Mercenaries’ Tale – 4.03 The Mercs Take Flight
The inside of the craft wasn’t particularly impressive. In total there was only three rooms on the vessel: the cockpit, the hold and a modest toilet about the size of a cupboard. The hold was bare aside from the two benches that lined the outer walls and a small display case nailed to the wall beside the entrance to the cockpit. An attempt had been made to clean the place but faded stains remained on the sticky metal floorspace. Doug and Kate attempted to get comfy on the bench to the left of the cockpit’s door, Gratin settling on the bench opposite them due to the lack of room on the seats.
The trio could hear movement from the cockpit, various banging and bumping noises emanating from beyond the door. Doug was staring a metaphorical hole in the door, too focused on what their pilot could possibly be doing to pay attention to his friends. It took a moment for him to realise that he was being spoken to.
“You seem tense,” Kate noted as Doug lit up a fresh cigarette. He didn’t waste any time once it was lit, shoving it straight into his mouth and taking a deep drag, only considering her statement once the nicotine was in his system.
“Major Stanly Morrison was one of the most incompetent men I ever served under. He was a stickler for the rules unless they effected his own behaviour, in which case they magically became “guidelines”. We didn’t exactly gel…”
“He seems affable enough…” Kate mused thoughtfully as she moved her eyeline towards the cockpit. The door was still closed and the noises had yet to cease: bumps, mutterings and the occasional swearword drifted across the threshold.
“Oh he is when he’s been drinking and he likes a drink, Old Stanly does. It’s partly why the officers liked him so much; friendly as anything and always able to acquire brandy when needed. Shame he was an idiot,”
“Looks like he was highly decorated,” Kate pointed towards where the display case hung. All the medals the Major had earned during his illustrious career could be seen neatly arranged within. There were dozens of the things all shining out at the world.
“He was good at passing the buck and claiming credit for his men’s work,” Doug waved a hand dismissively.
“He can’t have been that bad!”
“First week of our campaign on Glamonis, we were gonna do a bombing raid behind enemy lines. Major gave us the coords only he got mixed up between enemy emplacements and a PSF unit’s camp that were gonna go in and finish the job once the bombs had finished. We took out our own guys.”
“That’s pretty bad-”
“Two days later, we’re pinned down by enemy forces a few days away from the nearest friendly face when Stanley starts getting jittery. We see a ship approaching so he orders a mortar set up-”
“A mortar? For an incoming ship?”
“Don’t get me started on that. We tried arguing with him but that just made him double down. Wiggins and Elvito did the best they could shooting the thing down but they shelled half the surrounding area doing it. Then it turned out that it didn’t belong to the enemy at all! It was a supply drop meant for us! We didn’t get another for the better part of a week. Nearly died of thirst.”
“Oh gods…”
“When we finally got back to base, The Major got wasted and decided he’d go back and teach the arseholes that were shooting at us all week a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget. He commandeered a drop ship and crashed it into our own dry dock. If that wasn’t the reason he was “let go” then it didn’t help matters.”
“…Um…” was all Kate could say on the matter, the red head lost for words.
“And now we’ve paid him to take us to Polaris. If I ever see that Gunner Manford again, I’m gonna sock him right in the jaw. Assuming Stanly doesn’t kill us first.”
“…Well shit.” Kate muttered, making sure her seatbelt was secured.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Doug agreed, reclining back into his own seat and taking another deep drag of his cigarette.
“…Do we need to worry about him recognising you? Do you think he’d turn us in?” this was said in a low whisper as Kate mulled over the potential consequences of flying with this man.
“He never bothered to learn anyone’s names so probably not. He only ever called me “Sergeant”. We were all just ranks to him,” replied Doug after a brief pause, “if he did remember me you’d have thought he’d have said something when he brought up the court martial…”
The ship lurched forward as the engine started, stalling the conversation, a cry of “Chocks away!” being the main indicator that their journey had begun. The craft picked up speed as it hurtled down the runway, travelling at a slight diagonal trajectory. Doug clamped both hands onto the edge of the bench, swearing as the Hound’s left wheel left the confines of the tarmac and ventured out into rougher terrain. The little craft skipped and jumped over various rocks and small mounds of dirt, sending its passengers bouncing in their seats. Kate, in the absence of an armrest, gripped Doug’s arm to steady herself whereas Gratin braced himself against the wall, the mage muttering an alarmed prayer under his breath to Airolas in the remote hope that the god of air and travel would give them the blessings they clearly needed.
