081 - The Gathering Storm

[Amyral]

There was a large fire on the outskirts of camp, flames carrying burning embers into the night sky. Around the fire several overturned brown and green glass bottles were strewn about. Three men were sitting around the fire, still dressed in their formal dress uniforms. One of them had a spattering of blood on it.

“Well, this is just great,” Scott groaned, tossing an empty beer bottle, his eighth, into the fire, causing it to shatter.

“A damn fine turn of affairs,” Marco said, pacing around the fire as he dropped his bottle to his side. He kicked another bottle. “Got some of his brain on my uniform too.”

Scott frowned, nodding. “So who did it?”

Logan glanced up at the three. “Does it really matter? The man’s still dead and I doubt the assassin will ever talk.”

“If the UN didn’t get involved, we could have our resident mystic use some enhanced interrogation techniques. He knows a nasty little binding spell called mark of pain that’d make him talk,” Marco responded, swaying some before he sat down on a log.

“Out of the question, the UN would never allow it,” Costanza responded, taking a brief sip of his beer, still his first.

Logan glared at Marco. “Not to mention monstrous. Nothing has ever been gained by torture,” he responded.

Marco popped the cap on another beer, looking at the fire dance around in front of him. “Anything to get the job done. Hell, he was probably in on it.”

“Who?” Scott asked confusedly.

“Reynolds, of course,” Marco responded back, annoyed that he was the only one who thought so.
Scott smirks some, scoffing at the notion. “So he got a One Nation soldier to shoot him in the head? Why? What sense would that make?”

Marco grinned widely, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “Croft wants unity, Reynolds just wanted power. What better way to rally people to your cause than to give them a cause? His army will blame Croft and they’ll keep fighting. Croft will lose favor with the population and, since he wants unity, will be hesitant to use full force. What better way to ensure that all your little pawns will fight to their deaths? He had a plant the entire time and we fell for it. None of his men will abide by the surrender now.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk, Marco.” Had it not been for the doctor’s orders, he might have joined them, but his wounds, while healing, were still severe enough to limit much of what he could do.

Marco shook his head. “Just because I’ve been drinkin’ doesn’t mean my mind isn’t sharper than yours, kid. I’m telling you, accusations will fly and bullets with them. Croft will need 24-hour protection so one of Reynold’s zealots doesn’t do that to him.”

Scott looked down, shaking his head. “I don’t buy it. I think it’s Tyne. It’s revenge for him being defeated. He wants to keep Croft from being successful.”

“It’s not his style,” Costanza interrupted. “From what I gathered, he wouldn’t work like that.”

Scott glanced over. “So what then? Someone in Ohio? Someone we don’t know?”

Cost smirked. “It may not even be about power, it may be about money. If you find the group that stands to gain the most by this conflict going on, you’ll probably find who did it.”

Marco shook his head. “Nah, makes less sense. Most of the hicks out here are using old hunting rifles. Even most of our guys are using old tech. They aren’t making money off of us. Now, they’ll fight to the death with the crap they have. That’s why Reynold’s makes the most sense. All this needs is those news cameras picking up photos of some dead farmers and Croft will never get any public approval.”

Logan frowned and stood up. He clutched his side a bit and began to walk away. He had been fortunate enough to still be in the infirmary when Reynolds died, so he didn’t have to witness it in person, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. He left the One Nation soldiers and began to wander around the camp, thinking as he did.

As he walked along, he glanced over to see Alex sitting on a porch looking at the stars. He wondered briefly what it was like to have a famous father, or a father at all. After all that happened, he couldn't remember having spoken to Andrew at all, but Alex was a good kid. Alex tilted his head for a moment and ran inside the cabin, obviously having been called by his family. He looked down and sighed before he began to walk back to the infirmary to go back to sleep.

Everything was abuzz about the assassination, who had done it, why it had happened, how they could find out. Logan didn't think like that. All he thought about was that a man had died and there was nothing he could do to stop it.