New Genoa
08-09-2004, 20:53
The rain beat against the forest canopy relentlessly. Beneath the encompassing leaves of Flemcon Forest, five men stalked the night. Captain Chad Flark led the group into the wilderness as another assignment to take down an incoming arms shipment into New Sardinian land. The New Genoese government had agreed to their small neighbor's kind requests to stop the influx of any type of firearms into their nation. The typically pro-gun control governing Liberal Party at the time had readily approved the bill to comply with New Sardinia's requests. Still, laws are meant to be broken and many gun manufacturers in New Genoa found an extremely profitable black market in firearms in the small democracy to the west.
Chad wiped the rain from his forehead. In one hand he carried the compact NGR-18S semiautomatic rifle, which had been specifically designed for these types of operations. Four other men accompanied the young captain of twenty-nine years old – one carrying a squad automatic weapon, another carrying a sniper, and the other two carrying rifles similar to Chad's. Suddenly, there was a loud crackle of noise. Chad halted and signaled to his teammates to scan the region for any hostiles. The gun smugglers of the day had become exceedingly effective in their profession of late. Nearly six weeks ago two Special Marines had been killed in a fierce gun battle, a rare feat for any man who dared stand against the New Genoese Special Marines, who were considered to be the best of the best, the strongest of the strong, and the cleverest of the clever.
After several minutes passed by without any further disruptions, Chad motioned for the group to continue moving forward. The sounds of the forest are varied and plentiful, and are at often times very misleading. The mud beneath their boots squished every inch they moved.
“Where the hell are they at?” Perceval Jenkins, one of the two corporals on the team, said.
“Patience is a virtue, Jenkins,” Chad replied. “Your time will come soon enough.”
“Yes, sir,” Jenkins said. “But it's been three God damn hours. Usually they're right on time. I don't like the looks of this.”
“Stop being a superstitious pussy,” said Stanley Johnson, the other corporal. “Intelligence isn't perfect, nor are the smugglers. Hell, they may very well be several degrees to the north or south or whatever. There's no damn reason to fret. You're always like this, Jenkins.”
“It's just that I have this feeling that they're watching our every footstep,” Jenkins replied. “I can't describe it, but I feel a presence here.”
“A presence? I thought you were above such childish notions. At any rate, even if they are planning an ambush...how do they know we're here right now? Intelligence isn't a typical trait of these smugglers, you know. Furthermore, you're holding a God damn SAW. Any son of a bitch tries to open fire on you, and you'll blast his ass away.” Johnson continued walking, undisturbed by Jenkins's worries.
“But,” Jenkins said weakly, “didn't you hear the noise five minutes ago? What the hell was that?”
“The jungle is full of sounds, Jenkins. It could've been anything. Listen, we're aptly prepared for any type of armed attack, so there's no reason to feel uncomfortable is all I'm saying.”
“While I would love to continue this idle conversation,” Chad interjected, “we have a fucking objective to accomplish, so get off your god damn asses and...”
Suddenly a barrage of bullets erupted from a nearby brush, forcing every man to duck and take cover. Three men were standing behind the bush and one was operating a squad automatic machine gun.
“Get the fucking SAW on that man!” Chad hollered, pointing to Jenkins. “Now!”
There was a knock on the door. Chad's eyes flickered open, and he groaned and rolled over in his bed to look at the clock.
“What the fuck?” Chad said. “It's fucking eight in the morning!”
Another knock, this time more vigorous.
“God dammit!” Chad said, infuriated. His head was pounding. A night at the bar tends to lead to such consequences the next morning.
Chad rolled out of bed. He was wearing a wifebeater shirt and a pair of boxers. His hair was frizzed, his face rough and grizzled with a five o'clock shadow. Chad approached the door and opened it. Before him was a familiar looking man, though there were some obvious physiological differences in the man's countenance.
“Kurt?” Chad said, rubbing his eyes. “No, it can't be...”
“Are you Chad Flark?” asked the man at the door.
“What does it matter to you?” Chad replied.
“Again, I ask: are you Chad Flark?”
“Yes, and what the hell do you want?” Chad answered.
“You seemed to have mistaken me for a man named 'Kurt.' Is his last name by any chance 'Caesar'?”
Chad was taken aback by the stranger. Very few people besides himself had personally known the man called Kurt Caesar. “Who the hell are you?”
“I'm Kurt's brother, Derek Caesar. I've come seeking answers about my brother,” the man said, trying to enter the apartment.
