Greetings from the Think Tank: On a HOPE and a CRSE

When we last left off…

The team was conducting a training mission to test potential new members for Bunker Eagle’s assault team. This exercise, ginned up by Lillian Kjelstad, brought them to a small Pershing outpost in the woods near Elma. The team’s goal was to try and ascertain how the Aliens controlled victims through the NOI. With confirmation that some members of this Pershing cell had been implanted, the team closed in on their base of operations. Right as the assault team prepared to kick their plan into motion, something unexpected happened: some unknown force attacked their target first!

These newcomers wore some kind of high-tech, chameleonic ponchos, and their faces were hidden behind armored masks. They carried weapons that fired energy beams like bars of solid lightning. It looked like the Pershings were going to have their clocks thoroughly cleaned without any assistance, as they had taken out most of the rednecks in a quick rush at the loss of only one of their own, but the X-Com team still had a mission to complete, and if these strangers were going to stand in the way of that, the unknown quantity might have another fight on their hands. That being the case, the team closed in and took cover, and waited to see how things played out.

This was all well and good, until one of the strangers began skirting the edge of the battlefield in an effort to flank a well-situated Pershing manning a machinegun nest in a barn nearby. As the new guy darted from tree to tree, he almost literally ran into Harry, who blurted out in surprise, “Get your own tree!”

Startled, the stranger quickly looked Harry up and down and made a judgment call. “You’re not with these assholes, are you?” he accurately surmised.

“Hell no! We came here to kick their…asses!” The anxious young man was clearly not yet comfortable uttering swear words where grown-ups could hear him.

“Well, Kid,” the stranger said, “you should either lay low and stay out of trouble or follow me and help fuck some shit up!” Harry expected this guy to tell him to scram, to underestimate him. He didn’t expect any offer of inclusion, of encouragement. Once all this was over, he had an urge to talk to this guy some more. First impressions are important!

A couple of Pershings were outside the house, moving to cut off the advance of Harry’s new acquaintance. They were engaged by just about everyone and neutralized. Carville and Fayth advanced toward the barn. They fell under withering suppression as soon as they crossed into the open. They held back for a moment as the Master Sergeant called out to his girl, “I’m gonna lay down some cover for you!” He gave her a three count, and ducked out, burning a mag in the general vicinity of the machine gun nest. Whiskey saw what his Sergeant was up to and added the wrath of his M249 to the mix. With their target completely pinned under the withering gunfire, Fayth peeked out and drilled him with precision bursts. The Pershing was tough, though, and her gunfire didn’t take him out of the fight. However, when he exposed himself trying to return fire, some of the suppressing fire tagged him, and laid him low.

That was the last of the Pershings. The men with the zort-guns didn’t seem interested in pursuing hostilities against the X-Com troops. A tense standoff with the guy on the roof ensued. Whisky, who was in a position where he couldn’t be seen by the opposition, moved silently around behind the house, peeking into windows as he tried to find the best place to be if things went sideways. He settled on spying through the living room window, since there were two guys in there nosing around.

The guy on the roof introduced himself as “CRSE-13,” (pronounced “Curse”) and that he and his troops were agents of the Think Tank. His speaking style was loud, animated, and bombastic. He recognized Fayth from when she was in Seattle a few months ago attempting to rescue a bunch of eggheads. He seemed to hold a bit of a grudge over that piece of action, as someone named Hope had made him pay dearly for his failure, a failure clearly delivered due to the success of Fayth and her team. (Fayth also had an instant sense of foreboding regarding a potential adversary named “Hope.”)

Around about this time, the standoff started turning south fast. CRSE-13 pointed out that Hope had been set into motion to combat the alien invasion. She had created the CRSE series to enact her plan. He said that the humans should be careful how they responded in this situation: He pointed out that their current runtime had been fairly brief so far, and they were always picking things up. “We learn from you,” he warned.

While Fayth, Harry and Carville kept CRSE-13 engaged in debate, Andre decided to ignore the blowhard robot on the roof and call his bluff. He moseyed toward the house and into the living room. He saw some nifty gear that the Pershings shouldn’t have had and pegged it as the items the team was after. The two CRSE units repeatedly told Andre to halt, but he ignored them, moving slowly past them. He heard a static discharge. The room went blindingly white before his world went black.

