A Call of Necessity

[Thomas Grimshaw]

[center][i]Three things cannot be hidden, the sun, the moon, and the truth. – Buddhist Axiom.[/i][/center]

[center][b]Eire, Capital City of USET, 1600 Hours[/b][/center]

Violence had rocked The United Sovereign Entities of Tanelorn for a time after the revolution. Crime syndicates and those profiting off of the suffering of the people had to be quelled. Casualties were expected and they came, but with them came peace.

Now, serenity was the name of the game. What had been slave labor camps for political dissidents…and anyone who happened to look at “The Nameless One” (the epithet applied to the former dictator of USET) the wrong way, were now productive economic establishments with proper provisions and quarters, as well as a fair salary and three hot meals a day for the workers. What had been a brutal and bloody military junta was now a (limited) democracy.

Thomas Grimshaw wasn’t sure that people would understand. Democracy was not something that could just come. Too many remnants of the past remained, in the culture, in the literature, in the people. Thus, the major political party of the state was “The Iconoclastic Party”. Their goal, (one they had been thus far successful at), was eliminating said remnants. Once their minds hearts and souls were purged of the evil stain left on them by the past, once nothing, not even the people of the past, remained, then and only then, could a pure democracy be achieved.

It was unfortunate that such extremes were necessary, as this required the elimination of some positive aspects of the history as well, combined with a necessary element of subtle propaganda. Thomas didn’t like any of these facts, but they were the facts, and he had to deal with them.

However, these thoughts needn’t preoccupy him today. Today was a celebration of truth, of the truths he had told to his people, and of how he had come through with them.

The uniform he wore was the one he had designed for officers in the military it was a two piece outfit, navy blue in color. The top was in two parts, the right side with had two rows of three holes each running down, and the left, which folded under the right, and had two rows of three large golden buttons running down it. The bottom was merely a navy blue pair of slacks, along with a pair of shiny black loafers and black gloves.

Zhanna was in a similar uniform, fitted to her measurements. She and Thomas also carried M1911 .45 caliber handguns in black hip holsters.

Together they sat in a black armored SUV. They were parked near the “Memorial of Freedom” site, a statue that had been erected in honor of those who had died in “The Great Iconoclastic Conflict”. It was the one concession Thomas and Zhanna had made, in the belief that it would be innocuous.

Thomas’ blond hair was slicked back for the occasion; Zhanna had her voluptuous golden brown hair hanging down freely. For a moment, they sat silently in contemplation, uninterrupted by their driver.

“Are you ready?” Zhanna softly interrupted.

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

[center]-[/center]

The man who called himself “Martin” watched the procession of “The Diarchs” with a sly grin as he loaded a magazine into the polished wood of his M14 semi-automatic rifle. Soon the intermission would be over, and Act II would begin for Micronesia, the true country beneath their jingoistic nonsense.

The memorial statue was that of a soldier holding his dying comrade in his arms, situated in the middle of a gigantic courtyard with the meetinghouse of The Envoy Assembly directly behind it, two large hotels on either side, and two museums directly in front of it.

One road was lined up horizontally with the meeting house, signaling the end of the courtyard, whilst three roads in the form of a headless crucifix met at the beginning of the courtyard, with the statue just beyond it.

The meetinghouse was a large rectangular building, the roof being that of a pyramid. The building, including the roman columns supporting it on all sides, was primarily composed of marble.

The hotels were all ornate and expensive, and all twelve stories high. The distinguishing thing about these buildings was that they had oddly all been constructed in the Mediterranean revival architectural style, something very rare in Eire.

Finally, the museums had been created in a similar style, and as was assumed of all of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, it had most likely been commissioned by “The Nameless One”.

The courtyard was packed to the brim with an eager crowd, ready and willing to hear the words of their leaders. Metal barricades kept the crowd at a 20 foot distance from the set up of tables and podiums surrounded by a cadre of men in black and grey camouflage and Kevlar vests, armed with bull-pup versions of the AK47 assault rifle (all made from composite materials.)

Martin chuckled, whatever words of pseudo-gallantry Thomas had prepared would be irrelevant when he could no longer speak them. He was not worried, he had been trained well, he could get out of the building quickly and covertly. If on the off chance he was interrupted, he was more than equipped to deal with any vigilantes or security that happened to get lucky.

He shot a glance at the black attaché lying on the double bed of the suite. It was a seemingly innocuous container, yet it was an effective and efficient operations kit, packed with equipment based on likelihood of usage and a variety of other factors.

One SIG Sauer .40 caliber handgun with sound suppressor, four loaded magazines of ammunition (with space for a fifth, the one loaded into the handgun,) Three syringes, one loaded with a paralytic, one loaded with cyanide, one empty, accompanied by two small glass containers, one containing a highly concentrated, (lethal), dose of morphine, and the other containing a smaller dosage, to take the edge off.

Two small knives similar to scalpels were also packed, along with one block of C4, a separately packed electric blasting cap, and a remote detonator. The final bit of equipment was one pair of handcuffs, one stun gun, and one compact satellite phone.

All-in-all, the entire package fit (when properly organized) into the medium black attaché case. It was obviously larger than was “fashionable” but it served his purposes and was for all intents, efficient.

With that thought out of the way, Martin took aim at Thomas. For all the fancy security and talk of “progress”, the Diarchy had neglected basic security precautions in favor of appearing “of the people.” Well, they’d certainly be of the people when they were dead like the rest crushed under the fist of Pablo, “The Nameless One”, and his mentor.

He was about one minute into the speech, thirty and he’d be absolutely still according to the transcript he’d “encountered”. At the one minute mark, he began on some tangent about the necessity of difficulty for a proper transition and the strength of the people, a bunch of nonsense to Martin.

Then, he heard something, something subtle and slight, but something. He whipped around with his rifle aimed to reveal a man in a black suit, with a raspberry sorbet shirt and a matching tie.

The man’s hair was short, black and slicked back. He was obviously in good shape, rigorous exercise did that. He had a .22 caliber Ruger MK III pistol in his hand, one that reminded him of the old Welrod pistol when the suppressor.

“Brother…have you come to watch the show? Kill any of the amateurs with that,” he gestured with a grin to the pistol.

“Unfortunately, Ernesto,” the man spoke with a British accent, subtle enough so as to not interrupt his point, but apparent enough to give his voice a certain…flavor, “I’ve come to stage an intermission. You see, I quite like the show that’s going on and quite frankly, I’d like to join the cast. I can’t have you ruining things now can I?”

“…You TRAITOR! You watched the death of the master and you stand here to tell me now you will run to lick the feet of his murderers? Lapdog!”

