04 END IN FIRE 2
// Tuatha de Daanan, approximately the same geographical position
"Roger, FMH-1, we have you, five-by-five. You are cleared all the way.
No air or surface contacts detected."
"Roger, Daanan. ETA, 60 minutes, mark."
"Radio, Conn. Our... guests are arriving, please notify the Captain.
Harrier Flight, you are cleared to land as soon as FMH-1 has cleared the
deck."
"Roger." Harrrier Lead responded. "You're welcome for the escort,
FMH-1." Thanks for nothing, he didn't add. Bloody babysitting
job, this was NOT what I signed on for. I should be shooting up things,
not making sure some idiot didn't get lost on an overwater flight!
Harrier Lead regarded the LAMPS helicopter he was escorting to the
Daanan. Damn VIPs he ruefully thought. What the hell do they
want with us way the hell out in the middle of nowhere?
* * *
Mardukas took the message himself. So, they've finally decided to
grace us with their presence he thought sarcastically. Took them bloody
well long enough. Our turn to face the music now, so no sense in
delaying it.
"Chief, you have the conn until further notice. When FMH-1 lands, direct
our guests to the main briefing room."
"Aye, sir. Give 'em hell, sir!"
Mardukas nodded his appreciation for the vote of confidence. Leaving
the Radio compartment, he made straight for Major Kalinin's office.
"Ah, Commander Mardukas. Punctual as ever, I see." Kalinin greeted his
counterpart aboard ship with a handshake. "I presume this visit is about
business. Please, sit."
"I wish I could be casual about this, Major Kalinin, but our guests are
arriving in about an hour. The inquiry will no doubt begin shortly after
that."
Kalinin sat down heavily. Turning around, he opened his private safe,
producing a bottle of vodka. Pouring two half-glasses, he offered one to
Mardukas. "No, I cannot my friend. And surely you know the
regulations."
"Come, my good friend. A drink should never be taken alone, as I'm
sure you English yourselves know that." Kalinin smiled, a rarity for him.
Sighing heavily, Mardukas sat down and took the proffered glass. A long
serving officer in the Royal Navy, his own family having three generations
serving in the blue uniform, he was no stranger to an officially
sanctioned 'wet ship' policy, but it was Captain Tessa's command that
forbade drink aboard ship except on the odd social occasion. That didn't
matter to him now as the strong alcohol rolled its way down his throat,
making him cough.
"Still trying to outdrink a Russian?" Kalinin mused.
"I never claimed to try. How is your son?"
"Ashore. How is your daughter?"
"Aboard. Cheers!" Both men broke out laughing.
Their private joke, it was good for breaking tense atmospheres, but also
reflected their roles aboard ship. Save for Mithril, they had no where else
to go in the world. To Mother Russia, Kalinin was no longer a welcomed
son, while to Jolly Olde England, Mardukas was an embarassment. They
lived with their decisions, but never regretted them.
"The Captain is certainly stressed, but I believe she's taking it well."
Mardukas commented, bringing them back to things that mattered. "The
question is how much more strain can she take? Major, I have no doubt
of her competency, but her temperament, especially in this
circumstance..."
"She has certainly taken more than her fair share since she assumed
command of the Daanan, Commander. I believe in her, as I am sure
you do as well, else we would be continuing this conversation." Kalinin
responded. "All we can do now is to stand behind her when the time
comes."
"Indeed, sir." Mardukas took another measured sip again, but to no
avail, the vodka still affected his throat as it had since Kalinin introduced
him to the stuff. He paused a moment before continuing, swirling his
glass around, trying to find the words to continue. "I believe it was your
chap Kruschev that said, 'Politicians over the world are the same.' The
mess we're in right now simply proves it. The Yanks, the Sovs, everyone
that was screaming for an organization like Mithril in the beginning seems
so bloody intent on distancing themselves from this scandal, and we're
left holding the bag."
"I never had a doubt from the beginning. We are, how do you say... the
sacrificial lamb? To appease the masses?"
