Originally Posted by
grampagen
One Year Ago
Breaching the eddying surface of the underground waterway, the stealth craft rose in a babbling wash. Amphibious carriers ferrying the shipment rose in the submarine docking station at a stony shore of the base. As the chamber depressurized, an iron-clad clank sounded as the latch door opened, and a rotation of exhausted recon men spilled out, single file.
The Northern detachment. They're back earlier than expected.
The sudden flutter and rush of air compelled Kenshiko to pull down the flat bill of her cap. Without a real aerodrome in the place, despite how guarded their exits from the outside world may have been, whenever a landing was made in Charlie Base within the carved-out hollow between the rock, every member of the Red Raider personnel would knew their men had returned. Her eyes surveyed the landing strip, shaded with aviators. As the skids set down and the whine of the propellers slowed, they reflected the oversight of returning, successful operations. Every small victory seemed to net them further momentum, and when the cargo ramp fell down, the latest material folded out.
"A crate of Capsules marked for disposal, at least on the manifest. These'll be all the components we'll need." Gero. Their insider had come through with a decidedly spiteful frequency. The prettyboy's number two, she's got an axe to grind.
Now that their supply chain started moving again, they had the material to return to fighting shape. After First Sergeant Connor was discharged from the infirmary, they put his gimped self in the brig. She thought she'd return to that damn manual Ochazuke left her, but despite her efforts to get the staff off her back, they'd come to her with a a desperate and rather pointed need for order.
The waiting game had been easy. Without a battle to fight a lot of them saw fit to coast and count the days by. Soldiers beaten back, sequestered without a purpose, collecting dust like the last bits of civilized flotsam that built the grounds Charlie Base was built on. So much fear had been sown among them within their own ranks, but it seemed that the forceful restructuring had stirred something. Living among the ruins of this silent civilization, their strange band remembered they could be more than grifter mercs and militia rejects; among them walked a Tiger,
Countless fights and however many confirmed kills in the field had given her an eye for certain inadequacies. It seldom brought her friends, but it was a useful talent to prod people forward as a teacher. Just like the good old days...for whatever good it will do. She thought she'd left that behind with the good, dead boys of Scarlet Squadron, but the Blood Red Master Gunny was something the platoon wanted back.
Just was another mask she wore that she could not allow to slip.
So with every order shouted, every salute raised, every limb locked and folded, there came a galvanization in the ranks. In the months to come they'd actually volunteered to work harder than even they thought possible. The sound of uniformly tromping boots traced laps, regular as clockwork. Every man would be ready to go as they were able, and it weighed heavily on her mind.
ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!
People were counting on her to show them the exact moment where death comes. To recognize how to kill the fear it when it came calling, and drag it down to the dirt. How the hell was she supposed to do that?
I-LOVE-THE RED-CORPS!
The best they could do, Kenshiko told them, was to count on each other. Watch your six. To stiffen up and lay down on the wire. A whole lot of these were cliches, beat in by rote and discipline. All of this she'd done before.
Walking down the shooting range on the hollow side of the mountain, the the anchored spotlights shone on the metal reinforcements, wrapped around like a shadowy spine and ribs. Across the distance it was like standing in the belly of a whale. The beast had swallowed what was left of Vermilion.
The troops were full of fire. But even with the technical staff reverse-engineering around the clock, that wouldn't be enough. It'll carry them through training for now, but they need more time. And the longer Grinthorn choked this rock, the more valuable the shrinking minutes became.
The Tiger Master, she knew they looked to her for direction, but in many respects she was just as lost as they were. Like them, she ended up here precisely because she had no place else to go; And just like last time, she found herself training an entire corps, doomed to die.
When the hours had run to the dusk rotation and the last few jokers carried their asses past the fiftieth lap, Kenshiko withdrew and sought out answers. She'd assumed the authority to put them through their paces. In turn she found herself assuming the responsibility of being their acting voice, and the fighting men needed answers.
That could only come from the upper ranks; The Golem, Damask, and the architect of this rebellion, Willa Rautt.
"Colonel. We need to talk."