did---while she was dragged before a tribunal and kicked out on her ass!
Gordon had no trouble guessing her thoughts. "You had every reason to be angry and disgusted, Lissa. But, you shoveled the dirt in your grave with your own hands. You could have just walked away and filed a report. You had a long record of insubordination, and you had been warned about fighting with men in bars who had come on to you uninvited." He paused, knowing his next words might well set of World War III right here, right now.
"You were the plaintiff's best witness, Lissa. You beat him like no man had been beaten before or has been beaten since. All they needed was the doctor's report. All they needed was to see his face. To them, the punishment did not fit the crime. You stirred a whole can of doubt into the soup!"
"The Corps should have known better!!! They should have seen the truth!!! They should have listened to me. I gave them everything I had!!!" Melissa was yelling now, and people were going silent, turning to look at her. She noticed. She didn't care.
"Did you tell them that? No. I can still remember your words. 'Proof? You can shove the proof right up your asses, as good as it will do me! You want to throw me out for something I didn't do...fine, just let me the f@ck out of here!' " Gordon walked up to her, his stance open, his hands behind his back. "Just how did you help them see your side, Lissa?"
She swung her hand out hard, but held it back---less than an inch from his nose. "Whose f@ckin' SIDE are you on, any way. No, you don't need to answer. You're still wearing their damn club outfit! You know what they did, but you still come when the dinner bell's rung!" She pulled her hand back, as if he were too filthy to touch.
"You've fallen, Sgt, Major Mao. Satan didn't fall half as far. The Corps had a long history of honor before you sucked greedily at your mother's breast. It didn't stop the day you joined, or the day you left. You paint us all with the same damn brush...there is NO goddamn excuse for that, no matter what! I died inside the day you received that discharge. We could have supported each other. If you left after talking to me, I would have tried to understand."
"You left the wounded behind, Melissa!" Something a Marine was never supposed to do.
Gordon Freiman was not a violent man at heart, no matter how much he resembled the Grim Reaper when he had his Arm Slave strapped on. This was no ordinary day.
His hand swung out in an accurate arc. The noise his hand made upon hitting her face rivaled a gunshot. Her head jerked back after the slap. A look of disbelief filled her eyes. No anger. No fear. Disbelief.
"I loved you, Mellisa. You SAID you loved me. You left without a single word! I traced you as best I could. I sent letters. The only response I ever got was that photograph. What was left of it." He stared at her, as she stood unmoving, a small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.
A pithed frog would have better chance of moving than Melissa at that moment. Yes, she had counted every angry though she ever had, and stored them away for the proper occasion. That had been simple. But, she never chased away her feelings of guilt. They threatened to drown her now, and Gordon was not going to throw her a life preserver.
"Same old Melissa." Gordon said, disappointed. "I guess I liked the silence better! I still miss you. I am sad to hear that you died long ago...." With that he turned and walked away.
*************************************************************
Kaname was surrounded by words. They came from deep within her. They seemed to pass through her or well up inside, looking for a way out.
It was almost like she could reach out and touch them. Yet, as intimate as they were, she could not get a hold on them. She could not bring them or any of her thoughts to a fully conscious level.
"Drain every last drop you can. Then, it will be MY turn." The voice sounded eager. It was masculine, relatively young. A strong voice, if somewhat bland. There was a terrible hunger. A sense of barely restrained madness.
The pulsating numbers and words faded to darkness.
*************************************************************
The tall slender man walked with a dancer's grace, his shoulder length platinum hair dancing along his back as he walked. He nodded as he passed guards and technicians, taking no notice of their responses. He felt no desire to talk with any of them. Their existense served a purpose.
He typed a combination of numbers on a keypad. The face of the control mechanism blinked green...on...off...on...off...on, and remaining so. There was a hiss of compressed air. A large door swung open, allowing his entrance...and the exit of a combination of odors. Smells of technology. A scent of humanity. The aroma of determination, desperation, excitement, and fear. That would be the scientists. A bouquet of arrogance, impatience, and a sickly sweet craving for power. That would be the members of the shadow group cadre.
There was also a balm of fleeting awareness, restrained consciousness, and transient fear. That would be the trail to follow.
The scientists took note of him as he passed their stations. They looked up, their faces showing a mixture of awe, jealousy, fear, and dislike. The guards pretended they did not see him as he crossed their line of vision. Their faces were more composed, but he could guess their feelings just as easily. Distrust. Concern. Discomfort. A desire to hide their feelings.