"Someone is definately looking to hang us up on their wall. No one is on
our side right now, while we were always expected to bend over
backwards to help when they were in trouble." Mardukas regarded the
last dregs of vodka in his glass. It had helped somewhat, he had to
admit, but the rage within him was growing, and to get drunk would not
help matters. He looked over at Kalinin and saw he thought the same.
"Are we two people from a bygone era, so stuck on the belief that loyalty
is something tangible, that money is not the only way to gain someone's
trust?"
The chronometer on the wall struck one bell, and Mardukas took the last
sip of his vodka. "Well, between you and me, if we get out of this intact, I
must take you up to London on our next shore leave and introduce you to
some fine English liquors."
"Yes, I would appreciate that, Richard. I will see you at the inquiry then."
Kalinin smiled again as he stood to see his friend out the door.
"I'll go fetch the Captain. Thank you, and good day to you, Andrey."
Kalinin remained standing after Mardukas closed the door behind him.
For a moment, he had to fight to remain steady as the alcohol worked its
way through his body. "Am I getting too old for this?" he asked himself
again for the thousandth time. He let his thoughts drift back to the
meeting that brought him here.
// Fifteen Years Ago
"Lieutenant Andrey Kalinin, reporting as ordered." Kalinin struggled to
keep himself still, but it was a losing battle. He wished he had more time
to prepare himself for this meeting, but there never seemed to be enough
time in the world. I haven't even had a chance to shave, much less
prepare my uniform. When what it last that I had it pressed? he thought
to himself.
Besides, how did one prepare for a meeting with a representative of the
KGB, the Soviet agency responsible for State Security, when they might
well be delivering one's death sentence.
"At ease, Comrade Lieutenant. I have here the forms for your transfer."
Kalinin could just barely contain himself. "Transfer? Sir? But I..." He
was immediately cut off.
"Lieutenant, after all the time you've spent in the Spetznaz I'm
surprised you haven't managed to hide your emotions from others. As
for the transfer, it is not punishment for anything, I assure you that. Your
abilities and talents are remarkable. Indeed, Comrade Major Larinov is
quite disappointed at losing you, but heartily feels you are ready to
advance. I presume you have heard the rumors."
"The men have been talking. Moscow says we are pulling out..."
"The talk is all true, Comrade. The situation here is no longer tolerable,
and with the signing of that damnable agreement, well, we will finally be
leaving this hellhole, but it is too much of a disgrace to us all."
Kalinin himself shared this view. Since the Soviet 'entry' into Afghanistan
in 1979, very little if anything had gone right. Kalinin's Spetznaz
group had been immediately pulled from its base in Europe and sent to
this backwater to fight a guerrilla-style of warfare, a style they had been
trained for, but the harsh realities of who they were fighting were
impressed on him before day one.
He had long since lost count of the number of friends he'd lost to the
mujahadeen, the so-called 'holy fighters' that pestered the Soviet
forces to no end. That no mercy or quarter was given when a Spetznaz
operative was captured by the mujahadeen was something he didn't
care to dwell on. Many a night, he recalled vividly in his dreams of how
he had found some of his own comrades after they'd been...
...he immediately put it out of his mind as the man continued.
"There is, however, a small way we can gain some revenge, Lieutenant.
There has been a plan implemented. Moscow doesn't know of it, for
obvious reasons, but they've given tact support of it. Needless to say,
news of our departure leaves a vaccum that needs to be filled, and every
nekulturny bastard from ragtag mujahadeen groups to radical
Islamic Fundamentalist clerics from the Middle East are scrambling to fill
that vaccum."
"The plan is to establish support camps, of a sort, for elements that see
our... Moscow's point of view."
"A proxy war then, essentially."
The chekist was silent, but Kalinin could see the glee he was
radiating, which made him even more nervous. Kalinin was used to his
fights up close and personal, compared to the darkroom backstabbing
tactics he and he comrades loathed of the KGB's modus operendi,
but the hell he had endured in Afghanistan affected him, and the chance
for revenge offered was something he could not easily resist.