“Oh spare me the sanctimonious speechifying, please, really, do us both a favor.”

“Do not presume to condescend to me scum!”

“You see? There you go again with the speechifying.”

“Silence! I will not listen to this. You worked for him to, you are as guilty as I am; you think they will show you mercy? They will execute you like the fool you are!”

“Wrong again Ernesto, you see, unlike you, I never killed woman or children. I did not instigate his rise to power; I never fought against the guerillas. My department was more of a…administrative and protective nature.”

“Well, your skill is apparent then, isn’t it scum?”

“If I had been trying to protect him…”

“You son of a,” Ernesto was cut off by a .22 caliber round ripping through his knee cap. He fell to both of his knees and screamed in pain. He still gripped his rifle tightly, waiting for an opportune moment.

“Don’t do it Ernesto.”

“Traitor. I would have DIED for him,” slowly, he managed to covertly angle his rifle towards the anonymous man.

“Do you want to die for him now?”

“Gladly.”

Ernesto squeezed the trigger of the rifle three times, the butt striking him in the chest. The first shot when wild and missed the man, causing him to dive for cover behind the double bed. The other two served to keep him in cover as he tried to line up a shot under the bed. Unfortunately, an armoire near the window obscured his shot. As he got to his knees, in an attempt to maintain some semblance of cover while firing, Ernesto slammed himself into the window sill, quickly found his shot, and let loose a barrage of gunfire.

The man had no time for his weapon, leapt over the bed and tackled Ernesto into the wall. The rifle went off once more, striking the wall as the two locked into melee combat.

Ernesto struck him in the abdomen, narrowly missing the solar plexus. The man took the blow and returned one; a right cross to Ernesto’s cheek. As he tried to slam Ernesto into the wall again, Ernesto fell backwards through the window, his foot knocking over his rifle.

The man listened to Ernesto scream all the way down, all twelve stories, and then listened to the silence that came afterwards. He chuckled,

“And die for him you did.”

[center]-[/center]

Thomas wasn’t even halfway through his speech when the shots rang out. He and Zhanna were at dual podiums rehearsing as practiced.

“Hardship is a necessity that comes with change, not all can bear it…” Thomas had said.

“But the people have shown that they have the strength to move onward towards progress!”

Then the chaos began. The gunshots echoed throughout the courtyard, and all Thomas could see was red.

The red of the dress Zhanna no longer wore.

The red of the blood spitting from her shoulder and her abdomen.

The red of his hatred.

Most of the gunfire had missed, but considering the two rifle rounds now lingering inside of Zhanna, that wasn’t saying much.

As Thomas reached for his pistol, as the crowd scattered, as the wail of an ambulance running up the avenue reached his ears, as a bodyguard tackled him…

…he roared.

[center]-[/center]
Eire, Capital City of USET, 0200 Hours

Ten hours had passed. Ten hours since his wife, the country’s second leader, had been shot. At the moment that Thomas sat in the office of a very intimidated doctor, the anonymous man whom was the current suspect in assassination attempt sat in the basement of a building a few blocks over. He had been thoroughly…“questioned”.

Thomas sighed, he was tired, he was angry, and he was a mess. His hair was disheveled, his coat unbuttoned, his gloves pocketed. He refused to remove his sidearm; it was the one facet of his regalia that had remained pristine in the chaos that had ensued in the last hours.

He lifted his head, his eyes red, and looked at the doctor.

“Don’t lie to me. I don’t like being lied to.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t call me sir either, we’re equals here.”

“What do I call you then?”

“Call me Thomas.”

“Alright then…Thomas.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Of course.”

“I know we don’t have the best medical care in the world, I know the last time we updated it was probably in the seventies. So be straight with me, can you save her?”

“Without something a bit more advanced than the standard around the islands…the best I could do is a week.”

“A week? That’s it?” the rage seething in Thomas’ voice was apparent, causing the doctor to nearly recoil.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then it looks like I’ve got work to do, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Take care of her. Guard her with your life. Do you understand me?”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

With that statement, Thomas buttoned up his coat, patted down his hair, and left the office.

-
“Who do you work for? SPEAK!” the shout came accompanied with a fist into the stomach of the man.
This petty attempt at smacking the information (which, as he had explained, he did not have), out of him, had been going on for the better part of 8 hours, since he had been willfully apprehended at the sniper’s perch.

The man was still dressed in the black/raspberry sorbet combination; however, his suit was beyond ruined. Wrinkled stained disheveled and dilapidated were all proper adjectives to apply to his attire, however, the words he chose were of a more powerful nature…defiled.

“Advice on your technique, simple contusions, lacerations, avulsions, abrasions, fractures…doesn’t work. A man can be trained to resist pain; pain alone is inadequate in interrogation. Just thought you’d like some help, I saw you were struggling,” the man chuckled wryly.

As the burly oaf was about to throw another blow, a black gloved hand touched his shoulder. He shivered, and quickly vacated the premises.

The gloved hand belonged to one of Thomas’ bodyguards. He set down a folding chair, dust kicking up from the dirt floor as a result. Then he set down a bucket of water.

“Wash up, you’re having a special guest; you don’t want to look like this.”

“Must be awfully special,” the man chuckled.

He washed the various stains from his face, blood and dirt mixed with sweat. When he was done he gave himself a six out of ten on the presentable scale, given the materials he was supplied with.

He sat in the chair facing the door, two men in black suits and white shirts stood at the door, one of which being the guard who had oh-so-kindly supplied him with washing materials.

Then, the door opened.

Thomas walked in, a black attaché case in one hand, his pistol in the other.

“Leave. Now,” he turned to the guards.

“Sir?”

“I SAID GET OUT!”

“Yes…sir,” the guards quickly did as they were told, they stationed themselves just outside the door however.

Thomas turned to the man, “You recognize this?” he gestured to the case.

“Oh I don’t know, all those blows to the head have left my memory a little foggy, today’s opposite day isn’t it?”

Thomas set down the case and holstered his pistol. Then, he kicked the man in the chest, knocking him to the floor. He grabbed the man by his tie and his coat and slammed him into the ground.

“Do you have any idea how much hatred I have for you at this moment? Do NOT test me.”

The man chuckled again, “Hate? Hate? I love the word,” He struck Thomas’ wrists with a knife-hand strike and hit him with an open-handed blow in the face. He kicked off of the fallen chair and rolled backwards.

Thomas stumbled backwards, his right hand shot for his pistol but the man was quick, he head-butted Thomas in the solar plexus and wrapped his arms around his mid-section. He continued forward and forced Thomas into a collision with the wall.

