Chương 58: Brutal Methodology

Bricker drummed his thick fingers on the conference tabletop and sighed.

"Well, at least one of you is capable of owning up to mistakes. Moriarty, I expect better, next time. You can't have junior Kickers picking up your slack. Without the second team in place, this extraction would have ended in failure. It wasn't their job to rescue Jacobs. It was yours."

"Yes sir," said Moriarty, glowering.

"Sourcing intelligence from locals is good, but don't over-rely on it. Next time you're expecting to engage high-level locals, bring additional personnel to support. I know Kickers are at a premium, but we have other assets. It worked out this time, but not due to actions on your part." It was easy to see that Moriarty didn't agree with that assessment, but even he wasn't going to directly contradict Director Bricker.

A few more slides went by as Cole half-listened, mostly about Moriarty's end of the operation and his collection methods, as well as projections for retaliation or repeat abduction from Vael. Cole perked up when he heard his name again.

"With Mr. Colton's—or Airborne's, now, I suppose, display of DOR initiative at the forward Vaelian bulwark, the analysts have put it at a low probability that Vael will try again. I think they got the message, this time."

"This time?" asked Cole, straightening in his chair. Bricker nodded.

"Where we think there's a chance, we make contact with the locals and request the return of our people. On rare, lucky occasions, they agree—or at least offer terms or formal requests for personnel or war materiel that this department is often inclined to indulge, if they return our kids first. More often than not, they tell us to go fuck ourselves." Scanning ahead in the deck, Bricker finally stopped on the explosion of the Vaelian fort.

"While something like this might have gotten you court-martialed in the Army, our rules of engagement are notably more proactive and collateral damage during retrievals is less frowned upon. One of the reasons for that is that some of these worlds speak to each other. Events like this send a very clear message that propagates through realms: steal from Earth, and DOR will come for our people. And we're probably more dangerous than whatever they're fighting.

Shock and awe is the DOR mandate, and prevention of future abductions in the first place is preferable to protracted and dangerous negotiations and rescue missions."

"Understood," said Cole. Bricker sighed.

"Of course, there are always groups like the Beast Cult who take it as a challenge. Now, despite the doom and gloom, this op was a success. Leon Jacobs is safe and sound, no one is dead or currently in critical condition. Hopefully we've closed the book on Vael and this is the last rewards screen we'll see from them." The next slide had the divvied up proceeds from collected LF Residue.

Cole was surprised to see that despite getting their asses kicked, Moriarty's team had managed to collect twice as much as Cole and his squad. But his own team's haul was still almost in the six figures. Split five ways, it was almost twenty-thousand dollars each for the week-long otherworld excursion. Cole started to break out in sweat." You can afford it," Sophie's voice echoed in his head. Maybe he ought to replace that old beater truck after all.

He'd avoided the classic E1 Harley/Charger trap and been saving money—but everything he'd scrimped in the past four years of his enlistment had just doubled in the weeks since joining DOR. Bricker cracked his knuckles.

"Alright, I won't hold ya'll here all night. Moriarty, Airborne, no rush picking your next op. I think both teams could use a breather." Cole started to stand, but Bricker held a palm up to him.

"Actually, hold up. I need a minute of your time after this." Moriarty and the others filed out. Bricker waited til they were gone before he turned to Cole.

"Nona Keeton has officially joined your team this last op, from what I hear."

"Technically, she was on Moriarty's team for the op. But yeah, we'll be taking her. If that's permitted." The director shook his head.

"She was never on Moriarty's team, he just takes whoever he thinks he can use until they're used up. The man gets results, but his methods can be… well, this isn't a savory business at the best of times." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Cole debated for a moment.

"Director Bricker, if he's such a problem, why is he allowed to lead missions?" Bricker raised an eyebrow.

"Were you ordered by someone to join him?"

"No," Cole admitted.

"We received a request for mission support and we answered it. I just didn't expect a fellow team lead to see my team as so expendable. Especially after that song and dance about the Arquebus Engineer class."

"And here I thought you weren't someone who wanted your hand held." Bricker pursed his lips.

"I'd say the fact you're alive to lodge this complaint makes it a moot point." He paused, as if considering something, then shook his head and continued.