Chad blocked his way. “Wait, wait, wait. You're Kurt's brother? He never mentioned a brother, at least to my recollection. What the hell are you looking for?”
“Listen, bud, all I know is that you knew my brother in his final moments. Now I've been searching for two God damn years to find your ass. The least you could do is to invite me into your home.” Derek stared at Chad intently.
“Fine,” Chad said. “But it's a fucking mess.”
The room was a pigsty. Beer cans and bottles littered the floor along with old, half-eaten food and pornographic magazines. The couch was ripped, stained, and discolored while the television was dusty and missing several buttons on the front panel. From the looks of his apartment, you would never guess that Chad was a military ace. The smell was abominable, and Derek winced a bit at its sudden strength.
“I smell like shit,” Chad said, noticing Derek's reaction. “Need to take a shower. But let's get to the point and make both our lives easier. What do you want to know about Kurt's death?”
“How did he die?” Derek asked simply and concisely.
“That information is confidential, I'm afraid. I swore on oath when I left the Special Marines not to divulge it,” Chad replied.
“Mr. Flark,” Derek said, “I doubt that the information is that highly sensitive if they're relying on your honesty alone to keep it a national secret. My brother's been dead for two years, Chad, and they won't even tell me how he died. There was no corpse at his funeral. There was nothing. All they told us was: 'your brother's dead, sir. I'm sorry to inform you of the grave news.' And then they fucking left us. Do you know what it's like to be fucking left in the dark like that?”
Chad sighed. “Yes, I do in fact. But that's...something else. The circumstances of your brother's death...” Chad struggled for words to explain it. Derek was going to take him as a fool if he told him how Kurt had actually died. Still, the man demanded the truth, so he might as well deliver it as it is. “Your brother was killed in a facility on a foreign planet, Procul. We were assigned to an international task force to investigate certain disturbances. Long story short, he was killed by...nonhuman...creatures. Well, they were human, but not in the same way you and I are. Biologically, they were human. In fact, they used to be human, but they were more in the realm of the...living dead, I suppose. There was a man, Jaden, from the Steel Empire in the Orion Sector who underwent another phenomenal transformation similar to these people, but to a much grander scale. In the enduring scuffle, Kurt was killed by the 'man.' Look, I know this sounds like utter bullshit, and I appreciate that you haven't interrupted me yet but...”
“You really fucking expect me to fucking believe that, you fucking rat? What the fuck is your fucking problem? You don't fucking toy with people's minds like that, you sick sadistic fuck! My brother fucking died! And I come here to kindly ask you the details to put my soul at rest and you tell me some fairy tale? Jesus Christ, man, you could've just told me to fuck off if it's that important to keep a trivial secret to yourself for your own self-satisfactory means. Fuck off, I'm outta here.” Derek slammed the door on his way out.
Chad covered his face with his hands. The story of Kurt Caesar's demise always brought back painful memories. He didn't piss and moan about it everyday, he was a Special Marine after all not a “God damn pussy” as he put it, but wounds never completely heal. Kurt had been like a father to him – yes, he had been asshole to him when they first met, but Chad was also a brash, egocentric young man too. He had come to revere Kurt's wisdom, even if the man was bitter and pessimistic most of the time. Suddenly he felt his stomach turn in knots. Last night's alcohol was coming out again, and he rushed to the bathroom to puke his guts out before he left to meet his employer.
Several hours later
“Mr. Stein, I appreciate your unwavering support for me, but I feel that it's time I part ways with your company. There are just too many...problems I'm having right now. It's not your fault, nor the fault of any of the Raptors – it's an internal problem that I need to confront by myself, and at this point in time this occupation is just holding me back from confronting it. I'm terribly sorry...”
“Say nothing of it,” Hugh Stein said. The man was nicely dressed, and was wearing his thick glasses today. At the other side of his desk, Chad Flark sat. No man leaves the Raptors alive. No man. “I understand your dilemma completely. But Mr. Flark, do you not think it would be more appropriate perhaps if you took a temporary leave of absence instead? After all, you are my most esteemed Raptor and it would be tragedy to lose you. Take some time off, and come back when you're ready. I would strongly advise against outright abandoning this position because we really do appreciate, nay, admire all the work you have done for this company. It's not often that a Special Marine joins our little business.”
Chad felt his stomach twist and turn at those words. The man was mocking him, tormenting his never ending guilt. A Special Marine doesn't belong here. I'm a damn embarrassment to everything they stand for. “I suppose,” Chad said, “that that would be a better alternative. Is three weeks leave too much?”
