Recoil (a Worm fanfic)

Recoil

Part 4-5: After-Action Report​

[Author's Note: After the last chapter was posted, questions were asked about Taylor's methods and personal feelings regarding the mission. Hopefully, these will be now answered.]


Saturday Afternoon, April 2 1994

The RCMP came into the compound fast, with weapons at the ready. Those few guards left behind were disarmed and subdued quickly; they were just a little disoriented, unable to resist effectively. Within the compound, the invaders found unarmed women, some infant children, and the corpse of the man called Nikos Vasil.

He had been shot twice; the first bullet had punched in through his breastbone and out through the back, leaving a massive hole in one lung. With immediate attention, he might just possibly have survived that wound; however, the second shot had struck his left thigh, essentially turning his femur into shrapnel. His leg had been torn apart, the femoral artery shredded. Bone splinters had slashed through his body in all directions, some reaching as far up as his neck. Death had almost certainly come within seconds.

Of some interest was the guard who was laid out beside him. This man had been shot from the back; the bullet, apparently in the region of a fifty calibre round, had punched through a Kevlar vest, through the man's body, and out through the vest again. It was determined that this was almost certainly the same shot that had punched the hole in Vasil's lung. Shreds from the vest were strewn throughout Vasil's wound, making the conclusion relatively easy.

Investigation of the site of the shooting revealed the information that there had been a third shot; or rather, a first shot. This one had missed Vasil altogether, striking a support post and almost shattering it. The second had gone through the guard to get Vasil, and the third had hit him in the leg, killing him.

All three bullets would eventually be located, but just one usable bullet-hole was found at the time, from the round which had destroyed Vasil's leg. Examination of the angle of the hole gave the direction from which the bullets had arrived, allowing the investigators to backtrack the shots. They had come from somewhere on a pair of small hills, about two kilometres from the compound; this made sense, given that they were the only terrain features in that direction with a view into the compound. Two kilometres was a tremendous distance to make a kill-shot over, but not impossible; given that it had obviously been done in this circumstance, they had to accept the fact of it and move on.

At first it was presumed that the sniper must have fired from atop one summit or the other, but both of those sites were ruled out when evidence of guard posts were found there instead. However, the blast site in the hollow was soon noted from this viewpoint, and the investigators went to see what could be found there. In the event, this turned out to be four guards, all dead, their state of disrepair depending on how close they had been to the explosions. Also located were bits and pieces of twisted metal, which could possibly once have been part of a sniper rifle.

-ooo-​

Saturday Night, April 2 1994

“So that's it,” Andrea concluded. “You succeeded, you killed him, but you also killed … “

“Maybe a dozen, maybe more, of his security guys. The ones in the truck, the ones that investigated the rifle, and the ones in the truck that were chasing us.” My voice was low, controlled.

“And they had no choice but to do what he'd told them to do.” She was upset, I could tell; her voice had a little quiver in it.

“Yeah, but I -”

“Let me finish,” she told me. “I love you, you know that.”

I held her a little more tightly. “I know that, yes.”

“And I know about the whole time travel thing, and about what you're trying to do, and saving the world, and how he was kind of a really direct threat to you.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“So while I get that he needed to die, and I know that Lisa has her limits, and maybe you couldn't really avoid killing some of his guys … seriously, Taylor, please? I don't like it. I really don't like it. I love you, and I'm not going to stop loving you, but I just want to put it out there that I'm really, really unhappy with the fact that all those people died. Maybe they had to, maybe you couldn't do it any other way, but I'm really, really unhappy.”

She buried her face in my shoulder, and her body shook silently. After a moment, as I held her tightly, I felt the hot tears soaking through my pyjamas.

“I'll do better next time,” I promised her. “You have my word.”

“You better,” she retorted after a few moments, “or I'll guilt you into so much sex people will think you've changed your perfume to eu de me.”

I smiled ruefully; Andrea could bounce back from nearly anything. And her mind nearly always swung toward sex. “And I won't struggle too hard,” I responded, kissing her tenderly.

Her return kiss was rather more enthusiastic, and her embrace began to turn somewhat steamy. Before I knew it, she had me half out of my pyjamas, even in the confines of the sleeping bag.

“Uh, Andrea,” I began, “really?”

“Still feeling upset, here,” she informed me, sounding not in the least bit upset. Her hands, which knew me so well, did not cease in their wanderings. And I was feeling rather guilty …

With a sigh, I resigned myself to my fate, and kissed her again. “But I really don't think we can pull it off in a sleeping bag,” I told her.

“Wanna bet?” she asked me, and I knew – just knew – that she was wearing her impish grin.

I didn't bet; I knew Andrea.

It was a good thing too; she would have won.

-ooo-​

“You really should talk to her.”

I turned to look at Lisa as she expertly guided the car through traffic. Who, Gladys?

She shot me a sideways glance. “Well, you've already had your talk with Andrea.”

This is about the thing with Heartbreaker?

She huffed a sigh. “Yes, it's about the thing with Heartbreaker.”

Look, I began, Gladys was unhappy enough about being in harm's way without me bringing something else up -

She raised an eyebrow. “You really think that's what she was pissed off about? Seriously? You've known her for how long?”

I paused. Okay, so what do you think is really on her mind?

“What do you think?” She looked at me for a moment, then put her eyes back on the road. Shifting a brass lever beside her caused the rapid whirring noise of the engine to slow noticeably; the car itself lost speed as a result. There was also a distinctive pshhhh sound.

Wait a minute, I blurted. Is this a steam car?

“And the tall brunette in the third row wins the prize,” she responded with a grin. “Check the other cars on the road.”

I did so, and realised that the exhaust coming out of the tailpipes wasn't the grey or black of petrol or diesel smoke, but instead the puffy white of water vapour. And that more was let out when the vehicle was slowing down than when it was accelerating.

… huh. For the first time, I actually looked around at the interior of the vehicle. It was nicely appointed; there seemed to be much more brass in use than in the modern vehicles I was used to. More leather, too. It was a nice change from plastic and vinyl. I never noticed.

“You think that's cool, check to your right.”