The cadre members stopped in their discussion to stare at him, silently. Their feelings were easy to read, too. They looked at him as a trained laboratory rat, not much different from the common rodents being used in their experiments. They saw him as a useful necessity, and as inconnu, an outsider. He was on loan to them, but they feared that he was much more than a tool. Part of them was avid to use his talents. Another part of them would be just as eager to see him dropped into the burning heart of the sun.
He paid little heed to any of them. As far as he was concerned, THEY were mice. Interaction came of his need, or from necessities of his mission there. His steps were not without purpose, and his mind followed the beckoning trail.
The man, moving like a breeze among silent trees, walked amongst closed glass canopies, each containing a nearly nude reclining human form. He could catch the rustle of their minds as he passed. No, not these. Over there.
He stopped outside of a particular enclosure. An onlooker could see that the unconscious subject within the canopy had hair of similar color to that of the observer. There were subtle similaries to the shape of the eyes, the turn of the mouths. There was an unbreakable sense of kinship.
His thoughts inscrutable, the man spoke his only words of that afternoon. "So, sister...we meet again."
*************************************************************
Sousuke tagged along with Melissa and Kurz as they headed for the introductory meeting with large numbers of foreign military personnel who had come aboard the TDD-1.
As they walked into the hangar bay, they noted that most of the equipment was under tarps. Large collapsable tables filled the center of the floor, surrounded by clusters of chairs. Foods and drink of various sorts covered the tables. Some had been culled from the stores of the submarine. Some had been brought along by the guests.
People were still mingling, but islands of soldiers, intelligence operatives, and support personnel were forming as men and women gravitated to others of similar rank or assignment. There was time to get to know one another before the general briefing for the rank and file, and prior to a leadership meeting for command level individuals.
Sousuke could see Sgt. Xiao entertaining a small group of soldiers from mainland China. Lt. Concepcion was smack dab in the middle of a group of intelligence operatives. Bobo was walking about and shaking hands with fellow mechanics and supply crews. Cmdr. Mardukas and Lt. Cmdr. Kalinin were clustered with a small number of higher ranking officers.
Small groups and individuals orbitted about the others as they looked for specific individuals, or simply wanted to find the place they best fit.
A small dark haired young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, walked towards Sousuke's trio. She wore the uniform of Germany's Bundeswehr, and held the surprising rank of Master sergeant. He name tag read 'HEINRICH.'
Before the woman had a chance to introduce herelf, Kurz made it a point to fire the first salvo, with his usual flair. "Oh yeh!!! Melissa...you are yesterday's news and today's leftovers. I think I have died and gone to heaven! Pretty lady, let me be the first to appropriately welcome to our humble ship." Kurz put every modeling trick he knew into his smile. He tolk the young woman's hand and brought it to his lips.
The womans neutral expression went south of the border. She quite purposefully frowned. "I am Oberfeldwebel Greta Heinrich...Master sergeant. I was told to meet with Arm Slave pilots. I was specifically told to meet with Sgt. Kurz Weber."
Kurz smiled, despite the young woman's sour look. She was certainly an eyeful, small but very attractive, hair cropped just above ear level. His natural and spontaneous tact erased any ideas he might have had regarding manners or military niceties.
"Then it would seem that we are both most fortunate, babe. I am Kurz Weber, most indespensable of the AS pilots. I will do whatever I can to make your stay here as long as possible...and as pleasurable as possible." He struck an exaggerated runway pose.
"There must be some kind of mistake!" Greta said, shaking her head with disgust. "Is this your commander's idea of a joke? If it is, you may report to him that I did not find it in the least bit amusing." She read the name tags. Her eyes grew large when she read 'WEBER' on Kurz' uniform. Her eyes then grew colder.
Melissa, trying hard not to smile, tried to reassure the younger woman. "I can certainly understand your reaction!" She started. Kurz tried to kick her, but was restrained by Sousuke. Sgt. Heinrich did not miss the exchange.
"I had understood that Sgt. Weber was supposed to be an exceptionally able marksman and a seasoned soldier. I had not expected him to be an annoying and inappropriate fool! This is not acceptable. I should NOT have to interact with such a man. This coming battle..it is anything but a joke."
Kurz was not amused. "Hey, Bundesbabe...don't get your hoschen in a knot." Sousuke was quite certain that such an approach would be a problem.