Thomas grunted and slid down to a weak sitting position. The man took the initiative of liberating him of his firearm, and pressing it to his skull.

“Do not speak to me of hate, for you know nothing of it.”

With that said the man flipped the pistol so that he was holding the barrel with the grip extended towards Thomas.

“Go ahead, shoot, but I’m not the one you want.”

Thomas seemed confounded, and then he took cognizance of the situation. The first two blows had been designed to distract and inflict pain, not injury. The same goal could have been accomplished with a myriad of more draconian techniques. The last two had been made from a purely tactical stand-point, designed to debilitate.

Whether or not he liked it, chances were that this man was not lying, or Thomas knew he and his guards would be dead by now.

On that subject, the two burst in the room pistols drawn, far too late.

“Drop it!”

The man went to his knees as Thomas took the gun.

“Get up.”

“Sir, this man tried to kill you!”

“No, he tried to disarm me. If he wanted to kill me he would have while you two were twiddling your thumbs. Consider both of yourselves dishonorably discharged, get out.”

Confounded at the remark but ever obedient, the men left with their heads hung low. The man rose from his knightly position and reset the folding chair. After being given a gesticulation of acceptance, the man took a seat.

In the light, his true features were revealed. Other then the apparent toned muscles and now messed black hair; he was 6’2”. His face was an amalgamation of sharply accentuated cheekbones, a triangular jaw line squared off at the chin, a forehead marked by a few specific lapidary wrinkles, and green eyes that could slice glass.

“You are the man I thought you were.”

“Yet I think nothing of you for I do not know you.”

At this the man rose and extended a hand, “Call me Shane.”

Ever nebulous, Thomas hesitated for a moment before taking Shane’s hand.

“So, Shane, if you’re not the one I want, who is?”

“The man whom several hours ago found himself defenestrated.”

“What?”

“I don’t know if you saw, but I threw a man out a window.”

“Clever. So, explain to me why given the chance to off me and escape, you opted not to when I could simply execute you for having no use to me?”

“Because, I’ve got a bit of a…esoteric, skill set. It’s one few people learn, and even fewer people can make use of. Recently, I found myself unemployed, several months ago in fact.”

“…Pablo…”

“I was the stick to his employees, instead of the carrot. I never touched a civilian.”

Thomas grimaced, killing the man who had spared (and saved) his life wouldn’t exactly be noble, but it would be prudent.

“Your wife is in the hospital, shot by a man I killed. He worked in a different capacity for he who is no longer with us. Now, what gives me value other than my set of skills is two things. One: He was not alone, and I know every member of his cabal. Two: I’m ready and willing to hunt them down.”

“She isn’t my wife.”

“Don’t take me for a fool Thomas, I know things.”

“Fair enough, what is it you’re asking of me?”

“Well, the way I see it, your security is amateur, you have no information services, and your military is composed of a bunch of rag-tag guerrillas you threw into uniform. You already know retraining them from their mind-set is going to be a massive task. The way I see it, you need a bit of a…praetorian guard.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I suggest exactly what I mean; you need a versatile service, loyal, trained in the ways of clandestine services and military operations and above all willing to die for you and your wife. I can root out this thorn in your side, but like any good doctor I’ll need some tweezers if I want to minimize the bleeding.”

Thomas sighed, this was truly the moment he realized how much of an amateur he was, his skills were rusty and he was being given advice on his own personal security and military by a man who had worked for the despot he had overthrown.

“What’s your gain in this?”

“It’s been said that the grass is always greener on the other side, I’d like to discern the truth of that statement.”

“How do we proceed?”

“Firstly, call a press conference to assure the country of the stable health of the other Diarch, truthful or not. Second, give me a dictionary of legal jargon some writing instruments and the official seal of the Diarchy, I’ll need to compose a document calling for the creation of an agency to serve as the Diarchy’s personal force. Third, do you have any allies?”

Thomas thought hard, he thought on what Karl Raciwz had told him of the nations represented at the Treaty of Bangkok. The Australians, he had said, not only had been represented by the highest echelon of their government, but they had in his words,

“--conducted themselves with diplomacy, tact, manners, strength of will, level heads, and seemed to be amongst the few who actually had a want for a proper Asian/Oceanic relationship, and were willing to make sacrifices so as to ensure it.”

With this in mind, Thomas chose his words carefully and spoke, “I believe so…”

“Speak with them. You have neither the facilities nor the faculty to train such a group as we need, assistance will be required, surreptitious assistance preferably.”

“Am I making a mistake in trusting you?”

“If you think that’s true, you still have the precious opportunity of cultivating a lead plant inside my skull.”

Thomas chuckled, “Keep that in mind.”

“Well, pleasantries are out of the way, lets find ourselves a locale a tad less dreary, shall we?”

“Let’s.”

[center]-[/center]

With Zhanna moved to the medical wing of the tower, safe from any auxiliary attempt on her life, Thomas could sleep easy. The next morning, after a shave a shower and dressed in a suit, he sat in front of the three monitors with which the Diarchy had announced it’s existence to the world not so long ago. Unfortunately, Thomas lacked the Australians’ private frequencies, forcing him to send an envoy.

That night a specially chosen messenger had taken his leave on a civilian flight, after proper medical attention had been paid to him.

At the very moment that Thomas awaited a message, Shane found himself in the lobby of the Australian Consulate with a letter, a new suit that was ash grey in color, and a smile.

After approaching the counter and explaining his situation to the employee who most likely handled nothing more than domestic complaints, and then to the head of security, he found himself waiting patiently in an office as his letter was sent directly to the head of government. The contents of said letter when read would reveal a text not dissimilar to that below:

*** Highly Classified***

[code]From: USET Office of The Diarchy

To: The Office of the Australian Government


My name is Thomas Grimshaw, assuming this has fallen into the hands of the Australian government; I am the Diarch of the islands directly north of your country. I apologize in advance for the curtness and non-descript nature of this letter but I assure you I require a meeting and time is of the issue. I would most certainly appreciate a discussion with a member of the upper echelons of your government if that is possible, as it seems we are both signatories of The Treaty Of Bangkok.

It is unfortunate that I press this issue on you, but it is something that must be discussed in private. I cannot leave my current location in the capital of USET for reasons I will disclose to you upon your arrival, (with the assumption you will accept my request), so I must ask that you come to me.

I will understand and allow for a moderate escort of armed guards if you are suspicious. If need be, I can arrange for a plane to meet you at the location of your choosing for the purposes of travel.

