Re: A Long War
Posted: Thu Jul 10, 2014 6:10 pm
Wonder what's taking people so long, Pure thought to himself. The four of them had been sat in the Skyranger for a good ten minutes, now. He glanced at the others. Flan had her iPod plugged into her ears and was pointedly ignoring everyone as she tapped her foot in tune to some music unknown to anyone else. Dabir had kicked back and was relaxing, hands behind his head and a wide, smug smile on his face. This would have been cause for question for anyone but Man Jackson, whose smugness was pretty much a defining characteristic. Zax, on the contrary, was the most serene person in the back of the Skyranger. He'd finished checking his gear a few minutes ago and was now just sitting back, eyes closed and arms crossed. Pure vaguely recalled that he was the officer that had woken him up. He certainly looked the part, in his wargear. Of all of the soldiers that Pure had met so far, Zax was the only one that chose to stick to the standard issue equipment. He'd never asked him why, but with the Lance Corporal apparently meditating, right now probably wasn't the right moment to ask.
There was a metallic clank and Pure turned to see two soldiers arriving to join them, finally. Pure inhaled sharply. The first of the two was clad in armour of a rather interesting shade of purple, but wore a terrifying death mask of a helmet that appeared to show their visage as a black skull. As the soldier took the seat to Zax's right, both Dabir and Zax sat up and greeted the newcomer with a wave and a shake of hands. However, Pure was still a little bit apprehensive. After all, they were, to all intents and purposes, greeting a skeleton.
A figure swept past him. He looked up to see a flat-top haircut and black armour accented with a hint of orange. As he turned to sit on Zax's left, Dabir raised another hand in greeting. Pure peered at the face of the newcomer and realised that he was looking at Alex Mdle, the most accomplished soldier in the corps. A Belgian-born German, Alex was in his mid-thirties, one of the oldest soldiers enlisted at XCOM. His face was beginning to show signs of age, but his bright eyes revealed a sniper's particular nature: methodical, quick and precise. Flan was similar, but her eyes were frequently clouded over by something else that most people couldn't quite understand. She glanced round and locked eyes with Alex for a moment and there was the briefest of understandings between the two snipers. Pure caught it in its dying swansong as Flan's expression returned to its usual moody state. Alex sat down opposite Flan, not at all concerned with being snubbed off. He appeared to have a faint hint of arrogance, but nobody yet asserted that he'd not earned it.
Alex's achievements weren't to be sniffed at. In his first engagement, he killed four aliens without breaking a sweat and his tactical knowledge was remarkable. There were a couple of whispers of being in the right place at the right time, but the rest of the squad on that trip (Rumia Kuro, Sonia Sinstg, Spider Scionox, Wiz Kin and Aqua Mancia) noted that Alex was just as under fire as the rest of them, if not more. Manouevrability served them well, that mission. Everybody took at least an assist away from the mission, but Alex brought back four heads.
Despite this, his posture was rather reserved. Not quite as poker-backed as Zax, Alex seemed to be a little less weathered than the Lance Corporal sat besides him. It was highly likely that with the two soldiers in tandem, the Skyranger was holding more combined years of experience in terrestrial warfare than the rest of XCOM. Pure felt both relieved and intimidated. He was the lowest ranked soldier here; Dabir, Alex and Zax, Pure knew to be Lance Corporals, and the terrifying figure to Zax's right had similar insignia, and Flan herself was a Specialist. On the one hand, he felt reassured to have so much experience in the squad, but on the other, he wondered what exactly demanded so many veterans of combat and what he was getting himself into. The door of the Skyranger started to slowly close and the dropship began to shudder. Here goes nothing, Pure thought to himself. He wished that he had thought to bring a medkit.
***
8th March 2015
Waiting for the door to open, Central Officer Bradford left Mission Control. The walk to the Commander's office took him through the Situation Room from where XCOM's political position was managed. Most, anyway. It was the Commander's prerogative to deal with the bureaucrats, and he most often did that from his office. He wasn't sure how the news would be taken, they had been in service together for a week, but Bradford still couldn't read the man. The Situation Room bathed him in blue, green and red as he knocked on the door on the far side. After a brief pause, he heard a muffled "Hello?" and took that as an invitation to step through.
