Warrick took the brief countdown as an opportunity to slide towards the back of the truck bed, deeper in, so he could hook an arm around the thick bar bolting the benches in place. He doubted it would help much with the jouncing but it would keep him from smashing open his face on the walls of the truck if they did a hard turn. The position would also keep him out of the line of sight if anyone happened to shoot at the back windows. The fact that Toreth seemed fairly certain that there would be shooting was no comfort. He knew the armored car would offer some protection and all the windows were bulletproof glass anyway, but that didn't necessarily deter certain types of ammunition.
And it would be of no help at all if a group managed to pry open the doors. Or merely blow up the entire vehicle with an RPG.
There was a muted pop of the smoke screen being deployed, followed by the jolt of their vehicle reversing while Warrick clutched at the bar and tried not to bruise himself too badly in the process. His teeth clenched to keep from rattling painfully as the truck swerved over rocky ground. It wasn't the smoothest exit but for a few moments it seemed as though they would get away with it without incident.
And then it started. The percussive clatter of AK fire somewhere to the left of them and then the zip and thunk of ammunition that Warrick couldn't classify ricocheting off the side of the Mastiff. Someone was shooting at them. More than one someone from the sounds of it.
Toreth had braced himself for the bumpy ride, fingers gripped upon the bench beside him tightly as the tires screeched and skidded into motion. He had given his orders, and his job now was to listen carefully to his comms chatter as his team carried them out. As they reversed, he counted the seconds before the firing started, half-listening to Carter's sudden observation of the enemy being entrenched somewhere within the trees. Well, that would've been fucking helpful five seconds earlier.
The shooting had started after about three seconds, and Toreth was more than a little surprised to note just how much shooting there actually was. Where in the fuck did these guys get all their guns? AKs. They at least had to be some sort of organised unit -- not the pathetic, mismatched outfit that Toreth had originally imagined, and maybe SimTech needed to be more fucking forthcoming with their information from now on.
Outside the gunfire continued, the sound of the enemy's gunfire becoming overwhelmed by the sound of his own team's suppressive fire. The shots at them appeared to falter against the barrage, their frequency falling, and Toreth could hear muted screaming from outside that indicated that some of his team's shots had found their mark. He calmly looked at the asset, apparently unfazed and unbothered by the possibility of the Mastiff's defences being penetrable. The enemy would've opened with an RPG or any other real threat if they had one, was his logic. His look was questioning.
"How much do the natives know about what it is you do here?" Also known as, are you publicly advertising the fact that you help the British Army and Royal Marines with their killing? Their government-sactioned killing, of course.
"Christ." Warrick breathed out the curse in the absence of more gunfire, the only sound now that muted roar of their retreat and some unintelligible yelling that he assumed had to come from whoever had attempted to ambush them. Presumably everyone from Toreth's team was uninjured, otherwise Warrick wagered he'd have heard about it over the bowman and the Corporal wouldn't have been sitting there so calmly, but still...
They'd just been shot at. Warrick had never been shot at before.
He released his white-knuckled grip on the seat and little and checked his watch again for the time and the GPS positioning unit installed within it. A gift for his birthday from Dilly. So you don't lose your way home, she teased him before seeing him off, her nose wrinkling at the idea of her brother wasting his time flitting about a hostile desert. Perhaps she'd been right about that if it'd led to this, but Warrick hadn't cared about anything but the research when he signed the contract to go.
He still cared about the research, enough to worry about their retreat taking them within the vicinity of the labs with a hit squad on their tail. "SimTech's operations are restricted intel only. All those who work within the compound have been vetted personally and signed the company's standard confidentiality contracts. I doubt even your commanding officer is aware of exactly what we do here, it's all been kept very secret. What I do for the military is a side-track that barely scrapes the surface of SimTech's purpose here, and it is also a matter of the highest security."
Warrick could count on one hand the number of people aware of just how often the Royal Marines' Tech Division requested his expertise, and those were members of his personal staff and highly trusted. No, if there was a leak it was from outside of SimTech. He was certain of it.
"The natives who protest the existence of the lab, protest it because it is a private compound for a wealthy Western corporation in a destitute area only made more so by military invasion," he said, pressing his hands together to stop the tell-tale shaking of unspent adrenaline. "We could be hear for humanitarian aide and the natives would still hate it because we're here. Where, they feel, we are not meant to be."
Well, someone sure had a high opinion of his company and its personnel, not to mention the worth of his own research. Toreth refused to be impressed -- he wasn't even sure he'd give such a high opinion of the entire Royal Marines themselves outside of his own team, and what kind of important research could they be possibly doing out in the middle of fucking nowhere, anyway?
"Matter of the highest security. Right." He grimaced, partially inclined to not comment on the matter any further. The man had at least hit the nail on the head with his last remark; he had seen humanitarian efforts fail spectacularly before, when attempts to vaccinate or feed or mend were met with bombs and slaughter or just a flat-out refusal to cooperate. Still, he had a hard time believing that such an apparently organised force was waiting it out on the side of the road so specifically just to get at a Western corporation. Maybe if the military weren't here, sure, but when the enemy had bigger, more pressing things to worry about?