I looked away from Lisa, over the railing that guarded the edge of the freeway. There was a drop-off, and a slope down to a stream that seemed to be overgrown with trees. Beyond the stream was a flat field, planted with crops, which slowly rose toward …

Oh.

“'Oh' is right,” she agreed, a note of triumph in her voice. “This one's gonna be a fun one. And we don't even need dinosaurs or starships or zombies or dragons to enjoy ourselves.”

I stared at the airfield, occupying a tremendous flattened area beyond the stream, and at the turn-off up ahead, which Lisa was already indicating to turn on to. The airfield had been built on one tremendous slab of concrete and asphalt, or so it seemed from my point of view. There was a row of spindly towers along one side of the airfield; they would have been dramatic enough without the zeppelins nosed up to them. Each one of the semi-dirigible airships was at least the length of two football fields, perhaps more; their silvery skins flashed in the sunlight.

But even they were not the stars of the show. In any other place, they would have been; here, not so much. What caught my eye and held it, defying my brain's efforts to tell me that such a thing could not, should not, exist, was an aircraft so huge that it dwarfed even the enormous zeppelins.

Its wingspan was staggering; one of those zeppelins, were it to traverse the aircraft's broad wing from tip to tip, would have to travel more than its own length to make the journey. Like a tremendous flattened-out aluminium cloud, it seemed to hover above the landscape, needing just the slightest breath of air to waft away.

But it was going to need more than that to get into the air; I counted no less than eight gargantuan sets of propeller blades mounted on engine fairings to the rear of the kite-like flying wing. Each of those was to be powered, I could only imagine, by an engine that would rival a city bus in size. And even then …

Holy shit, I muttered, unable to muster anything more appropriate. Are we going to travel on … that?

“Got it in one,” Lisa responded, sounding pleased at my reaction. “What do you think?”

Christ almighty, I replied. Will it even fly?

Lisa rolled her eyes. “'Will it even fly,' she says. Of course it'll fly.”

Well, all I can say, I told her as we rolled into the parking lot, is that I hope like hell they've got enough leg room.

She grinned. “I think that's a guarantee.”

Good. I went to open the car door; she put her hand on my arm.

“Talk to her,” she stressed. “You need to get this out in the open before it festers and destroys your friendship.”

But what do I say?

“Just be yourself,” she assured me.

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, that's helpful. Okay, fine, I'll talk to her.

She smiled. “Kiss before we get on the plane?”

I leaned across and kissed her; her lips tasted of blood and dust. The wind kicked up; grit whipped in through the open window and stung my eyes, making me blink.

-ooo-​

Sunday Morning, April 3 1994

“Mmmm,” murmured Andrea, snuggling up to me. “Good morning to you too, lover.”

“I kissed you again, didn't I?” I asked.

She nodded, her expression blissful. “I always like it when you do that.”

“You do realise that I'm kissing Lisa when I do that.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “I don't mind, and nor does Lisa.”

“I should never have introduced the two of you,” I pretended to grumble. “You talk behind my back, don't you?”

“Well, duh,” she agreed. “How else am I going to learn all of your embarrassing secrets?”

And she was perfectly serious, I knew. Andrea never beat around the bush, never prevaricated, if telling the immediate and embarrassingly direct truth would get her what she wanted. It was one of the things that I loved about her; she had a refreshingly direct attitude toward life.

“So I'm going to need a favour off of you,” I told her.

“Really?” she asked, a mischievous glint appearing in her eye. “How important?”

I noted that she hadn't asked exactly what the favour was; this, however, was a girl who dived wholeheartedly into whatever new experiences came up – sometimes literally, to recall the incident at the lake when we had arrived – and was put off by little more than personal discomfort. And sometimes, not even that.

“Uh, very,” I decided. “I want to talk to Gladys about yesterday, and I need you to get Kinsey out of camp for a bit.”

“You want to talk to Gladys,” she repeated.

“About yesterday,” I agreed.

“Yesterday,” she mused. “Well, I think you know my opinion about yesterday.”

I took a deep breath. I certainly did. “So, could you … ?”

“Lead Jim Kinsey off to a place where we can be alone while you two talk about whatever in the camp?” she finished. “Now, whyever would I agree to a thing like that?”

“Because of what you told me last night about your exploits yesterday,” I pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, if you're going to bring reality into the discussion,” she answered with a grin. “I was going to see if you'd go so far as to bribe me with sex.”

I shook my head. “For an assassination mission, this trip's certainly had a lot of that going on,” I observed. “In fact, the only person in the camp who hasn't had any is Gladys.”

She grinned at me. “Well, now's your chance,” she pointed out.

“No,” I protested. “Just no. Seriously.” I tried to glare at her, but my face kept forming a grin as I imagined the look on Gladys' face if I propositioned her. Just before she either clocked me or ran for the tall timber. “No. Not going to happen.”

“Oh, well,” she sighed. “I just think you two are missing out on a marvellous opportunity to deepen your friendship.”

“I'd dare you to repeat that line to her face, but you'd do it,” I retorted.

“Darn tootin',” she agreed happily. “Want me to?”

“No,” I stated firmly. “I want her at least willing to listen when she's alone in camp with me.”

“Awww,” she responded playfully. “The look on her face would be awesome.”

“You,” I told her sternly, “would get altogether too much amusement out of it.”

“No such thing,” she informed me promptly. “Now could you help me find my things? I need to go pee.”

I rolled my eyes. “You were the one who wanted to do it in a sleeping bag. Geez.”

“Shut up and help me get them. I think they were kicked down to the bottom.”

In the end, we had to unzip the bag to get to them. With much giggling, she allowed me to help her get dressed, then I sent her on her way with a swat to the rump.

-ooo-​

Footprints, originating from a vehicle abandoned near the highway, indicated that two individuals had walked to the highway and presumably been given a lift to parts unknown. The size and spacing of the footprints indicated a tall female or lightweight male, and a male with an injured ankle. Enquiries were made, but no-one came forward to indicate that they'd seen anyone fitting even that very scanty description. Admittedly, once word got out as to who exactly had been killed, less people were likely to volunteer information, even if they knew anything.

