Subj:	 [ffml] Re: [MW] Fighting Chance: Part 1 of 2
Date:	00-08-06 21:17:49 EDT
From:	Chaos28 [edited by Sky]


     The night's sounds echoed deeply into the command tent. Tim spoke to 
his
troops in his normal commanding, yet calm voice, that gave reassurance to
the men under his command.
     "Tomorrow, we march south, along the South Road, towards Southvale,"
began
Tim. "There, we are to take a defensive position before the bridge and to
keep the moogle forces from crossing either at the bridge, or along the
shores of the seaway, to the best of our abilities. If possible, we are to
advance south and hold Southvale."
     "What about Doma City?" asked a lieutenant.
     Dirke Kurad was wondering the same thing himself.
     As the conversation continued, Dirke pretty much gathered the 
scenario. These men would have to defend against 30,000 moogles, maybe 
more, at the bridge to Southvale. It was not going to be easy with this few 
people, but if any commander here right now could do it, it was Tim. Dirke 
was sure of that.
     He was also sure that his squad would be called upon to serve in a 
special mission. Dirke was certain. His squad had participated in various 
campaigns here and there, mostly in scouting, espionage, and in particular 
wreaking havor amongst enemy units. Tim favored the idea of a small force 
being able to change the tides of battle and give the troops the upper 
hand. All in a day's work for Dirke and his crew.
     Dirke sighed heavily and left the tent before the briefing was 
finished. He'd heard enough, and was sure Tim would track him down later 
anyway. Dirke and his squad had trained too long to let this ultimate 
challenge come to pass.
     He stepped into the mud outside and looked into the night sky, rubbing 
his chin. Dirke was a large man, but not neccesarily a body builder. He was 
great with a sword, but even better with long range weapons. A retired 
soldier from Doma, Dirke was not someone you would want to mess with if you 
met him in a bar.
     "What's wrong, sir?" said a familiar voice.
     Dirke spun around quickly to see his second in command, Norris Calhan, 
standing behind him. Norris was a small man, but fast as hell. Probably the 
fastest runner in Tim's Dragons, but not greatest in hand-to-hand command. 
He always kept daggers, shurikens and a bow on him when in the field. He 
was an excellent shot from long range, and the second in command of Dirke's 
squad.
     "Nothing," Dirke responded coldly, looking into the night again. "I 
just
hope this war ends soon."
     "Don't worry, you'll get your shot at Turan soon, I bet." Norris 
walked
up beside Dirke. Dirke stood over him by about a half a foot, but Norris 
was
never overshadowed, in either of their views. They thought of eachother as
equal warriors.
     At that remark, the memories flooded through Dirke again, of his past,
his family being killed right before him. When Dirke had reached them, 
their
wounds were too much. His son and daughter already dead, his wife with so
little breath left that she couldn't even utter out last words before her
passing. Moogleboars had ripped them to shreds.
     That night, Dirke had flown off the handle, gathering as many weapons 
and people as he could, determined to destroy the moogles and avenge the 
destruction of their small, peaceful village in Doma's eastern province. 
The survivors of the attack, about 70 people in all, were strong and 
determined, but poorly equipped and not prepared for the moogle rush. For 
every moogle they killed, two humans died. Dirke was the only one to 
survive, dead bodies piling atop of him to the point where he could not 
move. The battle raged, he was trapped, listening to his townsfolk be 
slaughtered and put to death by Kupo. Later that night, he managed to 
slither out from the piles of corpses and run west.
     The next day, a human patrol, desperately trying to herd some refugees 
along, had found Dirke, and Dirke numbly followed them along, unsure of what 
to do or where to go. Dirke made it unto a ship for Nikeah and there would 
have left his depression rot him away, if not for Tim. Tim had spoken to the 
refugees, gave them guidance, leadership. He told them they could reclaim 
Doma, that they could exact vengence upon the moogles. He called for 
volunteers, and Dirke stepped forward.
  Tim had found the man difficult to use. He was a trained soldier, but had 
forgotten how to take orders. He could lead, in a fashion, and was subject 
to following his own agenda in battle. Tim made him a lieutenant of special 
forces, and added some other oddball soldiers he had picked up along the 
way.
      He knew that tonight Tim would give Dirke the means to his revenge.
     The troops flooded out of the tent, and Dirke and Norris took their 
cues as they headed back to their tents for a drink. Dirke caught Tim's 
glance before leaving, and nodded to him. Both knew what was ahead for 
Dirke's team, and it was not going to be pretty.