Outside, the team saw the flash from within the house. Fayth made the judgment call that these guys would not be allowed to attack members of her team without consequence. Douglas, who had been drawing a bead on CRSE-13 for a good while now from his sniper nest, cracked off a shot that hit him square in the face.

The round spanged off CRSE-13’s faceplate, and Douglas immediately considered upgrading from a submachinegun to an actual goddamned rifle if he was going to be putting himself in the role of a sniper all the time. His shot wasn’t completely wasted, though; it caused CRSE-13 to lose his footing on the peak of the roof, making him roll down the side and land flat on his back.

Sergeant MacNaughton chose to make his presence known to the two CRSEs that had shot Andre in the back. “Say ‘ello to my little friend,” he muttered as he hosed both of them down with fire from his SAW. The two robots dropped under the hail of bullets.

Meanwhile, CRSE-4, who had been at Harry’s side and grousing quietly to him about his leader’s behavior, knew what was expected of him. “Hey kid,” he whispered, “I’m really sorry about how this is turning out. You’re alright in my book. Tell you what. I’ll swing high. You go for my knee.” He raised his gun to butt-stroke Harry, who ducked easily and aimed a kick right where CRSE-4 had indicated. “Aw, sonovabitch!” He hollered. “Boss! I’m down. I’m down, Boss.” Harry darted away to safety.

At this point, CRSE-13 staggered to his feet and commanded the humans to knock it off. He grudgingly offered to work things out with them. He explained that Andre was only unconscious and would probably wake up in a few minutes. They wanted the robots to leave the area empty-handed. “Pff. Fine,” CRSE-13 said. “You want this dump and all the stuff in it, it’s yours.” Since he was willing to make that concession so easily, Harry blurted out an additional demand.

“Leave CRSE-4 behind with us so we can study him!” The robot leader thought about it for a second and agreed. He and the three remaining CRSE units gathered the three non-functioning units and piled them into a heap. He told the humans not to get too close because the bodies would self-destruct shortly. He and his troops marched off. When he was sufficiently far away, he yelled back at them, “Remember earlier when I said ‘we learn from you?’ Guess what we learned here today?” Then he pushed up the sleeve of his poncho and tapped a few buttons on his arm.

CRSE-4 snapped to attention and muttered venomously, “You son of a—” but he never got a chance to finish his curse at CRSE-13. His glowing blue eyes went dark and he fell in a heap, like a marionette with its strings cut. The treacherous robot and his troops beat feet into the woods like cowards. Douglas attempted to follow them and spy on how they exfiltrated the scene and was completely floored when he caught them take up positions in a small clearing and essentially vanish into thin air when something like lightning from the ground shot up into the air and took them with it.

Harry went to the fallen robot’s side, but CRSE-4 was gone. It was no longer a potential companion that he’d shared a few intense, interesting moments with. It was just a mannikin devoid of whatever spark had made it so interesting just moments ago. Harry asked the team if he could inter CRSE-4 in his bunker nearby for safekeeping, since they couldn’t risk taking it back to Bunker November. He hoped, someday in the future, to see if there was any way to undo what CRSE-13 had done and maybe bring this fella back.

The team returned to base with another successful mission under their belts and the tech the eggheads wanted in the back of their Humvee. As if they didn’t already face enough opposition, they could now count another faction out there they might have to tangle with down the road! When the debrief was over, Lillian asked Sgt. MacNaughton, Andre and Harry to leave so she could have a word with the senior agents.

With the rooks gone, Lillian asked how they had performed and if the team thought they’d made the grade…or if she should cut them loose and look for different recruits. They hemmed and hawed, and after a few moments, everyone eventually turned to Fayth. “What are you looking at me for?” she asked.

With a sly smile, Carville explained, “You’re the most senior.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been in this fight just as long as I have!”

“Not in Elma. Besides, I’ve already got my own squad to take care of. I’m only here on loan.”

Fayth looked at Brock, who had been in this fight with her from day one. “Hey, remember that time you locked me up in the infirmary for two days?” He alternated pointing his fingers between himself and Fayth a few times, eventually hitching a thumb toward his chest. “Junior boot,” he exulted. “Suck it.”

Fayth grumbled and wondered if she had somehow been asking for this treatment by being so darned eager to fight the aliens. “Alright. The new guys can stay,” she decided.