His eyes fell to the man's hands, pressed together tightly. No prizes for guessing what he was doing that for.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, but generically fucked off natives don't sit in ambush like that if they're just fucked off about your compound, not when they're busy dealing with a bloody invasion. Did you hear the amount of gunfire?" Toreth stopped, momentarily distracted by the background chatter on the comms. Everyone was fine, and there were a few congratulatory remarks on the downed targets. He tuned it out, continuing. "Look, I'm not asking you to tell me your company secrets -- I couldn't give two fucks about that. But when I've got my men on the line and my job's to deliver you -- before morning -- and you've got heat on you, it fucking helps if you tell my CO fucking everything. You can always sue the fuck out of us afterwards if something leaks."
Not that it was any use chastising or being angry. What was done was done. Toreth shook his head, preempting any rebuttal. "Just something to consider for next time. Hardly matters now, does it? B-C, are we clear, or are they pursuing?"
"We appear to be clear. No vehicular pursuit. I think they must not have expected us to make it past the body. Mines. What's our destination now? Are we aborting?"
"No, we're not fucking aborting. Our asset here is responsible for some pretty fucking heavy stuff, and we've got a delivery time on him to meet. As for our destination... head for the nearest military outpost. There should be one halfway, shouldn't there? Don't go back to the compound. Christ, where's my fucking map?"
Warrick was tempted to snap back that the ambush could very well have nothing to do with him or SimTech at all and more to do with an ambitious attempt by restless dissidents to take marines out on a well-known road. The convoy would have passed countless bolt holes and encampments on the way to the compound to pick him up, and it wasn't as though the Mastiffs were inconspicuous vehicles. But it was clear that the soldier was determined not to listen anyway so he might as well save his breath.
He watched Toreth scramble around in pockets for a map with a sigh and brought up his watch again, tapping a very inquiries into the GPS. After a moment he spoke up.
"We're forty klicks north of the nearest outpost at 33.996 and 68.076. The compound is to the left of us, but you're right I don't think we should go back. If there's any chance at all of us being followed I don't want to lead them to the labs." He should place a call to McLean as well, tell the security team to put certain protocols into action now that his safety and the compounds might be compromised.
"If we want to avoid the main roads, then there should be a turn-off to the right just ahead that will serve as a detour. I'm not sure if that's the best option or not. I haven't ever traveled the backroads here."
The words came out more measured and calm than he felt at that moment. The movement of the truck hid just how badly he was trembling, which was a blessing, and hopefully he looked exhausted instead of terrified. They were fine after all, he wasn't hurt beyond a few bruises from being bounced around the truck and he hadn't even seen any of the gunmen. Just heard the shots and ricochets and drove off like it was nothing. The men on the comms sounded self-congratulatory and jubilant about their hits. All Warrick felt was razor-sharp awareness of everything; the quickness of his own blood through his veins and the scent of gun oil and stale sweat clinging to Corporal Toreth. Everything was unbearably real, visceral in a way that the sterilized environment at SimTech wasn't.
Toreth paused in his efforts of pulling out his map, once again considering the civilian again. It was a more real sort of consideration this time, accompanied with a genuinely thoughtful look as he watched the man rather calmly rattle off coordinates and information. Interesting that the scientist wasn't just a shaking mess in the corner, as Toreth might have expected a civilian to be. The apparent composure made him grin slightly, amusement replacing his earlier irritation as he resumed unfolding his map, eyes flicking over the grids to the coordinates and locations the man had read aloud. He examined the aforementioned detour in particular, following the line of the road. Rather massive fucking detour, but it was still a way through. He bit his lip slightly, worrying at it as he traced a finger along the lines of the map, his rifle once again hanging loosely by his side.
"Warrick, right?" He had known the scientist's name all along, of course, having been given at least that much detail for this little escort mission. Hadn't bothered to actually use it until now, though. "Assuming the natives don't have a vehicle like B-C said, and assuming their communications are just as shitty as we think, the detour seems like the best choice. If the road still exists."
The maps were always constantly being re-drawn and updated as the invasion continued, what with entire villages and roads and bridges being wiped out in the chaos of battle. Toreth tapped the road thoughtfully as he scanned the map for other routes. The other routes were either further into unsecured, unknown territory or they required going off-road, which meant a hundred more potential obstacles. They didn't have time for that, especially not in the dark.
"33.996, 68.076, that's the outpost. I repeat, 39.996, 68.076. There should be a right turn a few hundred meters ahead that'll get us on the way. We'll take that."
"Copy that, sir." B-C, being ever-reliable.
"And Gill? Excellent fucking driving. Barely felt a thing back here. Really. Think you only battered our package just a little." Toreth grinned as he said it, and nodded over to Warrick, directing his speech off the comms again. "Are you alright?"
There was barely a pause after Toreth's question before his driver was answering him smartly. "I know you like your little liaisons rough, Corporal."
"Don't be cheeky and just drive, thanks, you bald fuck. Couldn't even pull your fucking hair while I fucked you even if I wanted to. Don't get jealous just because you've got a mug only your inbred mother could love. Fucking Welsh piece of shit."
Well. One could certainly tell that he was in the company of soldiers.
The flurry of good-natured insults and profanity seemed so absurdly out of place that for a moment all Warrick could do was stare in shock. Then a giggle burst through his lips and he had to clap a hand over his mouth as the laughter overtook him, bending him at the waist until he sat with his head almost between his knees, ribs aching.
"S-sorry," he sputtered when he could breathe again, voice thick with relieved amusement. "Delayed panic response, I think. Christ, I can't believe we were just shot at. No, I'm fine. A few bruises at most, nothing serious. My back will likely be black and blue tomorrow."