“Of course not, Mr. Flark. You take all the time you need to sort these problems out. There's nothing really important that needs to be done, anyway. Though I do urge you to reconsider your initial qualms with this company. We lead a fine business. We hope to see you back soon.” Stein reached over his desk to shake Chad's hand.
Chad returned the favor with a firm handshake. He knew he would never see the man again.
Chad wiped the rain from his forehead. In one hand he carried the compact NGR-18S semiautomatic rifle, which had been specifically designed for these types of operations. Four other men accompanied the young captain of twenty-nine years old – one carrying a squad automatic weapon, another carrying a sniper, and the other two carrying rifles similar to Chad's. Suddenly, there was a loud crackle of noise. Chad halted and signaled to his teammates to scan the region for any hostiles. The gun smugglers of the day had become exceedingly effective in their profession of late. Nearly six weeks ago two Special Marines had been killed in a fierce gun battle, a rare feat for any man who dared stand against the New Genoese Special Marines, who were considered to be the best of the best, the strongest of the strong, and the cleverest of the clever.
After several minutes passed by without any further disruptions, Chad motioned for the group to continue moving forward. The sounds of the forest are varied and plentiful, and are at often times very misleading. The mud beneath their boots squished every inch they moved.
“Where the hell are they at?” Perceval Jenkins, one of the two corporals on the team, said.
“Patience is a virtue, Jenkins,” Chad replied. “Your time will come soon enough.”
“Yes, sir,” Jenkins said. “But it's been three God damn hours. Usually they're right on time. I don't like the looks of this.”
“Stop being a superstitious pussy,” said Stanley Johnson, the other corporal. “Intelligence isn't perfect, nor are the smugglers. Hell, they may very well be several degrees to the north or south or whatever. There's no damn reason to fret. You're always like this, Jenkins.”
“It's just that I have this feeling that they're watching our every footstep,” Jenkins replied. “I can't describe it, but I feel a presence here.”
“A presence? I thought you were above such childish notions. At any rate, even if they are planning an ambush...how do they know we're here right now? Intelligence isn't a typical trait of these smugglers, you know. Furthermore, you're holding a God damn SAW. Any son of a bitch tries to open fire on you, and you'll blast his ass away.” Johnson continued walking, undisturbed by Jenkins's worries.
“But,” Jenkins said weakly, “didn't you hear the noise five minutes ago? What the hell was that?”
“The jungle is full of sounds, Jenkins. It could've been anything. Listen, we're aptly prepared for any type of armed attack, so there's no reason to feel uncomfortable is all I'm saying.”
“While I would love to continue this idle conversation,” Chad interjected, “we have a fucking objective to accomplish, so get off your god damn asses and...”
Suddenly a barrage of bullets erupted from a nearby brush, forcing every man to duck and take cover. Three men were standing behind the bush and one was operating a squad automatic machine gun.
“Get the fucking SAW on that man!” Chad hollered, pointing to Jenkins. “Now!”
There was a knock on the door. Chad's eyes flickered open, and he groaned and rolled over in his bed to look at the clock.
“What the fuck?” Chad said. “It's fucking eight in the morning!”
Another knock, this time more vigorous.
“God dammit!” Chad said, infuriated. His head was pounding. A night at the bar tends to lead to such consequences the next morning.
Chad rolled out of bed. He was wearing a wifebeater shirt and a pair of boxers. His hair was frizzed, his face rough and grizzled with a five o'clock shadow. Chad approached the door and opened it. Before him was a familiar looking man, though there were some obvious physiological differences in the man's countenance.
“Kurt?” Chad said, rubbing his eyes. “No, it can't be...”
“Are you Chad Flark?” asked the man at the door.
“What does it matter to you?” Chad replied.
“Again, I ask: are you Chad Flark?”
“Yes, and what the hell do you want?” Chad answered.
“You seemed to have mistaken me for a man named 'Kurt.' Is his last name by any chance 'Caesar'?”
Chad was taken aback by the stranger. Very few people besides himself had personally known the man called Kurt Caesar. “Who the hell are you?”
“I'm Kurt's brother, Derek Caesar. I've come seeking answers about my brother,” the man said, trying to enter the apartment.
Chad blocked his way. “Wait, wait, wait. You're Kurt's brother? He never mentioned a brother, at least to my recollection. What the hell are you looking for?”
“Listen, bud, all I know is that you knew my brother in his final moments. Now I've been searching for two God damn years to find your ass. The least you could do is to invite me into your home.” Derek stared at Chad intently.
“Fine,” Chad said. “But it's a fucking mess.”