The investigation into the person or persons who had killed Nikos Vasil, and fifteen more of his men, would eventually be shut down due to lack of evidence.

The families of the deceased – save for Vasil himself – were understandably unhappy to learn of the deaths of their loved ones. However, as these men had already cut themselves off from their families and friends, had abandoned their old lives in their entirety, the outcry was not as harsh as it might have been.

Of course, the living victims of Nikos Vasil were now facing another problem entirely …

-ooo-​

When I emerged from my tent, dishevelled but dressed, Kinsey greeted me with a steaming cup of tea. He was immaculately clad in basic fatigues; I had no idea how he did it.

“Good morning, ma'am,” he acknowledged me politely.

“Good morning, Kinsey,” I replied, just as politely. “Did you sleep well?”

“Some noisy night creatures hereabouts, ma'am,” he responded blandly. “But I've slept through worse.”

“I'm sure you have,” I told him, equally blandly. “So, are you enjoying this trip so far?”

He didn't answer immediately; contemplatively, he looked around the campsite, toward the lake, and then up at the trees. “I believe I am, yes, thank you, ma'am,” he replied. “The company is enjoyable, the scenery rather pleasant, and I'm not having to nursemaid any junior officers who don't know their ass from their elbow.”

I had to smile at that last bit. “I appreciate the candour, Kinsey. I know that while Gladys wasn't too thrilled about being carried back to camp yesterday -”

He waved away my comment. “Don't worry about that, ma'am. Mrs Knott is a capable, competent individual. I have a great deal of respect for her. And she doesn't like to be seen as weak. Nor would I, in her situation. I'll not be taking any of her comments personally.”

I nodded. “Well, to be honest, I'm guessing that she won't want to do much hiking today, so I was going to stay in camp with her. But if you and Andrea wanted to go fishing or something -”

“Not too far from camp,” he noted firmly.

“Right,” I agreed. “Not too far from camp.” I shrugged. “It's just that Gladys will want to rest her ankle, and my feet are a little sore as well, and I kind of figured that you and Andrea would want the chance to get out and explore a little while we take care of the place.” I grinned. "Well, she would, anyway. And I'd really appreciate it if you'd go along and make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

He nodded. “I'm not averse to the idea. I'll speak to her about it, see what she thinks.”

“Good idea,” I replied. “She told me last night that she really enjoyed her day with you. And thanks for teaching her some self defence moves; Brockton Bay is not the safest city in the world. You never know when she might need them.”

“With the Captain's permission, I would like to keep training her,” he offered. “If we're going to be here for a month, I believe I can have her reasonably competent to defend herself against casual attackers by the time we leave.” Which meant, if I knew Kinsey, that any mugger taking on Andrea would end up wondering exactly what had hit him.

I nodded. “Permission granted, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

-ooo-​

“Jeanette.”

“Rene.”

They faced one another across the interview room; a police officer stood just inside the doorway, while a psychologist sat off to the side, not quite between them, but close enough to address them both at once, if need be. These reunions had borne various results; some couples reunited, while some were forever estranged. This one was looking hopeful.

There was a long pause, while the young man and the young woman searched one another's faces. Jeanette spoke first, this time.

“How have you been?”

He almost chuckled at the banality of the question, but gave it an honest answer. “I lost my job.”

She blinked. “What? How did that happen?”

His smile was rueful. “After I came to get you, and was escorted off the grounds, I tried to sneak back. I think I had some idea of abducting you – for your own good, of course.”

She nodded, slowly. “Of course.”

“However,” he went on, “his security men caught me. I thought they were going to kill me, but they merely beat me very badly. I was in the hospital for a month.”

“And that's how you lost your job?”

“Non, ma cherie. Gaston was willing to hold the position for me. But I stopped going. I hounded the local police and the Mounties, demanding that something be done. I wrote letters to every government official who could possibly be in a position to do something. And then I began a lawsuit.”

“A … lawsuit?” She frowned. “Against whom?”

“Against the government, that they were allowing this thing to stand,” he declared. “I tried to locate other people who had lost loved ones to this monster, to get them to join me in this crusade.”

“But it didn't work,” she guessed.

Slowly, he shook his head. “It did not. I had to hire expensive lawyers, and my money soon ran out, and we had no result. A few people had supported me, but when nothing came of it, they drifted away. I lost my job, my apartment, and I had to move back in with my mother.”

Her eyes were large and soft. “I am so sorry, Rene.”

Defiantly, he raised his chin. “I am not. It is obvious that someone heard my call to arms, and took matters into their own hands. And now, you are free of him.”

She sighed. “I … not entirely, mon cheri.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that although my love for him is diminished, faded, it is not gone. I do not believe that I will ever be entirely free of it. But it has receded, and now no longer overshadows my love for you.” She gazed beseechingly at him. “I know that he is dead. But still he will come between us in some small way, for the rest of our lives. Can you accept that, in me? Can you accept that I have borne another man's child?”

He stood, and took a pace toward her. Reaching out, he grasped her hands in his. “I have seen your little one, dear Jeanette,” he declared. “She is not his child. She is yours. And because I love you, and you love me, she is ours.”

She stood, in her turn, and embraced him. “But … you're living with your mother. It will be some time before they release my own money back to me, if he has not spent it all. Can you support the two of us?”

“I have an offer for another job,” he informed her. “It is not as good as the other one, but I can just barely support you, and our little one, if we scrimp and save.” He kissed her on the forehead. “We will get by, Jeanette.”

“Merci, Rene,” she breathed. “Merci. Je t'aime.”

But within, she worried. That last time, she had been sure she was pregnant. What if she was? Could they support two children?

I will worry about that when I come to it, she decided. Right now, she needed Rene, and Rene needed her. The future could wait.

And besides, she told herself hopefully, it may not come to pass at all.

-ooo-​

Kinsey had, of course, brought along fishing equipment. I helped Andrea make up sandwiches from the remaining store of food in the back of the car, while Gladys watched bemusedly from her seat on a fallen log. Her gaze sharpened somewhat when she realised that I was not going on the little expedition, and her expression turned wary. But she didn't say anything, not until I had waved the two of them on their way.