Sincerest Regards

Thomas Grimshaw, Diarch of USET.[/code]

[Subtleknifewielder]

[color="#000000"]The woman at the counter skeptically eyed the man who delivered the note, but it wasn't her job to pass judgement on visitors.

First, the message was carefully scanned for harmful substances. None being apparent, it was deemed safe to pass on.

But at that time, the Queen was unavailable. The message, not being deemed quite urgent enough to require her attention, but important enough to require someone of high rank for review, it was sent to Anthony Harlem instead.

----
[/color]

[color="#000000"]The Grand Duke was currently reading over the latest report from Marahal Hammond. He looked up at the soft shuffling that interrupted his present activity.
[/color][color="#ff0000"][color="#000000"]
[color="#ff0000"][color="#000000"][/color][/color]"What's this?"

The messenger shrugged. "I did not read it, Your Grace. It is for you, delivered by courier to the consulate."

Anthony smiled. "Good man. Now, please remain close. I may need you again."

The aid nodded. "Yes Sir, thank you, Sir," was the heartfelt reply, as the man bowed, doing an abrupt about-face and heading toward the door.

Anthony turned his attention to the letter in front of him. "Let's see what you have to say," he muttered, opening it...

Despite his being alone, his eyes gave away no hint of what he might be thinking as his mind absorbed the words on the page, and when it was done, he summoned the aide back into the room. "Please bring the messenger to me."

----

At the consulate, Shane would be approached by two of the famed Lillian Guards. "If you'll come with us, sir," one said, indicating he should fall into place between them. At the palace, he would be searched for weapons--anything taken would in turn be returned when he left once more.

As for what the Grand Duke wanted...when Shane reached his office, he would find the grey eyes meeting his, displaying only a thoughtful expression. "So, your leader wants to meet with either me or the Queen. Are you permitted to elaborate on this?"

[/color][/color]

[Thomas Grimshaw]

With the tacit permission to sit, Shane subtly took one in the chair directly in front of Anthony's desk.

"Elaboration is the least favored tool of my profession, and to answer your question, it would not be advisable even if I were allowed to pursue such a course of action, which I am not, as should be noted by the skin on my face...I grew out of face paint a while ago," he chuckled slightly.

After shifting in his seat to find the most comfortable position, he began again,

"Now your highness, majesty, lordship, or whatever nomenclature is preferably respectable to a man in your position, I'm not a fan of being curt especially when requiring a decision to be made on the part of another, but I'm afraid I must be. I am here to augment the chances that a decision is made and that said diplomatic inquiry is not bogged down in whatever sort of red-tape or bureaucracy that all governments are prone to at some point in time. With that said, I can provide you with information on most subjects to aid you in your decision should you choose to contemplate on the matter."

[i]Rather, that is, than having me shot and buried in the stables somewhere,[/i] Shane thought grimly.

[Subtleknifewielder]

[i]"Elaboration is the least favored tool of my profession, and to answer your question, it would not be advisable even if I were allowed to pursue such a course of action, which I am not, as should be noted by the skin on my face...I grew out of face paint a while ago."
[/i]
Anthony chuckled. "Let me guess...I should see the other guy?" He hadn't offered a seat, but he had been about to, so he was saved the trouble of doing so when Shane took a chair.

As for the rest of the man's speech, Anthony frowned. "If you must use a title, as the Grand Duke, the proper one is 'Your Grace,' though I'm not a big fan of being grandiose." he made agesture that took in the room. The rest of the palace was quite exquisite, but this office--it was practically spartan by comparison. "That being said...I have no problem with bluntness. I rather prefer it, despite my previous profession as a diplomat. Now--"

He folded his hands together like a tent, resting his wrists on the desk, one of the few luxuries he'd allowed himself here. "--what information can you give me in order to help expedite a decision?"

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"Actually, the other guy has bruises very similar to my own, albeit to a lesser extent," Shane chuckled once more.

He sat forward in his seat and eyed Anthony, as if sizing him up.

"Well, your grace, I'm not a big fan of titles either. I myself am Shane, although it may as well be a title considering it's isolation. Nevertheless, down to brass tacks. Expediting certain things and preventing others happens to be my specialty, although this is a first as far as my career is concerned. I can offer you what I have been told I may relay. Such information is, A. My patron respects what he has been able to ascertain of your policies and your government in general highly. B: The matter which requires your assistance is a matter that cannot be settled properly internally and due to our relative naiveity as to the current international political spectrum, we have decided to go to those whom we hold at least a meager tie with, that tie being the Treaty Of Bangkok. Is there anything else you would like to know that I am permitted to tell you?"

[Subtleknifewielder]

The Grand Duke stared across the desk, into the face of his guest. "From the sound of it, Shane, there doesn't sound like a lot more you are permitted to tell me. And if that's the case, the matter must be serious." His grey eyes sought Shane's, in an attempt to read any nonverbal cues this man might be giving off, and reaction to his words.

An idea Shane seemed to share concerning himself. It was obvious he was not the only one here who knew his business. "Some kind of internal affair that's gone sour, I take it."

He sighed, sitting up straight in his chair, and thus banishing the aura of nonchalance. "Well, if it's that important, yes, I can make time to meet with him, as Her Majesty is busy with other affairs. I just hope he doesn't mind heavily armed security."

[i]''Not to mention, the knives under my sleaves.'[/i] He never went anywhere unarmed, though he hardly advertised that fact.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"I appreciate the thought, and no, I don't think he will mind security, although we'll have to make accommodations for them."

[i]Besides, one me is worth twenty professionals armed with rifles and vests,[/i] Shane thought silently.



Quickly the meeting found it's conclusion and, along with eight heavily armed and armored Lillian guards, Anthony and Shane found their way to a private plane which in turn found it's way to a private airstrip just outside the city of Eire. Surrounded by foliage the place was mostly decrepit, a wooden tower stood at one end of the runway and what had been some sort of restaurant was boarded up with wooden planks on the opposite end.

As the jet landed and rumbled to a halt, a black four door SUV was visible from the interior windows. Inside sat Thomas with no less than four weapons on his person, the recent attempt on his life had made him reasonably paranoid. His hair was slicked back as it had been the day of the speech, and he wore the same uniform, except with a navy blue overcoat and a black and white keffiyeh worn as a scarf. The weapons he carried were mostly of a covert nature, two knives that could protrude from his boots, one .45 caliber H&K MK23 in a holster, and one COP .357 derringer in an ankle holster.

Silently, Thomas waited in the back seat.

Accompanied by the heavily armed guards, Shane and Anthony walked to the car. Shane cautiously shot glances to around him, aware that at this point he could still be deemed "expendable".