     When they arrived at their part of the camp, the rest of their 
5-person team was milling about. Robert and Quenly Meyers sat at a table in 
the middle of a cleared space, examining an arsenal of daggers, swords, 
bows, and all other sorts of weapons, debating quite heavily, and loudly, 
on the usage, reliability, and overall "kill factor" of each. There were 
some empty beer flasks on the floor, and it was quite obvious both men were 
at least half drunk.
     Robert and Quenly looked very much the same. Both average height, and 
skinny. Fast and agile. Both were orphans at Nikeah, having a difficult 
time growing up in the rough sea-side city. The magistrate had remarked to 
Tim about the brother's pentient for thuggery and urged him to recruit the 
rascal brother. Tim met with them and found them both generally good, 
despite their few morality flaws, like the drinking. But they were good 
guys to hang out with.
     Robert and Quenly looked nearly identical except that one let his 
black hair grow down to the shoulders, the other kept his cut short. Both 
green eyes.
     Peering out from one of the pup tents was Liana Marks, the group's 
most accurate sniper. She was lying on her bedroll, watching Quenly and 
Robert argue, ready to stop them from coming to blows if need be. She 
turned and watched Dirke approach, sitting up he approached her.
     "Again?" asked Dirke, not really surprised in the least.
     Liana laughed a little. "I don't think they're fully drunk tonight."
     There was silence for a moment, except for the argueing of the two
brothers. Liana turned away, and Dirke looked at her in admiration a 
moment.
Liana was the only woman Dirke had liked this much since his wife. But as
long as the Moogle War was continueing, Dirke knew that he couldn't let
romance distract him.
     Liana was tall, with shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes. She 
was
an attractive woman, only in this war to avenge the death of her husband 
and
family, the event so strikingly similar to Dirke's.
     She turned around, and Dirke quickly looked up, averting his eyes,
before she noticed. "Any news?" she asked him, in her femenine voice. "I'm 
getting sick of just marching around, while the cavalry cleans the field. 
We need some fighting."
     "I got a feeling tonight's the night," Dirke said. "Let's geer up."

     The next half hour went by quickly. Norris focused on getting Robert 
and
Quenley sober, while Dirke and Liana packed up as best they could on short
notice.
     Tim entered the clearing, silently. "Dirke?"
     Dirke set down a pack he had been stuffing and crossed over to stand 
before Tim.
     "I was hoping you'd be here," Tim said to Dirke. The rest of Dirke's 
squad continued on the way they were, packing mostly. "Take a walk with me 
for a moment."
     They left the clearing and began to wander through the camp, Tim 
leeding his
chocobo, Fluffy, alongside.
     "I was just on my way to meet with Nighthawk in regards to our 
upcomming move. I need you and your team to do something for me."
     Dirke nodded.
     Tim continued. "You and your squad have done well so far. You always 
seem to have a knack for where the enemy is and what they are doing, and 
how to maneuver yourself into the best position. And you know how to best 
work behind enemy lines."
     Tim looked around and swallowed. "I want you and your squad to head 
but at your earlier convenience and cross to Southvale and infiltrate enemy 
territory. I bet the bridge will be watched, so either swim across the river 
(think of it like the Saint Lawerence Sea-way), or use the dragons to fly 
you over at night. Once over, go about sabotaging the moogles war effort. 
Keep them from mountain a major assualt, or send us warning. The dragons and 
avariel should be scouting pretty heavily along the shorelines, so a signal 
fire and a message is all you'll need."
     "I see," Dirke said, looking down. In his mind, Tim had issued one 
command: assasinate Turan.
     "It is a lot to ask, I know," Tim kept on. "But if you can do this
succesfully, our forces will have the advantage of time to dig in, and the 
sooner the rest of the army can join us at the bridge. And if possibly, try 
to take out their leaders. Maybe that will shake up the moogles command 
structure and give us time to launch an attack. Understood?"
     "Understood." Dirke saluted. Tim returned it.
     "Great. I must leave now to see Nighthawk. Good luck, Dirke." Tim
mounted Fluffy and road off.
     Dirk stood there in the middle of the camp, looking at the stars in 
the
night sky. "This one's for you," he said, and began walking back to camp.

--------------------
CHAOS!