“Kinsey and Andrea, huh?” she asked, as I turned back toward her.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “When you think about it, they're a pretty good match. She's not looking for entanglements, and nor is he. She doesn't much go for guys, but then again, he's some guy.”

“Think it'll cause problems, later?” Her voice was casual, but she watched me carefully as I came and sat on the log, a comfortable distance away from her.

“Can't see it,” I responded. “She's in love with me, but she's willing to sleep with him. He gets the best of both worlds. And she's on birth control, just to keep her periods in check, so she's not likely to get pregnant.”

“Got it all planned out, huh?” Her tone was dry.

“Not so much as the pieces just fell into place.” I turned to face her. “Gladys, can we talk?”

“We can,” she agreed, the wariness now showing up in her tone. “What about?”

I took a deep breath. “Yesterday, and why you're really mad at me.”

Her voice was flat. “I already told you why.”

“But you didn't tell me everything.” I kept eye contact. Eventually, she looked away.

“Fuck. No, okay, fine. I didn't. I didn't want to bring this up, because if we disagreed on this, it might just destroy our whole friendship, and I did. Not. Want. That.”

Somewhere along the way, she had gotten a fairly sturdy stick in her hands; as she spoke the last few words, she was twisting it, the muscles standing out in her forearms. It broke, with a sharp crack, on the last word, and I jumped slightly.

“I … okay, I got it,” I replied. “But I really think we need to talk it out.”

“You're not going to order me to talk it out, like you ordered me to kill that guard?” she asked, her voice sharper than I'd expected.

I shook my head slightly. “No, I'm not. But it does need to be talked out. Or it will sit between us.” I took a deep breath. “Heartbreaker needed to die. Can we agree on that, at least?”

Slowly, she nodded. “”From what you told me, yes.”

“But,” I continued, “you're uncomfortable with the fact that innocent people – technically innocent, at the very least – had to die at our hands, in doing so.”

She nodded again. “Yeah.” Holding up her hands before her, she turned them over, looking at the front and back, before letting them fall into her lap again. “I used to be proud of being able to put a bullet exactly where I wanted it to go. I don't know if I'll ever be able to pick up a rifle again.”

“That's fair.” I moved a bit closer, and put my hand on her arm. “Let me tell you a story.”

Turning her head, she looked at me. “Is this one of your stories from before you came back?”

I nodded. “It was Brockton Bay, after … well, a fairly comprehensive disaster had struck. Think Behemoth, only with water. We called him Leviathan.”

She paled. “There were two of them? Wait, there's going to be two of them?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. And more, unless I can stop it. “So anyway, the city's in chaos, and there's a parahuman who got a really bad batch of powers. She's grown to the size of a couple of elephants, and she's literally eating capes and spitting out evil, twisted clones of them. People died that day. A lot of people. Innocents and clones alike.”

“Are you going to make the point that the clones needed to die?” she asked. “Because I can sort of get that.”

I shook my head. “No. Well, they did need to die, and I did kill some of them. But that's not where I'm going with this.” I took a deep breath. “We had her trapped. She was doing her best to break out, but she was held for just that moment. There were still a couple of capes trapped inside her. One of her former teammates had the wherewithal to kill her. If we held off to get the last few capes out, she could have broken free, and caused even more damage, more death. So I gave the order to kill her, and her captives with her.”

She was silent for a long moment. “Did her … former teammate know?”

“No. No-one knew.” Lisa did, but she kept quiet, after I shut her up. “If they had, they would have argued for delaying, rescuing the last ones. But it needed to be over. So I took it on myself. I gave the order.”

“Just you.” She lowered her head. “How did you feel about that?”

“Hated it,” I replied. “But she had to die. There was no holding her. And I'd learned by then that sometimes shit just happens. Sometimes you can't save all the hostages. Sometimes – and there are villains out there who will do just this – sometimes, all you can do is choose who's going to die.” My lips thinned. “The man who was controlling her, keeping her in check? I'd shot him in the head, not forty-eight hours previously.”

She stared at me. “But why -”

“Because he wanted me dead.” My voice was flat. “He wanted to enslave my best friend, and kill the rest of my teammates. I had to choose between my life and his. I chose mine.”

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself; I didn't think that it was because she was cold. “I get it,” she muttered at last. “I get that you come from a harsher time. A time that's yet to come. A time that's made you harder, colder.”

“There's more,” I told her. “I want you to think something through for me. Suppose you had held off on that shot. Suppose I'd ordered you to kill him, and you refused because the guard was in the way. He gets into the house, and then calls for all the hounds of hell to descend upon us. You take out the vehicles, and we run like hell.”

“Which we did anyway,” she noted.

“Which we did anyway,” I agreed. “So the vehicle doesn't intercept us. We leave the rifle, because we can't run and carry it at the same time, and we don't blow it up, because that might hurt the guards coming to investigate. But we get away anyway.”

She nodded. “Okay. What happens then?”

I shrugged. “We get back to Brockton Bay. But Heartbreaker has contacts in local law enforcement. He hands over what evidence he has, and they get a partial fingerprint off the trigger guard, or a hair caught on the stock, or some other evidence. They track you down, and tell him. He sends a Mastered minion to Brockton Bay.”

She bit her lip. “Okay.”

I waited for a moment, but she didn't seem willing to go on. “So this guy gets Franklin, and holds him hostage, with a pistol to his head. You've got a gun yourself, and you know for a fact that you can pop this guy, kill him stone dead, before he ever has a chance to hurt Franklin. You're aware that if you do anything but a straight kill shot, he's likely to get a shot off, and if he does that, Franklin is dead.”

Her arms were wrapped around her body again. “I don't think I like where this is going.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “Nor did I, when it happened to me. Here's your choice; surrender, and go back with the minion to become a slave of Heartbreaker, let him kill Franklin, or kill him before he can pull the trigger.” I took a breath.