Shane opened the back door and stood aside to the extended hand of Thomas.

"Salutations."

Edited February 11, 2010 by Thomas Grimshaw

[Subtleknifewielder]

Anthony nodded, having said all he needed to say. It only took a matter of a few minutes to wrap up the day's affairs--it was late in the day, after all.

He had briefly toyed with the idea of co-opting some SWORD agents or Crimson Shield units to be his bodyguard this time, but for some reason, he was growing attached to the Lillians. Most likely because his daughter was one herself.

But he brought double the four that was standard for most occasions, considering the nature of the meeting, and the conclusions he'd drawn. Just because they were technically on friendly terms did not mean nothing could happen.

The flight may have been relatively short for an international one, but it was long enough for him to catch some sleep. In his true first profession, sleep was sometimes a thing that could only be snatched in pieces, and you took what you could have when you could have it. But the slightest thing out of place would wake him, and he came to full alertness upon landing at their destination, taking in all the details as he was escorted to the SUV--and his host.

He studied the man curiously as he took the offered hand. "Greetings and salutations. Are we discussing this here, or elsewhere?"

[Thomas Grimshaw]

“We’ll be discussing this matter in a less open location,” Thomas released Anthony’s hand and noticed the bodyguards, all women, all armed, all attractive and from his presumption all extremely apt at their jobs.

“And, although in my younger days I would have killed to have had eight of any country’s finest following me around, I’m afraid they’re going to have to catch another ride, if that is acceptable,” Thomas gestured with a hand to the identical SUV behind him.

While this might have seemed like a power play of some kind, it was merely convenience, after all each car only fit five people (excluding space for those in the back), and with Anthony, Shane, and his driver and guard, that made five.

“Or if either you or they wish it, I’m certain we could make room for two in the back.”

[Subtleknifewielder]

The leader of this particular group, a blue-eyed brunette who had seen her share of action during her career (she had been one of the ones at Solidor Manor during the wargames in Brisbane), exchanged a glance with Anthony. "I don't think they would like being seperated from their charge. They take their jobs very seriously, comfort be damned. So..." he turned back to Thomas as she nodded, confirming his words.

"Michelle here will accompany us with one of her lieutenants. Besides, I'm used to a little discomfort now and again. I can put up with it."

There was more truth to that statement than Thomas would ever know, he thought wryly, all too aware of the knife handles he felt against his arm when he bent his wrists a certain way.

He waited until they were in the car and on their way to ask how far their destination was.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"An admirable quality, Ma'am," Thomas nodded at the woman. With that he moved the the seat behind the driver and allowed Anthony in with Shane quickly following, the two Lillians loaded themselves, equipment and all, into the back of the armored SUV and with the copy-cat loaded with the others following, they began their journey from the barren and arid airstrip back to the city, the heart of USET, Eire.


In recent days the military patrols of APCs and machine-gun equipped jeeps had more than tripled. The lower "Barracks levels" were fortified and on alert, on foot-patrols had doubled and the normally scantly armed security guards in the lobby were now armed with .30-.30 carbines and Kevlar vests. The perimeter fence towers had been mounted by marksmen and electrified razor-wire had been erected on the 3 foot thick concrete walls in a concertina pattern.

The tower had originally been built as a lavish estate for Pablo and his comrades, doubling as a fortress, it was now in complete lock-down.

Due to the economic state of the country, automobiles were scarce amongst the civilian population, most of the traffic had been public transportation or government operated work shuttles. Things were not how Thomas had wanted nor how he had imagined they would be, and they certainly were not what he wanted the Australians to see, but at this point, saving face was the absolute least of his worries.

He chuckled grimly and spoke softly to the women in the back, "You see? You aren't the only ones who come prepared."

That small attempt at humor was the one thing that broke the silence, but as quickly as it had come the moment was gone, and soon the two vehicle convoy made it through the gates (with the discreet flash of some heavy credentials) and was parked directly in front of the building.

Thomas nodded to Shane and he exited the vehicle first, disappearing in the military entourage for some task unbeknown to Anthony. Then, he and Anthony as well as the bodyguards found their way through the lobby and to the sixth floor.

At that very moment, Thomas exited with the group and abruptly turned to face them, blocking their passage through the pristine white hallway (something the entire floor was known for).

"It is here that I ask a matter of a trust from you my friend. I understand that your companions may be reluctant to leave your side, but what I [i]must[/i] show you [i]cannot[/i] be seen by any more than is necessary, for these purposes, only one is necessary. I can permit your companions to wait at the end of this hallway, but what lies beyond must be entered alone."

[Subtleknifewielder]

The Lillians were silent as they entered the vehicle, and as bodyguards, they took in the surroundings with an attentive eye. Military patrols might not have told them everything, but they said enough about the state of affairs in this nation to assure them that alertness was still a firm necessity. Especially considering their ultimate destination had more the feel of a military compound than an administrative building.

[i]"You see? You aren't the only ones who come prepared."[/i]

The other, as-yet-unnamed Lillian, raised an eyebrow at the statement, but neither she nor any of the others could truthfully contest the veracity of that claim, not with the evidence in front of their own eyes. Whether she or her commander found it as amusing as intended could not be determined.

As they entered, they continued to take in their surroundings, noting (was that approval in their eyes?) the tight security on the off chance they had to use the information to get out of there.

But then their host returned to them, and what he said, though not unexpected, was not exactly a welcome idea.

Anthony exchanged a whispered conversation with Michelle, resulting in a sigh from him and a glare from her. "Very well, as long as your own armed guard is absolutely minimal," she stated. Just in case, Anthony had a 'panic switch' embedded in the handle of one of his knives, to alert them if he was in any trouble.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"Michelle, dearest of all my friends, what armed guard?"

At that moment Shane enigmatically appeared from a door just behind Thomas. Whatever his task had been it was apparently done, as he whispered in Thomas' ear before smiling at the guards, apparently omniscient.

As an apparent sign of trust, Thomas unholstered his sidearm and removed the magazine, handing it lightly to the commanding Lillian before handing off his .357 derringer off to Shane. He reholstered his handgun and smiled warmly at the cadre of bodyguards.

"Shane, if you would keep our heavily armed friends company momentarily?"

"Of course, Sir."

With that Thomas led Anthony down the hallway, the Lillians cautiously eying him the whole way. For all his theatrics, Thomas was a straightforward man, however nerves combined with his former vocation gave him the habit of trying to keep others guessing, even when it was not in his best interest.

At the door, Thomas took in a subtle breath before opening it and entering with Anthony.