"You can save the iron lady routine for the junge back home. There's no shame in lightening up some. We're going to end up friends here, trust me." His intial anger had been replaced by the usual Weber effervescence. "You can trust good ole Kurz Weber."
Sousuke could hear the German soldier muttering 'arschlock' repeatedly to herself, quietly. He noticed the tight set of her jaw, the clenching of the hands.
"Trust? Trust! I have certainly heard that from men such as yourself. It will be no more true with you than it was for any of them. If you would be so kind as to remove yourself, I wish to converse with your superior here, and the respectfully quiet young man."
Kurz apologized. Or at least that had been his intention. "I'm sorry. I had expected a young woman to be open to humor. And a friendly greeting. No one here considers this mission to be a joke. We have friends who are captive. We all have difficult choices. A little levity couldn't hurt. Perhaps we should start again. I am Kurz Weber." His smile was friendly, within appropriate bounds.
Their visitor was not convinced. "A leopard does not change its spots, but a clown can change his suit. We shall interact in battle as the mission requires, but I have no use for you here and now. Please do not bother me any further!" Greta was truly irritated
"Sgt. Major, don't you have any control over you squad members?!" She looked like she was ready to turn and walk away.
"Hey, let's hold on a moment. Sgt. Weber is---" Melissa started to say.
"Don't bother, Sis. I'm out of here. It's people like her that make me wonder why the hell we want to save this damn world." Kurz normally would have brushed things off, laughing, probably escalating things evenfurther. The events of the last couple of days weighed very heavy on him, however. It was he who turned and left the room.
"I will talk with him, Sgt. Major." Sousuke was worried about his friend's reaction. That was not like any Kurz he had seen before. Kurz needed to be ready too. Everyone's role would be crucial.
"Wait, Sousuke. These days have hit him very hard. Mithril is the only thing he can call home, and that home seems like it's falling apart now. He needs to be alone for a while. It would be good to speak with him later, though." Melissa sounded compassionate. That alone concerned Sousuke.
While the conversation had not been not directed at Greta, she heard it just the same. Her anger diffused somewhat. "Things have been difficult for me as well---a close cousin of mine is among the missing. I should not have been so sensitive. I should apologize myself, I suppose."
She paused a moment, the continued, her voice tauter, lower. "It is my problem, but I do not like flatterers. I do not wish to be associated with men who cannot see the value of a woman for who she is. The way he acted was disrespectful and demeaning. But I should be stronger. I should have acted better."
Sousuke was about to say something in his friend's defense, but a specific soldier caught his eye. He recognized his face. It would be hard not to. He nodded to Melissa and said "I see someone I have met before. I should go speak with him, so that it is not a surprise. Sousuke walked away. Melissa had seen that look before. Was some other trouble brewing? Now was NOT the time for any kind of discord.
"Perhaps this is not a good time..." Greta started. Melissa held her hand up and shook her head.
"There probably won't be ANY good times from now on out." Melissa sounded personable and realistic. "We should take some time and talk. First, however, I would like to tell you some things about Sgt. Weber. You may not find any reason to like him, but perhaps you'll understand him some. If the two of you are to work together, there should be as little friction as is possible.
Greta nodded her head, aquiescing. She and Melissa grabbed a couple of drinks and sat down.
"I'll start off by telling you how Sgt. Weber, Sgt. Sagara, and I became a team. Your initial reaction to him was tame in comparison to mine." Melissa recounted the same story she had once told Tessa and Kaname. Flashbacks to the time the three of them had soaked in the tub made the story all the more poignant for Melissa.
"That is reassuring, I suppose...his being a good soldier. But he still seems little more than a jester or a gigolo. I suppose if you have no choice but to have him on your team..." Greta was still not impressed in the least.
"You misunderstand me." Melissa said, her voice harder and firmer, taking her conversation mate by surprise. "Kurz Weber is someone I trust, without reservation. The three of us are a team by choice, not necessity. I am a good rough and tumble fighter, if I may sing my own praises. Sousuke is one of the best mobile fighters I have seen, and he's still learning. Kurz is the best marksman I know of, and a good all around soldier to boot. I would go ANYWHERE with those two at my side. ANYTIME!"
