He ate with the men. He bunked with the men. Anyone who knew him said they'd go through hell and back for him. He expected everything from them and got it, mostly because he expected it of himself. And still they fought a losing battle, more often falling back than gaining territory. The fighting was worst in the streets of New Rydynn and too close to the hospital for his tastes. Yes, the
Legion of Freemen had captured a Crusader-class tank and yes, the tank would aid in their efforts, but it wouldn't be enough. Not when the Church of the Nuclear Messiah gained converts daily through a routine of reprogramming and inquisition. Not when Sidd Neverr's deathtroopers were so well equipped and the Freemen were left gleaning parts off pre-War skimmers. Not when he, Ricohh Mikkaill Gideonn did nothing.
He ranged the encampment. The main bulk of the Freemen force bivouacked in a series of recently excavated caves several clicks down the Bay of Hope. The army had been sectioned off, mostly into divisions based along geographical lines. Most of the army came from the major cities of Sabatt. Gideonn paused to share words with a group from New Rydynn. He shared a cup of glavahh with the men who had taken to calling their battlegroup the Ranger's. He
sang a prayer for the dead with the Special Ops crew - the men responsible for the seizure of the Church tank. He spoke words of encouragement to the team of Syrynykks huddled around a bonfire fueled by a stash of old newspapers and rhetoric in the form of books.
It gave him hope to see their faces light up, to see the gleam in their tired eyes. Despair had been set back at least for another night and Gideonn found himself staring up at the armored flank of the Freemen's prize. The tank had been cleaned, and the markings of the Church sanded away. He stared through the tank, imagining the interior and how cramped it would be. That's when he saw the vision. The tank, the cavern, the men all crumbled away and
he looked through the eyes of another at a ruined building at the edge of an angry sea.
"There is where our hope lies." He returned to the camp in an instant, looking for volunteers.
Vision of Hope -- A Leader of Men: 981106 12:02 PM by R MikkailI
Garth, Commander of the Special Ops crew, immediately spoke up when Gideonn asked for volunteers. He stood up from his seat by the fire and said, "Sir, it would honor me greatly to accompany you..." He watched the Freemen leader intently, his heart beating loudly in his ears, and waited for an acknowledgement.
981106 01:23 PM by GarthLowin
Ricohh fought back the smile that threatened to blow his serious demeanor. Young as he was, he didn't need a flashy smile to ruin the careful image of a man's man he had created. He clapped Lowinn's back and turned his steely eyes on the rest of the Special Ops Freemen assembled.
"I wouldn't want to deprive your crew of it's commander, Lowinn. Maybe the rest of your unit would like to tag along?"
Ricohh then allowed himself one crooked grin at the resounding affirmative. He motioned for Lowinn to join him in his rounds and moved off, out of the way of the men's preparation for one night of rest. The pair walked the camp in silence, each a contrast and a reminder of the diversity even a gutted Sabatt could produce. Lowinn had plenty of time to study the Freemen commander. Both men stood at the same height, but little more did they share in
the way of features.
Ricohh was a slender man and in the dim firelight his dusky features took on an effeminate cast. Lowinn was reminded of the rumors that flew on gossiping wings when Ricohh Mikkaill Gideonn took over the Legion. A girl in disguise, many said, scoffing at the youth. Lowinn had reserved his opinion and many were left surprised at the capable leadership he mustered. Still, the man was prone to brooding and at times seemed to be talking to himself and
answering back.
Ricohh shoved his hands in his deep pockets as they approached the private area reserved for commanders. A map of Sabatt was spread across a worn and time-abused folding table. Colored tacks pinpointed Freemen squadrons and units. Ricohh, still silent and distant, pointed out a bare spot in what was now a desert of silt and sand and a burgeoning mountain range that disappeared into the churning sea.
"Here is where I want your unit," Ricohh spoke in low tones. "Reconnaissance first, then secure the site and establish uplink. I will meet you there when I can."
Before Lowinn could say anything, Ricohh gripped his arm, fingers pressing in like a vice.
"Anyone there. Anyone. Is no innocent."
Ricohh held the older man by the arm and a no-nonsense stare. Again, Lowinn opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a loud explosion that rocked the caverns of the Freemen encampment. Ricohh immediately let go and ran from the area. By the time Lowinn caught up with him at the opening of the cavern system, Ricohh was yelling commands to the scrambling Freemen to contain the fire of a small magazine dump. From the distance, the sound of
rifle could be heard.
A soldier, dressed in fatigues and carrying an old submachine gun, puffed his way over to Ricohh. "Sir, it appears to be one man," the Freeman said.
Ricohh bore the news with growing fury, yet his face remained an etching of calm. He spun to face Lowinn, only his voice seethed.
"Lowinn, move your men out now. You'll find the details already uploaded to your computer. Do not fail."
Vision of Hope -- A Leader of Men: 981113 by R MikkailI
Do not fail, those last words spoken by Mikkaill bounced around in Garth's head. He stood upon the Warthog's running board, watching the flames leap high as he and the rest of the Special Ops sped away from the Freemen base and out into the night. The ranks had been restored, seven new recruits, and the five that had been released from the Hospital. Garth still felt for those two still in need of medical attention,
especially Conradd, who had lost all feeling in his left side.
He watched the flames dance silently in the night, his mind going back to his tour with Mikkaill. He remembered the map, the point to which Mikkaill had pointed. A point out in the middle of what used to be the Sea of Hope, but was now a blasted wasteland full of who-knows-what.
He shook his head. Anyone there. Anyone. Is no innocent. Garth could only imagine what his leader had meant by that. He looked at his team, and at their vehicle replacements. He snorted, the Warthog was still their heaviest piece of equipment. There were four ancient motorcycles each with a side mounted machine gun, but limited ammo. The young guy, Strife, drove an old blue sports car outfitted with a plasma cannon. Garth's
second, Crow, drove the Warthog itself hurridly away from the burning base. "No innocents," mumbled Garth. Crow looked at him strangely for a second then turned his attention back to the trail, used to his commander's mutterings and occasional ramblings.
Garth turned away from the Freemen base and watched the darkness before the Warthog's headlights. He pulled himself into the front seat and without looking, said to Crow, "Did you doublecheck all the supplies?" Crow nodded silently. "Good." He turned to Crow, then looked at the boys sitting in the back. "I'm going to be honest with you boys, I have no idea what we are getting into. I have no idea what we can expect to find out there.
Noone has ventured into this wasteland, at least if someone did, they haven't came back to report it." He turned back to gaze out the Warthog's windshield. He sighed and said, "Mission into Hell, Jack. You know, I've never heard of anyone coming back from Hell before, but I'll be damned if we won't give it our best shot."
He thought again of the buring base, and said a silent prayer for all those boys still back there, and for his leader, Ricohh Mikkaill Gideonn.
981115 -- GL
The flames from the burning camp leap about like burning dancers in Srtife's rear view mirror. "Do not fail." the word repeated themselves in his mind. "There will be no mercy to those who are against me" he grumbles. He looks over at his comander in the Warthog. "He must be thinking the same thing." He looks foreword and pulls behind the Warthog. When he looks back up at the comander to find the comander back in his
seat. "No, sir, I won't fail."
981115 -- Cloud
