Military Intervention

Creech Duncan looked over the mission and scowled. This was an ordinary milk run, nothing to get nerved over, but that didn’t stop him from launching his breakfast over the side of the airship. He always did. In the superstitious part of his mind, that meant he would be coming back from this one. In the part of his mind that hated vomiting, it meant that if he had to do this job much longer, he would put in for a desk job rather than losing a good portion of his nutrients to the birds and wind.
Their last mission had not been so easy. Some Antag called The Rushing Wind had leveled most of a forest in Russia before they’d contained him. Fortunately, it was in an area where no one had lived for hundreds of years.
He wiped his mouth with a fresh handkerchief and went to freshen up.  As he washed his hands he thought about retirement. It was looming closer every day and it frightened him. What would he do with his time? Could he ever truly be a civilian again after twenty years of service?
He stepped into the Ready Room. Cappy was sitting at her desk studying a picture of a man wearing an ornate mask. She did not seem to notice that Creech had entered the room. Creech found some work for himself over at his desk. He made a show of being noisy to try to get Cap’s attention.
Cappy had been unusually silent before missions lately, and that was not okay. Usually, she had a word of encouragement for the soldiers under her command. Every mission had a new speech, even the possibly boring ones, especially the possibly boring ones. Because when you were working Delta Squad it meant a level of prestige that most soldiers had never thought they could aspire themselves to. The men needed a lighthouse to guide them. But she was lost in thought. She seemed to be happy to emulate the rocks that would wreck their little dinghy of a unit if she did not do some goddamn shining with her words.
Creech cleared his throat. Cappy looked at him as if she were expecting to find something there on his face. Not finding anything, she looked down.
“Something on your mind, Creech?”
“I was just wondering if you had something to say to the crew. I know I always liked to hear a few words from my superior officer before mission go. It always got me ready.”
“Would that be before or after you’d lost your breakfast?”
Creech gaped for a moment as if to ask ‘how could you say such a thing?’, before bursting into a laughing fit. Cappy joined him. They had been through the war together. There was no topic off limits for jokes to either of them, which suited Creech just fine. Having had a stale humorless commander through most of his earlier career had made him leery of anyone who did not laugh, appropriate or not.
“Usually right after. There’s nothing like inspirational words to nourish a body.”
“Sure, sure, I’ve got that. Tell me something, Creech, have you dealt with this Ayres character before? The name sounds so familiar, but I just can’t place him. Also the dossier has no picture of his face. There’s just that stupid mask.”
“That mask probably cost him a cool two thousand. Look at all of those delicate features. That set him back some.”
“I don’t care if it is made of imported ground saber horn, it’s horrible and stupid. It’s not just the mask that bothers me. He’s wearing a mask, fine. Why is he still going by his real name? What is he hiding?”
“Maybe he was injured in the war. There’s no way to know at this point. He’s an Antag, he goes where power can be obtained. That’s all we need to know. If Radcliffe does his job, all we have to do is walk in, slap cuffs on Ayres, and get everyone back to civilization. It doesn’t have to be difficult.”
“You know better than that. Any number of things can go wrong in there. I don’t risk my people on maybe. Not now, not ever.”
“Relax. Radcliffe is a professional. I know that he’s done over twenty of these things.”
“You’re right, Creech. It’s just that Antag’s name. I just wish I could place it. It’s like I know it, in the edge of my brain, but it’s so slippery. I can’t pick it up and look at it.”
“You’ll get it, Cap. In the meantime, let’s go give those guys something to think about.”
Cappy nodded. She appreciated that Creech thought her pep talks were necessary, but lately she saw little point to them. Creech thought every mission was different. That may have been true just after The Competition had started, but more often than not, it seemed that they only got to do cleanup now. Some of the newspapers had taken to calling them the Denouement Squad. Fortunately, most people did not get the joke.
‘Let them laugh,’ she thought, ‘I’m just a few years away from early retirement. Maybe then I’ll get into the adventuring business myself. I didn’t make Captain at 26 on my looks.’
