06-06-2014, 07:59 PM
The bus ride across the tarmac was surprisingly short, unexpectedly uneventful, and tremendously nerve wracking. Nicholas didn't care what some other arrogant prick might have to say about the sense of invincibility that comes with the power. When you find yourself slowly trundling across flat ground in a thin metal coffin surrounded by other people even more terrified than you are, with bullets whizzing by and explosive shock waves slamming against the walls, you might as well be a field mouse. He had the power to level buildings - or, at least, he suspected as much - yet in those few tense minutes he felt just as he imagined it would to be desperately holding onto driftwood in the middle of a stormy sea.
Then they were there. Nicholas was no claustrophobe, but he'd be damned if open air had ever felt so good. Jacques Danjou pulled him and Reed aside soon after they got off the buses. The CEO of the Legion Premiere was in a makeshift command center, of sorts, passing out orders and monitoring a dozen feeds at once. He was still sore about the man who died during the riot. Which was a good thing, as far as Nicholas was concerned - Jacques certainly wasn't heartless. At his not-so-subtle accusation, Reed put her hands up defensively. Innocent little her clearly had nothing to do with anything.
Nicholas quickly acquiesced to the man's requests. He was actually asking Nicholas to avoid getting shot at; who wouldn't agree to that? "Barring any more stray balls of fire, I'll stay out of your way."
The sooner and safer he was out of this tribal hellhole, the better.
Jacques seemed to think Nicholas needed more convincing. "No plan survives contact with the enemy, Mr Trano. But should you be needed to do... whatever it is you do, well, it is already too late I fear." He looked away for a moment, distracted by a long scroll of text crossing his screen. "The CCD has a flight of VTOLs to arrive here in two hours to take us all out of this place." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to the annoying civilian who was so rudely taking up space in his command post.
All non-combatants were being herded onto a pair of civilian jets. If Nicholas wanted, he could get on with them and be out of this hell hole. Still, he was ostensibly a reporter. It'd be a hell of a story he'd be telling when he escaped Saudi Arabia. He didn't want to leave before it was over. "So what happens until then?"
A few hundred soldiers would have to hold a thin line against thousands of extremists for two hours, on open ground. It didn't look particularly good. Not the kind of thing that had a happy ending, at least.
The loading of civilians onto the planes continued in the background, and rather than answering Nicholas's question, Jacques offered him exactly what he wanted. "I assume, as you are a reporter, you insist on staying?"
Nicholas covered the surprise before it registered on his face. "I thought you'd never ask."
He glanced at Reed, whose expression turned sour at that. But he saw more to it than just getting a good story. Now that his secret was out, he didn't exactly like his chances if he returned to the Custody. In a country that didn't believe in concepts such as rights, he could easily find himself drugged and waking up in Nikolai Brandon's personal rape dungeon. He crossed his arms and, leaning against a table, looked back at Jacques. "After those evac birds get here, where are you planning to go?"
"Freetown." He gestured among the various screens, then raised a hand for Trano to wait as he was forced to take a call. The conversation was short. Apparently, an American company was complaining about refugees being housed on its property in Sierra Leone.
Refugees in Sierra Leone?
Last Nicholas heard, that place was a model African nation in terms of peace and prosperity. But then again, "model African nation," he supposed.
Ever the humanitarian, apparently, Jacques pointed out that the company would win a lot of favor with the people of that country, particularly the ones likely to be in power once the dust settled. Some tribal group or another. It didn't take long for the call to end, and Jacques turned back to Nicholas. "I am establishing a field command at the foreign Moroccan embassy. I purchased it two hours ago for a tidy sum."
"At least you put my money to good use."
Nicholas let the smile die before it could fully form. Travelling from one war zone to another wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for. But, then again, that second war zone was far from the Custody's grasp. "If you'll allow it, I'd be glad to stick around. I'll stay out of your way unless you need me. The cat's out of the bag on all this, so if you want to know exactly what I can do I'll tell you as much as I know."