The room was a pigsty. Beer cans and bottles littered the floor along with old, half-eaten food and pornographic magazines. The couch was ripped, stained, and discolored while the television was dusty and missing several buttons on the front panel. From the looks of his apartment, you would never guess that Chad was a military ace. The smell was abominable, and Derek winced a bit at its sudden strength.
“I smell like shit,” Chad said, noticing Derek's reaction. “Need to take a shower. But let's get to the point and make both our lives easier. What do you want to know about Kurt's death?”
“How did he die?” Derek asked simply and concisely.
“That information is confidential, I'm afraid. I swore on oath when I left the Special Marines not to divulge it,” Chad replied.
“Mr. Flark,” Derek said, “I doubt that the information is that highly sensitive if they're relying on your honesty alone to keep it a national secret. My brother's been dead for two years, Chad, and they won't even tell me how he died. There was no corpse at his funeral. There was nothing. All they told us was: 'your brother's dead, sir. I'm sorry to inform you of the grave news.' And then they fucking left us. Do you know what it's like to be fucking left in the dark like that?”
Chad sighed. “Yes, I do in fact. But that's...something else. The circumstances of your brother's death...” Chad struggled for words to explain it. Derek was going to take him as a fool if he told him how Kurt had actually died. Still, the man demanded the truth, so he might as well deliver it as it is. “Your brother was killed in a facility on a foreign planet, Procul. We were assigned to an international task force to investigate certain disturbances. Long story short, he was killed by...nonhuman...creatures. Well, they were human, but not in the same way you and I are. Biologically, they were human. In fact, they used to be human, but they were more in the realm of the...living dead, I suppose. There was a man, Jaden, from the Steel Empire in the Orion Sector who underwent another phenomenal transformation similar to these people, but to a much grander scale. In the enduring scuffle, Kurt was killed by the 'man.' Look, I know this sounds like utter bullshit, and I appreciate that you haven't interrupted me yet but...”
“You really fucking expect me to fucking believe that, you fucking rat? What the fuck is your fucking problem? You don't fucking toy with people's minds like that, you sick sadistic fuck! My brother fucking died! And I come here to kindly ask you the details to put my soul at rest and you tell me some fairy tale? Jesus Christ, man, you could've just told me to fuck off if it's that important to keep a trivial secret to yourself for your own self-satisfactory means. Fuck off, I'm outta here.” Derek slammed the door on his way out.
Chad covered his face with his hands. The story of Kurt Caesar's demise always brought back painful memories. He didn't piss and moan about it everyday, he was a Special Marine after all not a “God damn pussy” as he put it, but wounds never completely heal. Kurt had been like a father to him – yes, he had been asshole to him when they first met, but Chad was also a brash, egocentric young man too. He had come to revere Kurt's wisdom, even if the man was bitter and pessimistic most of the time. Suddenly he felt his stomach turn in knots. Last night's alcohol was coming out again, and he rushed to the bathroom to puke his guts out before he left to meet his employer.
Several hours later
“Mr. Stein, I appreciate your unwavering support for me, but I feel that it's time I part ways with your company. There are just too many...problems I'm having right now. It's not your fault, nor the fault of any of the Raptors – it's an internal problem that I need to confront by myself, and at this point in time this occupation is just holding me back from confronting it. I'm terribly sorry...”
“Say nothing of it,” Hugh Stein said. The man was nicely dressed, and was wearing his thick glasses today. At the other side of his desk, Chad Flark sat. No man leaves the Raptors alive. No man. “I understand your dilemma completely. But Mr. Flark, do you not think it would be more appropriate perhaps if you took a temporary leave of absence instead? After all, you are my most esteemed Raptor and it would be tragedy to lose you. Take some time off, and come back when you're ready. I would strongly advise against outright abandoning this position because we really do appreciate, nay, admire all the work you have done for this company. It's not often that a Special Marine joins our little business.”
Chad felt his stomach twist and turn at those words. The man was mocking him, tormenting his never ending guilt. A Special Marine doesn't belong here. I'm a damn embarrassment to everything they stand for. “I suppose,” Chad said, “that that would be a better alternative. Is three weeks leave too much?”
“Of course not, Mr. Flark. You take all the time you need to sort these problems out. There's nothing really important that needs to be done, anyway. Though I do urge you to reconsider your initial qualms with this company. We lead a fine business. We hope to see you back soon.” Stein reached over his desk to shake Chad's hand.
Chad returned the favor with a firm handshake. He knew he would never see the man again.