Melissa put much more into her voice than she had intended, but it was plainly heartfelt and honest. She quieted her voice before adding "We are not a force that exists to handle potential national needs. We are an active group, with more missions under our belt than any other force I know of. We have been successful...repeatedly...consistantly. And that is NOT by accident."
"I see...but..." Greta was not able to get a word in.
"I know what you are going to say. And I must agree, in part. I spend half of my time laughing at him, and the other half clubbing him into submission. He may not be the boy most girls want to take home to their mothers...but he's probably a damn sight better than most of the men they do!" A bit of emotion cracked Melissa's voice then.
She regained her composure, and she thought about other Weberian characteristics. She smiled, but did not mention that Kurz was a shameless flirt, a voyeur, and a wannabe horndog. Some things a person has to find out for herself.
"I am aware he is your friend, and your squad mate. I admire you for your loyalty to him. But none of that will convince me that someone who acts like that is worthy of my personal trust. I have been fooled too many times before, and can not afford to be fooled again. Especially not now." Greta looked both sad and angry at turns, thinking some private thoughts.
"I see. I'm sorry. I can't do anything to help you with your past. But I CAN tell you some of Sgt. Weber's past."
Melissa told of Kurz' upbringing, and how his parents were trying to force him to take up a role that his father had run away from. She spoke of his difficult times he had after leaving home. She described what he had gone through as a mercenary before joining Mithril. Greta's expression softened ever so slighly as she listened.
"I've probably said more than I should have already, and I've monopolized you for far too long. But, there is more I'd like to tell you about Kurz." Melissa got them each another drink. The look on Melissa's face was different. It was the look of pride.
"Kurz may look like and act like a playboy, but he has a very caring heart. He's been hurt many times himself...like you...and his extravagant behavior is his way of covering that up. It's his way of keeping people at a safe distance at first, making himself less vulnerable. It's also his manner of keeping things light and less serious."
Melissa smiled. "And, clearly, at times it is his way of getting attention, good or bad." He tries to grab good times in his hands, she thought. Literally and figuratively. The former often gained him a world of hurt, Melissa mused, grinning.
Melissa smiled briefly, then chuckled. "It might actually be interesting some day, to see what his reaction would be if someone actually came on to his spiel!"
"I see..."
Melissa held up her hand. "Just a little more. Kurz had a girlfirend who meant the world to him. He spent all of his free time with her between missions, and had started thinking about building a life around her, I think." Her expression saddened for a moment.
"It has taken a while for me to coax and cajole the story out of him---it's obviously something he needs to discuss with someone, but just doesn't want to talk about."
"She developed an incurable disease with a horrible and painful protracted course. It put a strain on their relationship, but he stuck by her. Not too long ago, she told him that she just wants to be left alone."
"Her condition requires very expensive medical care. He continies to covers all costs for her, as she has long since used up whatever resources her family had." Melissa looked proud.
Greta's look was very thoughtful. Melissa waited quietly, letting the younger woman have the freedom of unhurried contemplation.
"I see. I may have made a rash judgement. I will need to think about this some. For now, we should go and meet with some of the others." Here face was still somewhat tense, but there was a strange light in her eyes.
*************************************************************
Kurz had taken the books Joe had given him and headed for the TDD-1's gym area. As he expected, at this time, it was totally unoccupied. He began his standard set of exercises. He would not do any serious lifting without a spotter, however.
His anger fueled his performance, and he found himself doing many more reps than usual. The nerve of that bitch! He might not be the most appropriate person in the world, but she should have seen that everything was in good fun. She had no right to judge him like that, brushing him off as if he had no value whatsoever. Kurz Weber DID have value! Just the way he is.
Who gave a damn what some overly proper outsider thought.
Tessa gone. Kaname gone. Others gone. No room for errors. And...and...
Kurz stopped. Time for a mental breather too. He realized that he had allowed his feelings to take hold of him, and he couldn't afford that. He thought of Sousuke. He wished he had Sousuke's talent for absorbing pain and discomfort, defusing it, and packaging it for later appraisal. Sousuke still hid from some feelings and some thoughts, and that was no different from what he did himself. It just took a different form.
Sousuke was changing, a little bit day by day. Could The Kurz Weber do the same? How?
Realizing that he and Sousuke had their own things to work through, the thought occured to him that the same might be true with Greta. That wasn't his problem...and it wasn't his business...but just the same, he felt a momentary flash of guilt and uncertainty. She was headed into the same maelstrom the rest of them were. She was here, in an unfamiliar environment, looking for something certain, something to depend on.