Of course, that wasn't entirely selfless. He didn't want his eyes clawed out by that angry, escaped cat - a couple well publicized good deeds could go a long way.
Jacques turned from his work, at that, and fixed Nicholas with a long, considering stare. "Do what you can. I will not hold your hand in this, Mr Trano. My men are spread thin. We cannot assure your safety." He paused a moment, glancing to the plane marked for triage, where wounded CCD soldiers were being loaded. "Get yourself some armor. If this position is over run, we all die. Let that guide your decisions."
Nicholas nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the fighting. "I'll... keep that in mind."
He really wasn't going to be happy about all this in the morning. The us-versus-them mindset was a very momentary thing. But he seized hold of the power once again, welcoming the burn that spread throughout his entire body. There were a million and one things he could do, but only a few dozen he actually knew how to.
--
It took a few minutes, but Nicholas secured a set of armor - Custody symbol stylishly removed. He found himself a comfortable spot atop a burned out fuel truck, and set to work. Thick, heavy clouds of smoke hung across much of the battlefield. He'd managed to grab a pair of binoculars from one of Jacques's command staff, and he was about to test out a little theory of his. He was pretty sure the power would work so long as he could see what he was doing - assuming, of course, that it didn't drop off like direct current electricity.
Reed stood nearby, oddly quiet yet observant. She was tense, more in the manner of a cat ready to pounce than a woman scared for her life. If any Arabic ninjas snuck up through the lines to kill Nicholas, she was his last line of defense.
So he found his niche. Whenever a group of rebels popped up and started shooting, he'd make a wall of air to protect those they were killing. He moved the smoke around, blocking the rebels' vision - he knew the Custody troops had thermals, and he was pretty sure the Legion did too. A couple times he was forced to weave a vortex of flame, but it always left a bad taste in his mouth. Nobody should have to die like that.
Nicholas only took care of the obvious. He was a battlefield good Samaritan. He didn't try to make use of the power in such a way as to dictate Jacques's tactics - he just did what he could to support what everyone else was doing. He figured that was for the best - he'd never channeled to the point of being tired before, but a night's worth of holding the power was beginning to fray his wits.
Edited by Nick Trano, Jun 6 2014, 08:07 PM.
Then they were there. Nicholas was no claustrophobe, but he'd be damned if open air had ever felt so good. Jacques Danjou pulled him and Reed aside soon after they got off the buses. The CEO of the Legion Premiere was in a makeshift command center, of sorts, passing out orders and monitoring a dozen feeds at once. He was still sore about the man who died during the riot. Which was a good thing, as far as Nicholas was concerned - Jacques certainly wasn't heartless. At his not-so-subtle accusation, Reed put her hands up defensively. Innocent little her clearly had nothing to do with anything.
Nicholas quickly acquiesced to the man's requests. He was actually asking Nicholas to avoid getting shot at; who wouldn't agree to that? "Barring any more stray balls of fire, I'll stay out of your way."
The sooner and safer he was out of this tribal hellhole, the better.
Jacques seemed to think Nicholas needed more convincing. "No plan survives contact with the enemy, Mr Trano. But should you be needed to do... whatever it is you do, well, it is already too late I fear." He looked away for a moment, distracted by a long scroll of text crossing his screen. "The CCD has a flight of VTOLs to arrive here in two hours to take us all out of this place." He seemed to be talking more to himself than to the annoying civilian who was so rudely taking up space in his command post.
All non-combatants were being herded onto a pair of civilian jets. If Nicholas wanted, he could get on with them and be out of this hell hole. Still, he was ostensibly a reporter. It'd be a hell of a story he'd be telling when he escaped Saudi Arabia. He didn't want to leave before it was over. "So what happens until then?"
A few hundred soldiers would have to hold a thin line against thousands of extremists for two hours, on open ground. It didn't look particularly good. Not the kind of thing that had a happy ending, at least.