“Now, you're fully aware that he's not doing this of his own volition; he's doing it because Vasil told him to do it. But that doesn't change matters. He's going to carry out his orders, he can't be reasoned with, and he can't be scared off. Ignore any possibility of escape or being rescued before you get there.” I paused for a long moment. “What do you do?”

Her head dropped so that her hair hung over her face. “Fuck you, Taylor.” Her voice was harsh. “Fuck you with a fucking barge pole. That's not fucking fair.”

“This is the point I'm trying to make,” I told her. “It's never fucking fair.” My own voice wasn't entirely steady when I spoke again. “I saw a villain kill people specifically because I was trying to help them. All too often, even if you're trying to do the right thing, bad shit happens anyway, either despite what you're doing, or, due to some really twisted fucking circumstance, because of it. And hostage situations where the hostages are trying to kill you count as really twisted fucking circumstances.”

She drew a long shuddering breath. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly. “I get it. But it doesn't make me like it any more that they're dead.”

“You think it does me?” I asked. “I once packed a man's eyeballs with maggots.” She stared at me. “Unique situation,” I went on hurriedly. “He survived, but I had nightmares about it for a while.” I put my arm around her shoulders. “As for yesterday? Yeah, it's not going to go away for a bit. I regret every death. I'm sorry it had to be that way. But if we were to succeed, to survive, that's the way it had to go down.”

“But did it?” she insisted. “Did it have to be that way? Couldn't we have done it some other way? Caused less casualties? Been less risky?”

"We - uh, I went over it, in detail," I told her. "There were only two ways to get it done. Go in ourselves, or send someone else to do it." I squeezed her shoulders. "Risk was a secondary concern. Stopping Heartbreaker before he heard of me; that was primary." A pause. "Well, okay, I guess we could have sent in a plane to drop a bomb on the compound, or lugged in a mortar or something, and flattened the place from a distance, but there's three things wrong with that scenario." I though about that for a moment. "Four things."

Gladys considered my words. "Collateral damage?"

I nodded. "There were women and kids there."

She frowned. "It would be really hard to pull it off without someone noticing?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "We needed to be able to sneak in and out. Also, whoever flew the plane would be forced down and taken into custody."

A longer pause, as she thought some more. "Uh, acquiring the equipment?"

"Uh huh. A sniper rifle is one thing. A mortar, or a light plane configured to drop some sort of payload? Plus the payload itself? All sorts of flags."

"Okay," she conceded. "I got it. Really bad idea. Though I can't think of what the fourth reason was."

I shrugged. "What if we missed?"

"Ew." She grimaced. "Okay, so why did we have to go in? Why not some of Andrea's pet mercenaries?"

"Because she doesn't have any really good snipers," I explained. "At least, not yet. You're the best sharpshooter I know. I'm good; I've taken training since I joined the PRT, and I know that I wouldn't have had as good a chance as you did to make that shot."

"So they get in closer," she responded, ignoring the flattery.

"There was no closer vantage point," I reminded her. "And even that one had patrols on top of it. So suppose they get in closer. Right up to the compound, so they can put one in his face. Across the fifty yards of open ground around it. They get seen, security converges on them from all directions. Or he sees them first, uses his power, they become his."

"Night assault?" she ventured.

"Floodlights. And once again, if he sees them, even once, they're his. Also, this is getting back to killing the proposed innocents. I can guarantee, a lot more people would die in that scenario."

"Okay, fine," she argued. "Suppose it's us who go in. But we take in non-lethal options. Dart guns with tranquilliser rounds. Caltrops. Flashbangs. Smoke grenades. Knockout gas grenades. Tear gas. There's lots of options."

"Most of which are geared for urban combat, or at least closely confined areas," I pointed out. "Using grenades that disable a target usually require that you take along some sort of protection to make sure you don't get disabled. Putting down caltrops requires that you know roughly where the enemy is going to go, and is more of a defensive measure anyway; it's sort of a poor man's landmine. Besides, it takes pounds of them to cover an appreciable area, and who was going to carry them and lay them out while we were sneaking up?"

She pressed her lips together. "Still, tranquilliser darts -"

"- take a small but appreciable time to work, especially on a large, muscular opponent who has lots of adrenaline running through his system." I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Did you really want to bet that the three guys that were on you wouldn't lift their guns and get off a shot at you, or at me, before they fell over? And what about the guys in the front? I had to shoot through glass to get them."

"Fuck." She pulled one knee up, clasped it with both hands while she stared through the trees at the distant ripples on the lake. "Couldn't you have, you know, put together a plan that worked better, later on? You were always good at the plans."

I shook my head. "Trust me, I went over every iteration I could. His security would only have gotten better the longer I waited, and of course, being in the PRT means that I can't just take a weekender up to Canada at a moment's notice. This was the best balance of guaranteed kill versus risk versus potential collateral damage that I could depend upon, and I had to take it. The next big chance was far too close to a potential kidnap scenario, and would have had involved far more collateral damage."

Gladys leaned her head back to stare at the sky. "Dammit, Taylor," she growled. "I always thought that going into the field with you, for real, would be kinda fun. That I'd feel good about it, after. Not that I'd be arguing the ethics of shooting people who are under mind control."

"Yeah." I sighed. “I don't like it any more than you do. The difference is, I've been there before. I know what the consequences are for hesitating at the wrong second. So once I make the decision that someone's got to die, I act on it. It's as simple as that.”

She frowned. “What about mixed teams? You didn't cover those.”

“What, us plus mercenaries?” I waited for her to nod. “Yeah, looked at that too. Trouble is, a bigger team makes it more likely we'd be noticed on the way in. Plus, I don't know their capabilities precisely, I'm not a hundred percent on how quick they'd be to take my orders when the bullets are flying, and they're mercenaries, which suggests they have some sort of discipline problem, or they'd be in the regular forces. But even if they're straight arrows, I've never trained with them and they've never trained with me. I mean, you and me, we work well together. Integrating two or three more guys into that, who we aren't absolutely certain we can depend on? It had a lower chance of success than what we did. Not by much, granted, but some.”