His dark eyes gleamed a little in the low light of the truck as he grinned back at Toreth.
"But you can tell your wheelman that I had rougher liaisons than this in uni, though they usually had the decency to get me properly drunk first. And it's Dr. Warrick. Or Keir."
The truck lurched a little as they made the turn and Warrick leaned in the opposite direction to keep his balance, mimicking Toreth's posture now that he was aware enough of it to do so.
Toreth was slightly astounded at the laughter, having barely batted an eye as he delivered the barb at his driver the whole thing was so normal to him. There was a response from Gill -- something along the lines of 'just because your ma never loved you' -- but it was lost in the scientist's outburst, and he forgot to respond entirely.
Maybe the civilian wasn't as stuck-up as he had originally thought, then. The grin didn't leave his face as he watched Warrick recover, watched him straighten and speak. Bruises sounded fine. If he hadn't strained, pulled or broken anything, it didn't need to be looked at, and Toreth was more than happy to let him shoulder the pain. But Christ, the man was just asking to be fucked, wasn't he? Between all that adrenaline. The grin turned smug as Toreth lowered his eyes and watched the other man through his lashes.
"Interested in my driver now, are you, Dr. Warrick? Gill's one of the nicer ones, so he probably won't play as rough as it sounds like you'd like, but he might go the effort of getting you drunk and all." Bluff. Gill loved women too much to deviate. Not that Toreth had actively tried to sleep with any of his team -- that was simply too messy and unprofessional, even by his standards. Everything he knew about his team's tastes was through outlandish stories, told to kill time.
"I wouldn't, by the way. Have the decency to get you proper drunk first. It'd dull the experience, don't you think?"
"It might very well be the only way you'd get me to go home with you in the first place," Warrick countered, still smiling despite the painful pull of his shoulder when he reached behind him to brace against another bumpy section of road. He deserved a massage after this trip. The medical center on the base would likely have a physical therapist and Warrick would be taking advantage as soon as possible.
Toreth seemed more relaxed now, which comforted him more effectively than the lack of gunfire in the air. The danger might not be completely over and done with but things were apparently back on track enough for the Corporal to start flirting with him again. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a one-off with a military man? He'd never been tempted before, as most of his encounters with the Royals had been frankly antagonistic affairs in which he tolerated them at best. He didn't come to this country to correct the failings of the Defense Ministry and he didn't come here to roll around the sheets with grunts either.
Still, he imagined it would be a hell of a ride. He let his eyes roam over Toreth again, lingering at his hands and the way the man casually held his weapon, long fingers cradling the grip away from the trigger. Relaxed but ready to slip into lethality between one breath and the next and every bit of him dangerous.
"No, I don't think 'decency' would factor into things at all," he murmured, just barely audible above the growl of the engine.
Toreth followed the civilian's gaze, fairly conscious of what the other man was looking at. Adrenaline from being shot at meant he was already half-buzzing, restless with the need to do something, and the feeling coupled with his sleep deprivation and coffee crystals meant he was feeling utterly reckless beneath his cool exterior. Hearing snatches of Warrick's murmured words didn't help his attitude, either, the words thrilling him a little.
He hefted his weapon, tilting it slightly so that Warrick could get a better look at it. Toreth kept his gaze on him as he spoke, voice smooth and practiced.
"It's an SA80 A2 ACOG. Gas-operated assault-rifle, with an overall length of 785mm and a barrel length of 518mm. Five kilos when all kitted out, about four kilos when it isn't. Has a muzzle velocity of 940m/s and it's effective up to 400m, though you can do fairly well with it from up to 600m if you use the right gear and know what you're doing. Fires 610 to 775 rounds per minute." He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "It's very fucking dangerous. Want to hold it?"
Warrick knew about guns in theory; how they worked, what specifics of engineering differentiated one type of weapon from another. He'd never held one himself, though he made certain that SimTech's security team was outfitted with the best. Despite the few self-defense courses he'd been obliged to take through the company, he'd never really felt comfortable with the idea of carrying or using a gun. He felt that sort of thing was best left to his bodyguard and the professionals.
Even now, with the offer made, Warrick still wasn't sure he actually wanted to hold the rifle. It looked natural in Toreth's arms, like an extension of his body. It wouldn't look the same in his hands at all.
He looked between the gun and the soldier, his fingers reaching to trace over the barrel, cold metal that would become burning hot if it were to fire. He shivered.
"I think perhaps not," he decided after a moment, taking his hand back and sliding it between his legs, as if to warm his fingers. "I don't have much experience holding dangerous things." The words were flirtatious but his tone was thoughtful.
The answer and reaction seemed to satisfy Toreth in some way, because he smiled after seeing and hearing it. Nice double-meaning. If all escort missions were this entertaining and featured this attractive of potential -- no, he had already sworn, definite -- fucks, he might not object to them so much.
He let the rifle rest against his lap again, loosely gripping it with a hand as he gestured with the other, giving a casual wave.
"I'd be happy to let you practice at your own leisure whenever you'd like," he said generously, the smile still on his face. He was about to leave it at that, but then a thought occurred to him suddenly, and he wanted to try and throw the other man off-balance. That it seemed difficult to do so made it all the more appealing of a venture.
"So tell me, how rough do you really like it? I'm curious."
