Operation Pacifica:"A Matter of Perspective"
by ST

"I'll cross my heart and hope to die but the needle's already in my
  eye.  And all the world's weight is on my back and I don't even know why.
  And what I used to think was me is just a fading memory.  I looked him right
  in the eye and said `goodbye.'"
        -NIN "Down In It" _Pretty Hate Machine_

"I'm thinking of your highness and crying long upon the loss I've
  found all the plus and minus/zero chance of ever turning this around"
 -Soundgarden "zero chance" _Down on the Upside_

 These past few days had been anything but dull for me.  First, I
  when I landed on Pacifica, I started hearing this strange murmuring that led
  me to my "brand-new sword", Schlee.  Then I go and I kill b'harnii with
  Schlee, but the night afterwards b'harnii comes in a dream and promises to
  torture me forever.  Ack.  Not fun.  But my father, using Schlee's power,
  was able to beat back the demon, but then he told me that I had to become
  "one with the sword" or some crap like that, in order to stay sane.  I do it
  and then suddenly I've got white hair and blue eyes.  Tons of fun.  And what
  I really didn't like was the fact that all this was taking place in my
  dreams, I was fearful to go to bed these days, I mean, what would happen
  next?  Would I awaken the next morning with a third eye or something?

 [What a bittersweet adventure this has been so far,] I pondered as
  I sat in the back of a personnel carrier headed towards the Lyran fortress.
  [I may have gotten a promotion, avenged my family's death, and got my sword
  back where it belongs, but at what cost?  A Doberman Centurion, dead.
  Several TRES and Doberman troops, dead.  Even J-Rock got killed, but he
  somehow cheated Death and resurrected himself.  But that's beside the point.
  Is this all worth it?]  I was feeling quite pessimistic at this point, just
  as I had when I was uncertain if any of my comrades were still alive, a few
  days ago.  [Man, it feels like it was a century ago, so much has changed in
  the interim.]  At that point, I stopped thinking about the events of the
  past few days and tried to think about my future as a Jihaddi.  As soon as
  we got this mission over with and done, I was heading home.  But to what?
  Thousands of spongin clamouring for my head, hunting me every minute of
  every day, never giving a moment's respite?  [The price you paid for
  vengeance,] I told myself, as the transport wore on its path through the
  Lyran desert.

 At that point, I noticed that I was starting to perspire profusely.
  I looked around at the other troops and saw that the heat was affecting
  them, but they weren't sweating as badly as I.  I wracked my mind for an
  explanation, when it finally hit me with the force of a Nolan Ryan fastball.
  Since everything that I had done over the past few days that some would bill
  as "superhuman" had something to do with ice or cold, I reasoned that I was
  more vulnerable than others to excessive heat.  In order to remedy the
  situation, I asked for some water.  I got it in a few minutes, in the form
  of a canteen.  I poured about a palmful into my right hand and dipped my
  left index finger into the water, willing it to freeze.  It did instantly,
  eliciting looks of wonder from some in the transport, from others looks of
  "been there/seen that."  After a few applications of my selfmade ice cubes,
  I felt loads better.   I was also able to make my comrades feel better as
  well by doing the same for them.  I actually do perform deeds of kindness
  every now and then, but I'd rather people didn't talk about them.  I have a
  reputation to maintain, after all.

 [Damn fool,] I chided myself, as the desert wore on, reminiscent of
  the road trip to San Francisco that now seemed a distant memory.  [Your damn
  reputation is probably going to put your ass in the fire from now on so many
  times it's not even worth mentioning.]  I sighed and looked my weapons over,
  like I usually did when I was bored.  I had cleaned these suckers numerous
  times during this mission, and with the frequency I was most likely going to
  be fighting the rest of my life, I pondered if cleaning them would be really
  worth the bother.  They were in decent shape now, but I had a feeling that
  after a few years of spongin ambushes, they'd be worn out well before their
  time.  Oh well.  It was all for a good Cause[tm], the focus of my life, as
  my father had put it.  I no longer mourned for my father or my uncle, their
  deaths avenged.  But I still missed them like hell.   Whatever happened
  during the rest of this mission was also for them.

 The day marched on, hot and seemingly never-ending.   It was about
  3 p.m., island time, when I had become so bored that I was planning, in my
  head, the layout for a new home in a place a lot colder than my current
  house, where summers could get quite hot.  [The UP of Michigan seems about
  right,] I thought as I sketched in my mind what my "summer home" would look
  like.  My thoughts then turned to how the renovation of my current home was
  going, which I had ordered before departing on this mission.  I also idly
  wondered how my other JAOs, M.A.U.L., NEBULA, and LoD, were doing.  As my
  watch beeped the 3 o'clock hour, the transport I was in and the others in
  the group started slowing down.  The transports soon all stopped.  "Oh
  great, now what?" I griped under my breath.

 "Lieutenant Geier, report to the main transport ASAP.  Lieutenant
  Geier, report to the main transport ASAP," a speaker squawked in my
  transport.  I sighed, grabbed my gear, and jumped out.  I hit the sands of
  the desert with a soft thud.  Looking about, I saw that it was relatively
  clear out and that the foreboding fortress of the Lyrans had pulled a Jet
  Jaguar and grown to an immense proportion.  But these thoughts were
  secondary on my mind as I rushed forward to the lead transport.  I was
  greeted there by Sergeant Bullin, who snapped off a salute soon after I got
  to within his sight.  I returned his salute as my father and the TRES Corps
  Academy had taught me, and asked him what was going on.  He had apparently
  been using his radio, as he had laid down a microphone on a portable table
  before saluting.