“Huh,” Gladys replied. “So basically, what we did had about as good a chance of success and survival as anything else.” She shrugged. “So did you even consider finding someone who didn't care much about survival and pointing them at him? You know, just as a hypothetical example?”

“No,” I told her firmly. “I had … the brother of a friend of mine committed suicide, once upon a time. I felt that way, for a bit, myself. I wasn't about to enable that sort of behaviour, even for this situation.”

“Oh,” she responded. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” I assured her. “So we're good?”

She nodded consideringly. “Yeah, we're good. It was a bad situation, and I was stuck with the idea that there had to be an ideal way out of it.”

“Yeah,” I agreed dryly. “Best of luck with that one. How's your ankle, anyway?”

She blinked at the sudden change of subject, but went along with it. We'd about said all we wanted on that topic, anyway. “Uh, yeah, it's good. I can pretty well walk on it without pain, now.”

“Good,” I replied. “So I can steal your walking stick now, grandma?” I made as if to grab the makeshift crutch that Kinsey had made for her once we got back to camp; she slapped my hand out of the way.

“You just try it,” she warned me. “I'll beat your ass, sore ankle or no sore ankle.”

I rolled my eyes. “Promises, promises.”

“How soon they forget,” she retorted. “But if you really want to get your ass beat, I have a suggestion.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Let's hear it.”

-ooo-​

The sound of wood thwacking on wood greeted Kinsey and Andrea as they returned from their fishing expedition. Gladys and I circled each other, makeshift staves held in guard positions, watching for a shift of the eyes or balance that betokened a move. We'd been at it for a little while now; I had a bruise on my thigh, and I'd caught Gladys a good one in the ribs.

Andrea stopped, mouth open, the fish dangling from her hand forgotten. “Taylor, Gladys, holy shit!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting back into practice,” I grunted. “Been a while.” I stepped forward and launched a series of attacks that rattled off of Gladys' staff, only to retreat hurriedly when she retaliated in kind.

Kinsey didn't comment at all; when I shot a brief glance his way, I could see that he was leaning against the car, observing us with interest.

“Well, aren't you going to stop them?” Andrea asked him.

“Don't see why I should,” he replied easily. “They're adults, and they both know what they're doing, from the looks of it.”

“Actually,” panted Gladys, “I was thinking we might call it a day.”

“What, giving up already?” I teased her, and swung my staff, but it was only a half-hearted blow. She easily blocked it, and swung back at me. I dropped my own staff, and caught hers; she grinned and let go of it. I dropped it on top of the first one. We bowed to each other, touched fists, then hugged.

“That was good,” she told me, once we disengaged. “Haven't done that in too long, not with someone who knows how to go at it.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I've tried showing Kinsey how, but he's always too busy with other stuff.”

“Jim's really good at teaching people how to fight,” Andrea pointed out proudly. “I'm really enjoying learning what he's got to teach me.”

“I just bet you are,” Gladys commented dryly; Andrea grinned and stuck out her tongue at the blonde.

“Enough,” Kinsey commented mildly. “Ma'am, do you want to help Andrea clean the fish, while I make sure that Mrs Knott's ankle hasn't suffered from your little sparring bout?”

Andrea, huh? I acted like I hadn't noticed his little slip, while he pretended not to have made it. Gladys had apparently not picked up on it at all, while Andrea simply didn't care.

“Good idea, Kinsey,” I agreed. Holding out my hand, I accepted the fighting knife from him, and turned to Andrea. “Come on. Ever done this before?”

“Nope,” she declared, “though I'm always willing to try something new.”

Putting my free hand around her shoulders, I leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “I know,” I told her. “If there's anything about you I know, it's that.”

She giggled and snuggled into me. “Darn tootin'.”

-ooo-​

“So, enjoying our camping trip?” I asked, using Kinsey's knife to slice open the second of the three fish. We sat on the lake shore, looking out over the flat, still waters in what passed for the midday sun here.

“Oh, god yes,” Andrea enthused. She worked away industriously with the scaler, sending glittery flakes flying into the water. “Jim showed me a few new moves while we were waiting for the fish to bite. They were pretty sweet.”

“Moves, huh?” I asked. “Are we talking self defence, or the other?”

She grinned at me. “Yes.”

I closed my eyes for a moment – making sure I knew exactly where the knife blade was – and shook my head ruefully. “I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

She giggled. “Uh huh. But seriously, I'm having a lot of fun. I'm with you, which is always good, and Gladys is fun to be around too, and you brought Jim along, which I thought might be -”

I cleared my throat. “Not sure exactly what you were going to say, Andrea, but just so you know, he just walked up behind you.”

“ - a bit of a drag,” Andrea finished cheerfully. “But he's really a great guy. Life of the party and all that.”

“Indeed,” Kinsey remarked, very dryly, from where he stood behind her. “Mrs Knott's ankle is none the worse; I came down to see how the fish are going.”

“Well, actually, we're doing great,” I told him. “One done, and we're working on the other two.”

“Good, good,” he commented. “So, when were you thinking of heading back to Brockton Bay?”

“What, we're not staying the night?” asked Andrea, looking somewhat stricken.

I shook my head. “Sorry. I've got to attend that Careers Day in the morning, and I'd rather not be rushed when it comes to getting my dress uniform looking just right.”

“As the Captain says,” Kinsey confirmed. “Perhaps we'll have another opportunity to go camping before this leave is over.”

“Yay!” Andrea exclaimed. “That'll be awesome!”

“You know,” I commented, “I don't know whether to be pleased that you two are getting along so well, or be worried that you two are getting along so well.”

“Be worried,” Andrea advised me seriously, although I saw the twinkle in her eye. “Be very, very worried.”

-ooo-​

Sunday Afternoon, April 3 1994

“Damn,” Gladys told Kinsey, “this is good.”

“Mmmph,” Andrea agreed, although somewhat muffled, as her mouth was full of fish.

“Is it just me,” I asked, “or does fresh-caught fish just plain taste better than store-bought?”

“Not just you,” Gladys assured me. “Not just you.” She forked up another piece, put it on a piece of buttered bread, and folded it over. “I've camped before, and I've had fish before, but Sergeant Kinsey, you have a talent for this.”