If the question startled Warrick at all, he didn't show it. There wasn't even a hint of a blush on his cheeks and he looked Toreth right in the eye as he answered.
"Rough enough to be extremely selective in my choice of partners, lest I end up in an unsafe situation. What I like is not to everyone's tastes. And sometimes it's entirely too much to someone's taste. I need to know that my evening isn't going to end in a mess my bodyguard needs to tidy up."
And to be honest, Warrick hadn't indulged in his particular tastes since the divorce. Messiness with Lissa over his contract work and the settlement followed by a long stretch of being too busy with SimTech for much of anything else had kept him fairly celibate. He had the occasional 'tame' fling with colleagues during conferences and benefits and that was it.
"What about you, Corporal?" he asked, turning the question back around at the other man. "How rough do you like it? I don't imagine they let you lot 'fraternize' much, but do you get tired enough of violence during your day job that you'd rather indulge in mild cuddling in your off hours?"
Toreth couldn't hold back a chuckle at the question, simply because it was fucking outrageous. Mild cuddling? If any of his men heard that, even posed as an interrogative, he'd never hear the end of it.
"Quite the contrary. This marine enjoys continuing the violence into the wee hours of the morning, if asked nicely for it, and is utterly unapologetic about the fact." He was half-joking, but his tone lent a certain degree of ambiguity to the words, making it sound rather matter-of-fact.
Toreth looked lazy, almost bored as he spoke. In truth, he was having a hard time believing that the earlier question hadn't gotten a rise out of the man. Warrick had thrown the question back at him, after a rather effortless and intriguing reply. Rough enough to be entirely too much to someone's taste, was it? Toreth could imagine that: the stubborn civilian requiring a bit of shoving around and threatening before he complied with anything, moaning denials and putting up a serious fight as he was held down upon the floor or up against a wall. Twisting and writhing, not wanting to be touched and groped and eventually fucked by a 'killer', but liking it all the same despite his fancy fucking morals.
Definitely intriguing.
He tried again, determined to ruffle feathers. Determined to make that cool mask break.
"Given your preferences, now I'm incredibly surprised you don't make a habit of fucking government-sanctioned killers. We're fairly good at following the rules given to us, you know. Operating within safe boundaries. We're good at giving commands, too. For example..." He hesitated for only half a second. Unprofessional to do this on duty, but he wasn't planning on taking it too far, so it couldn't hurt that much, could it? Not unless the civilian here went crying to his CO about sexual harassment or some other bullshit.
Toreth leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice hardened, and whatever conversational tone he had going disappeared completely. His tone was dark and dangerous, and unmistakably a command.
'Utterly unapologetic' was almost expected at this point. Unlike the 'if asked nicely for it' part was not. How many people, Warrick wondered, had ever asked for the sort of things he was imagined when he thought about taking the man to bed? There were those that got off on the thought of being with a soldier, he was sure. Men in uniform was a specific kink for a reason. But that wasn't quite it for him. Corporal Toreth would be just as dangerous without the body armor and the gun.
Warrick was confident that he wouldn't ask for it nicely, though. At least, not at first. The marine would have to earn his capitulation and he didn't plan on making it easy to obtain. He had a feeling Toreth was used to it being all too easy to find forgettable bodies to fuck, without even a hint of effort being put into it. It must be rather boring for him, he mused. If the Corporal was lazily flirting with civilian scientists in the middle of a warzone, he must have run through his options fairly quickly out here.
Did he really want to offer himself up as an alternative? The mention of safe boundaries made his eyes narrow in skepticism. It was true that soldiers generally were good at following explicit instructions. And it would be fairly stupid of the marine to put himself in a position where Warrick would be inclined to file a report or give a complaint. Dishonorable discharge awaited many a disgraced soldier who couldn't keep to the rules and injury to an allied scientist with corporate connections wouldn't go over too well with Toreth's superiors.
Which is why it startled him to hear the shift in the man's voice and posture, and the words-
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, sucking all the air from his lungs and leaving him stunned and tensed. Toreth's voice promised a whole host of things; things Warrick shouldn't want in the first place. His legs jerked with the instinctive urge to buckle under the force of that command, but he was already sitting and this wasn't really the time or the place. Something he was sure the corporal was aware of already.
Warrick's eyes closed for a count of five, rebuilding his composure until he was certain he could speak without betraying himself. He licked his lips before he tried.
"Not the best time for games like that, sir. This might not be exactly what I meant by an 'unsafe situation' but I think escaping an armed ambush qualifies, don't you?"
If that had drawn the reaction that Toreth had intended, satisfaction didn't show through on his features. He remained as he was, perfectly poised to easily reach over and grab, his gaze intense as if he were seriously contemplating jerking the civilian down so that he'd comply. He let Warrick's words settle in the air, not answering for a few long seconds.
Sir. Sounded nice from Warrick's lips, even tainted with disdain as it was. He had liked how careful the man was, too, so persistent on keeping his cool, even after his rather telling stunned silence. Eyes closed, then measured tones, and then no indication of outrage at being spoken to like that. Just, not the best time. Later, then. The reaction spoke volumes.
Toreth finally laughed again, breaking character as he leaned back, far enough that he was slouched against the wall of the vehicle. The back of his head rested against the wall, which looked a little uncomfortable, really, as the vehicle continued on its path, shaking over the dirt road. He glanced at the flimsy excuse for a door and barrier separating them from the other two men, and he didn't have to guess that they were being eavesdropped on. There was a reason the comms were so quiet.