The usual Kurz Weber routine might not look like much from the outside, especially to a stranger. Usually that didn't matter to him. But, in these emotionally charged times, doubt came knocking.
What should he do, apologize? Tone down his act purposely? Act like some cinematic gentleman, with 'thee's and 'thou's. Put on some armor and jump up on a rearing white stallion?
What was more important, letting someone know who and what you really were---no matter what they might think---or trying to fit someone's image of an ideal team mate? How would that be any different than a son's parents trying to force their him to be an ideal child?
*************************************************************
Every step Sousuke took was a step back towards the past. This was not he time for painful memories. He had been back to his homeland recently, and walked away with new things to forget.
During the first couple of steps, his mind was filled by a blurred picture of his parents, the focus misted by time. He heard what he thought was their voices. He saw images of what he thought was a church mission. The voices said something about his brother and sister. Brother and sister?
He paused, trying to shake the memories from his head. They left. Others replaced them.
Sousuke resumed walking, his steps attracting memories like flames draw moths. Explosions. A feeling of impact, falling. Pain. Screams. People running. Gunfire. Seeming endless echoes of gunfire.
He did NOT want to deal with these thoughts now! Obviously however, the thoughts wanted to be dealt with. His father, buried under a portion of the building roof. His mother being dragged away. An eternal void in his memory regarding his siblings. Men in uniforms. Russian uniforms. Running. And running.
Sousuke gritted his teeth, bringing himself back to the present. The soldier was walking towards the crowd. It would be best to catch him before there would be other people watching and listening. "Excuse me!" He shouted, watching the man stop.
His memories fast-forwarded. He was somewhat older. He was with his new 'family,' the mujahideen. They were avenging a recent Russian bombardment and subequent special forces attacks. Their methods were brutal. Some of the punishment was given to Sousuke to perform, a means of training, a rite of passage.
Sousuke felt an an eagerness and a stab of regret. These memories would be painful for the man who was now approaching him, as well. Sousuke had killed until he couldn't kill any more. The last man, he had only disfigured. He had drawn his kindjahl across one cheek of the begging Russian soldier. He had taken a dull knife and agonizingly sawed off an ear. He had spat in the moaning man's face.
He had worked hard to reach a place of peace within himself. For Kaname's sake. For Tessa. For so many people. What purpose did destiny serve? Was it a vulture, anxiously awaiting the scraps? Why should THAT man be here of all places. Why was he here NOW?!!!
The man was there in front of him. There had been no mistake. Sousuke felt somehow irresponsible or cruel, not being able to remember the soldier's name. "I am Sousuke Sagara, sergeant of Mithril. We have met before. I thought it best that we meet at this time, not later. I must apologize, I cannot remember your name."
At first, the Russian soldier---a captain by insignia---could not place Sousuke's face. It was the height and age that did it...they did not match his memories. But, when he caught sight of the younger man's distinctive scar, his expression changed, went pale.
Placing his hand where his right ear once was, the man spoke with an emotionless voice. "I am Grigori Stakanov, captain in the Russian Mobile Ground Force. You...you I remember. Only too well!" His hand went to his belt, as if he regretted not having a full holster.
The two soldiers stood staring, each buffeted by storm driven thoughts, neither wishing to give away any advantage. Their surroundings disappeared to their eyes. Only two individuals existed at that moment.
Sousuke was not a tailor, and he had no desire to iron out any wrinkles. He could not fix a ripped sleeve. He could not mend a missing ear. At that moment, it did not matter. "It is not my purpose to bring up painful memories, or to renew our struggles." Souske's voice was even, reasonable.
"Struggles?" Grigori's held disbelief. "I was the only one struggling, you butcher. You demon child. You held me by no power of your own, but you cut off my ear. You killed my comrades. I had lifted no finger against you directly, but you treated me like an animal. You gave no respect to a prisoner." He was becoming furious, looking as if he wanted to strangle his past assailant.
Sousuke found his anger burning, the coals fanned by his memories. "You lifted no finger? You acted against my friends...you killed them...and you think that did not act against me? It seems that the offender never forgives." Sousuke threw a Russian proverb at the man, but would have wished for a grenade.
"You little bastard. You coward with big friends. Why do you think we were there? Your so-called friends had raided our camp, killing men in their sleep. We were merely doing our duty, yet you treated us worse than dogs!" Both hands were clenched, and a vein pulsated at his left temple.
