041 - Blood and Thunder

[Amyral]

Logan slowly examined his medical bag, making sure he had everything in it that he needed. It had to be the reason why Croft chose him to go with the Freedom Fighters on this mission. It certainly wasn’t his fighting ability. Logan had none. It had to be his medical training.

Despite the breadth of One Nation, that was one thing Logan noticed. There were many soldiers, but few units to actually back them up. Logan hadn’t seen more than two medics in his week at the camp. Perhaps more just hadn’t arrived yet, perhaps Croft just never thought much of having medics. Either way, Logan was it in this group. That scared him. He wasn’t sure he could handle it.

Logan was surprised at how accommodating the Freedom Fighters had been. Truth be told, he had no idea who the man he had met in the court yard was before he told him his name. Of course, he had heard of the Freedom Fighters before, but he had never seen a picture. His exposure to them was Jet. While they lived in the trees, Jet talked about them almost constantly. Whenever he comforted a young a child who had lost their parents in the aftermath of the war, he told them the story of the Freedom Fighters. Jet respected them… he idolized them.

Logan wondered what Jet would say if he knew Logan had not only met them, but was also heading on a mission with them. If he were still alive, he was sure he would be envious.

Still, Logan had no real idea what was going on. He was asked to go with them on a mission and accepted. When he was issued a pistol, he had no clue how to use it. He had fired his first gun a week before. But it didn’t matter now. He was being sent with Marco, Costanza and Scott with the Freedom Fighters. He hoped he would still be useful.

“I may need more styptic,” he said, knowing he couldn’t be too prepared. He glanced at Jet’s swords before setting them on the bed next to him.

If the threat was enough to send the legendary Freedom Fighters after it, he hoped he would just come out of it alive.

* * * * *
While Logan was preparing, Marco Rossini, the tactical hear of the One Nation branch in the southeastern United States, was sitting at a table across from Costanza. On the night stand next to him was a well-worn copy of Machiavelli and Sun Tzu.

Marco was a brilliant tactician. The One Nation cell had just completed a sweep of the Florida panhandle. There were no major resistance groups there and it had been rather basic.

Still, Marco was a student of war. By his side was his AKY 4300, one of the latest Akigiyama assault rifles. Many of the men in One Nation held similar weapons. Akigiyama, for all their faults, made the best weapons in the world and Marco wasn’t too proud to use them.

“That’s how you beat a mage,” Marco said. While Logan was fretting about getting ready, Marco was playing chess. He moved his knight to the middle of the board. It was a sacrifice.
Costanza took it, taking the knight with his bishop. “You offer up a sacrifice,” he said. By his side was an AKY 240. It was a semi-automatic shotgun, also Akigiyama. Costanza was one of Marco’s most trusted soldiers, but his purpose on the team was a lot more than another gun.

Marco took Costanza’s bishop with his rook. “Check. You make believe you’re attacking head on. You keep them busy, then you come from a distance and take them out before they know what’s coming.”

Marco was a student of war. When most men spent their nights in town drinking, Marco studied. He knew the ins and outs of all the great wars and warlords. From Shaka Zulu to Cao Cao and from Saladin to Stalin. Marco studied what worked and what didn’t, where the greatest minds in the world went wrong. When Marco commanded his troops, he did so with precision and perfection.

“And if the mage can teleport?” Marco asked, castleing his king and rook.

Marco smirked. “Magic must be present to counteract magic, just as technology must be present to counter technology. That’s where you come in, Corsair,” he said, his queen breaking the line of pawns protecting Costanza’s king. “Magic binds him to earth, where a bullet is as lethal to him as it is to anyone else.”

Costanza glanced up. Marco called him Corsair because he couldn’t pronounce his real name. The mystic smirked. “I’m part of a dying breed. What happens when there are no more you can hire?” He said, moving his King further from Marco’s queen, realizing the game was almost over.

“Checkmate,” Marco declared. “When that happens, we’ll develop alternatives. But it won’t be soon, Corsair. You’ll be around for a long time.”

Costanza smirked. “That’s good. Next leave I’m going back to our colony to breed.”

Marco laughed some. “I’ll inform the men.”

* * * * *

Scott was preparing where he always did. At the shooting range. Marco kept him equipped with the most hi-tech long-range rifles Akigiyama, even though Scott didn’t need it. He had been the long-range shooter since he was with Jet in the forests of Louisiana. Now was no different.

He held the long rifle in his arms. It automatically adjusted the sight for wind. Scott squinted and fired, the echo of the shot ringing in the air. The bullet hit the bull’s eye. Scott pressed a button and the target went back another 20 yards. Another shot, another bull’s eye.

“Looking for a good distance?” A voice behind him said.

Scott fired another shot at a further target, nodding. “This set-up isn’t good for practice,” Scott said. He knew he was talking to Kevin Maclan. Only long-range shooters had use for this range. The targets were well beyond the accurate range for assault rifles or pistols.

Kevin raised his rifle, firing at the target. His shot hit right by Scott’s. “Only 1,500 meters,” Kevin said, smirking.

Scott smirked. “I’ve hit twice that before.”

Kevin glanced over, grinning. “That’s nothing. I pegged a moving target at 2,600 with no scope.”

“You’re full of it,” Scott said jokingly.

Kevin grinned. “Well, when we get back, we can set up some clay pigeons and I’ll show you kids how to shoot.”

Scott smiled. “Yeah, maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two, old man,” he said, putting his rifle on his shoulder. Kevin grinned, raising his rifle. Scott joined him.

* * * * *

Logan let out a deep sigh. He had cataloged the items in his medical bag several times, trying to think of anything he might need. Of course, not knowing what Tyne could do made it difficult to prepare.

The last thing he did for the night was set Jet’s swords by his bad. They were scheduled to leave in the morning. Whatever was ahead, he was now in it.