* * *
Soon thereafter, Kalinin was taken to one such camp, labelled simply
B1743-1. He never did learn where it was located, and he never wanted
to know. It wasn't much to look at. The airstrip, or whatever passed for
it out in this wilderness, was nothing more than a section of tamped-down
earth. Numerous tents fluttered in the wind, almost ready to fly away at
the sheer ferocity of the winds. Several guard towers provided a small
measure of defense, somewhat. The dust...
No, don't think about anything but the mission Kalinin commanded
himself as he disembarked from the helicopter. It was one of his first
lessons he had learned after being promoted to an officer.
A sergeant ran over and immediately saluted. "Sergeant Dmitrivich, your
second-in-command here. Welcome to the base, Comrade Lieutenant..."
"Kalinin. Andrey Kalinin. Thanks for the welcome, Sergeant, thought I
must profess, I'm not sure why such a welcome is necessary. There does
not seem to be much here that would warrant anyone coming out here."
The sergeant seemed miffed at that comment. "It may not seem like
much, Comrade Lieutenant, but B1743-1 is important. At least,
important enough to..." The sudden whining noise of the helicopter's
engines revving up for takeoff drowned out the rest of his response.
Kalinin didn't catch the rest, more concerned with the helicopter, and all
that it represented, took off back home.
Home he thought. No, this is home now. He continued
walking, pretending to listen to Sergeant Dmitrivich's explanation of the
base. The chekist knew exactly how to read him. So many deaths of
comrades and friends, and a chance to exact a revenge on their killers.
How easy the answer came to him. How easy it is to twist men into tools
of evil, himself included, he thought. What was your price, Sergeant?
A few extra rubles every month? A private dacha on the coast of the
Black Sea?
Kalinin thought little more of the place after that. It made it easier that
way.
Officially, B-1743-1 was nothing more than a re-education camp for the
usual lot: criminals, political undesirables, exiles, etc, run by the KGB, but
what went on within the perimeter of the camp told a different story.
Various groups, friendly to Moscow and the Politburo line, were allowed to
bring 'recruits' in every three months; the camp grounds, and staff, were
at their disposal for 'advice,' as the KGB put it. In addition, on a regular
basis a truckload of weapons came in, and Kalinin constantly fought to
contain a twisted smile, as well as raging disgust, as the various groups
and factions fought over everything the moment the door was open, like
hungry dogs over scraps of meat thrown from the table.
Everything from hand grenades to AK-47s, the moment it was passed out,
a sea of hands surged forward to claim it. Lives were lost over the most
mundane things. One time, Kalinin recalled when 5 different men from 5
different groups had killed each other in a shootout over a water bottle.
It became the running joke of the day for his staff that evening.
Dear God, this is what Moscow's sunk down to? What we've sunk
down to? he asked himself, everytime he saw the same scenes
replaying themselves in a neverending cycle.
* * *
"Ah, Salam Alikam, Kalinin."
"Alikam Salam." Kalinin almost choked on those words, and it wasn't for
lack of trying. Every fibre of his being hated the man that stood within his
office, but the KGB said they were friends, and he played the role of the
perfect friend to the hilt, murderous bastard his guest was. The greeting
had gone no different than it had for the last 4 years. It tired him to have
to do this over and over. "God looks down on you and your friends, I
hope?"
"Always. I am a religious man, watched over by my God, kept strong by
my faith... and well supported by my friends."
Kalinin wanted to choke hearing that part. He had to wonder how much
more of this he had to endure to satisfy Moscow's revenge for its Afghani
invasion.
"Indeed, God is most bountiful. My group now controls the border region
to Afghanistan, and we've had the windfall of several opium farms in the
region." Not to mention the profits from those two sources of income
. "I trust my request last time has... borne fruit with your superiors?"
"All that you ask for. Quantities of RPG-7s and SPG-9s, 82mm mortars,
some of the new AK-74s, strictly evaluational I remind you..."
"You do not. And I never got them from you." His face twisted into an
evil smile.
"Excellent. Good friendships depend on such... understandings." Barbarian.
"Of course they do." Infidel. "Ahhh, delicate negotiations make me
hungry. Is there..."
