Staff Sergeant Mark Darban
Former state of Tikk, now Neo-Rezchek controlled
Just before dawn
Mark walked down from the catwalk and made his way over to the guard post. He could see that nitwit Fredrick fiddling with the damn T.V., the old thing being a piece of broken shit. He got an evil idea as he noticed Fred's back to him, and that the guard window was open, giggling silently to himself he crept up to the window. He waited a second then slammed his open palm hard into the glass, causing a loud crash that made Fred jump.
"BAM! You're dead, Corporal!" Mark shouted at the startled soldier, who had just given up on unholstering his side arm and was instead heaving and holding his chest. "Shit, Sarge! You scared the fuck out of me!" the large man whined as he collapsed into his metal chair. Mark cackled at this and leaned in through the window, offering up the joint to the man. "Ahhh, Relax. Keeping you on your toes. Besides, any fuckin' Rebs' show up here you'd smell 'em comin' from a mile away." Both men laughed at Mark's joke, and Fredrick took a long drag from the joint before returning it to Mark.
"You getting off, sir?" He asked, smoke trailing from his mouth. "Yeah, gonna hit the trough and head to bed. You getting off soon?" Mark leaned on the counter of the guard post and looked out at the road, enjoying the beautiful pink clouds and his high. He really was happy with this job, or at least with the dope on it. Either way, right then he felt good. "No sir, I got on a few hours ago." Mark nodded at this, but stopped in his tracks when he saw some one coming down the small path through the trees.
Recently another man had been tacked onto his platoon, a young man named Anton Hughes . He was supposedly fresh out of boot, and was being put on a cushy job because his daddy was some one important. What bothered Mark was that the kid didn't carry himself like a grunt, and his face had just to many scars for some one who hadn't seen some fighting. Apparently when asked about his scars he said he was a bit of a hooligan, which all of the other troops took at face, but Mark wouldn't forget what he'd seen on the kid's first day in.
They had all been sitting around at the refinery when they got an alarm for rebels. It had turned out to be a false alarm, just a couple of locals lost and scared, but it was how Anton handled it. While most of his squad was stumbling around barracks looking for their uniforms Anton had flung on his pants and boots, at speeds that would have shamed Mark, and had made it to his locker only second to Mark. Mark watched as the kid put on his vest, assembled his side arm and rifle, and finally load his weapon.
Besides the speed and fluidity of his weapon's assembly, it was the reload that caught Mark's eye. The kid had reloaded a way that Mark had only seen a R.A.T do before, pulling back and holding the bolt with one hand and snapping in the magazine. Then dropping it at his side and snapping the action of his Glock. The kid even had time to get his ballistics mask up. In truth, the kid could have just been good, an a natural for the army, but there was something about the steel in his eyes, the way he seemed to turn off, that told Mark that kid had seen combat before...
Secrets Master Captain Dracul Fienly
Private Anton Hughes
Former state of Tikk, now Neo-Rezchek controlled
Just before dawn
Dracul moved at a steady pace down the main road of the new Rezchek oil refinery, keeping his head on a slow rotation back and forth as he scanned the area for any rebels. He was currently station in Tikk as a fast reaction unit, with orders to personally interrogate any rebels he may find, and to make sure that there were no defectors among the newer Tikk recruits. Though they were once Tikkian, they were now given the blessing of becoming Rez, and joining the ranks of the Rez army. It honestly was some thing Dracul enjoyed, it meant that Rezchek could become stronger and take in new blood. Even if it meant rooting out the scourge of the remaining corrupt government, it would mean the continued growth of his great state.
Dracul had been pulled from his place in the Rezchek Assault Taskforce and asked to the join the Spymaster Ring. It was an honor, and Dracul had accepted immediately. He then had spent a half a year refining himself from an expert special forces soldier, into a Secrets Master. He now had the knowledge to survive on his own in a foreign country, how to gain intelligence and establish contacts on his own, and how to re-establish contact with the Spymaster. It had all lead up to this, his first mission, and he not only served the Spymaster, but also The God Hand himself. It was a bit overwhelming, but his training did well to reassure him.