"Probably. Don't worry, your safety is actually -- and unfortunately -- my top fucking priority right now. I'd hate to make Gill blush, anyway." This time there was no indication that he was clicking the comms on when he directed his question, and as a result he spoke up. "How are we for time, Gill?"
There was a silence, a complete lack of a response, and Toreth practically rolled his eyes, reaching over to thump on the barrier. There were words in Welsh, presumably curse words, before the reply came.
"About fifteen minutes to the outpost, Corporal. Great thing about the lack of intrastructure here is there are no speed limits. I've been doing bloody 100, can you believe that?" Through backroads? Yes, actually, because fuck, this was an awful ride. "Anyway, fifteen minutes is probably enough time for a combat jerk, but Bradley and I would really prefer you didn't get the back of the Mastiff dirty. You know we have to clean that up, and that might count as sloppy seconds. Does it, Bradley?"
"Do you know what sloppy seconds even means, you fucking retard?"
Toreth didn't respond, too busy thinking over the logistics of the whole operation. Despite the assertiveness with which he had said he was going to deliver the civilian by morning, it was looking like a less and less likely venture the more he thought about it.
It was a military outpost, which meant a lot of army fucks manning it, which meant a face-off on whose dick was bigger (the marines', obviously). What Toreth really wanted was a vehicle swap-over and to send some men out to catch the terrorists or sabs or whatever-the-fuck they were to find out more intel, but that would be a lot of negotiating that he really had no authority to do, and he knew Tillotson would be fucking inept about the whole thing. A bonus, though, was that the army arseholes had more to worry about in regards to the systems going haywire -- on top of the drones, they were trialing the Tracking Point TP750s. Marines were too old hat -- and elitist at that -- to switch to the self-aiming rifles. The whole thing was a fucking disaster, anyway. Sniper rifles that could potentially be bricked or purposefully fed the wrong target coordinates? A fucking nightmare.
Maybe he could convince the civilian for a quick fuck before he delivered him, if the delays were going to be long. The thought seemed to cheer him significantly, because he was smiling slightly, though a part of him doubted he would even be in the mood for fucking once he was done waving his dick around metaphorically.
Having internalised most of his thoughts, his words seemed to come out of the blue.
"I hope your schedule wasn't too busy, because there's no bloody way we're going to get you there on time." And then, almost immediately after, "Are you really the only one who can fix these systems?" Toreth raised an eyebrow.
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And it would be of no help at all if a group managed to pry open the doors. Or merely blow up the entire vehicle with an RPG.
There was a muted pop of the smoke screen being deployed, followed by the jolt of their vehicle reversing while Warrick clutched at the bar and tried not to bruise himself too badly in the process. His teeth clenched to keep from rattling painfully as the truck swerved over rocky ground. It wasn't the smoothest exit but for a few moments it seemed as though they would get away with it without incident.
And then it started. The percussive clatter of AK fire somewhere to the left of them and then the zip and thunk of ammunition that Warrick couldn't classify ricocheting off the side of the Mastiff. Someone was shooting at them. More than one someone from the sounds of it.
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The shooting had started after about three seconds, and Toreth was more than a little surprised to note just how much shooting there actually was. Where in the fuck did these guys get all their guns? AKs. They at least had to be some sort of organised unit -- not the pathetic, mismatched outfit that Toreth had originally imagined, and maybe SimTech needed to be more fucking forthcoming with their information from now on.
Outside the gunfire continued, the sound of the enemy's gunfire becoming overwhelmed by the sound of his own team's suppressive fire. The shots at them appeared to falter against the barrage, their frequency falling, and Toreth could hear muted screaming from outside that indicated that some of his team's shots had found their mark. He calmly looked at the asset, apparently unfazed and unbothered by the possibility of the Mastiff's defences being penetrable. The enemy would've opened with an RPG or any other real threat if they had one, was his logic. His look was questioning.
"How much do the natives know about what it is you do here?" Also known as, are you publicly advertising the fact that you help the British Army and Royal Marines with their killing? Their government-sactioned killing, of course.
no subject
They'd just been shot at. Warrick had never been shot at before.
He released his white-knuckled grip on the seat and little and checked his watch again for the time and the GPS positioning unit installed within it. A gift for his birthday from Dilly. So you don't lose your way home, she teased him before seeing him off, her nose wrinkling at the idea of her brother wasting his time flitting about a hostile desert. Perhaps she'd been right about that if it'd led to this, but Warrick hadn't cared about anything but the research when he signed the contract to go.
He still cared about the research, enough to worry about their retreat taking them within the vicinity of the labs with a hit squad on their tail. "SimTech's operations are restricted intel only. All those who work within the compound have been vetted personally and signed the company's standard confidentiality contracts. I doubt even your commanding officer is aware of exactly what we do here, it's all been kept very secret. What I do for the military is a side-track that barely scrapes the surface of SimTech's purpose here, and it is also a matter of the highest security."
Warrick could count on one hand the number of people aware of just how often the Royal Marines' Tech Division requested his expertise, and those were members of his personal staff and highly trusted. No, if there was a leak it was from outside of SimTech. He was certain of it.