"For a friend, always. Shall we?" As they walked out of the tent, sounds
of screaming could be heard. Kalinin rushed over, seeing two of his men
roughing up... No, it couldn't be. He saw it was Kolekov, one of the
troublemakers on his staff he'd had to endure. "What the hell is going on
here?" he bellowed. "You two, explain yourselves!"
"Sir! This child was wandering around in a restricted area. We asked he
leave, but he did not." A likely story. More like you wanted some
amusement, and found it in someone weaker than you. Kalinin thought.
"Get out of here Kolekov, NOW!"
Sheepishly, Kolekov and his companion turned to walk away, muttering
something about murderous barbarians and getting too buddy-buddy with
them. Kalinin turned back to see his guest savagely assaulting the child,
verbally and physically. He couldn't make out what his guest was saying,
but the meaning of the beating was not lost on him.
"Get off him! He meant no harm. Kolekov was..."
"Stay out of my business Kalinin. I'll deal with my men, you deal with yours."
"He's only a child!"
"He is still one of my men." He caught Kalinin by the eye with a serious
stare. Keep out of my business.
"Very well. May I ask who he is?"
"We picked up in a raid several months ago. I find he's something of a
slow learner. My men seem to think he is a good luck charm of sorts. Bah!"
Kalinin stepped closer to take a closer look at the child, who fearfully
stepped back, as if a monster from his dreams had suddenly appeared.
Kalinin approached slowly, making every effort to appear as bengin as
possible. Until I cook you in my fire for food he sarcastically
thought. Their eyes locked, and the connection was made.
"He is not Afghani. Looks like Asian descent. How is that so?"
"What is it to you, Kalinin? I thought our use to you began when we died,
either at your hands or our fellow Afghani brothers' hands." The meaning
of that statement was not lost on him.
Getting nowhere, Kalinin decided to find out for himself. "What is your
name?" he asked in Mandarin.
No response.
He then tried Vietnamese.
The boy merely gave him a blank stare.
Finally, in Japanese.
"Kashim," was his response.
//
Gathering several folders, he punched a button on the intercom. "Sgt.
Major Mao, please report to the briefing room immediately." He did one
final check of his papers, then himself, and left his office.
I am getting too old for this, he thought to himself.
* * *
Mao sat in her squad's shared quarters, taking a long drag on a
cigarette. "Ahh, now that hit the spot." Suddenly, her intercom chirped.
Major Kalinin was on the other end.
"Sgt. Major Mao, please report to the briefing room immediately."
"Understood sir, on my way." She regarded Kurtz's inert form sprawled
out on her bed. "Well, Kurtz-honey. It's been fun, but duty calls. I'll be
back shortly, so stay out of trouble, huh, sweetie?"
"...meshthublv..."
"And while you're at it, be a good boy and clean this place up, it's a pigsty."
"...blethlemlmriv..."
"And you'd better not try anything while I'm gone, got that!"
"...rizplfthspinningprettyladies..."
The last part caught Mao's attention. She walked the two quick steps to
Kurtz and punched him hard. "BAKAYARO!!" she screamed. Picking up a
stack of folders, she left Kurtz's body splattered on the wall like a bug on
a windshield.
"Ya know, I think she likes me..." Kurtz mumbled to himself incoherently
after he heard the hatch close.
* * *
Richard Mardukas stood before the door that lead to Captain Tessa's
quarters. Having served with her for over a year, he knew she observed
proper service protocol to the letter while on duty. Raising his hand, he
knocked loudly on the door and waited to be let in...
...but a reply was not forthcoming. Strange he thought. She
answers promptly, especially for important things. He tried again, but
again there was no answer. Was something wrong? Breaking with
protocol, he swung open the door.
"Captain Tessa?"
What he saw shocked him!
In the time he'd served under her, he'd never seen her lose control of her
emotions, but the sight she was in now was indescribable. Hunched over
her desk, Tessa had her head buried in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Dear God, what do I do now? he thought to himself. The officer in
him told him to leave, to let his captain be, but the gentleman in him told
him to take Tessa into his arms and comfort her, like a father comforting
his child.
