Once, Before a Mission
Dim reflections on the screen.
Standard red emergency lighting creates strange shadows on the bulky metal frames and pipes that protrude from the walls and the heavy-duty fire extinguishing equipment, waiting to be deployed. This is the main cargo bay, filled with the usual roar of turbofan engines and ever-present slight vibration.
One hour before the assault.
The ARX-7 "Arbalest" was locked in its standby position behind its guard rail. In the cockpit, a silent Sousuke seemed to be completely absorbed by whatever he was reading. The file was displayed in one of the MFDs, and he was looking through it with an extremely serious expression, silently nodding to himself.
It was not, as one may have thought, the plan of the operation, but the summary of a previous class in classic literature. A soldier usually spends a lot of time simply waiting, and by using that time to study, Sousuke managed to avoid failing his classes.
One particular model sentence caught his attention, and he re-read it several times.
"Furuike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto..."1 [1]
"The old pond;
A frog jumps in -
The sound of the water."
Though there are many, many possible translations.
…it jumped into the old pond, so what? "I don't get it, at all..." God knows how many dozens of times he muttered that sentence when studying for classic literature. In his homework he only wrote down a literal transcription of the meaning of that sentence, but the teacher said that this wouldn't do, and that it expresses something much more important. He then shrugged, and wrote:
"The frog jumped into the pond, making a splash. That splash startled the new recruit in a squad on a covert operation, and he fired his gun. Because the shot was heard from afar, the operation was a failure, and the support unit suffered heavy losses."
The teacher then shouted "Are you trying to be funny?!" and smacked him with his notebook. He wasn't trying to be funny, though, on the contrary - he was always serious. He started thinking that maybe he himself, and the way he was raised, was the problem. Maybe he did not have any talent for it, and it could only be understood by someone whose brain worked in a certain way. He could understand mathematics and chemistry quite well - why not ancient literature?
- What is not understandable, Sergeant, Sir? - a melancholy voice interrupted his thoughts.
It was, of course, the machine AI, whom everyone called Al. This wasn't the first time that it had reacted to his monologue even without him pressing the voice command input switch.
- None of your business. Be quiet.
- If it is about the contents of the file, index number R-630c, that you are currently viewing, I have a suggestion.
- It's classic literature, what would you know...
- I can explain. It is a three-verse fixed poetry form from medieval Japan. It does not simply represent a collection of facts, rather suggesting certain ideas and associations. It rejects abstruse, overly complicated poetical language, instead creating images that have a direct relationship with human psychology, - it really is a masterpiece.
Sousuke guessed that the AI was absolutely right, - and he had spent an hour thinking about this poem.
[- I hope you will recognise my superior linguistic capabilities.]
- You just connected to the net and looked it up, haven't you.
[ -But of course. It is logical to use any intelligence available.]
- Among students, this is considered cheating.
[- I have used the datalink to the best of my ability, why is this "cheating"?]
- Because you cannot train your own abilities this way.
[- I see,] Al's voice sounded a little haughty, or maybe it was just Sousuke's imagination. [Then, please, come to your own solution, and do not rely on my help.]
- When did I ever rely on you, dammit?!..
He was interrupted by laughter over the comm channel. It was Kurz Weber, sitting in his "Gernsback" near Sousuke's machine.
- Is something wrong, Kurz?
- Sure is! You talking with that AI, for instance...
He must have heard their conversation because the internal comm channel was open.
- I don't really understand where you're getting at...
- No, seriously - it sounds like you and Kaname. Al's the perfect funny man for you. And you're the one losing face here.
[- I am honoured to hear your praise, Urz 6.]
- See? Heheh, - over the radio Sousuke clearly heard that Kurz could barely contain his laughter.
Sousuke didn't understand completely what his friend was referring to, but it was clearly not flattering.
- Are other people's troubles that funny? - answered Sousuke coldly. - With your temper, if you were in my situation, you'd already be swearing like a drunken sailor. Because you don't have enough control.
- Wha-at? - Kurz sounded seriously offended. - I'm a sniper, man, and you say I've no control?