"No, there's more to it. DOR leadership can't choose teams or team leads. Kickers pick their teams, and that's how it has to be. We tried assignments and rosters in the early days. But voluntary parties and callsigns and such are a conceptual requirement of operating in a Lewis Field in ways we don't fully understand. As for Moriarty? Well, Vael notwithstanding, he's got both a higher-than-average extraction success rate and residue retrieval rate, despite his level.

Part of that is his ruthlessness, and part of it is his ability to manipulate locals. But this isn't the Army, Cole. Choose your friends carefully." That was true enough. Hell, even in the Army there were plenty of officers and NCOs who would put their own advancement, promotion potential, and well-being ahead of the best interests of other divisions. Maybe not to the degree of sticking them in a tunnel with a bunch of extra-dimensional monsters, but still. Bricker shifted his way.

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It looks like you've got a knack for attracting black sheep."

"Yes sir. Though, if I can speak candidly—""You weren't already?"

"—there's a lot of weirdness surrounding Nona." Cole leaned forward.

"And not just her ability to banish otherworld invaders. Things like guns not dropping for her, and how she seems to follow wherever her whims take her." Bricker laughed.

"Yes. Well, she is something of an edge case, and I appreciate you taking her onto your team. If you know nothing else, know that she's all-in on the department and its mission. There are good reasons for the secrecy around her circumstances. But seeing as you're her team lead…" Bricker pursed his lips.

"Her story isn't mine to tell. Just let her know that I authorized disclosure at her discretion. But I wouldn't push too hard, she'll tell you when she's ready."

"Yes sir."

"How's the rest of your team shaping up? It's rare to have a team of almost entirely green Kickers, but it's also rare for five-plus Kickers to come out of a single Curahee push. You've proven resourceful and that you can lead them effectively as a team. But how are they individually?" It only took Cole a moment to consider before answering.

"Well, Roxy Doukas is a food-obsessed gremlin, Howie Hoyle is a goof-ball with a grenade launcher, and pretty sure David Besson's dog is going to be more talkative than him in a few more levels." Bricker laughed.

"I take it you like 'em."

"I could use another dozen just like 'em." Bricker nodded thoughtfully.

"We've got the next batch of recruits in training right now. Unless we've got another rockstar in the making, you should be able to take one or two of the hopefuls after Curahee." Cole tilted his head.

"We're still going to use Curahee after the incursion?"

"Of course. It's the perfect crucible. All the BC kill squads know is that they sent a team to Curahee and only one team member came back, carrying a lethal fungal infection to boot. So I doubt they'll be too keen to visit again. But just in case we'll have extra hands proctoring as well as a full base camp with a QRF team on standby. That's going to reduce the efficacy of the trial, unfortunately. But it's a necessary evil." Bricker pushed his bulk up from the table, knuckling the old injury on his leg.

"Take it easy for the next few days. Keep up with Jeff in the armory, keep studying the SOP, and Sophie will have some operations for you to choose from. There's never any shortage of work around here. Dismissed, Airborne." Cole shook Bricker's hand and made his way back to the elevator. This was a dangerous line of work—not like combat was dangerous. But between the money, the adrenaline, and the feeling of being super-human, it was easy to see how someone could get addicted to this job and take it too far.

You only had to fuck up once to not be coming home. Or to be the reason one of your teammates parents were getting a next-of-kin notification. If anything, that was worse. Cole left Lewis Hall. He needed to clear his head, and while Roxy had the right idea of working up a sweat to blow off steam, pumping iron had never been his jam. Instead, he went back to his billet and swapped into PT clothes before heading out to the perimeter of the base where a running track circled the entire compound.

With the temperature dropping and the crickets singing, it was the perfect time for a run. After a stretch and a warmup, Cole set his watch and put on some speed. All the otherworld rucking and running had further improved his stamina, even without a Lewis Field, and before long he found himself increasing his pace. While not nearly as fast and sure-footed as his otherworld enhanced self, he'd still maxed out the run and ruck on every PT test, and it looked like he was able to go beyond that, now.

He ran, just listening to the sound of his own breathing and his footfalls on the dirt track. Even after the op, his energy was through the roof and he felt like a coiled spring ready to explode. Bricker had said to wait a few days before additional assignments. But if he could, he'd step through a portal right then and there in his 5-inch inseams and running shoes. When he finally stopped, it was full dark. By his count, he'd run at least six miles.

He wiped sweat off his face and the top of his head using his shirt—though it wasn't much dryer than the rest of him. A shower, then crash on post. Tomorrow he had to get Nona up to speed.