1: Thorns in the Side

Deep Forests

Alleghe Wilds, Ver Sayles

7 August 3062

-Colonel Remy Duciel-

-Commanding Officer, Allegheny Irregulars-

Remy leapt from stone to stone as he zigzagged up the rocky ravine towards his destination.  The remainder of his command element lagged behind, groaning and grumbling from the effort.  He urged them on, turning back ahead and scrambling up to the rocky ledge.

“It’s like yinz have never left a ‘mech cockpit before.  Some time learning these hills’n hollers’ll do ya’ some good. C’mon now, it’s just up here.”

With an impish grin, Duciel disappeared over an outcropping ahead of his comrades.  Okaanen was the first to catch up with his commander, and as he swung his large frame over the ledge on to level ground, he was greeted by a nearly vibrating Remy.

“Here’s the door, Oak.  I can get it open… used to explore the place as a kid.  But now… you, me, we can get the power running again!”

Remy began pulling on a large metal door seemingly just set directly into the hillside.  It creaked and groaned from the provocation, but eventually began to give way.  The commander ducked through the opening into the blackness beyond, and his five companions joined as quickly as possible.  Inside, flashlights switched on as the group cut through the darkness, navigating toward the structure’s generator room.  After what felt like hours but was less than five minutes of navigating the dark tunnels, Remy held his hand up sharply and whispered for the group to cut their flashlights.  A low hum up ahead had brought him to an abrupt stop.

“Generator’s running.  Tunnels are dark on purpose.  Someone’s here, and wants to stay hidden.  Thermal if you have it, no light unless absolutely necessary.  Hold fire, hand-to-hand in these tunnels.  Let’s not kill anyone unless they make us.”

Remy switched on his night-vision goggles, and drew his twin daggers.  “Doesn’t matter if it's sword and sorcery tales or the real deal, any rogue worth their salt keeps a blade handy,” Duciel muttered as he slowly probed forward toward the generator room.  Pipes dripped with condensation, as the water within cooled against the rock walls of the corridors.  As Remy probed forward, he saw two figures ahead.  Still cloaked in the darkness, he signaled back to his comrades, and as he moved forward, Kreiya closed enough of the distance to train a shotgun sporting a massive suppressor on the target furthest from her commander. Remy paused for a moment, and as he took a step toward his quarry, Kreiya fired.  As its shell casing separated, a tranquilizer dart flew forward into the far target.  Distracted, Remy’s mark turned toward their comrade, and Duciel took the opportunity to knock him out cold with a blow to the skull with his knife hilt.  As Kreiya and Serah moved up to aid Remy, they dragged the woman and man back into the darkness from which they had approached.

“Alright, let’s get these two secure. Try to learn something.”

After several minutes of fumbling around and ensuring they had distanced themselves enough from any prying eyes, Remy had Kreiya turn on a small electric lantern and set it near the pair of captives.  Oak produced a vial of smelling salts, slowly rousing the two.

“You might as well kill us, we’re not giving anything up.”

The woman gained her senses first, and spat on the ground at Remy’s feet.

“Now that’s not the welcome home I was lookin’ for at all!  I’ve dragged my butt hundreds of light-years across this damn galaxy to take care of my people, and some lowlife is gonna spit on my boots?”

“Wait… you’re not one of them…”

Her expression softened, and as she looked up to study Duciel’s face, he saw a mixture of surprise and confusion in her deep violet eyes.  In response, he relaxed the grip on his sidearm, instead moving his hand to his jacket pocket and producing a cigarette.

“I’ve been ‘me’ but usually never ‘them,’ no.”

“He’s also been ‘that idiot,’ probably most often, honestly.”

“Not the time, Ancilar.”

The man’s face now shot up in shock.

“Ancilar?  As in the noble house from the inter-planetary council?  No… we’ll talk.  We’re not your enemies.  The Reverend is going to want to meet you all…”

Remy shot his hand up in the air and cut the man off, offering both captives cigarettes.

“Hold on… first I want to know who you thought we were.”

“We assumed you were garrison troops that finally caught on to us, but it didn’t make any sense… this place is basically invisible unless you know the area.”

Remy’s face lit up a bit, and after he lit the pair’s smokes, he reached behind both captives and cut their bindings.  Kreiya rolled her eyes a bit, but there was no objection to the act from any of the Irregulars.

“I’m a prodigal son of these here hills and forests, friend.  If you’re trying to keep the boot off of your neck here, you’re right, you’re not our enemies.  The thing is, I have a company of ‘Mechs that need a home, and this place is the only one on this rock that ticks all the boxes.  So yeah, I’m gonna need to talk to the Rev.”

Kreiya, who had been steeping tea in an oversized canteen, offered some to the prisoners turned guests, as she turned to address the pair.

“Now, I imagine if you two walk in with six of us on your heels that’s going to make a poor impression.  What is the least likely way to establish contact without setting off a panic that ends in very unfortunate events?”

As Kreiya spoke, the woman looked more and more pale.  When she finally moved into the lantern light, tea in hand, the woman stood up with a start.  She snapped to attention and produced a brisk military salute.