The room was something of an antithesis to the rest of the ward, it was black as night except for one incandescent light shining down in the middle of the room, projecting a circular field.

In that field was a bed.

In that bed was Zhanna.

Thomas moved to the bed and pulled up a second chair by it, sitting in the first, closest to the face of his beloved. She was dressed in hospital scrubs rather than a patient's gown, he didn't want her subjected to that humiliation. The gauze on her shoulder and her abdomen was apparent, and some of it needed replacing. Morphine was on an IV drip along with a banana bag and in all likelihood a myriad of other pharmaceuticals. It was the best the nation had, and it could not save her.

Thomas looked up at Anthony, his face grim and weary.

"This is my wife, Diarch of Tanelorn," he tossed aside the proper nomenclature.

"This is why I have called you here."

[Subtleknifewielder]

The commander's glare was silently transferred from Anthony to Shane, letting him know the comment was not appreciated, even as she took the ejected clip from Thomas with a curt "Thanks."

Just because their nations were technically supposed to be friends did not mean she trusted her opposite, and while the glare was no longer in evidence, she stared at Shane unflinchingly once Anthony and Thomas walked through the door.

[color="#ff0000"][color="#000000"]----

Anthony, ever-observant, still almost missed Thomas' subtle breath before he opened the door. Whatever it was, it was affecting the man--perhaps something personal? But there was no need to ask; he'd be finding out in a few moments.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the much dimmer atmosphere in the room behind the door, but when they had, his gaze was fixed on the bed, and he followed Thomas. But for the moment he remained standing. His expression grew thoughful as the Diarch explained--thoughtful, and a bit pained. It brought back memories of his own that he had still not completely dealt with, and he allowed a single tear to form. His own wife had died in an attempt on his life, so he could sympathize with this situation.

"This was...an assassination attempt? What do you wish for me to do? Take her with me to have our doctors try and help her?"[/color][/color]

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"They shot her. For power. Those bullets were meant for my chest." For a moment, Thomas ignored Anthony's inquiry, before sighing and looking solemnly at Anthony.

"Yes, I would very much appreciate her being treated with your technology and your doctors, my men can't save her."

He looked down at Zhanna, staring in reverence for a moment. A silence passed over the two, before Thomas finally decided to break it.

"You know, for bodyguards, they should learn the mechanics of weaponry," Thomas racked the slide on his pistol back half-way, revealing one .45 caliber round in the chamber, "if I for some reason wanted war declared on my state, I could make that happen. Even assuming you have a panic button,I could put this slug in you and finish you with my bare hands while Shane held them off and my security hit their rear flank. It'd be a slaughterhouse."

Thomas quickly continued so as to not make his guest assume the worst, "Now, I have no such intentions, I'm merely illustrating the type of security I do not need, the type of security that made this," he gestured to the room around him, "possible."

"What I need is a versatile, durable, absolutely loyal, plenipotentiary service, cultured and intelligent men and women, as well as obviously being highly skilled in all matters of weaponry. I need spies, diplomats, and soldiers, all wrapped into one package. Now, I'm not asking for any details related to your national security, however, I must pose the question, do you have such people, and would you allow them to train my select few?"

--------

Shane stood in the hallway contemplating, wondering what discussion his new employer might be taking place in. He decided that as long he was going to have to stand there with a bunch of stuck-up tightly wound saints, he might as well have some fun with it.

"So, do they have you stand in one spot speechless for twelve hours outside the Australian Palace? Must get quite the tan there."

[Subtleknifewielder]

Even more like his own past than he'd thought. She'd simply been in the line of fire. Now he did take the indirectly-offered seat as his attention was divided between the two, but when the Diarch began speaking again, he listened. If the situation hadn;t been so serious, he might have been amused.

[i]'Your speech is full of assumptions, Mr. Grimshaw,'[/i] he thought. "They are perfectly aware of the possibility of concealed weapons and other surprises. One of the reasons they are reluctant to part with me. However..." He flicked his left wrist, prompting the knife to snap into his hand, briefly, before he replaced it in its sheath. He felt no need to finish the sentence, instead continuing on to address the rest of his opposite's words.

"But as you say, we have no intention of killing each other. I can assure you that our doctors will do all in their power to save the life of your spouse."

He stared at the woman on the bed, apparently lost in thought for almost a minute, long enough that Thomas might begin wondering if he had even noticed the last request...or if he had decided to ignore it.

Neither would be true. "Yes, we have such individuals." Here he allowed a tiny hint of a smile. "But be warned. However tough you think your men and women are, they'll have no idea what's really in store." What he hadn't learned from personal experience he'd l;earned from those who had gone through it.

----

One of the younger, newer guards bristled at Shane 's prodding, but Michelle managed to swallow her glare and actually respond with more than a harsh word. "Tan? No, that's for training," she said deadpan. "A little hard to get a tan in a city that is pouring down rain near constantly."

The stereotype of the entire continent being a dry and barren wasteland was largely misleading, especially where coastal cities like the capital, Darwin, were concerned.

"But you are welcome to try talking in a downpour and see how well you are heard," she finished, mocking the speechless comment.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

Shane chuckled at the retort, it was a pleasant surprise to see he was not the only one with a sense of wit in his profession.

"Ah, fiery one I see," he gestured to the younger guard, "disciplined as well, good form."

With that he turned to Michelle, "I've spoken in downpours before, shouted actually, considering its projectiles were made of lead and steel as opposed to condensation. Also, does your comment imply that whenever it rains the city goes silent? How lovely."

-------------------

Thomas smiled slightly, "A knife with a twin I presume, it's no wonder you fidgeted so much in the car. Six inches, stainless steel, pristine and oiled. Those are the weapons of someone who wants to appear normal, government officials and diplomats don't train in such an art."

Without waiting for a reply, Thomas began, "I appreciate your tolerance, forgive me, I'm angry, I'm tired, and I'm starting to see why Pablo ruled with an iron fist instead of meeting the people half way. He was a tyrant and an evil man, but he knew how to protect himself, I'll give him that, after all it took his protege to end him."

The room was eerily silent for a moment, in an almost reverent manner.

Finally Thomas broke the silence, "As for your individuals, if you would be so generous as to permit them to train my own talented few in the ways of espionage and warfare, I can assure you of one thing. There is [i]nothing[/i] that can be done to them that Pablo did not already do."

[Subtleknifewielder]

The younger guard visibly calmed, but she still decided it was best to simply ignore whatever this man said, instead focusing her attention on the hallway.