"Revenge does not remain long unrevenged." Sousuke had brought forth another Russian proverb. "Your duty called for destruction of civilian lives and the destruction of their way of life? You justify the killing of men who were merely defending their country against brutal invaders?" Yes...Sousuke was getting angry.
"What would YOU do to a man who entered your house...killed your dog...slaughtered your children...raped your wife...and told you it was your fault!" He imagined Kaname treated that way. His soul shuddered.
"Their lives were forfeit once their fellows took up weapons. We did not always have time to sort things out. Our targets were strategic, but we would not be stopped by those who were unfortunate to be in our way. They should have known better...their fate was in their own hands!" He paused when his voice caught in his throat.
"It was civilians that ambushed Nicholas...my older brother Nicholas. His fellow soldiers told me he was helping a wounded child when he was shot from behind!" The man's eyes watered, but no tears fell. "They acted like animals. They were NO MORE than animals."
Sousuke was by no means interested in a pissing match, but the man's plight echoed his own. In his mind, it did not eclipse it. It did not even come close.
"Once bitten by a snake, a man always fears the rope, does he not? One bad thing done by a civilian is justification for the deaths of countless civilians? Is this your pride? Is this your honor?!"
Sousuke walked up to Grigori, and stared him right in the eye, daring the man to lift a single finger against him. "The war cost you a brother...I take no satisfaction in that. Many people lost brothers. I lost a brother. And a sister. A mother. And a father!" He was shaking, but still managed to control himself. "They were in a mission. They were in that country to help people. They were killed by Russian soldiers. You lost an ear, but I lost EVERYTHING!"
Grigori, still enraged, was at a loss for words. Sousuke used that opportunity to continue. "Russian soldiers stole my family from me. They chased me until I found safety with those who chose to fight back, rather than lay down and die. Murderers---those just like you---made me what I was then. In effect, it was YOUR hand on the knife! Once cut, you had a chance to heal. But that knife keeps cutting me. My life bled out of me then...I still bleed now...I do not know how to get it back again!"
Grigori stared at Sousuke, clenching and unclenching his fists. The anger slowly ebbed from his eyes. He could still hate this boy...but at least he could understand him. His own memories---including crimes he had committed after his disfigurement---were no less forgiving of himself.
"Yes. Men are blind to their own causes, are they not? And, blood cannot be washed out with blood. You should not have gotten me started using proverbs!" He did not smile, but his posture relaxed considerably, as did Sousuke's in response.
Sousuke felt the anger leave him slowly, as if someone had pulled a drain plug. "I had done some reading lately. I remember another proverb. I have probably reached my limit." Sousuke stopped to appraise the other soldier, to see whether he too was becoming more amenable to talking rather than exchanging accusations.
"And, that is..." It seemed he was.
"A man with a chip on his shoulder has wood higher up!" He surprised himself by grinning.
Grigori too was the victim of an unconscious response. He laughed, quietly at first. The laughter grew louder, as if he had been waiting so long for any chance to laugh. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. Sousuke was beginning to take proverbs more seriously.
Quieting down, Grigori said "That must be an American proverb. It certainly sounds American!" He was suddenly shocked, realizing his own response. His face closed up some. He willed himself to remain angry.
Souske did not miss the change. Sedately, he said "I believe you are correct. And I think that we may have taken a small step." He looked at the Russian, as if daring him to call him a fool.
"Yes. I will NOT mention the Chinese proverb. But we have taken that first step. I may never forgive you. You may never forgive those like me. But we must work together, is that not true?" His look was wary, but composed.
"That is correct. And I propose a number of other steps. If you care to listen, I shall tell you of my time in the RK92. I shall then introduce you to Arbalest, if you do not mind walking under a tarp. I would then be interested in hearing about your Arm Slave. I have faced newer Soviet models, and have found them to be good adversaries." Sousuke's voice and appearence were sincere, and his Russian counterpart could see an echo of himself in Sousuke's professional interest.
"Da. That is a good idea, young man. The youth is unavoidable...but I am now given to believe you are a man. Though doubtful, perhaps I will come to forgive a man for what a boy had done. I too will speak. I too will gladly listen. If you are to be on my team, I would like to hear the tales of battle my comrade has to tell." He tentatively extended a hand, which Sousuke shook firmly with no reservation. "First, if you do not mind...perhaps I should grab us a bottle. Then we shall decide if we should kill each other some day!"