“Oh! Hauptmann Marsden, my apologies, ma’am.  Wasn’t aware it was you, it’s been nearly two decades…”

She slowly relaxed as old habits gave way to the current state of affairs, but Kreiya slowly recognized the blue-haired woman as Merilth Janessen, a former subordinate from her time in her homeworld's military.  Marsden recalled the woman being a bit lacking in initiative, but willing to reject any orders she saw as too reckless or costly to her troops.

“It's Lieutenant Colonel now, Meri.  I’ve gone independent, and Commander Duciel has insisted we come back to his home to become a thorn in someone’s side.  I understand it may present as a bit hypocritical, but I have to say, I didn’t expect to run into you here.  I’m assuming you’re also either AWOL or otherwise detached from the service?”

“That’s correct, Gene… I mean… I guess just Kreiya, then?  Anyway, I left the service behind and started working in humanitarian relief for occupied worlds.  It’s a long story, but I found myself here. Ended up stripped of my credentials as an international aid worker due to some intentional red tape, and became an unfortunate guest of the occupation.  One night, the Reverend and a small group of militia raided the garrison, broke me out.  They didn’t conscript me or anything, but I saw that they were working for the people here.  It wasn’t just about getting mad and hurting people… they make sure the food ends up with the hungry, the electricity stays on, and nobody spends the winter cold.”

Remy chuckled a bit at Merilith’s story. After she concluded, he gingerly tapped at the butt of the rifle slung over her shoulder.

“The healing properties of a full metal jacket are often misunderstood, mon cher ami.”

“I’m an idealist, not an idiot. And the wolves are always at the doorstep out here.”

—————-

Roughly fifteen minutes passed after the Irregulars decided to send Russ, Merilith’s partner, back to the Reverend.  Then, the hallway came to life, as the lights were remotely activated.  The sound of boots on the rock floors echoed, first faintly, but building in a crescendo until the first figure rounded the corner.  A half-dozen armed civilians greeted the Irregulars, weapons slung and hands empty.  They stopped at a comfortable distance from the mercenaries, and stood at what would be best described as a “lazy attention,” waiting as the Reverend came forward from behind their ranks.  He was a short man, even more so than Remy.  His face was worn, but kind, with a pair of eyeglasses sitting sharply on his nose below his short brown hair.  He wore a loose-fitting shirt, and an ornately embroidered but faded blue and silver stole hung from his neck.  The priestly sash and monk-like shirt were a stark contrast to the olive drab hunting jacket and worn, dirtied blue jeans that completed the man’s ensemble.  He looked the group over, but it was Remy that spoke first.

“I figured they had meant Reverend in a less literal sense, but I see I was mistaken.  Apologies in advance for my foul mouth, Rev.”

The Reverend produced a bottle of scotch from the messenger bag slung over his shoulder, clattering a bit awkwardly through the tunnels as the hunting rifle over his shoulder rattled against his gear.  He poured a small bit into two metal cups, and offered one to Remy.

“My brother, comrade Russ tells me you’ve got a company of mechs that needs a home and wants to cause our oppressors trouble… I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you these small transgressions.”

Remy motioned down toward the main body of the compound as he continued sizing up his new host.

“Rev, about all that… I’m not here for a holy war, I’m here for my people.  So before I ask you to get me acquainted with the place, I want to make sure you don’t see a bunch of unwitting crusaders walking through your door.”

The Reverend looked back at Remy, and his hazel eyes flashed with a look of genuine relief.

“I’d hope for nothing less, Commander.  I’m here for these people’s lives.  Their souls, I’ll ask for, sure… but that’s not a choice to make at gunpoint.”

The Commander looked back at his officers, and a collective nod of agreement was made.  Kreiya, of course, added her thoughts as the group made their way toward the main room of the Irregulars’ new home.

“Keep your holy water away from me and we’ll get on alright.  And if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick to my personal liquor while we’re here… I don’t want to catch your religion.”

The Reverend looked back at Kreiya with a grin.

“We traded the communion wine for Molotov cocktails, don’t worry.  There is a time to preach and a time to practice, and I think you’ve met me at the right time to keep our relationship amicable.”

His response seemed to amuse the Hag enough to put her at ease, and she seemed to relax slightly as the group reached the improvised comms room set up in an old worker’s barracks.  The Reverend set down his rifle in the corner, and beckoned Remy over to the computer console.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to upload the coordinates here manually… any broadcast would immediately alert the occupation forces.”

“Understood.  We’ve got ample ECM to get the mechs here unnoticed.  Once we set up shop, I’m confident Okaanen can get us secure comms for the future.  Should help your operation out as much as ours.  Stronger together, right, Rev?”

The Reverend looked warily at Remy, sizing him up for a moment.  His eyes lingered on the commander’s old army jacket, a momentary flash of acknowledgment lighting them up before he answered.

“Don’t know if you’re a prayer answered, Commander Duciel.  But I do know this: when God has no angels on high suited for the work at hand, They often have a fallen one perfect for the job.”