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get on the bird.”
Creech saluted. Cap didn’t like when he did that, but he was an old soldier. It would take a long time before he could break himself of it.
They walked from the ready room out onto the deck of the airship where the rest of the squad was waiting for them in formation. Cappy thought about it for a few seconds and then just launched into it.
“Attention! We are about to debark for the mission site. I need all of you to keep your collective head on a swivel. I know this job sounds like low hanging fruit. Hell, it has been for a while, but we are Delta Squad, dammit! We’re the people that can handle whatever is thrown at us! It’s up to every one of you to make sure this is another success in our folder. You are responsible for that. Let’s make it another win for Delta, people! Load up and let’s move!”
As one, Delta Squad grunted and made a beeline for the whirlybird. Cappy felt good about that one. Motivating the men seemed to be giving her a lift. She put Ayres out of her mind then and stepped into the command chair of the aircraft.
They were able to touch down a little under a hundred feet from the entrance to Marcurio’s cave. Creech thanked the twin gods of intel and logistics. He hurried the troops out of the chopper and made them check their equipment again. There was no excuse, in Creech’s mind, for mission failure due to controllable factors. Once the squad had checked everything, they lined up in marching formation.
“They look good, Cap. We’re ready to move out.”
“Good work, Creech. Let’s go earn our money.”
Delta moved through the snow quickly. Within moments they gained the entrance. Once they were in, Creech took a few moments to examine the first lock. He didn’t understand it. He recognized the odd letter here or there, but the rest were just symbols carved in to stone. The squad moved on without comment.
The next room was a dump. Shards of broken pottery were everywhere. In the center of the room an urn rested on a small pedestal. Creech walked over to it and lifted the urn slightly. Both doors leading out of the room started to close. He placed it back on the pedestal and  the doors opened once more.
“Clever.”
“Leave the trap investigation for now, Creech. I just want to get this done. You’ll have plenty of time for your hobby after that.”
“Sorry, Cap, I let my curiosity get the better of me.”
“Just stay on your toes, we don’t have time to scrape you off the ceiling.”
 Creech nodded and went to the next door. What he saw there made him gasp. The beauty of the carvings and brass were a stark contrast to the broken man half in the door. Hardigan was trying to pull himself through the third entrance with his arms. Blood was dribbling from his mouth. His legs were trailing behind him pathetically. An expression of excruciating pain wracked his face.
“Balmforth! Austen! Front and center! Get this man stabilized.”
Two soldiers stepped forward and started to assemble a stretcher. Within a minute, they had Hardigan’s neck in a brace and jammed a spike of morphine in his neck. Hardigan faded quickly into unconsciousness.
Balmforth did not like his patient’s chances for ever walking again. It was likely the man’s back was broken. There was no way to tell until they’d gotten him into the airship’s sick bay.
“Do we have an ID on this one, Creech?”
Creech pulled the mission dossier from his pack. He flipped through it quickly until he found a picture of the injured man. He skimmed over the information quickly.
“This is Robert Hardigan. He’s a nasty piece of work. Did some time for pederasty back five years ago. He got into doing henchman work right out of prison.”
“Ugh. Huddle up, everybody. We don’t know what happened to this man. Maybe Ayres got tired of this one. Maybe Radcliffe went rogue. What we do know is that this man has been seriously injured. I need you to have your weapons ready. This was not in the lesson plan. Balmforth and Austen get to babysit our friend here. The rest of you need to make me proud again today.”
Creech sneaked a peek into the room. He was not prepared for what he saw there. Ayres was on the ground, no discernible cause. Radcliffe was crouched behind cover holding a phaser and a red blur moved through the room with alarming speed. Suddenly, the blur stopped moving. He saw a boy where the blur stopped. The boy who, looked to be Radcliffe’s sidekick, fell in a heap next to Ayres. Creech signaled all clear and Delta moved into the chamber.