"Oh, Mardukas-san, I'm... I'm just... sorry..." she said quickly, and quite
obviously flustered. She quickly wiped her eyes and put back on her
spectacles, trying to look busy, as if nothing had happened.
"Captain, I... it's almost time for the inquiry." Mardukas said quickly,
dropping the whole matter. "I'll return in a few minutes."
"No, please... I..." Tessa struggled, but her emotions gradually gained on
her. Fresh tears started flowing again, tears she could no longer hide.
Mardukas took her into his arms as the sobs started anew, the gentleman
winning out over the officer.
"Why-iy-iy-iy..." Tessa struggled through her sobbing, her emotions
totally opening up for the first time in a long time. Mardukas' only answer
was to hold her tighter. Yes, Major he thought to himself I will be
there for her.
And for the first time in a long time, Mardukas started thinking about that
fateful day so long ago.
// Fifteen Years Ago
First Leftenant Richard Mardukas had reason to be pleased.
"Hey Mardukas! I heard the story with you and Turbulent. Is it true?"
"It's bloody well true! Kicked those sorry Yanks clear back to Norfolk!"
"Drinks on Mardukas!!" someone yelled.
"Leftenant Richards!" The room suddenly went still. Squadron
Commander Sir Robert Whiteling's presence had a way of doing
that. "Get into my office, now!" An audience with Whiteling rarely
signalled good news, if that at all. The rest of the room, so eager to
share in the success story a few moments ago seemed to now mourn
someone whose career was forever ruined.
"Le-Le-Le-Leftenant Mardukas, re-re-reporting as ordered... Sir."
Mardukas was so nervous, he almost forgot to add 'Sir' to the end of that.
But Sir Whiteling didn't seem to be in the mood to return the compliment.
He simply left Mardukas standing there, at attention, as he wordlessly
flipped through some papers. Only the sound of the ancient cuckoo clock,
ticking away on the wall, reminded him that time was actually passing.
What the hell am I here for he thought to himself. If Whiteling has
something to say, why doesn't he bloody well say it?!
Oh damn!! he suddenly thought. Is it about that little fracas with
the Yanks? Sure, I may have cheated a touch, but we damn well won!
Isn't that the important thing?
"Sir Whiteli..."
"You, Leftenant, will remain silent until I am ready to speak to you."
Whiteling returned to his papers, occasionally marking a section here and
there.
Mardukas made towards the chair in front of Whiteling's desk. It was so
close, and so inviting.
"You will also remain standing, Leftenant!" Whiteling's voiced
boomed out. Mardukas was so shocked he hopped back up to attention.
Bloody hell. What did I do to piss Whiteling off so bad?
Mardukas had no further intention of digging himself into what, quite
possibly, would be the end of his career. He fought to keep awake,
despite the involuntary urge to fall asleep, to keep standing, despite the
screaming coming from his leg muscles, and most importantly...
"Leftenant Mardukas!"
"Yes! Sir!" Mardukas was close to exploding. He'd been kept at attention
for nearly 45 minutes. If this was a calling to the carpet, he wanted out!
Sorry, Father, but a career in Her Majesty's Royal Navy is not worth this
kind of punishment.
"Are you paying attention?"
"Sir?"
"I've been asking for the last 10 minutes the same question. Were you
not listening?"
Mardukas stood absolutely confused. He had been paying attention,
but Whiteling hadn't said anything. What kind of mindgame was being
played here? Why couldn't Whiteling just get it over with?
"Very well, since you were not paying attention, I will repeat it again for
your benefit. I asked, 'would you like to captain one of Her Majesty's
nuclear submarines?'"
If Mardukas' jaw could unhinge from his skull, it's most likely have fallen
and shattered on the floor. "C... C... Ca... Cap... Capt..."
"I will take that as a no. Good day, then, Leftenant. Report to the medics
for a full physical. Especially your hearing. Dismissed!"