- You have a practised arm, that I know. Whether you're a real sharpshooter, that is a different matter...
A sniper had to have a certain level of control and mental fortitude, as well as superior intellect and sound judgement that was much higher than that of an ordinary person. That is what Sousuke's words referred to.
- And by the way, all snipers I have met before joining Mithril never bragged about their profession. They would modestly say "I can also shoot", at most.
Sousuke's words rang true, as they were based on his experience as a mercenary. They were, however, sufficient to hurt the pride of the person who was considered the best among their sniper specialists. The stress that has been accumulating in him finally spilled over, and a comrade in arms became the target, - neither of them realised it then.
- You ungrateful bastard, - said Kurz in a very cold voice, - so I'm not a real sniper, eh? Never mind that I saved your sorry ass many times over? And always clean up the mess you make? You should be thanking me, and what do I get?..
- I don't remember asking you to.
- You got some nerve... next time you better watch your back. Bullets don't always come from the front, you know.
- They can come from wherever they like. I will deal with any enemy, in front of me or behind me, in melee.
Kurz let out a derisive laugh.
- Heh, want to try it, then?
- What?
- I'm always watching, and there practically no enemies that try to sneak behind you. Now, if for some reason, I were to commit a mistake when choosing my target, all it would take is a light touch of my finger...
Kurz's M9 turned its head ninety degrees, towards its neighbour. A rarely used laser sight extended from its head sensor array. An alarm sounded in the other machine's cockpit, as Al intoned "Warning. Lock on by E-006".
- Bang! - the laser vanished. - It would really be an easy victory. Your movements are uniform, and your feints predictable. To think that someone like you is the vanguard of our team... sheesh, Mithril's staff shortage really shows here.
- You're free to replace me any time you want. I'd like to see you last more than five minutes.
- Yeah, I'd like to see you take my place. You'd probably wave your gun around, hesitating to choose a target, while your team gets shot to pieces. Then you'd be on the verge of tears and say: "oh, everyone, I'm so sorry!.." Pathetic.
[- I would suggest you to refrain from further arguments until after the operation, Sirs,] Al tried to interrupt them, but they ignored him.
- Conceited, as always. There's a lot of snipers like you out there.
- Su-ure, but brutes like you are a dime a dozen.
- Still better than sharpshooters who are better at using their mouth than their rifle.
- And you then? The virgin who always looks like he's got a toothache?
- You're being illogical.
- Wha-at?! Don't go acting high and mighty all of a sudden!!
This exchange would have continued for a while, but a woman's angry voice interrupted them.
- Cut it out! Both of you!!
It was, of course, the team leader, Melissa Mao.
- But, big sis, that guy--
- Mao, he was--
They answered at once, but their commander cut their protests short in a manner befitting a former Marine.
- Shut it! Do I have to tell you a second time?! If you want to go kill each other, as Al said, do it after the mission! You're not even blue-heads, you're more worthless than a puddle of lizard piss! I can't stand hearin' you maggots bicker - even if God'll forgive you, I won't!! And if I hear you squealin' like bitches in heat again, I swear, I'll drag you out of your cockpits, shit in your mouth and sew it shut!! You got that?!!
Her words reached their targets as surely as slugs from a heavy machine gun. They both could only mutter "Yes Ma'am" in response.
- Let's hear it - whom does your ass belong to??
- Sergeant Major Melissa Mao, Ma'am! - they answered in unison.
- Who's holding you by the balls??
- Sergeant Major Melissa Mao, Ma'am!
- Good. From now on, no talking crap, understand?..
Somehow, her words not only brought an end to the dispute, but also dispelled the heavy atmosphere in the hangar.
"Sheesh"
Mao closed the internal channel and sighed, then switched the comm dial on her left.
- Is everything all right there, Mao?
- I'm sorry, lieutenant, Sir. My brats here became bored and started playing. No more problems now.
- Ah, I see. Sounds like you're having a hard time there.