The office itself was a rather interestingly plain affair. The most adornment was a red banner hung against the back wall with the XCOM sigil emblazoned on it in gold. A jacket hung on a doorhandle to a small broom closet and a used coffee mug sat on the desk in front of the three computer monitors from which the Commander had access to most of XCOM's operations. The Commander himself was reading a book sat in his chair, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, feet up on the desk. Despite himself, Bradford couldn't help but smile briefly. It was nice to know there was some degree of normality left in the world.
"Yes, Mr Bradford?" the Commander asked, swinging his legs to the floor and sitting up straight.
"Sorry, sir, just wanted you to know that Morbid Hydra was a success."
"Good!" the Commander grinned. "Any outstanding performances?"
"Yes, sir, the whole team was exemplary. Not a scratch on 'em."
"As we'd hoped. What about the ones I told you to keep an eye on?"
"Very, very well, sir. All three of them were laudable, and very likely to be useful for secondary deployment."
"Excell-" A siren cut the Commander off and a red light flashed hard at him from the computer monitor. He stared at it hard, an expression of dismay clear on his face.
"What is it, sir?" Bradford asked tentatively.
"It's... it's Japan," the Commander finally managed, throwing his book to the table and striding round towards the exit. Bradford stepped out of his way and followed him into the Situation Room. The red that had been only slight when Bradford had walked in earlier was now harsher. He was dumbfounded. "I... I don't understand. We haven't even heard of anything notable from the whole region!"
"I know, Officer. Can we get the news on this thing?" the Commander asked, looking to Bradford.
"Should be able to," Bradford mused, moving to a console. The map of the world briefly flickered before changing to a CNN broadcast. "... now to Tokyo where the the Prime Minister Keiji Makahoto is giving a live speech to the nation and the world." The news anchor disappeared, replaced by a middle-aged Japanese man wearing a royal blue suit staring straight into the camera, speaking in Japanese. After a few moments, his sound was suppressed and a Japanese accented interpreter spoke in his place: "It has truly been... an honour, an honour, to have been at the forefront ooooof this effort. But our focus lies at the heart of this, this contact. We believe that a nonconfrontational approach is the best solution to our problems. What is war but a path away from peace? I hereby do..."
The Commander remained stony faced throughout. Bradford turned to watch him. He waved briefly. "Turn it off." Just as Bradford was going to, the Commander spoke up sharply, "No, no! stop!" He marched up to the console. "Rewind it, say half a minute. There!" he pointed at a faint purple glow at the Prime Minister's collar. "That!"
Realisation dawned. "That's the same thing we saw in Montreal!" Bradford exclaimed.
"This has gotta have been sabotage," the Commander concluded, a hard edge in his voice. "Get back to Mission Control. I'll get in touch with the Council and see what assets we have in the far east." Bradford nodded, returning the Situation Room to its original state and giving it one last stare before returning to control room.
There was a metallic clank and Pure turned to see two soldiers arriving to join them, finally. Pure inhaled sharply. The first of the two was clad in armour of a rather interesting shade of purple, but wore a terrifying death mask of a helmet that appeared to show their visage as a black skull. As the soldier took the seat to Zax's right, both Dabir and Zax sat up and greeted the newcomer with a wave and a shake of hands. However, Pure was still a little bit apprehensive. After all, they were, to all intents and purposes, greeting a skeleton.
A figure swept past him. He looked up to see a flat-top haircut and black armour accented with a hint of orange. As he turned to sit on Zax's left, Dabir raised another hand in greeting. Pure peered at the face of the newcomer and realised that he was looking at Alex Mdle, the most accomplished soldier in the corps. A Belgian-born German, Alex was in his mid-thirties, one of the oldest soldiers enlisted at XCOM. His face was beginning to show signs of age, but his bright eyes revealed a sniper's particular nature: methodical, quick and precise. Flan was similar, but her eyes were frequently clouded over by something else that most people couldn't quite understand. She glanced round and locked eyes with Alex for a moment and there was the briefest of understandings between the two snipers. Pure caught it in its dying swansong as Flan's expression returned to its usual moody state. Alex sat down opposite Flan, not at all concerned with being snubbed off. He appeared to have a faint hint of arrogance, but nobody yet asserted that he'd not earned it.