Mardukas could no longer contain himself. He walked right up to
Whiteling's desk, slammed two balled fists onto it, and started
screaming. "Whiteling, you Goddamned son-of-a-bitch!! What kind of
game are you pulling here?! You've ordered me to your office, kept me
at attention for the last 45 minutes, then had the gall to say I haven't
been listening to you?! You want me to captain a nuc submarine?! Not in
this century! You can take that offer of yours and shove it so far up your
arse..."
Mardukas couldn't remember the rest, but if it were ever commited to
paper, it'd given anyone who read it an instant heart attack. There,
that's it, I've blown my career. Damn, did it feel good to stick it to
Whiteling!
Mardukas couldn't remember how long he kept staring down at Whiteling
after his blow up. Whiteling, true to reputation, never flinched the entire
time, which seemed to confirm Mardukas' suspicion that whenever the
good Lord of Whitehall got off his fat arse, Mardukas would be on his, on
the next ride out of Devonport bound for a desk job, if he was lucky.
Whiteling then did something surprisingly out of character. He faintly
started to smile. Then a soft chuckling began in his lower belly, moving
up his chest. Mardukas could tell he was trying to suppress it, but was
fighting a losing battle. Whiteling chortled with laughter, his entire body
shaking. Is this a good sign or bad sign?
Whiteling answered that immediately. "Good to have you aboard,
Mardukas! I'm glad you have some of your father's spine in you. I must
admit, I wasn't sure, but now I am! And no, this is not a joke. You are
being sent to captain one of Her Majesty's nuclear submarines. More
precisely, you're being sent to Perisher!"
Perisher. The magic word for British submariners. The place to go
to become a qualified Commanding Officer of a British nuclear
submarine. "And I am formally being invited to go... sir?"
* * *
His parents and family were, of course, prouder than hell. The Mardukas
line within the Royal Navy would be continued. Making a CO, a first for
the Mardukases, a nuclear submarine at that, caused much uproar...
and Richard bore the full weight of the responsibility on his shoulders.
Not everyone close to Richard took the news with the same enthusiasm
though. His lady friend, Rebecca, could only comment, "Oh, great."
"That's it? Great? Rebecca, it's a great step forward for me. It's like..."
But a comparison that she'd understand did not come easily to Richard. Rebecca was a true civillian, she liked her home in the English
countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of military bases and ports.
She liked her comfortable day-to-day job of keeping a small shop with
her father.
Richard remembered their first meeting, he in his dress whites, clashing
with her simple, homemade dress hand-patched too many times. It was
at a local pub, he on shore leave with a few friends, and they wanted to
sample the local entertainment. Was it love that she felt for him, or was it
because she was young, and had that innocent desire for a man in a
uniform?
"What do you want me to say Richard? Yes, I'm happy for you! If that's
where you want to go, don't let me stop you!"
"Rebecca, I..."
"Go, just go, Richard!" At the time, it didn't even feel like a fight. She
just didn't understand. In hindsight though, it was the beginning of the
end, for the last memory Richard Mardukas of the Royal Navy had of
Perisher was the coxswain giving him a bottle of whiskey and escorting
him back to shore.
* * *
He sat at the stool everyday. How comfortable it was. The barkeep even
knew him on sight. Have I been here that long?
Some people at the door. What the bloody hell do they want? A
drink? Leave me alone!
Conversations he couldn't make out. Do I want to know? Leave me alone!
Oh, bloody hell, they're coming here. Now what? Leave me alone!!
"Leftenant Mardukas?" the younger one asked.
Mardukas ignored them, pretending to find more interest in his drink.
"I am sure you are Leftenant Richard Mardukas of Her Majesty's Royal
Navy, or I would not be here."
Silence.
She turned to her companion whispering something in his ear. What
the hell are a bunch of bloody kids doing in a bar?! And who the hell
wants Richard Mardukas anyways? Richard Mardukas has been dead for
a long time.
"Leftenant Mardukas, I... I..." Damnit!!
"Listen, child, if you have something to say, say it! NEVER dance around
an issue, especially if it's important enough to take a man away from his
drink! That's the first thing you have to learn about life!"