"The natives who protest the existence of the lab, protest it because it is a private compound for a wealthy Western corporation in a destitute area only made more so by military invasion," he said, pressing his hands together to stop the tell-tale shaking of unspent adrenaline. "We could be hear for humanitarian aide and the natives would still hate it because we're here. Where, they feel, we are not meant to be."
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"Matter of the highest security. Right." He grimaced, partially inclined to not comment on the matter any further. The man had at least hit the nail on the head with his last remark; he had seen humanitarian efforts fail spectacularly before, when attempts to vaccinate or feed or mend were met with bombs and slaughter or just a flat-out refusal to cooperate. Still, he had a hard time believing that such an apparently organised force was waiting it out on the side of the road so specifically just to get at a Western corporation. Maybe if the military weren't here, sure, but when the enemy had bigger, more pressing things to worry about?
His eyes fell to the man's hands, pressed together tightly. No prizes for guessing what he was doing that for.
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, but generically fucked off natives don't sit in ambush like that if they're just fucked off about your compound, not when they're busy dealing with a bloody invasion. Did you hear the amount of gunfire?" Toreth stopped, momentarily distracted by the background chatter on the comms. Everyone was fine, and there were a few congratulatory remarks on the downed targets. He tuned it out, continuing. "Look, I'm not asking you to tell me your company secrets -- I couldn't give two fucks about that. But when I've got my men on the line and my job's to deliver you -- before morning -- and you've got heat on you, it fucking helps if you tell my CO fucking everything. You can always sue the fuck out of us afterwards if something leaks."
Not that it was any use chastising or being angry. What was done was done. Toreth shook his head, preempting any rebuttal. "Just something to consider for next time. Hardly matters now, does it? B-C, are we clear, or are they pursuing?"
"We appear to be clear. No vehicular pursuit. I think they must not have expected us to make it past the body. Mines. What's our destination now? Are we aborting?"
"No, we're not fucking aborting. Our asset here is responsible for some pretty fucking heavy stuff, and we've got a delivery time on him to meet. As for our destination... head for the nearest military outpost. There should be one halfway, shouldn't there? Don't go back to the compound. Christ, where's my fucking map?"
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He watched Toreth scramble around in pockets for a map with a sigh and brought up his watch again, tapping a very inquiries into the GPS. After a moment he spoke up.
"We're forty klicks north of the nearest outpost at 33.996 and 68.076. The compound is to the left of us, but you're right I don't think we should go back. If there's any chance at all of us being followed I don't want to lead them to the labs." He should place a call to McLean as well, tell the security team to put certain protocols into action now that his safety and the compounds might be compromised.
"If we want to avoid the main roads, then there should be a turn-off to the right just ahead that will serve as a detour. I'm not sure if that's the best option or not. I haven't ever traveled the backroads here."
The words came out more measured and calm than he felt at that moment. The movement of the truck hid just how badly he was trembling, which was a blessing, and hopefully he looked exhausted instead of terrified. They were fine after all, he wasn't hurt beyond a few bruises from being bounced around the truck and he hadn't even seen any of the gunmen. Just heard the shots and ricochets and drove off like it was nothing. The men on the comms sounded self-congratulatory and jubilant about their hits. All Warrick felt was razor-sharp awareness of everything; the quickness of his own blood through his veins and the scent of gun oil and stale sweat clinging to Corporal Toreth. Everything was unbearably real, visceral in a way that the sterilized environment at SimTech wasn't.
He wasn't sure he liked it.
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"Warrick, right?" He had known the scientist's name all along, of course, having been given at least that much detail for this little escort mission. Hadn't bothered to actually use it until now, though. "Assuming the natives don't have a vehicle like B-C said, and assuming their communications are just as shitty as we think, the detour seems like the best choice. If the road still exists."
The maps were always constantly being re-drawn and updated as the invasion continued, what with entire villages and roads and bridges being wiped out in the chaos of battle. Toreth tapped the road thoughtfully as he scanned the map for other routes. The other routes were either further into unsecured, unknown territory or they required going off-road, which meant a hundred more potential obstacles. They didn't have time for that, especially not in the dark.
"33.996, 68.076, that's the outpost. I repeat, 39.996, 68.076. There should be a right turn a few hundred meters ahead that'll get us on the way. We'll take that."
"Copy that, sir." B-C, being ever-reliable.
"And Gill? Excellent fucking driving. Barely felt a thing back here. Really. Think you only battered our package just a little." Toreth grinned as he said it, and nodded over to Warrick, directing his speech off the comms again. "Are you alright?"
There was barely a pause after Toreth's question before his driver was answering him smartly. "I know you like your little liaisons rough, Corporal."
"Don't be cheeky and just drive, thanks, you bald fuck. Couldn't even pull your fucking hair while I fucked you even if I wanted to. Don't get jealous just because you've got a mug only your inbred mother could love. Fucking Welsh piece of shit."
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The flurry of good-natured insults and profanity seemed so absurdly out of place that for a moment all Warrick could do was stare in shock. Then a giggle burst through his lips and he had to clap a hand over his mouth as the laughter overtook him, bending him at the waist until he sat with his head almost between his knees, ribs aching.
"S-sorry," he sputtered when he could breathe again, voice thick with relieved amusement. "Delayed panic response, I think. Christ, I can't believe we were just shot at. No, I'm fine. A few bruises at most, nothing serious. My back will likely be black and blue tomorrow."
His dark eyes gleamed a little in the low light of the truck as he grinned back at Toreth.