*************************************************************
Melissa had spoken with Greta some more, and had then gone on to speak with other potential squadmates. She realized that she had gone too long without a drink, and made her way back towards her favorite table.
"Mao? Hey Mao...is that you? Melissa!" That voice was masculine. Very. Familiar. Intimately so. From the past. Could she just wish it away?
Melissa had taken extensive inventory of her soul, and believed she was ready for the upcoming battle. If she could prepare for that, she should be able to prepare for anything. However, she was not prepared for THIS! Why here? Why now?!!!
She knew what she would see when she turned around. Or rather, who. Sergeant Gordon Freiman. Slowly, she willed herself to turn against all of her unconscious reflexes.
She was wrong.
It was CAPTAIN Gordon Frieman, USMC.
"Gord." Her voice held no emotion, outwardly. Her inner voice was speaking in many tongues. The Tower of Babel would have been tied up for month. Then, a bit of irritation. "Gord...what the f@ck are you doing here?"
"Same old Melissa. I should have brought that bar of soap along! And some baby oil. Whipped cream. Harness..." Capt Freiman looked to be about Melissa's age. A man of medium height, he stood with a boxer's balance, his eyes defensive despite his playful tone.
Melissa said nothing. She didn't even swear. She wasn't in the mood for joking.
"I think you know why I'm here, mam. Uncommon valor is a common virtue, right? I've been working hard since...you...left. I'm just about the best the Leathernecks have to offer. Looks like you found a good gig. Guess they don't have a mailroom, either...right?!"
"Stow it, Gord. I don't have the time or the energy for any sad little puppy shit! You got the picture. That should have been a good enough message."
Melissa had sent Gordon a copy of a photograph of the two of them, from the days before her expulsion. She had torn herself out of the picture.
"Yes. I got the message. It seemed a bit much, even for you. What did I do to deserve that? No warning. No note. Nothing. I stop by to see you...and you're gone!" There was a touch of anger in his voice. Anger, and an old question that had never been officially answered.
"Get real, Gord! What?!...did you want to see me cry, or something. Great f@ckin' memory that would be, right? And if I told you, you would have talked some noble bullshit...something like wanting to leave the Corps and come with me. Right?!" She was part angry, part regretful. Both were struggling to see which would fill her heart first. "And even you wouldn't have been stupid enough to ask me to stay with you after what I went through!"
She heard the ringing sound of a gavel echoing. Saw the stone faces of the tribunal members. Savored the surprise on her council's face when she gave her response. Going to the gallows would have been more fitting...and equally unjust.
"I see. You make a mistake...and I get to pay for it?" Gordon crushed the empty cup in his hand. He thought about throwing it at Melissa.
Melissa seethed. She turned to leave, but was stopped by hands on her shoulders. Her response was a violent one. At least it would have been with most men. She found she could hardly move. The grip on her shoulders was becoming more painful by the moment. That pain expressed her ex-lover's displeasure more than any words could have.
Unable to move, she was still able to speak. Her voice came out venomous. If she had a rattle, the warning would be loud and clear. "Mistake? You know it was no mistake. That bastard lied. He laid his hands on me. He got what he deserved!" She dared him to say otherwise.
"Lissa" His voice softened some, but his grip remained firm. "You know what I'm talking about. I was at your trial. I stood up for you. I got blackballed for over a year because of our relationship. It wasn't fair, but I fought through it!"
"Whoopee shit!!! I must have missed the invitation to the f@cking award ceremony. Did they shove the medal up your ass, with all the rest of the shit you're shoveling me?!" She relaxed her legs entirely, falling from his grip as he moved to remain standing. "I didn't ask you to do ANY of it!!!"
"You didn't HAVE to!!! What would you be saying to me now if I hadn't! I'm the one person who tried to help, and you sound like you're ready to tear my head off! What the hell crawled inside of your heart and died?!" He was more hurtful than he intended, but he refused to back down. This had been a long time coming.
Melissa stood still, her eyes two pits of bubbling tar. Gordon couldn't have pulled away if he had wanted to. She walked up slowly. Gordon held his ground.
"Somebody deserves to have their head torn off. YOU are convenient. You are still part of the Corps. If you had said 'Semper,' 'fi,' or fidelis' you would be dead now!" A junkyard dog would have had its tail between its leg by now. "And what f@ckin' good is a heart, anyway!"