- Yes, Sir... It's like they... ahem, - she suddenly realised she was bother her superior with small complaints, and shook her head. - No, Sir, thank you, Sir. It's fine now. I'm sorry to bother you with this.
- I hope there will be no problems during the mission.
- Yes, Sir.
- The lives of twenty thousand people depend on it, you know.
- Acknowledged, Sir.
They were being flown to the Nabana republic, a small country near the equator, at the request of its elected president, who could not control his country's armed forces. It was a standard crisis situation: the military decided to conduct "counter-terrorist" operations in the territory of an ethnic minority. They were using a terrorist bombing in the capital as a pretext, but according to Mithril intelligence it was planned by the military themselves. The sixteenth regiment of the national army was about to enter the area. It was infamous for its previous actions, which involved anything from civilian massacres to illegal arms trade. On its invasion path was a refugee camp with around twenty thousand people, mostly from ethnic minorities, and they were now in danger because of the animosity of the army. Mao's unit was supposed to escort the refugees from the camp to the capital, where they would be under the protection of UN peacekeepers. Mithril's AS would first destroy a strategically placed bridge under the control of the national army, and then perform a raid on their advance party, causing confusion and panic, and making them retreat. Then they would be picked up by Mithril's transport helicopters (late, as usual) at a rendez-vous point in the northern part of the island. For Mao's unit it wasn't a particularly complicated operation. Even if the situation in itself was atrocious, it was a standard mission for them.
- Well, - continued the transport plane's first pilot, - I thought you "elite" SRT people were the cool and experienced veteran type?
- Well, normally that would be the case...
- What was that scene they made, then? Whatever's biting them might crawl over here. I won't even permit three hoodlums to land these machines, - do you know how much they cost? I won't allow any mistakes on this mission. Do you understand that?
- Yes, Sir! Understood, Sir!
- And this situation casts doubt on your ability to control your troops, as their commanding officer.
- Sir! I will strive to be a better commander! Sir!
Answered Mao in a grave voice. Inside her head, however, she was imagining walking into the unseen pilot's room, turning over his table, throwing a beer bottle at the wall and smashing the windows and tableware with a metal bat, shouting "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!!"
Her feelings remained unknown to the first pilot, however, who concluded:
- If you understand, good. Consider this a reprimand.
Closing the channel, she sighed deeply. Why did she have to take the punishment for those two idiots? And then, they're going to be in danger, not that pilot, - what right has he got to say anything? Can he even imagine himself being in her position?! Aah... she didn't want to do it anymore. She was tired of being a senior non-com. Yes, she decided - she'll become another commissioned officer. A goddamn butter bar. She'd probably have to suck up to a couple of officers, but there wasn't any other way to get a second lieutenant grade... she heard this advice before, too. Second Lieutenant Melissa Mao... didn't sound too bad. She'd talk about it to Ben and the major after the operation. But then she remembered - yes, that would happen only after the operation, and she needed to concentrate on it.
She opened the internal comm channel. Complete silence - they were following her order, at least, but for some reason she felt a dangerously uneasy atmosphere. The conversation she interrupted was different from just another friendly squabble. They would usually make fun of each other's personality, yes - but never insult each other's abilities as a soldier. This could have a negative impact on their team chemistry.
"Should I slap some reason into them? There's still fifty minutes until drop..."
So now she has to play diplomat... God, so annoying... why does she have to do this? But there's no choice, right... Crap.
She decided she'd start with Kurz.
He was silently sulking in the cockpit of his M9, so opening a channel to him alone, she tried to get him to talk.
- Kurz... are you listening?..
Oh, sure, that violent woman now wants to talk about something? And she's using her sweet voice... what, will she now say "I'm sorry"? Damn, how many times have I already been manipulated by her this way... but this time it's different. It's that bastard' fault. I won't give in.
Thinking that, Kurz answered curtly:
- Huh? What?
- Come on, don't sit pouting in your corner like a kid...
- I'm not pouting, - muttered Kurz peevishly.
- If you really were mad, I wouldn't know what to do...
1 Possibly the most famous haiku out there - the "frog poem" by Matsuo Basho. Roughly translated as
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