Kinsey smiled slightly at the praise. “Thank you, Mrs Knott,” he responded. “It's all in the seasonings. And fresh-caught is also a factor, or so I believe.”

“Oh, for god's sake, call me Gladys,” she chided him. “We're all adults here. Except for Andrea, of course.”

“Hey!” Andrea objected. “I'll have you know that I was reliably informed that good things come in small packages.”

“Oh, I wasn't talking about your height,” Gladys cheerfully informed her. “I was referring to your general level of maturity. Or, you know, lack thereof.”

“Oh, well, that's okay then,” Andrea responded blithely. “I withdraw my objection. Maturity is overrated, anyway.”

“If I'm going to be calling you Gladys, then you should be calling me James,” Kinsey told Gladys. “We are in an informal environment, after all.”

“Okay, James,” she agreed. “But if it's so informal, why don't you call Taylor by her name?”

“Because on leave or otherwise,” he told her, “Captain Snow is still my commanding officer. And unless and until she ceases to be so, she will remain Captain Snow to me.”

Andrea's eyes opened wide with glee. “Holy crap, Taylor,” she exclaimed. “I just realised. You've got a minion!”

She picked the exact wrong time to say that; a piece of fish that I was in the process of swallowing went down the wrong way, and set off a fit of coughing. In the meantime, Kinsey acquired the closest thing to a horrified expression that I had ever seen on his face, and Gladys looked as though she wanted to burst out laughing, but didn't dare.

Gladys slapped me on the back, and the fish was dislodged; I picked up my mug of tea and took a drink, to wash it down the right way, this time. “Oh god no,” I told Andrea. “Don't even say that as a joke. Minions are what supervillains have. I'm an officer in the PRT; that's about as far from being a supervillain as I can get.”

“Yeah, I know,” Andrea replied with an unrepentant grin. “But you should have seen your faces.”

“Andrea,” Gladys told her, slowly shaking her head, “you are a bad, bad person.”

Andrea nodded gleefully. “Yep!”

“Which reminds me, ma'am,” Kinsey remarked; I looked expectantly at him. “I believe I asked you earlier when you were intending to leave, and we were sidetracked before you answered.”

“Oh!” I realised. “Yeah, sorry, Kinsey. What time is it now?”

“About one, ma'am,” he informed me.

“Okay, fine,” I decided. “We'll start packing up about two or so. That'll give us plenty of time to get back to Brockton Bay before nightfall.”

“Aww, we've only got another hour out here?” Andrea looked almost heartbroken.

I hugged her. “Hey, cheer up. I've still got another three weeks of leave. We'll just be, you know, in town, instead of out here.”

“But I was really enjoying this,” she protested. “It's so different from going to an actual commercial campsite, with all the other people around, and rules and regulations and stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn't have been able to unwind at all at one of those campsites,” I agreed. More to the point, I wouldn't have been able to sneak away without being noticed. “I've enjoyed this too. We should go camping more often, when I get the chance.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, brightening up again. “I like that idea.”

“Thought you might,” I told her. “Split the last piece of fish?”

“Sure!” She cut it in half and speared one half on her fork; instead of eating it herself, she fed it to me. With that cue, I took the other piece of fish and popped it into her mouth; we grinned at each other as we ate the fish.

“Oh god,” Gladys groaned. “Save me from the cuteness.”

In unison, Andrea and I turned and poked out our tongues at her.

Shaking his head slowly, Kinsey stood up. “I'll make a start on cleaning up,” he decided.

Gladys nodded. “I'll help you.”

-ooo-​

It was quiet in the car on the way back to Brockton Bay. The desultory conversation had petered out after the first few miles, and Kinsey had turned on the radio to find some gentle easy-listening music. Gladys was leaning back in her corner of the car, her eyes closed, and Andrea had her head resting on my shoulder. I was finding it hard to stay awake as well, so I leaned back and closed my eyes.

-ooo-​

“Oh, hey,” Lisa greeted me. “Welcome back.”

I looked around. This looks familiar.

And indeed it did; I stood beside her in a queue that led toward a ramp. A ramp that led up into the bowels of a gigantic aircraft that crouched on the tremendous expanse of airfield all around us like a bird of prey, merely waiting to spring into the heavens. This close – literally under it – the broad flying-wing fuselage seemed to overshadow the world. It shaded enough ground to host two separate gridiron games, with room left over for the spectators. In the distance, shining in the sunlight, I could see the row of zeppelins nosed up to their towers; in comparison to this monster of the skies above us, they looked like mere toys.

Gradually, we shuffled forward, a few steps at a time. We seemed to be passing by some sort of black barrier, strangely curved. I prodded it, and realised; this was a tire. Part of the landing gear. It was taller than I was by several times over, and there were at least a dozen of them, supporting this aircraft. Maybe twice that many, if they were on dual axles.

I shook my head; this thing was built on a scale that I wasn't used to dealing with.

“It's familiar because I put this world on pause when you woke up last time,” Lisa informed me. “I don't want you missing any of it.”

So what's going to happen?

She shrugged and grinned her fox-like grin. “I don't know. I don't care. I'm just here to have fun.”

We climbed the boarding ramp, gradually getting closer to the belly of the aircraft. As we shuffled forward, however, the sense of wonder gradually wore off. This was just another aircraft; the difference was merely in scale. What we were doing was little different to what commercial airliner and cruise liner passengers had done for decades.

When we reached the head of the line, it was almost an anticlimax; a uniformed officer took the tickets that Lisa proffered, and read them out loud. “Wilbourn and Hebert, stateroom thirty-four S.” He pulled a key off of a board full of hooks and raised his voice slightly. “Steward!”

A younger man in a slightly different uniform – a steward, I guessed – appeared at his elbow almost immediately. “Sir?”

“Escort these ladies to their cabin, if you please. Then back here, on the double.”

The steward nodded and glanced briefly at the tickets before accepting the key. “Yes, sir.” Turning to us, he bowed. “If the ladies would like to follow me?”