Dracul returned his mind to the current field and focused in on the two men in front of him. They were Corporal Fredrick Stien and Staff sergeant Mark Darban, both veteran soldiers of the Southern front, and both well at the end of their careers, and not because of their age. Dracul had no respect of Stien, the man was an idiot, and the fact that he had survived against the Defenders of Marn was still a mystery to Dracul. Mark, however, was a soldier and garnered at least a nod in Dracul's book. The older man had fought in the Mountain Wars, and in Marn. Dracul had read both men's dossiers, and could tell that Mark was just tired of fighting. A pitty, considering his nick name, The Killer of Thorn Lake.
In Mark's file it told of how he and his squad of soldiers had single-handedly ended the conflict of Thorn Lake. They had crept through every loyalist soldiers house and slit all of their throats, without arousing a single cry. Of course that was the rumor, the truth was that Mark's squad had rigged a loyalist meeting hall to explode with fire bombs, and as they fled his men picked off the burning Stones. Either way, Mark was no fool, and Dracul made sure to try and avoid his watch.
Dracul came up to both men and gave them a beautifully crisp salute. Earning the lazy toss from Steiner, and the sharp response of Darban. "Sirs." he said as he looked them both over silently, thinking of which would speak first. Finally Darban broke the silence and chuckled "Hughes, where have you been, son?" Dracul's mind iced over slightly as they called him his fake name "I was sent to scout the crag, sir." It was the truth, he had been sent to scout the crag, but that had been several hours ago. He had only given the large crevice between Sokhranyat and Tikk a slight look over. His real goal was to try and find any signs of rebel activity in the surrounding area, and he had made sure to do a full perimeter sweep.
He had found some uniform trails on the other side of the refinery, but had eventually lost them to the woods. He had spent an hour longer trying to recover the trail, but had eventually ended up near the refinery, and decided to go around and enter through the 'proper' entrance, to avoid suspicion.
Mark only nodded and Dracul's answer and smirked, taking a longer drag from what Dracul now recognized as a cannabis cigarette. Cannabis was not illegal in Rezchek, and in fact was used often in medical situations, and was allowed to be used while in service as long as it wasn't used while specifically on duty. Dracul knew that Darban was still on duty, but playing the role of private he wouldn't dare point it out, instead he just kept a calm gaze on the joint. "Here." Darban said suddenly, offering up the cigarette to Dracul. Dracul hesitated for a second, he didn't expect this. He had smoked once before as a teenager, but never since, he didn't like how heavy it made him feel.
"Oh...I can't sir, I'm still on duty." he said, thinking on his feet quickly. The sergeant laughed at the response and held it closer to Dracul "Come on, private! You're about to get off, and I'm the only important person around, live a bit." Dracul had no escape, if he denied he feared that Darban would be suspicious of him. He inhaled a bit, and cast a quick glance around, forcing a smile to his face "Gee, thanks Sarge." He then took the cigarette and put it gingerly to his lips. Suddenly Darban got a wicked smirk on his face as he got closer to Dracul "Nah, nah, do it like a real Rez, boy!" he suddenly locked onto the cigarette with one hand, and pushed on Dracul's diafram with the other.
If Dracul hadn't had more self control he would have taken the man and put him in the dirt, all while using his own weight to dislocate his shoulder, but the Secrets Masters had taught Dracul to handle these situations, and thus all of the air in his lungs was forced out. His next reaction was to inhale, and due to Darban holding the cigarette in Dracul's mouth, he was forced to inhale the harsh smoke.
Dracul broke away from Darban, heaving and coughing, and tried to regain his composure. Both men were laughing at him now, and he felt a bit of involuntary heat come to his face. He hated letting these men get the better of him, but if slight bullying was all they had to offer, Dracul would gladly grin and bare it. "Don't get to worked up, son! We're just giving you a bit of a time. Go off and get them boots off, you're off duty so say's I."