"Why? You know...once a Marine, always a Marine!" He flung that in her face, knowing that saying would be just as incindiary. "You aren't going to back ME down, Melissa. You can run away...you can shoot me...but you will NOT back me down. Don't waste your time trying." His look was stern, but he was smiling lopsided. He would not be moved. "Get thee behind me, Melissa!"
That biblical refernce set her back momentary. She smiled an evil smile. "I kicked the Devil out, Gord. You're in my world now."
Gordon just stared at her, shaking his head. "I've seen more smoke and fire from my grandma's barbeque pit. You don't scare me Melissa, at least not as much as you scare yourself!"
"Ohhh...so tell me mighty Wizard, how do I scare myself...hurry, almost time for me to head back to f@ckin' Kansas!" Melissa laughed, but felt a bit uneasy. She klicked her heals together, then shrugged her shoulders.
"You're afraid of feelings, for one. Don't ask me how I know that...I must just be psychic! You had control problems, and back then you weren't happy about it. You..."
"Control problems? I should have KILLED that son of a bitch. He had it coming. He lied. He got me kicked out. One of his best f@ckin' soldiers, and he got me kicked out!" The memories flooded into her, shaking her to the core.
An officer. An officer making advances, once too often. And officer putting his hands on her, in places he should have avoided like the plague. An officer who ended up looking like a jigsaw puzzle. An officer the Corps belived---or at least officially said they did---while she was dragged before a tribunal and kicked out on her ass!
Gordon had no trouble guessing her thoughts. "You had every reason to be angry and disgusted, Lissa. But, you shoveled the dirt in your grave with your own hands. You could have just walked away and filed a report. You had a long record of insubordination, and you had been warned about fighting with men in bars who had come on to you uninvited." He paused, knowing his next words might well set of World War III right here, right now.
"You were the plaintiff's best witness, Lissa. You beat him like no man had been beaten before or has been beaten since. All they needed was the doctor's report. All they needed was to see his face. To them, the punishment did not fit the crime. You stirred a whole can of doubt into the soup!"
"The Corps should have known better!!! They should have seen the truth!!! They should have listened to me. I gave them everything I had!!!" Melissa was yelling now, and people were going silent, turning to look at her. She noticed. She didn't care.
"Did you tell them that? No. I can still remember your words. 'Proof? You can shove the proof right up your asses, as good as it will do me! You want to throw me out for something I didn't do...fine, just let me the f@ck out of here!' " Gordon walked up to her, his stance open, his hands behind his back. "Just how did you help them see your side, Lissa?"
She swung her hand out hard, but held it back---less than an inch from his nose. "Whose f@ckin' SIDE are you on, any way. No, you don't need to answer. You're still wearing their damn club outfit! You know what they did, but you still come when the dinner bell's rung!" She pulled her hand back, as if he were too filthy to touch.
"You've fallen, Sgt, Major Mao. Satan didn't fall half as far. The Corps had a long history of honor before you sucked greedily at your mother's breast. It didn't stop the day you joined, or the day you left. You paint us all with the same damn brush...there is NO goddamn excuse for that, no matter what! I died inside the day you received that discharge. We could have supported each other. If you left after talking to me, I would have tried to understand."
"You left the wounded behind, Melissa!" Something a Marine was never supposed to do.
Gordon Freiman was not a violent man at heart, no matter how much he resembled the Grim Reaper when he had his Arm Slave strapped on. This was no ordinary day.
His hand swung out in an accurate arc. The noise his hand made upon hitting her face rivaled a gunshot. Her head jerked back after the slap. A look of disbelief filled her eyes. No anger. No fear. Disbelief.
"I loved you, Mellisa. You SAID you loved me. You left without a single word! I traced you as best I could. I sent letters. The only response I ever got was that photograph. What was left of it." He stared at her, as she stood unmoving, a small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.
A pithed frog would have better chance of moving than Melissa at that moment. Yes, she had counted every angry though she ever had, and stored them away for the proper occasion. That had been simple. But, she never chased away her feelings of guilt. They threatened to drown her now, and Gordon was not going to throw her a life preserver.
"Same old Melissa." Gordon said, disappointed. "I guess I liked the silence better! I still miss you. I am sad to hear that you died long ago...." With that he turned and walked away.
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Well, wasn't calling him a mad scientist literally...