Operation Musket

[l3wt]

James nodded to himself. "Acknowledged, Commander." He turned his head to look at the dead man, still floating lifelessly - spinning slowly in place, surrounded by the grotesque cloud of blood and human debris. A cold feeling ran down his spine, settled in his stomach - impossible to ignore. Guilt. Shame, even. Thoughts began running, out of control. Questions. How could he confront a family after killing one of them? Why didn't he try harder to ID the target? Could he have disabled the man non-lethally? How could he live with-

He forced his eyes away, pressed unwilling feet into action, moved away from the doorframe back towards Herrin, fingers tightening around his carbine. No, he thought. Stop that. Don't start now. This is what you do. Nothing is different about this. Stamp out your feelings for now, examine them later. Now, you move.

He found Herrin where he'd left him, still covering the hall leading down to the hold. The young NCO stood up as James approached. There was something nervous about the motion. A little too quick, a little too crisp. "Shit, sir, I-" James cut him off, marched straight past him.

"Let's not, Herrin. Come on. Need to secure the hold." James' terse, clipped order brooked no argument. If Herrin held any doubts about Arland, or his actions, they went unvoiced for now. He fell in step. When they reached the cargo hold bulkhead door, they stacked up alongside it in typical fashion, Herrin first, James second.

Before they opened it, James spoke. "Herrin, can I ask you a favour?" Herrin glanced turned his head around, as though trying to get a read on James. It would prove a futile effort, though. Their visors were both quite opaque.

"Not an order, sir?" He inquired.

"No, not an order. A favour. A selfish one. You may decline, should you wish. I'd like to ask if you could do the talking with these people." James knew Herrin to be a compassionate sort. He was uncertain of which direction that compassion would turn this time around, though.

Herrin paused to consider.

"Well, sir... I know it fucking sucks, but in all honesty, I think it should be you. No offense. Thanks for not making it an order, though."

James nodded. "None taken. I'll talk. Now open the door, I want this over with."

Herrin complied, undid the door seal. Then it moved to open, hissing softly as hydraulics actuated the heavy bulkhead. James signaled ready with a tap on Herrin's shoulder - in turn, Herrin carefully sliced the pie from one end of the door frame to the other, covering as much as possible of the room before making his entrance.

Then he entered, snapped the muzzle of his carbine to the left, immediately followed by James - who did the same thing in the opposite direction, a fraction of a second after Herrin.

"Clear left," Herrin reported.

"Clear right," James answered in kind.

They found the civilians in the same state they'd seen on the cameras, still strapped to their seating. The mother seemed to stifle a scream as they noticed the two operatives approaching, weapons tentatively kept in a tense low-ready. The children, on the other hand, cowered or cried unreservedly.

James turned up the volume of his helmet's voice modulator, and decided to open in French. He didn't meet their eyes, and was quietly thankful for his opaque helmet visor.

"<Remain calm, and stay in your seats,>" he began - mechanically, and menacing with his voice disguised. "<We have taken over this vessel. We will be conducting a check for any communications devices or weapons and confiscating such. Please surrender any such objects immediately. You will be taken to Holman as per the ship's manifest.>"

Trembling, the woman began nervously reaching for some of the personal effects that they had within immediate reach - moving slowly, obviously. She did not want to be percieved as doing anything threatening, by the looks of it. She surrendered a handful of PDAs, a couple of small media entertainment devices.

"Check their luggage," Arland told Herrin. Herrin nodded, got to work on the cases and bags that had been secured a few metres away from the passengers' modular seating.

"<W-where is the crew...? My husband? We heard noises...>" The woman asked, desperately searching the Libertonian operatives' visors for anything - any sign at all. James struggled to remain perfectly still. But he had to say something.

"<I'm- I am not at liberty to tell you.>" Shit. He'd hesitated. Now he forced himself to look her in the eyes. Pale blue, verging on grey. Dawning realization, horror. Gradually filling with tears. Anger, grief, hate - an intense mix of emotions.

James was struggling to strangle his own. He had no choice.

"<You monsters,>" the woman said, quietly - almost a whisper. Her voice was cracking. "<Murderers!>" She screamed as she collapsed into tears. Herrin was about to reach towards one of the children for a brief body search when the mother lashed out at his hand, knocking it away. "<Don't you dare touch them!>" She screamed.

Herrin withdrew and instead turned to James. "Two computers, no sharp objects, firearms or anything like that. We about done here?" He asked, nervously. Through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, we're done," James sighed. He turned back to the passengers. "<Your belongings will be returned to you once we reach Holman,>" he said, flatly.

"<Just get away from us,>" the woman hissed.

The operatives gathered up the devices they'd confiscated, and complied, sealing the doors behind them when they left the cargo hold. On the way back to the bridge, Herrin spoke. "Well, that could have gone better."

James considered that for a second before answering. "No, actually. I don't think it could."

Herrin conceded the point. "...Yeah. You okay, sir?"

"Let's just focus on finishing up, shall we?" James grumbled as they stepped through the bridge doors.