A particularly big ridge was soon utilised as a makeshift ramp and the craft was sent souring into the air where it stayed, The Hound gracefully looping around the airfield until it found the correct course for Polaris.
“A ha! Another perfect take-off by Major Stanly Morrison! All fair skies from here, gentlemen and lady!” the proud voice of the Major called out from the cockpit. The mercs all collectively sighed in relief, the trio pulling themselves out of their braced positions.
“Bugger me, he’s gonna get us killed!” Doug muttered, clearly unimpressed by the “perfect” take off. Kate glimpsed at him, taking in the way he was puffing on his cigarette like an inhaler, the way his human hand was nervously running through his hair and the slight greenish tint to his complexion. Doug never liked being driven as a rule, a fact Kate herself had teased and hassled him about on many an occasion over the past three years. Being a powerless passenger being left to the mercy of whoever was driving left him feeling uncomfortable to say the least. She was the only one he really tolerated having in the driver’s seat and that was only if he was in a good mood. The Major was far from being an exception from the rule, the rocky take off only cementing that. Doug needed a distraction, Kate’s eyes drifting to the package Parkinson had given him.
Standing up, Kate offered Doug her hand.
“Come on. Lets put some of that ointment on you. Might take your mind off of all this,”she waved her other hand towards the cockpit. Doug peered up at her sceptically.
“I don’t think the Major’s piloting will be all that easy to forget but if you’re offering to oil me up then who am I to turn you down?” he japed.
“Don’t make this a thing, I just don’t want you getting gangrene or whatever. Now go into the bathroom and take your shirt off.”
“…Sexy!”
“Shut up.”
The “bathroom” was essentially a toilet stall fitted into a cupboard with a tiny sink squeezed in for the sake of sanitation. It was an intimate space; not much room for two people. It was grimy with leaky taps and a toilet with questionable plumbing. Doug closed the toilet’s lid so he could use it as a table. From there he set about removing his arm, jacket and shirt before making himself comfortable leaning against the sink. Kate left her coat and gloves with Gratin and was already pouring a dollop of the white paste into her bare hand as she entered.
“This is going to sting,” she warned. Doug nodded and braced himself. It wasn’t so much the stinging sensation that surprised him but rather how cold the ointment was.
“Ah! Fuck!” he instantly tensed up, leaning away from the freezing cream. Kate merely rolled her eyes as she kept her hand pressed to his injured side.
“It’ll be over in a sec, hold still!”
“Mnn…ah…Faust…!” his injury began to ache all over again as Kate found herself pressing harder then she intended due to his squirming. She persisted, working the thick substance into his sore side. The skin was bright red and warm to the touch; the early signs of a potential infection. Kate was just glad they were able to treat it before it became a real problem. Doug merely focused on his cigarette as he felt his side throb, the possibility of getting sick far from his mind.
“…You know, if the Major really is as bad as you say he is, it’s not too late to head back to the airfield and find someone else…” she casually pointed out as she did her work.
“Gunner said he was the only one going this way,” Doug reminded her.
“We don’t have to go straight to Polaris. There’s other places we could go…”
“Like?”
“…The Dìguó Dàlù?” she suggested hesitantly after a short pause, “I know that the Blight would mess with your arm but it’d make a great hiding place until the heat dies down. No social media or cameras to catch us. Lots of outlaws for you to beat up for kicks…”
“That’s real funny!” guffawed Doug, the soldier amused until he caught sight of the red head’s face, their eyes meeting.
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“Well, yeah, kinda…” she turned her gaze onto the floor, embarrassed. Doug continued to watch her.
“We promised Gratin-”
“I know! I know…but things are a mess right now. We’ve a bounty on our heads – a big one – and we don’t know anything about what we’re even walking into. That anti-magic stuff was scary, you saw what it did to Gratin…” Doug absorbed her sombre body language, Kate having stopped applying the ointment and was now wringing her hands.
“How long would we even have to go into hiding for?” he asked.