Mardukas rose to his full height, intending to go on. Hell, my day is
ruined! Like I give a bloody... He looked more closely at her. Short,
young, platinum blue hair with a blue ribbon in it, the cutest grey eyes
he'd ever seen... Aren't you supposed to be in school, right now? he
wanted to ask. Her ethereal beauty haunted him. Her eyes showed such
youth and innocence, but concealed such determination. They were also
growing with apprehension, as if she were looking at a father about to
punish his daughter. As messed up as his life was, and as much pain as
there was, Mardukas still sought some redemption for past mistakes. In
that moment, heaven opened up to give him another chance.
Her companion moved to block him from getting any closer. "I'm sorry to
have disturbed you, sir. We've obviously got the wrong person."
No, don't let this chance slip away. "No... No, I should be the one
apologizing for my rudeness. I'm sorry. Please, sit."
Cautiously, the girl sat down. Taking a deep breath, she began her
pitch. "I... um, I'm here representing... a certain organization. We... we
require your services, Leftenant Mardukas. Your skills..."
Mardukas could see she had rehearsed this well, but was breaking under
the strain of the real performance. "Listen, my dear. Let's make this
simple for both of us. I'll ask the questions, and you nod your head, yes
or no, if I'm correct. Alright? You're here to find me, correct?"
A nod.
"Am I in trouble with somebody?"
A shake.
"Is this about retribution?"
A shake.
"Do I owe somebody money?"
Suddenly her companion jumped in. "Look, Leftenant Mardukas! We
were sent here by somebody you don't need to know, because somebody
high up thinks you're important enough for us to drag our asses out of
bed for an early morning flight, trans-atlantic, turn upside down every
damned bar and tavern in Southern England to find your sorry ass at the
bottom of a mug of beer! Now stuff that attitude of yours, or I'll stuff it
for you, after which you'll never see us again! Got it?!"
Mardukas, never used to having someone telling him off like that, a punk
one-third his age no less, got right back in his face. "Now YOU get me,
you little upstart! YOU'RE the ones that interrupted me. YOU'RE the
ones..."
"Listen, Pops! I've just about had it with...!"
"Oh STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!!" Mardukas froze, surprised at the sheer
force of will behind that statement. Damn, I underestimated her.
He turned to look at her companion, who was also froze in space in shock.
"Leftenant Mardukas, I know we've just met. But I'm asking you to trust
me on this, all will be explained to you in time. I must know, will you or
won't you join me... join us?"
"For what? You still haven't told me that! Who are you two? You're
way too young to be MI6, but this secrecy stuff..."
"As I said, that will be explained to you, ONLY if you choose to join us.
Will you, Leftenant Mardukas?" She put emphasis on his former
rank. Was it intented as an insult or...
"Let's go, Teletha. There's more candidates than THIS washed-up piece of ..."
But she would not budge. She just stood there, her eyes half-ordering,
half-pleading with Mardukas the man... Mardukas the man... Mardukas
the man...
What the bloody hell am I doing here anyway? "All right... Teletha,
was it? I'll go. I'd better get a good explanation out of this, though."
"That's CAPTAIN Teletha to you, Pops."
Shock. What the bloody hell have I gotten myself into now?
"Please, call me Tessa." She offered her hand. He saw her smile. Such
a beautiful smile, like that of an angel descended from heaven.
//
Mardukas felt a stab in his heart as he remembered that painful moment
in his life, where it seemed everything was taken away from him. If not
for Mithril, he would have had nothing, no future left. He didn't care to
contemplate where it might have lead to next. He looked down at Tessa,
whose sobbing has almost subsided.
"Thank you, Mardukas-san." Tessa whispered softly.
Mardukas could only sigh in relief. Tessa drew him into the hug
tighter. "Mmmm, I could almost..." She stopped herself before the rest
came out; it wouldn't have been proper. Passing some Kleenex to her,
she wiped off the last of her tears and looked at him in appreciation.
"Thank you, Mardukas-san. I hope you will forgive me for that break in protocol."
"It's already forgotten, Ma'am. Shall we go, then?"