"But you can tell your wheelman that I had rougher liaisons than this in uni, though they usually had the decency to get me properly drunk first. And it's Dr. Warrick. Or Keir."
The truck lurched a little as they made the turn and Warrick leaned in the opposite direction to keep his balance, mimicking Toreth's posture now that he was aware enough of it to do so.
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Maybe the civilian wasn't as stuck-up as he had originally thought, then. The grin didn't leave his face as he watched Warrick recover, watched him straighten and speak. Bruises sounded fine. If he hadn't strained, pulled or broken anything, it didn't need to be looked at, and Toreth was more than happy to let him shoulder the pain. But Christ, the man was just asking to be fucked, wasn't he? Between all that adrenaline. The grin turned smug as Toreth lowered his eyes and watched the other man through his lashes.
"Interested in my driver now, are you, Dr. Warrick? Gill's one of the nicer ones, so he probably won't play as rough as it sounds like you'd like, but he might go the effort of getting you drunk and all." Bluff. Gill loved women too much to deviate. Not that Toreth had actively tried to sleep with any of his team -- that was simply too messy and unprofessional, even by his standards. Everything he knew about his team's tastes was through outlandish stories, told to kill time.
"I wouldn't, by the way. Have the decency to get you proper drunk first. It'd dull the experience, don't you think?"
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Toreth seemed more relaxed now, which comforted him more effectively than the lack of gunfire in the air. The danger might not be completely over and done with but things were apparently back on track enough for the Corporal to start flirting with him again. What would it be like, he wondered, to have a one-off with a military man? He'd never been tempted before, as most of his encounters with the Royals had been frankly antagonistic affairs in which he tolerated them at best. He didn't come to this country to correct the failings of the Defense Ministry and he didn't come here to roll around the sheets with grunts either.
Still, he imagined it would be a hell of a ride. He let his eyes roam over Toreth again, lingering at his hands and the way the man casually held his weapon, long fingers cradling the grip away from the trigger. Relaxed but ready to slip into lethality between one breath and the next and every bit of him dangerous.
"No, I don't think 'decency' would factor into things at all," he murmured, just barely audible above the growl of the engine.
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He hefted his weapon, tilting it slightly so that Warrick could get a better look at it. Toreth kept his gaze on him as he spoke, voice smooth and practiced.
"It's an SA80 A2 ACOG. Gas-operated assault-rifle, with an overall length of 785mm and a barrel length of 518mm. Five kilos when all kitted out, about four kilos when it isn't. Has a muzzle velocity of 940m/s and it's effective up to 400m, though you can do fairly well with it from up to 600m if you use the right gear and know what you're doing. Fires 610 to 775 rounds per minute." He paused, letting the words sink in for a moment before continuing. "It's very fucking dangerous. Want to hold it?"
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Even now, with the offer made, Warrick still wasn't sure he actually wanted to hold the rifle. It looked natural in Toreth's arms, like an extension of his body. It wouldn't look the same in his hands at all.
He looked between the gun and the soldier, his fingers reaching to trace over the barrel, cold metal that would become burning hot if it were to fire. He shivered.
"I think perhaps not," he decided after a moment, taking his hand back and sliding it between his legs, as if to warm his fingers. "I don't have much experience holding dangerous things." The words were flirtatious but his tone was thoughtful.
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He let the rifle rest against his lap again, loosely gripping it with a hand as he gestured with the other, giving a casual wave.
"I'd be happy to let you practice at your own leisure whenever you'd like," he said generously, the smile still on his face. He was about to leave it at that, but then a thought occurred to him suddenly, and he wanted to try and throw the other man off-balance. That it seemed difficult to do so made it all the more appealing of a venture.
"So tell me, how rough do you really like it? I'm curious."
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"Rough enough to be extremely selective in my choice of partners, lest I end up in an unsafe situation. What I like is not to everyone's tastes. And sometimes it's entirely too much to someone's taste. I need to know that my evening isn't going to end in a mess my bodyguard needs to tidy up."
And to be honest, Warrick hadn't indulged in his particular tastes since the divorce. Messiness with Lissa over his contract work and the settlement followed by a long stretch of being too busy with SimTech for much of anything else had kept him fairly celibate. He had the occasional 'tame' fling with colleagues during conferences and benefits and that was it.
"What about you, Corporal?" he asked, turning the question back around at the other man. "How rough do you like it? I don't imagine they let you lot 'fraternize' much, but do you get tired enough of violence during your day job that you'd rather indulge in mild cuddling in your off hours?"
Somehow he couldn't picture it.
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"Quite the contrary. This marine enjoys continuing the violence into the wee hours of the morning, if asked nicely for it, and is utterly unapologetic about the fact." He was half-joking, but his tone lent a certain degree of ambiguity to the words, making it sound rather matter-of-fact.
Toreth looked lazy, almost bored as he spoke. In truth, he was having a hard time believing that the earlier question hadn't gotten a rise out of the man. Warrick had thrown the question back at him, after a rather effortless and intriguing reply. Rough enough to be entirely too much to someone's taste, was it? Toreth could imagine that: the stubborn civilian requiring a bit of shoving around and threatening before he complied with anything, moaning denials and putting up a serious fight as he was held down upon the floor or up against a wall. Twisting and writhing, not wanting to be touched and groped and eventually fucked by a 'killer', but liking it all the same despite his fancy fucking morals.