Despite this, his posture was rather reserved. Not quite as poker-backed as Zax, Alex seemed to be a little less weathered than the Lance Corporal sat besides him. It was highly likely that with the two soldiers in tandem, the Skyranger was holding more combined years of experience in terrestrial warfare than the rest of XCOM. Pure felt both relieved and intimidated. He was the lowest ranked soldier here; Dabir, Alex and Zax, Pure knew to be Lance Corporals, and the terrifying figure to Zax's right had similar insignia, and Flan herself was a Specialist. On the one hand, he felt reassured to have so much experience in the squad, but on the other, he wondered what exactly demanded so many veterans of combat and what he was getting himself into. The door of the Skyranger started to slowly close and the dropship began to shudder. Here goes nothing, Pure thought to himself. He wished that he had thought to bring a medkit.
***
8th March 2015
Waiting for the door to open, Central Officer Bradford left Mission Control. The walk to the Commander's office took him through the Situation Room from where XCOM's political position was managed. Most, anyway. It was the Commander's prerogative to deal with the bureaucrats, and he most often did that from his office. He wasn't sure how the news would be taken, they had been in service together for a week, but Bradford still couldn't read the man. The Situation Room bathed him in blue, green and red as he knocked on the door on the far side. After a brief pause, he heard a muffled "Hello?" and took that as an invitation to step through.
The office itself was a rather interestingly plain affair. The most adornment was a red banner hung against the back wall with the XCOM sigil emblazoned on it in gold. A jacket hung on a doorhandle to a small broom closet and a used coffee mug sat on the desk in front of the three computer monitors from which the Commander had access to most of XCOM's operations. The Commander himself was reading a book sat in his chair, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, feet up on the desk. Despite himself, Bradford couldn't help but smile briefly. It was nice to know there was some degree of normality left in the world.
"Yes, Mr Bradford?" the Commander asked, swinging his legs to the floor and sitting up straight.
"Sorry, sir, just wanted you to know that Morbid Hydra was a success."
"Good!" the Commander grinned. "Any outstanding performances?"
"Yes, sir, the whole team was exemplary. Not a scratch on 'em."
"As we'd hoped. What about the ones I told you to keep an eye on?"
"Very, very well, sir. All three of them were laudable, and very likely to be useful for secondary deployment."
"Excell-" A siren cut the Commander off and a red light flashed hard at him from the computer monitor. He stared at it hard, an expression of dismay clear on his face.
"What is it, sir?" Bradford asked tentatively.
"It's... it's Japan," the Commander finally managed, throwing his book to the table and striding round towards the exit. Bradford stepped out of his way and followed him into the Situation Room. The red that had been only slight when Bradford had walked in earlier was now harsher. He was dumbfounded. "I... I don't understand. We haven't even heard of anything notable from the whole region!"
"I know, Officer. Can we get the news on this thing?" the Commander asked, looking to Bradford.
"Should be able to," Bradford mused, moving to a console. The map of the world briefly flickered before changing to a CNN broadcast. "... now to Tokyo where the the Prime Minister Keiji Makahoto is giving a live speech to the nation and the world." The news anchor disappeared, replaced by a middle-aged Japanese man wearing a royal blue suit staring straight into the camera, speaking in Japanese. After a few moments, his sound was suppressed and a Japanese accented interpreter spoke in his place: "It has truly been... an honour, an honour, to have been at the forefront ooooof this effort. But our focus lies at the heart of this, this contact. We believe that a nonconfrontational approach is the best solution to our problems. What is war but a path away from peace? I hereby do..."
The Commander remained stony faced throughout. Bradford turned to watch him. He waved briefly. "Turn it off." Just as Bradford was going to, the Commander spoke up sharply, "No, no! stop!" He marched up to the console. "Rewind it, say half a minute. There!" he pointed at a faint purple glow at the Prime Minister's collar. "That!"
Realisation dawned. "That's the same thing we saw in Montreal!" Bradford exclaimed.
"This has gotta have been sabotage," the Commander concluded, a hard edge in his voice. "Get back to Mission Control. I'll get in touch with the Council and see what assets we have in the far east." Bradford nodded, returning the Situation Room to its original state and giving it one last stare before returning to control room.