The loading of civilians onto the planes continued in the background, and rather than answering Nicholas's question, Jacques offered him exactly what he wanted. "I assume, as you are a reporter, you insist on staying?"
Nicholas covered the surprise before it registered on his face. "I thought you'd never ask."
He glanced at Reed, whose expression turned sour at that. But he saw more to it than just getting a good story. Now that his secret was out, he didn't exactly like his chances if he returned to the Custody. In a country that didn't believe in concepts such as rights, he could easily find himself drugged and waking up in Nikolai Brandon's personal rape dungeon. He crossed his arms and, leaning against a table, looked back at Jacques. "After those evac birds get here, where are you planning to go?"
"Freetown." He gestured among the various screens, then raised a hand for Trano to wait as he was forced to take a call. The conversation was short. Apparently, an American company was complaining about refugees being housed on its property in Sierra Leone.
Refugees in Sierra Leone?
Last Nicholas heard, that place was a model African nation in terms of peace and prosperity. But then again, "model African nation," he supposed.
Ever the humanitarian, apparently, Jacques pointed out that the company would win a lot of favor with the people of that country, particularly the ones likely to be in power once the dust settled. Some tribal group or another. It didn't take long for the call to end, and Jacques turned back to Nicholas. "I am establishing a field command at the foreign Moroccan embassy. I purchased it two hours ago for a tidy sum."
"At least you put my money to good use."
Nicholas let the smile die before it could fully form. Travelling from one war zone to another wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for. But, then again, that second war zone was far from the Custody's grasp. "If you'll allow it, I'd be glad to stick around. I'll stay out of your way unless you need me. The cat's out of the bag on all this, so if you want to know exactly what I can do I'll tell you as much as I know."
Of course, that wasn't entirely selfless. He didn't want his eyes clawed out by that angry, escaped cat - a couple well publicized good deeds could go a long way.
Jacques turned from his work, at that, and fixed Nicholas with a long, considering stare. "Do what you can. I will not hold your hand in this, Mr Trano. My men are spread thin. We cannot assure your safety." He paused a moment, glancing to the plane marked for triage, where wounded CCD soldiers were being loaded. "Get yourself some armor. If this position is over run, we all die. Let that guide your decisions."
Nicholas nodded and glanced over his shoulder at the fighting. "I'll... keep that in mind."
He really wasn't going to be happy about all this in the morning. The us-versus-them mindset was a very momentary thing. But he seized hold of the power once again, welcoming the burn that spread throughout his entire body. There were a million and one things he could do, but only a few dozen he actually knew how to.
--
It took a few minutes, but Nicholas secured a set of armor - Custody symbol stylishly removed. He found himself a comfortable spot atop a burned out fuel truck, and set to work. Thick, heavy clouds of smoke hung across much of the battlefield. He'd managed to grab a pair of binoculars from one of Jacques's command staff, and he was about to test out a little theory of his. He was pretty sure the power would work so long as he could see what he was doing - assuming, of course, that it didn't drop off like direct current electricity.
Reed stood nearby, oddly quiet yet observant. She was tense, more in the manner of a cat ready to pounce than a woman scared for her life. If any Arabic ninjas snuck up through the lines to kill Nicholas, she was his last line of defense.
So he found his niche. Whenever a group of rebels popped up and started shooting, he'd make a wall of air to protect those they were killing. He moved the smoke around, blocking the rebels' vision - he knew the Custody troops had thermals, and he was pretty sure the Legion did too. A couple times he was forced to weave a vortex of flame, but it always left a bad taste in his mouth. Nobody should have to die like that.
Nicholas only took care of the obvious. He was a battlefield good Samaritan. He didn't try to make use of the power in such a way as to dictate Jacques's tactics - he just did what he could to support what everyone else was doing. He figured that was for the best - he'd never channeled to the point of being tired before, but a night's worth of holding the power was beginning to fray his wits.
Edited by Nick Trano, Jun 6 2014, 08:07 PM.