Definitely intriguing.
He tried again, determined to ruffle feathers. Determined to make that cool mask break.
"Given your preferences, now I'm incredibly surprised you don't make a habit of fucking government-sanctioned killers. We're fairly good at following the rules given to us, you know. Operating within safe boundaries. We're good at giving commands, too. For example..." He hesitated for only half a second. Unprofessional to do this on duty, but he wasn't planning on taking it too far, so it couldn't hurt that much, could it? Not unless the civilian here went crying to his CO about sexual harassment or some other bullshit.
Toreth leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His voice hardened, and whatever conversational tone he had going disappeared completely. His tone was dark and dangerous, and unmistakably a command.
"Get down on your fucking knees, doctor."
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Warrick was confident that he wouldn't ask for it nicely, though. At least, not at first. The marine would have to earn his capitulation and he didn't plan on making it easy to obtain. He had a feeling Toreth was used to it being all too easy to find forgettable bodies to fuck, without even a hint of effort being put into it. It must be rather boring for him, he mused. If the Corporal was lazily flirting with civilian scientists in the middle of a warzone, he must have run through his options fairly quickly out here.
Did he really want to offer himself up as an alternative? The mention of safe boundaries made his eyes narrow in skepticism. It was true that soldiers generally were good at following explicit instructions. And it would be fairly stupid of the marine to put himself in a position where Warrick would be inclined to file a report or give a complaint. Dishonorable discharge awaited many a disgraced soldier who couldn't keep to the rules and injury to an allied scientist with corporate connections wouldn't go over too well with Toreth's superiors.
Which is why it startled him to hear the shift in the man's voice and posture, and the words-
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, sucking all the air from his lungs and leaving him stunned and tensed. Toreth's voice promised a whole host of things; things Warrick shouldn't want in the first place. His legs jerked with the instinctive urge to buckle under the force of that command, but he was already sitting and this wasn't really the time or the place. Something he was sure the corporal was aware of already.
Warrick's eyes closed for a count of five, rebuilding his composure until he was certain he could speak without betraying himself. He licked his lips before he tried.
"Not the best time for games like that, sir. This might not be exactly what I meant by an 'unsafe situation' but I think escaping an armed ambush qualifies, don't you?"
expositionin'
Sir. Sounded nice from Warrick's lips, even tainted with disdain as it was. He had liked how careful the man was, too, so persistent on keeping his cool, even after his rather telling stunned silence. Eyes closed, then measured tones, and then no indication of outrage at being spoken to like that. Just, not the best time. Later, then. The reaction spoke volumes.
Toreth finally laughed again, breaking character as he leaned back, far enough that he was slouched against the wall of the vehicle. The back of his head rested against the wall, which looked a little uncomfortable, really, as the vehicle continued on its path, shaking over the dirt road. He glanced at the flimsy excuse for a door and barrier separating them from the other two men, and he didn't have to guess that they were being eavesdropped on. There was a reason the comms were so quiet.
"Probably. Don't worry, your safety is actually -- and unfortunately -- my top fucking priority right now. I'd hate to make Gill blush, anyway." This time there was no indication that he was clicking the comms on when he directed his question, and as a result he spoke up. "How are we for time, Gill?"
There was a silence, a complete lack of a response, and Toreth practically rolled his eyes, reaching over to thump on the barrier. There were words in Welsh, presumably curse words, before the reply came.
"About fifteen minutes to the outpost, Corporal. Great thing about the lack of intrastructure here is there are no speed limits. I've been doing bloody 100, can you believe that?" Through backroads? Yes, actually, because fuck, this was an awful ride. "Anyway, fifteen minutes is probably enough time for a combat jerk, but Bradley and I would really prefer you didn't get the back of the Mastiff dirty. You know we have to clean that up, and that might count as sloppy seconds. Does it, Bradley?"
"Do you know what sloppy seconds even means, you fucking retard?"
Toreth didn't respond, too busy thinking over the logistics of the whole operation. Despite the assertiveness with which he had said he was going to deliver the civilian by morning, it was looking like a less and less likely venture the more he thought about it.
It was a military outpost, which meant a lot of army fucks manning it, which meant a face-off on whose dick was bigger (the marines', obviously). What Toreth really wanted was a vehicle swap-over and to send some men out to catch the terrorists or sabs or whatever-the-fuck they were to find out more intel, but that would be a lot of negotiating that he really had no authority to do, and he knew Tillotson would be fucking inept about the whole thing. A bonus, though, was that the army arseholes had more to worry about in regards to the systems going haywire -- on top of the drones, they were trialing the Tracking Point TP750s. Marines were too old hat -- and elitist at that -- to switch to the self-aiming rifles. The whole thing was a fucking disaster, anyway. Sniper rifles that could potentially be bricked or purposefully fed the wrong target coordinates? A fucking nightmare.
Maybe he could convince the civilian for a quick fuck before he delivered him, if the delays were going to be long. The thought seemed to cheer him significantly, because he was smiling slightly, though a part of him doubted he would even be in the mood for fucking once he was done waving his dick around metaphorically.
Having internalised most of his thoughts, his words seemed to come out of the blue.
"I hope your schedule wasn't too busy, because there's no bloody way we're going to get you there on time." And then, almost immediately after, "Are you really the only one who can fix these systems?" Toreth raised an eyebrow.