 "What's up, Bullin?" I asked.

 "Sir," he began, "you realize that you were put into an obscure
  carrier with ordinary troops so that you weren't an easy target for the..."

 "Yes, Sergeant," I interrupted.  "I know.  That was a good decision
  by Admiral J-Rock.  But I take it that something has come up."

 Bullin nodded.  "Yes sir, it has.  We've detected several spongin
  transports heading towards us, and they might outnumber us.  They've been
  radioing us and demanding that we turn you over to them so that you can be
  "tried" for the "murder" of b'harnii."

 "Sounds like what happened to Warrior Galand right before Phoenix,"
  I mused, recalling my readings of recent Jihad history.  "It's a load of
  bullshit, though.  You know and I know it.  They'd execute me upon arrival.
  So why'd you call me up here, anyway?"

 "Well sir, I thought that I should notify you of this situation and
  what answer I should give back to the spongin, I've got them on hold right
  now," he said, gesturing to his microphone.  "Should I tell them that you
  refuse?"

 "Better than that," a plan forming in my mind, "I'll tell them
  myself," I said, reaching my hand out for the microphone.

 He placed it in my palm as I walked over to the transceiver.

 "Hey spongies!" I bellowed.  "You all off making assholes of
  yourselves, as usual?"

 "Who...who is this?" a slightly scared voice answered.

 "I think you've heard of me, b'harnii-lover," I said casually.
  "They call me ST.  That's short for Sir Timothy, as I'm sure you don't
  understand abbreviations."

 "!! We'll...we'll harm you!  You...you killed my bestest friend in
  the whole wide world!  We're...we're gonna get you!  You'd better turn
  yourself over to us, or..or.. We'll.." the suddenly terrified sponge
  sputtered.

 "Save it, dickhead," I bit back.  "You've got the chances of an MST
  movie being good of you getting your spongified, mindless, subhuman, and
  disgusting mitts on me.  And if you think I'm just going to lay down and die
  for you assholes, you are dead fuckin' wrong.  Why don't you pricks come and
  get me?  I'll have you in the arms of your Purple Pedophilic lord in
  moments," I growled, growing angrier by the minute.

 I heard some sobbing on the mic as I terminated the connection.
  Figures.  Damn spongies can't even handle some constructive criticism.

 "Sir, they have increased speed to intercept, what are your
  orders?" asked Mullin, a little surprised at my discourse.

 I thought for a moment.  "Deploy the troops in a defensive
  position.  Are there any heavy weapons amongst the spongins?"

 "Negative sir, scans detect only troops, maybe they're hoping
  someone can get a lucky bullet in, either that, or their artillery can't
  take this heat."

 I nodded as I wiped my brow.  My hand was dripping sweat as I
  lowered it.  Damn.

 "Did your scans detect any enemy drinking supplies?" I requested,
  getting an idea.  I grabbed a canteen and drank some of it, then I
  duplicated the ice cube trick I had done in the transport.  Bullin's eyes
  widened as he watched me do something he thought impossible, but he regained
  his composure enough to state, "Yes, they're about a half mile in back of
  the main group.  Why?"

 "If we can knock those out, we should have a chance of annihilating
  this sortie without taking major causalities.  If we keep retreating, just
  out of their weapons range, they'll be forced to stop and take a water break
  before long.  They'll have to bring the water to the front, otherwise we
  outflank them and get away.  That's when we charge.  On the first charge,
  our objective is to destroy all of their water supplies.  While we regroup,
  the survivors, if there are any, will be significantly weakened and we
  should be able to slaughter them in a second charge and then we go on to the
  fortress," I summed up my tactics.

 Bullin nodded, a bit dubiously.  "Have you ever tried this, sir?"

        "No," I answered truthfully, "There's a first time for
  everything." Bullin's face fell.  Realizing my mistake, I quickly covered.
  "But I have planned for snags.  If at any point something screws up, we go
  back to conventional TRES strategy, seeking-and-destroying the enemy.  Are
  you willing to implement this plan?" I finished, strongly.

 This time, Bullin seemed convinced.  "Yes sir, I'll start issuing
  your orders," he said, looking directly at me.

 "I'd like to lead the initial charge, as well," I said as an
  afterthought came to me.

 Bullin gave me a confused stare.  "If you insist," he said finally.
  "Is that all, Lieutenant?"

 "That is all.  Dismissed."  I replied.  He saluted and I returned
  it.  I returned to my transport, exhilarated.  I had never done anything of
  this sort before, but instead of getting nervous and anxious about the
  forthcoming battle, as I had done in the past, was replaced by an almost
  inhuman calm.  I took my seat as the troopers looked at me.  They had a
  feeling that something was about to happen, and that I was directly
  responsible.  My calm continued amongst the stares as Bullin's corporals
  made the rounds of the transports, rapidly issuing orders to the men inside.
  As my transport began to retreat to the west, I looked upon the endless
  desert and thought long and hard upon what I had just done.  My words may
  have condemned some men and women to a premature death.  I wondered if I
  could shoulder the burden of that.   I wondered if this would really make a
  significant difference in the mission.  I wondered, most of all, where this
  new personality had emerged, a take-charge, no-b.s.-taking, calm in the face
  of impending battle ST instead of the inexperienced, nervous, naive rookie
  who had left TRES HQ weeks ago.

 My questions remained unanswered.

TBC
ST