Michelle allowed a hint of a smirk to show. "Not at all... just not much call for talking--when you find someone's shooting at you, in our profession, you shoot back. As for the city going silent--the thunder wouldn't allow it. But it's hardly conducive to meanginful conversation when your words could get drowned out anyway."

----

Thomas wasn't stupid, obviously, as his words showed--his observations were quite correct. "A lower degree of security is the price to be payed for open liberty. No offense is taken."

[i]"As for your individuals, if you would be so generous as to permit them to train my own talented few in the ways of espionage and warfare, I can assure you of one thing. There is [/i]nothing [i]that can be done to them that Pablo did not already do."[/i]

After the moment of silence, Anthony allowed himself to relax in his seat, offering a reassuring nod. "Perhaps that is so. in any case, i see nothing wrong with sending a few men and women up here to train yours. Now...was that all you needed to discuss?"

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"Well, in my profession, when someone is shooting at you, recompense is typically the...initial response--however, the best response for the long term is to evade, avoid, and then...when the moment is most opportune, strike down on the offending extremity with the force of iron and the speed of lightning, then go to work on the mind with...other tools," with the final comment Shane's features strained for a mere instant before reforming to aid the comedic demeanor of their owner once again.

After a momentary pause Shane found the words to respond.

"As for the drowning of words, I will say one of the best jokes I've heard was under gunfire, although it was probably only so funny because of context." he chuckled

-------

Thomas sighed, liberty was not as easy as he had hoped, even now forces actively worked against it. This was something Anthony apparently had quite the grasp on, of course he had the advantage of being a much more experienced politician, Thomas had been a war chief, an intelligent one, but still a chief. The ways of words were still mysterious to him, which was why normally he had Karl handle such matters...but he was getting old, and his old habits were coming back with vengeance.

After Anthony's nod and questioning, he began, "I do not have the facilities to train such men and women as I need, and so I ask as a friend if they might be guests in your sovereign domain while you train them. I'm sure we can reach a consensus on the specifics of such matters later, but now..." he paused, "there is one [i]more[/i] thing I have need to show you, in regards to training. I was hesitant, at first, but what you know now could easily be used to induce anarchy in my nation if you willed it, which I doubt is your intention." he managed a weak smile.

------

With that, Thomas led Anthony back to the group of armed guards, along with one Shane. Shane immediately perked up at Thomas' arrival, "Keeping watch as ordered, Sir," the inflection of the word watch, combined with the subtle tone change he made, let Thomas know just how well he had been doing his job.

Upon retrieving his firearms, he turned to the apparent leader of the group, "I do apologize for Shane, ever since he was a boy it's been his dream to cause an international incident, especially one involving a cadre of armed women, I hope you'll forgive him." he chuckled, this one anecdote being the light point in an otherwise very depressing, very serious, very Shakespearean day.

Petulant, Shane muttered under his breath, "...That was so not my childhood dream."

Edited February 17, 2010 by Thomas Grimshaw

[Subtleknifewielder]

"Psychological tools are a little difficult if the enemy is dead," Michelle responded dryly. She deliberately ignored the possible reference to methods of torture. "And I suppose one can find humor in a combat situation. But bad weather is hardly combat, no? Rather, it brings back the painful memories of training," she added with a smirk.

--------

Anthony raised his eyebrows at the request, in the end shrugging.

"I don't see why them coming to Australia would be an issue. It would probably be easier for just about everyone. Our people would have their facilities and supplies for training on hand."

He smiled reassuringly. "Now, what was it you needed to show me?" He gestured to the man to lead the way. After all, the key word was 'show,' not 'tell,' and so he deduced that whatever it was...it would be elsewhere.

--------

Michelle chuckled, throwing a smirk in Shane's direction before returning to the serious expression she'd had before coming here. "If that is his dream, he's sure to be disappointed, [i]sir[/i]," she said. Despite the now-serious demeanor, there was almost a gleam in her eye. "These girls know what happens if they get out of line, provoked or not."

She showed no reluctance in returning the clip of bullets, a subtle change brought about by the simple fact that nothing overt had happened.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

"Oh I can quite imagine..." Shane remarked to Michelle's commentary, still a bit grumpy but with a much more visible comedic animus. Thomas quickly shot a glance and the exchange was ended, for the moment anyway.


The main items of the day said and done, now it was time for the auxiliary benefit of the visit of the Grand Duke. Despite the large size of the group, the cargo-lift sized yet ornately furnished elevator was more than accommodating. To the surprise of Shane, they elevator doors did not open at the lobby level. Instead, Thomas inserted a key into the proper surface on the elevator and with his torso blocking view, punched in a rather lengthy and elaborate code.

That process done, the elevator began a crawl down to the mysterious lower level of the building.

-------

The doors opened slowly, revealing a pitch-black passage before the group, lit only by the occasional incandescent bulb flickering in the distance. Shane's muscles twitched for a moment as Thomas drew his weapon...this was something he was very, very unaware of.

Thomas turned to his guests, "I apologize in advanced to the young amongst you, for I pray you have never seen the likes of which I am forced to show you. If you have already, I pity you, if not, steady yourselves."

That esoteric speech out of the way, Thomas began down the passage gun in hand, followed by Shane, Anthony, Michelle, and the rest of the guards. No one spoke for quite a while, a silence only interrupted by inhuman shrieks echoing down the passage-way.

Finally, the group reached a turn and came into a much more well lit hallway, one with multiple cameras and two heavily barred steel doors on both sides. At the end of the hallway, a transparent door of bullet-resistant glass. Thomas led the group through it and they came into a very bright and square room, devoid of furniture aside from some aluminum chairs and a table.

The left wall of the room contained a two-way mirror, one the guards armed with stun batons and shotguns loaded with beanbag rounds, were watching very intently. Inside the padded room sat a man in a pristine white top and matching pants. His face was stained with age and his black hair with sweat. He sat simply staring...until Thomas turned his eyes on him.

At that moment, Paco, veteran of the revolution and failed assassin of Thomas once before, looked directly through the glass at Thomas. While it was at most a lucky guess, it was still unnerving.

Thomas turned to one of the guards, "Have you fed him today?"

The guard, a younger muscled man with a thick Spanish accent and a brown mustache trembled slightly, "Sir...he won't eat, we've tried."

Thomas sighed, "Do what you must."

The guard was visibly more intimidated "Yes...Sir."

With that, he moved towards a door located near the two-way mirror. Stun baton in one hand, and a bowl of stew with a spoon and a slice of bread in the other, he entered the room while another guard opened the door and watched, shotgun ready.

The door clicked shut.

"Paco? Paco...Thomas is here...you can eat..."

