Into The Rift

Skeleton Crew (51)

The brief encounters with his wife and daughter can only be counted on a single hand-and those were just brief respites the team had between missions. They rarely lasted more than a handful of days, and most of that time was spent recuperating from the constant mess in an increasingly inhospitable Africa. But I knew enough about them to get a rough gauge on their personality.

They were good women. Sweet, thoughtful, and kind. That much I know for sure-and he knows that.

"Fine," he sighs, shoulders deflating. The others visibly relax as the threat of further escalation subsides. "I wasn't gonna pull it. Just scare them-I don't know."

I slowly pull the pistol out from his grip, capitalizing on the chink in his proverbial armor. "Good, take it easy."

"Sorry," Douglas mumbles, though it did not seem directed at me. He glances down at the woman, then turns around, steps thumping with a calm rhythm.

"Hold up, h-hey," the soldier from before interrupts, "don't leave this behind again."

"Thanks," Douglas replies, still holding a sunken expression through the exchange. He takes the rail rifle back from the trooper, slinging it around and proceeding out the storage room.

"Could have gone a lot worse," I murmur, hearing the operative's muffled steps fade beyond the lobby. Hopefully, this is only an isolated affair.

"Alright," I throw up a hand, getting everyone's attention. "Everyone aside from those two," I pause, sending a sharp glare at the pair that did presumably nothing to stop this incident.

"Back to your assigned posts, nothing left to see here. There's still a few indig' bodies inside HQ, bring those out and search them outside. Anything that looks important, hit me up over comms."

The troopers respond with their affirmation and file out the improvised holding cell. I part ways with the men at the lobby and head back outside.

Given the extensive damage, I have to assume the electrical grid is severely compromised. The likelihood of the AC generators being deliberately targeted was a possibility that did not seem that far fetched. The Euralians evidently learned much during their stay with us-too much in fact.

The sun's warm gaze looms overhead, interrupting the muse. I take a deep breath, pushing aside the exhaustion that only seemed to grow with each passing minute. Just an hour more-to settle the aftermath. Or not-the temptation certainly is there.

After pondering for over a minute, the forbidden fruit eventually wins me over. "Davis," I raise the former Angle Team operative over on comms, "this is Simmons. You read?"

"Crystal," he replies, "what is it?"

"You able to hold the fort for a few hours? My guys and I could use some downtime, we're all running close to our limits."

"Already made the arrangements with Turner. We've got the shifts planned out, none of you guys are on for patrol or body retrieval till afternoon, 1300 hours. Go get some rest, you definitely need it."

"Great," I sigh, voice grappling with exhaustion. No use hiding it if he already knows. "Just... raise us if anything comes up."

"Will do, don't worry."

After sending his final regards, Davis cuts off communications. There is nothing left to pull out from the channel, allowing the natural ambience to take over. The slight rustle of leaves occasionally breaks the peace as I wander through the remnants of Tartarus.

It was empty, and desolate. There is no other way of spinning that tale.

The clandestine base was once a potent melting pot of talent, filled with many different professions, all catering to the one thing we had in common, curiosity.