Lisa nodded back, looking somewhat amused. “The ladies would like, yes.”

We followed him along a passageway that appeared to be panelled in some dark wood, wide enough for returning stewards to slip past us without so much as brushing our clothes. There was a set of stairs that led upward, but our steward guided us into an old-fashioned elevator car, pulled the cage shut, and murmured something to the youthful elevator operator. The boy nodded and pulled a lever at his side; the elevator jolted, then moved upward.

I had to stop and reassess my thoughts at this point; this plane was big enough to be several storeys deep, and had an elevator in it. And the passageways were panelled in wood.

The elevator clattered to a halt a few moments later, and the steward opened the cage doors. “Down this way, if you please,” he murmured, and led the way.

Here, the carpet was a deep, rich red; I could literally feel my feet sinking into it. The panelling was even more ornate than below, with delicate electric lights in brass fittings. Fittings that looked as though they were regularly polished.

“Twenty-eight … thirty-two … thirty-four,” recited the steward with relish. He inserted the brass key into the door and turned it; the lock clicked open, and he opened the door with a flourish.. “Welcome to White Star Airlines,” he told us. “If you have any questions, press the button beside the door, and a steward will attend to you presently.”

“Uh, one question, before you go,” Lisa cut in. “Our luggage … ?”

“It will already have been loaded, ma'am,” the steward told her. “Small goods will be in your cabin; if you need to gain access to anything larger, you may speak to the bursar.”

“Thank you,” she told him, in a gracious tone I had never before heard her employ. “You have been most helpful.” She pressed a coin into his hand, and he trotted off down the corridor at speed.

You have been most helpful? I raised an eyebrow as I entered the cabin, with Lisa following.

“Hey, just getting into character,” she replied with a grin that was much more in character for her, personally. “But wow, check out this stateroom.”

I checked it out. It wasn't exactly luxurious, by hotel standards. Two beds, apparently bolted to the floor. A small bathroom. A writing desk, with a chair that was attached to the desk itself, and swivelled out when needed.

This wouldn't be too bad, if we were on board a ship, I mused.

“But we're not,” Lisa reminded me. “We're on a plane.”

I had another look at the furnishings. Okay, yeah. Holy shit. This is awesome.

She bounced on a bed experimentally. “Wow, this is actually comfortable.”

I frowned. I wonder how far we'll be flying if we actually need a bathroom and bedroom on the flight?

“More to the point,” Lisa noted, “did you hear what the steward said when he opened the door.”

What, 'welcome to White Star Airlines'?

She nodded. “Yeah. You know what White Star was famous for in the real world?”

I frowned. It sounds familiar.

“It should.” She tapped the wooden desk – actual wood, not veneer over chipboard – with her fingernail. “White Star Lines owned the Titanic.”

Okay, that's just a little unsettling, I agreed. But what -

A tone sounded through a brass speaker set in the wall, followed by an authoritative voice.

“Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. Engines will be starting in five minutes. Passengers should lie down on their beds if in their cabins. If you wish to view the takeoff from the viewing gallery, please make your way there immediately.”

I turned to Lisa. Viewing gallery?

“Oh hell yes,” she agreed. “Viewing gallery it is.”

She turned to press the button, when I felt a lurch that didn't seem to come from my surroundings.

Whoops, I think I'm waking up.

“See you when you get back,” Lisa told me; she leaned in and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. I blinked as her hair brushed my eye -

-ooo-​

“Okay, I'm awake,” I mumbled, dragging my eyes open.

Andrea peered at me from a distance of about three inches. “Are you sure?” she asked mischievously. “You could just be talking in your sleep.”

“I believe that the Captain is now awake,” Kinsey supplied from outside the car.

“Thank you, Kinsey,” I replied. Sitting up, I undid my seat belt, and waited until Andrea had climbed off my lap before getting out of the car. Stretching, I felt my back pop in several places.

“Wow,” I added. “I must have been more tired than I thought.”

“Gladys made much the same observation,” Kinsey observed. “She was also rather happy to be reunited with her husband.”

“Darn,” I muttered. “I missed saying hi to Franklin.”

“You've got three weeks,” Andrea reminded me. “Come on, let's help Jim unpack. Camping's great, but so are real beds and real showers.”

“You bounced back pretty quickly from 'Aww, I don't wanna go home,',” I observed with a grin.

Andrea grinned back at me. “You know me. I don't dwell on things.”

“Ain't that the truth,” I murmured.

-ooo-​

It only took a few trips to get the camping equipment, and the remains of the food we had packed, up to Andrea's apartment. Spread around her living room, it made for quite a mess.

"I suppose we should be putting this all away," I commented, not particularly eager to get the task started.

"After we eat," Andrea declared. "And shower. Oh god, hot shower. Dibs on first!"

"I'll put something on to cook," Kinsey suggested. "Any preferences?"

"Oh, anything will do. Go nuts." Andrea turned to me. "Seriously, Taylor, why have you not married this man yet?"

"Regulations," I pointed out. "And wow, Andrea, you're about the last person I'd expect to suggest marriage to anyone, especially me."

"Oh yeah," she realised. "Good point. Wanna share the shower?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I have a new body wash."

Out of her sight, Kinsey made a motion with his eyes, which I translated as I need to speak to you ASAP. I'd already been about to turn her down - I knew quite well where that shower offer was going to lead, and I didn't quite have the energy to fight her off at the moment - so I shook my head. "Sorry, maybe another time."

She grinned at me, not at all put out. "Your loss. Now I'm gonna use up all the hot water, just because."

"You do that anyway," I retorted, with an answering grin.

Her only reply was to poke her tongue out at me; she was already pulling her top off as she headed down the passageway.

Once the bathroom door closed behind her, I turned to Kinsey. "Yes, Sergeant?"

Apparently ill at ease, he cleared his throat. "Ma'am, I need to ask you a question."

"Go ahead," I invited. "Ask."

Kinsey drew a deep breath. I frowned; I knew something was bothering him, but ...

"Ma'am," he asked, "why did you go to the lake? What were you actually doing out there?"

End of Part 4-5

Part 4-6​