“…I dunno…I just have a bad feeling is all…” this caused Doug to sigh. He could guess what this was really about. It wasn’t so much a case of being afraid of what was waiting for them but more what could be lost if things went wrong…
“Red…” he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in for a hug, “we won’t go in blind, I promise. We’ll do some poking around when we get up there,”
“We need to know the layout of the building, the size of their security force and what they’re armed with for starters. That’s not the kind of information that just falls into your lap,” pointed out the redhead as she allowed Doug to embrace her but otherwise didn’t react.
“Then we’ll find someone who works security and ask them nicely,” he pulled back enough to wink at her and flash her a smile so confident it could win awards. It was the kind of infectious smile that could usher enthusiasm out of a rock. Kate could feel the corners of her own mouth gravitating upwards as she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“You always make things sound so simple. What if they’re not talkative?”
“You know how persuasive I can be. I can hold a conversation with anyone!” laughter boomed out of him, drawing a small chuckle from Kate like a snake charmer luring a serpent from a basket.
“And that’ll be all we need, is it? You find it that easy to acquire that kind of information?”
“It’s a talent!” She found herself shaking her head in disbelief again.
“Fine. Just promise me you aren’t going to get yourself hurt again…” she gently placed a hand on his injury, slowly working some of the excess ointment into his skin absent mindedly. The act calmed the soldier down somewhat, the smile still in place.
“I promise. ‘Sides, I don’t think I could afford the medical bill if I got myself much more banged up! You might have to put me out to pasture!” he joked, drawing Kate’s eyeline back up to meet his.
“Doug, that’s not-”
“I won’t get hurt,” he stated seriously before she could tell him off for having a bad sense of humour, “cross my heart. I’m a professional after all, I know what I’m doing and I know my limits. This ain’t it,” he tapped his paste covered side, “okay?”
Kate stared up into those grey-blue eyes and saw nothing but confidence and earnestness radiating back at her. Doug had a determination about him that could convince her of damn near anything if he wanted to.
And she would let him. She always caved in eventually. There was something about Doug that, no matter how strong a grip her own anxiety had on her, he’d always find a way to pull her up onto her feet again. It was admirable in a way, Kate beaming that confidence back up at him.
“Okay. To Polaris it is.”
The moment was interrupted by an awkward cough outside the door followed by a tentative knock.
“My friends, Mr Morrison has made me aware that it would be a dereliction of duty to leave you two alone in such a confined space considering our… reasons for being on this aircraft. Might you rejoin me in here soon?” came the voice of Gratin, the mage unaccustomed to such situations.
“Oh gods,” Kate muttered, “that old man is going to think we’re a pair of sex pests at this rate…”
“Hmm, he’s not exactly the only one…” Doug muttered, remembering Gunner’s thoughts on the use of the term “mistress”.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it. Go join Archie, I’ll finish up here. Try not to miss me too much,” Kate tried to think of a suitable comeback, failed and settled for rolling her eyes instead as she shuffled past him and back into the hold.
It didn’t take long for Doug to rejoin his friends fully clothed and re-armed once more. He paced the room for a few minutes, anxious energy building up as the occasional bout of turbulence buffeted the craft.
Eventually Kate patted the spot next to her as she ordered him to sit down.
“I’m good standing, ta,” he replied.
“Well I’m not. You’ll wear a hole in the floor at this rate and then where will we be? Sit down,” she firmly told him. He obediently plopped down heavily next to her, his foot tapping to release some of the access energy. He was surprised when Kate offered him one of her earplugs.
“What’s-” he began.
“When I used to get a build-up of nervous energy, one of my old friends, Alex, used to use music to help me distract myself enough to get past it. So here, join me for a bit,” Doug carefully read her features as he accepted the bud.
“The wire’s pretty short, we’re going to have to get all cosy…” he teased, trying to press her buttons in an experimental manner. Kate merely shrugged.
“If that makes you uncomfortable then I can take the offer back…”
“Let’s not be hasty,” he laughed, scooting closer so that they could both wear a headphone. He slipped his arm around her so that she could get comfy beside him, Kate busying herself by setting up the music player. Doug glanced towards Gratin curiously, the mage staring off into a random point on the opposite wall.