"Yes...yes I can, hand me the bowl...please?" Paco smiled and looked up at the guard, like a child.

In the moment that the bowl changed hands, Paco threw the scalding hot stew into the face of the guard. He screamed and dropped his baton, which Paco quickly kicked away. He grabbed the spoon with his left hand and punched the guard with his right. Then...he tackled the man, and began to shove the spoon into his throat, punching him in the same area while he did.

When the deed was done, the man lay dead and Paco roared triumphantly. He slammed his head into the two-way glass, breaking off a small piece.

"YOU SEE ME THOMAS? I'VE STILL GOT THE EDGE!"

Thomas shuddered, visibly shaken. The guard with the shotgun opened the door and hit Paco with two beanbag rounds to the abdomen and the right thigh respectively.

------

After a moment of recovery, with the security guards cleared from the room, Thomas turned to Anthony, "That man's name is Paco Marino. Because I could not expedite my plans...his entire family was killed for being literate. I fed him promises of democracy and education and he trusted me. When we took control, we had to use force to maintain order...he was not pleased."

Hatred, fear, lament, all were apt descriptors of what Thomas felt, but he could not cry, not would not, [i]could[/i] not. He simply looked at Anthony, with a weary expression on his face, "I've done what I can to keep him alive, I owe him that. But he's a threat to himself and everyone around him as long as he is this way. I've no clue if he is insane, or something else entirely...but I want you to promise me something. Take him with you, train him, and break him into sanity. Break him or kill him, because the Paco I knew would not want to live this way, and it's not something I can bear to do myself."

[Subtleknifewielder]

Underground? Except for the company and preceding circumstances, this was reminding him of his visit to Zargathia--only then he'd been accompanied only by the bodyguard of the Zargathian Queen.

The Lillians, if they were surprised at all, did not show it, simply shifting to keep their balance in the elvator that was moving once again.

They peered out suspiciously into the darkness the door opened into, but the dim lights made it clear there was no current threat out there, and allowed Anthony to follow Thomas, though there were a few questioning looks at the Diarch's statement, which did nothing to calm anyone--including Thomas, the Grand Duke noted with interest. This was aparently not something he'd been privy to.

And then they heard the shrieks.

----

The room they ended up in was no less disturbing for being well-lit. It had been more than enough illumination for them to clearly see the brutality and madness of the prisoner. One of the guards, even younger than the one who had bristled at some of Shane's comments, looked like she might be sick soon.

[i]"I've done what I can to keep him alive, I owe him that. But he's a threat to himself and everyone around him as long as he is this way. I've no clue if he is insane, or something else entirely...but I want you to promise me something. Take him with you, train him, and break him into sanity. Break him or kill him, because the Paco I knew would not want to live this way, and it's not something I can bear to do myself."[/i]

Anthony's face was unreadable as he turned to give his answer. "I can do that," he whispered quietly. "But if he returns to sanity, what makes you think that he will be able to live with the memory of what he did?" The quiet tone hinted at memories of atrocites, things a politician and former diplomat should realistically never have experienced, but had.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

Shane went silent at the sight. He'd been no stranger to violence, even brutality as blatant as such that had been shown to him just now, but it had always been tactical, sane, calculated. His violence had always had a purpose...vague though it may have been. He noticed the youngest guard with the contorted expression on his face and forced a soft chuckle, "Good thing you didn't eat today."

Thomas ignored the comment and merely concentrated on Anthony, "We're soldiers. Surviving is what we do, survival is the price we pay for change."

------
It was nearing midnight and plans had been made. The training facility had been decided upon and the candidates had been chosen and rounded up. Back at the same arid airstrip Thomas sat in the middle car of a three vehicle convoy of armored SUVs. Shane relaxed as the Lillians and the candidates, along with one heavily guarded and heavily restrained, and sedated, Paco, loaded themselves onto one C130-Hercules cargo plane.

"Get up." Thomas muttered.

"What?"

"You're going with them."

"Oh hell no I am NOT. This was not part of th-"

"The arrangement was that you work for me now. I know you can fight, I know you can shoot, I know you can kill. Surveillance, explosives, technical training, improvisation...I don't know if you can do any of that. If not, you'll learn, if so, you'll get a refresher course and maybe get a few new tricks. Now..." he laid his pistol across his lap, "get moving."

Shane grinned, "Well, it seems you certainly don't lack the steel to back up your words. Bye...Boss."

As Shane accompanied the twenty recruits, twelve men, eight women, onto the plane, Thomas chuckled, a final high point in his day, "Boss...I like the sound of that.

[Subtleknifewielder]

The young Lillian didn't even have the energy to glare at Shane for the remark. For that matter, none of the others could summon up the will to do so. They'd seen brutality, they'd seen combat, but madness was something else entirely.

Anthony had nothing he needed to say in reply to Thomas' statement. He'd never technically been a soldier, but he had several friends who had bee, and so understood the sentiment.

----

It had taken some time to work out the details, but Anthony refused to quit, and would be returning with the rest of them, though he would be up in the cockpit. Michelle watched curiously as Shane, after discussing something with Thomas, turned to get on the plane with the recruits. It wasn't difficult to make the connection, and she almost laughed at the situation. She would be one of three main instructors for the training...she was looking forward to this, to seeing how much he could take.

----

They wouldn't be taken to the capital--instead they landed at an Air Force Base outside Perth. The sun had just set before they disembarked, and the sky was rapidly darkening as they were ushered into waiting jeeps to be taken to their quarters for the night. Paco was taken and put in the most secure cell in the brig--a concrete and steel construction used for high-risk criminals. The next day, he would be sedated and restrained once more, then taken with Anthony and most of the Lillians to Darwin where more secure quarters could be provided for him.

The recruits would be woken up bright and early at 4:45 AM, and given 15 minutes to shower, get dressed, and assemble in the mess hall.

[Thomas Grimshaw]

The sleep the recruits earned was light and short, they were accustomed to such naps, and despite being able to maintain a good eight hours under artillery fire, each was waiting when the wake up call came. Each, including Shane, had been issued three pairs of camouflage fatigues, one ballistic nylon utility belt with pockets for a handgun, magazines, a knife pouch, and a pouch for zip-cuffs, as well as three matching T-shirts and long-sleeved coats.

Each also had a duffel bag with a few other possessions stored in their respective quarters. Together, they stood in the mess hall, Shane was grinning to himself, he'd done a little "reconnaissance" and discovered that the flight carrying the Lillians had gone back one short...he could only imagine whom it would be short of.

Together, the recruits awaited the first day.