"Yes!" she responded, her vigor renewed.
On the way out, she couldn't help but ask, "Mardukas-san. Were you
drinking earlier?"
Mardukas stiffened and blushed. She'd never seem much of his
emotional side before; and it did make him seem more human than the
usual at-attention, uptight officer he usually was. It was kinda cute in a
way, she had to admit. "I'm sorry, Captain Tessa. I hope you will forgive
me for that break in protocol."
"Don't worry, Commander. It's already forgotten." she said, smiling
warmly at him.
The bosun's whistle sounded.
"All hands, all hands. We are at recovery stations. FMH-1 is now
landing on deck. I repeat,..."
"They're here."
Her face set with determination, she replied "Let them come. I'm ready!"
They both started for the briefing room.
* * *
The briefing room had been rearranged for the inquiry. All non-essential
seats had been moved out, leaving two tables laid out facing one another
down the long side. One table for Mithril had a flag with the group insignia
placed in the middle. The other for the inquiry board sat empty. Each
table had four seats assigned to it. Pitchers of refreshments, along with
mugs and condiments had been thoughfully laid out.
Entering the briefing room, Tessa saw that Major Kalinin and Sergeant
Major Mao had already taken seats at the Mithril table. Major Kalinin had
a mug of coffee next to him. Mao's face did not betray any emotion, but
Tessa knew inside she was laughing like crazy at her little emotional
provocation earlier. She walked right by and took a seat next to her.
She won't win this round. she thought to herself. I will definately not
lose!
The minutes seemed to tick on forever, yet their guests still hadn't
arrived. Were they lost? Possible. Had they heard wrong? No
way. Was this a sick practical joke? I'll kill them.
The silence was begining to wear. Major Kalinin sat, drinking mug after
mug of coffee. Him too, I see.
Mao shuffled through her folders, checking and rechecking nothing in
particular. Pressure getting to you, Mao-san? Should I order a beer for
you? Maybe six?
Mardukas desperately wished for some of the coffee himself, but he had
no wish to break the silence to ask Kalinin to pass a mug down.
After what seemed like an eternity, a knock at the hatch broke the
silence, and it opened. Tessa stood up to greet the board, motioning
everyone to follow suit. A crewmember ushered in a tall, overly-dressed
man, evident by his expensively tailored suit that could've been obtained
cheaper if he bothered walking the five blocks from his house. A slightly
shorter but much younger man followed, bringing along two briefcases.
The taller man immediately sat down at the other table, not even
bothering to greet the assembled Mithril group. The slightly shorter man
laid the briefcases on the table, dialed a combination and opened them.
His boss, obviously. So that's the party from the independent
investigation group. Probably sent as mouthpieces for whoever pulled off
this sham of an inquiry.
The tall man took out several folders, one by one, obviously taking his
time. The shorter man remained standing, looking like the perfect
toadie. The tall man opened a folder and shuffled some papers, coughing
slightly. Clearing your throat, or is the air too cold for you?
Tessa's eyes occasionally darted to the hatch. Two people, there was
supposed to be four altogether to make up the inquiry board.
Finally, the tall man broke his self-imposed silence. "You may sit." He
didn't even bother to make eye contact.
Tessa fumed. She hadn't been ignored so blatantly since...
The tall man looked up and began. "Ladies. Gentlemen. I am Senator
Hincks. This is my aide, Kevin Saunders."
"And where is Marshal Bukharin?"
"Pardon me, who?"
"Marshal Bukharin, the gentleman from Mithril Internal Affairs. He was
the one who was supposed to be co-investigating this affair with you."
"Oh, him." Hincks suddenly remembered, as if recalling something best
left in the past. "Sadly, the Marshal could not make it. He met with an...
unfortunate accident. I only got word of it as we were to lift off. Such a
pity. I was so bored on the flight."
Senator Hincks made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice. The
challenge was thrown down. Show me what you really are.
"Now, my friends, my time is valuable, and we have much to cover. Let's
get aquainted, shall we?"
* * *
No Author Notes. In this case, Author pleads brain-damage
Regards