“Do not worry about excluding me, I can mentally link up with one of you if I wish to partake in music time,” stated Gratin simply, not focusing on Doug at all. The soldier continued watching his friend, a brow cocked.
I had no hand in whatever this is, the mistress is quite unaware of what you dream about, Meatbag. Gratin’s voice cut into Doug’s train of thought, the mage having guessed what Doug was thinking. Enjoy the moment, there may not be another.
“Thanks, Gratin,” Doug muttered as he made himself comfortable. Soon music began to play, the two mercenaries falling into conversation about their favourite bands and the assortment of songs Kate had collected over the years, both classical and modern alike. Gratin listened throughout, basking in the comfortable warmth that slowly filled the hold as it radiated from the two humans enjoying one another’s company. It was pleasant, a slice of peace that reminded the mage of why he had chosen to accompany these two in the first place, laughter and friendly chatter filling the next few hours until the sun set and the trio began to drift off for the night.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Salmanic Manor stood tall on the northern most point of the first plate. It felt like it was in a completely different world than the rest of the city, it being found in a gated community, walled off from everything else. Parkland surrounded the tiny district acting as a buffer zone to further insulate the wealthy inhabitants from anything that may sully their peaceful haven.
The manor itself was a four storey tall grey brick building with a deep black roof, lighter stonework highlighting the windows and adding detail here and there to make it feel truly grandiose. As it was one of the oldest homes in the City, it had naturally developed a curtain of ivy along the eastern side.
The house was big enough to have wings, each with its own sitting and drawing rooms, each in turn named after a grandmother Silverton had only ever read about in the great family tree that was displayed proudly in the centre of the library.
Every Salmanic to have lived in the City had lived here, each one improving the place in some way. The late Overton Salmanic had installed a steam room in the basement as he claimed the heat helped him think. Silverton’s grandfather, Gilbert Salmanic, had built the greenhouses as a present to his wife, the two having been very keen on self-sufficiency so long as they could pay other people to do it for them. Silverton’s father, Victor Salmanic, had constructed the observatory that stood proudly at the back of the grounds, where he spent most of his evenings with a glass of brandy and the regal looking red ledger where he had recorded most of his thoughts.
Silverton had yet to add his own mark to the place. He had only ever seen the manor as a sort of people receptacle; a place to recharge and escape the office. His wife, Cecilia, had shown more of an interest. She had renovated and restored much of it. Special attention had been placed on the ballroom from which she had hosted many a gala to raise awareness and money for a plethora of charities. The tabloids claimed her parties defined the social season, everyone who was anyone in attendance.
The key word was “had”.
Her missing presence made the whole manor feel empty. It really was just a receptacle without her. It was part of the reason why Silverton preferred to stay at his penthouse these days although he was loathe to admit it.
He had expected it to be empty bar the Help when he arrived and yet, as his limo sailed up the long gravel drive, he was surprised to see a number of cars and vans parked up by the main entrance. Cleaning crews owned the vans if the livery on the side was anything to go by and the doors of the cars advertised an event planning service.
The Autumn Charity Gala… Of course…
When Cecilia had been here, she had ran four big charity events every year: The Faustmas Ball to raise funds for child poverty; The Spring Auction which saw antique collectors gathering in the ball room to battle one another via bidding wars with the proceeds being donated to the Lusinian Historical Society and associated museums; The Summer Art Show which showcased the works of up and coming artists and would provide numerous grants to The City of Light University by way of the hefty price of entry tickets for the event; and finally the Autumn Charity Gala which usually took place mid-Lupos and was essentially one big party where the wealthy guests were encouraged to donate vast sums of money to whichever charities were being sponsored that night. Usually these charities ranged from battling child abuse to helping regions of the Dìguó Dàlù most affected by the Blight. Silverton had been dragged to most of them, Cecilia always claiming it would be good PR and that it would be good for him to engage more with his peers rather than stalking about his lair, hoarding his riches. He had resisted at first but at some point he had come to appreciate just how much she shone when she was in her element. There had been a time where he had considered seeing the way she sparkled when she smiled to be the greatest of his treasures…
He had been avoiding these events ever since she passed away. He had little to do with their planning and if it were up to him then he would have ended them altogether. His PR teams had resisted, claiming it would be bad press and rather suspicious if he erased his wife’s lasting legacy. Besides, it kept her busy. The trick now was finding what he was after without drawing her attention…
“Father?” he had barely made it into the grand hallway when the suspicious voice of his heir and daughter greeted him. She was stood at the foot of the great stairwell flanked by the party planners who had been midway through demonstrating how the floral arrangements could be used to decorate the banisters, samples of Cecilia’s favourite flowers, lilies, in hand for a visual aid.
