The Last Game

NOTE: The Last Game is the final installment in a five part series of fiction based on The Nearside Project. Taken as a whole, these five stories are known as The Thirteenth Hour.

* * * * *

Beck was walking. Walking in a straight line and nothing was going to stop her. She came out of the ragged cornfields down east of the Pale Rider's fire base, threaded through the perimeter guards, and kept on across the muster park to the Special Ops tents down by the river.

Her face was blooded, body bruised and every step a bone deep twisting blade. Time was ticking on. Nothing was going to stop her.

She pulled back the tent flap, stepped into cool darkness from the dusty heat of the base. Couple of figures were resting up inside. She strode down to the right cot, grabbed a combat booted foot and shook it 'til its owner woke up cursing.

"Hey, Beck. Burnin' my beauty sleep, doll." The girl smiled and stretched with a sigh. "You wake me up for playtime? Know you want me."

Beck stood there. Not moving, but every nerve screaming. "No time, Cupid. Little business you can help me with. Bring Rook and the arrows. You on?"

Cupid didn't like the look on Beck's face but she got up anyway, pulling on a T-shirt. "Beck. Is this serious business?"

"Yes." Beck's mind was jabbering. No Time.

"Lt. Kelsey in on this?"

"That's the business I mean," said Beck, and walked away.

* * * * *

She was down at the motor pool, heisting one of the TOW-equipped Light Strike Vehicles. Bold as brass.

Tyler walked over to the offside. "Jeez, Beck. Steal my grave as quick?"

She didn't look up. "Guess so. I want to take her out for spin. That okay with you?"

"That's outside the Regs, Beck. Culver said, I mean. I know what you're thinking. But."

Beck heard a click, raised her eyes to see Tyler holding a pistol. She shook her head. "You don't want to shoot me, Tyler."

"Damn straight, kid. Rules however, is rules."

Beck smiled. "Rules. Made to be broken."

Tyler frowned. "You gotta do better than that."

She sighed and looked him square in the eyes with her jaw set, expression grim. "Promises must be kept."

Tyler lowered the gun. Beck started up the LSV, having a little trouble with the gears. "I'll stand you a few beers when I get back. We can laugh about all this."

Tyler grinned, making the weapon safe and holstering it. "Beck, you get back and I'm gonna kick your skinny ass up and down this camp."

"Oh yeah," She shouted, with the LSV peeling away in a flurry of dust. "Sure like to see you try it."

* * * * *

"Sitrep?"

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

Carter looked up from his paper strewn command desk. "If you wish, Capt. Jones"

"We're badly fucked," Jones was business blunt. An afterthought. "Sir."

"We can re-group?" said Carter.

"Re-group? Shit. Half of 30 Corps don't even know what day it is. Battalion K have been fooling with some kind of sonic effect weapon. Screws your brain. We'll have to pull back, or they're going to use it to herd us into pens."

Carter closed his eyes, rubbing the tension from the bridge of his nose. He felt tired, ill. He felt a little scared. When he opened his eyes the world was still the same. "Strike camp. Move out in two hours, back to Nancy, with dignity if possible. The other units can give us some support, just until we can pull things into some kind of shape. Pass the word."

"At once, Sir."

"Anything else. Nothing good I imagine?"

"Beck, Sir. I mean Spec 4 Rebecca Kelsey. She's stolen an LSV and headed off towards Rheims. Her father was taken this morning. Sgt Brogan from the 2-7 saw it all, nothing anyone could have done. I guess she's on her way to spring him. Or die in the attempt. Must run in the family, Sir."

"I see," Carter thought for a while.

"I'll have the team on the outer perimeter bring her back," said Jones.

"That won't be necessary, Captain."

Jones stared at him. "Sir?"

"Let's say Lt. Kelsey and his daughter have made an arrangement,"

"I see, Sir."

"If the perimeter boys see Beck, just have them wish her luck and let her go."

* * * * *

Cupid and Rook were waiting by a stone bridge when Beck pulled up in the LSV.

"Any troubles getting by?" asked Beck.

"Are you kidding," laughed Rook. "We're stealth and silence on a fucking stick."

Rook was unbelievable. A girl scout with an ever-bright smile and an automatic weapon. It was that kind of a war.

"You all set, Cupid?"

"You tell us, Beck. You being the Boss."

Beck checked them out. They were both wearing scrub grass ghillie suits, and Cupid's bolt action rifle was wrapped in scrim netting adorned with moss and leaves. She looked like a haystack carrying a piece of dead-fall wood. Got them both to jump up and down, make sure that their gear was all secure and nothing rattled. Everything was cool.

They clambered into the LSV. It was a military off-road vehicle, and as it was only meant for two people there were a few moments of pushing and switching equipment about to get everyone comfortable. Beck drove off again, with Rook sitting up at the back with a CAR 15 across her lap, keeping a watch on the world speeding by.

Cupid was driving for a while, Beck needed her rest. The LSV swept on through the smashed remains of northern France, everything human built was burned out or flattened. The top brass said they were winning this War, but Cupid couldn't see it.

No one is named Cupid, she was born Satu Jaaskelainea. A good, solid traditional Finnish name. In younger days she decided that her name would be read out at the Olympics. Set about earning that right, up at dawn on the training ground, getting into mediation and focus. A gold medal in the target shooting. Her mother had won a Biathlon first place at the Winter, but Cupid couldn't ski so she wasn't really able compete with that one.

Geared up for Seoul in 1992, and the whole world went to Hell. It wasn't fair. A childish way to look at it for sure, but the K'thari had ruined her life. She signed up right away, the trainers at boot camp in Denmark recognised her particular talent and had her posted to Special Ops.

Snipers have a reputation for being cold, but Cupid wasn't like that. Could be that Viking blood. That's what Rook says, anyway. Cupid never let the deaths affect her. Just K'thari after all, she'd hardly ever shot a real person. She figured if she could kill enough K'thari then that would be even better than a Gold. Serve them right.