“…Silvia…” he greeted awkwardly, coming to a halt. Silvia Salmanic was a young woman in her early twenties, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders in loose curls. Everything about her appearance was perfectly styled; from her make-up to her chiffon dress all chosen to enhance her femininity and make her seem as disarming as possible. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Cecilia had short, blonde hair then Silvia would have looked just like her…
“I thought you would be in school,” Silverton stated blandly as he began to march towards the stairs. Silvia subtly waved off her planning committee and gracefully stepped into his path.
“My classes aren’t until this afternoon, something you would have known if you had ever taken the slightest interest in my courses,”
“I’ve been paying your tutors, haven’t I?” said the father as if this were all the proof needed to show he had been following her academic progress.
“Oh yes, so I’m sure you’ll be very aware of what their names are, which specialises in what subject and that I spent the majority of the weekend revising my itinerary for this semester with them,” she rolled her eyes causing him to merely grunt in derision before she changed the subject completely.
“What are you doing here, father? You made it quite clear yesterday that you had no intention of even attending the Gala, let alone helping me arrange it. I didn’t think I’d see you again until Faustmas…”
“If you must know, I’m here for something of your grandfather’s,”
“Why? You shut down everything he had been working on. You called the entire R&D department a waste of resources-”
“I did not come here to play Twenty Questions!” he forcefully interrupted her, barging past and sending her staggering backwards a step, “now if you don’t mind, I have matters to attend to!” his gaze settled on the foot of the stairwell and his whole body froze. His breath was caught in his throat, his bionic eye locking onto the spot on the floor. It was like he had just ploughed head long into a wall of ice, everything seizing up. He could almost picture what had lain there the last night he had been here. The way she had crumpled…
He could hear the planners beginning to whisper amongst themselves, sweat beginning to form on his brow. Silvia was watching him carefully, studying his body language. She took a deep breath and softly took his arm, easing him forwards and onto the stairs.
“…I miss her too…” she spoke softly, eyes averted. Silverton rubbed his face with his free arm, tugging his other out of her loose grasp.
“Don’t… just… don’t,” he forced himself forwards and away from her, correcting his posture to obscure his own failings. He was the most powerful man on the planet and he was going to act like it, damn it.
“I don’t need to be coddled and I certainly don’t need you of all people to tell me my business,” he stepped onto the first landing without looking back, Silvia hovering near the bottom of the steps.
“Fine,” she was glaring up at him, her true feelings displayed on her face for the briefest of moments before she took a deep breath and forced the anger back down into the pit it belonged in, a sweet smile brightening her features, “I will try not to show you any more concern, Father. I’ll be right here if you have need me,” Silverton merely grunted in response. His eyes travelled to one of the sets of large double doors that were located on this landing, his throat tightening once more. His old study was there, still locked up tight from the last time he had set foot in the building.
Silvia observed her father tense up once more, his hands balling into fists.
“I take it your Grandfather’s old ledgers are in the library?” he asked, tearing his gaze away from his old haunt.
“Yes, except for any relating directly to the company. I believe you put those in a vault at Salmanic Tower,” she answered with a shrug.
“Good. I don’t expect to be here long. Nobody’s to disturb me, do you understand?”
“Of course, Father, whatever you need,” she stated, beaming innocence up at him. He grunted once more and strode confidently through the great oak doors that led to the library, doors slamming behind him as he shut the whole world out.
Post by Sam | October 29, 2022 at 12:01 am | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment
Tags: Airfield, Blaise, Diguo Dalu, Doug McCracken, Gratin, Kate O'Donnell, Major Stanley Morrison, PSF, Salmanic Manor, Silverton Salmanic, Silvia Salmanic, The Flying Hound, the Mercs, vehicles and transport