Beyond the Sea

[acts_of_gord]

There's going to be a lot of swimming very soon. Gordon's good with that. Maybe not all that enthusiastic about it, though. He's read about Irukandji syndrome. It's almost enough to make him wish for Xen leeches instead.

Almost.

It's a night swim, is the thing. The only way they could reach the Combine desalination plant undetected during the day would involve Pi portaling the Borealis directly alongside the rig and dropping them off faster than the Combine could shoot them all down. Alyx has the machine up and running again, but nobody wants to take a chance on Pi's current stability. And for all that people in the Resistance occasionally seem to think he's the Messiah, walking on water is not in his portfolio. So... they have to get to the rig under cover of darkness, through jellyfish-infested waters, and creep aboard undetected. And then pretty much put an end to the existence of anything on board with a pulse. Alyx won't be there, and the stalkers won't have any other way out.

He'll handle that part himself, if he can.

For now they've driven here from the Borealis They've got a dark equipment shed near the shoreline ready so that the handful of them who'll be going can get their eyes used to what lies ahead. They're all in their dive gear, as far as he knows. He's got his HEV suit and his helmet on. Hopefully it'll stand up to the jellyfish like it's done to the Combine. This is going to be a very short trip otherwise.

Comments

[boston_bruiser]

The odds are stacked against them for this one. They're outnumbered, outgunned, and going in practically blind with barely any lead time.

Voodoo wishes he could say that that's the way he likes it, but he's never been a very good liar. Not even to himself.

He holds the stopwatch up to his eyes. The clock face is barely readable in the dark, but they're about 20 minutes in. 20 more to go.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon's not exactly fond of it either, but then again Gordon honestly cannot remember any combat situation where it was anything remotely resembling the way he likes it. He's good at what he does, whatever the SEAL might think of him, but that doesn't mean he particularly enjoys it. It's just something that has to get done, and if the odds have ever been in his favor, he didn't know it.

For now, he'd like to know just which wiseass in the group is humming what sounds like "I Still Call Australia Home" right at the edge of hearing.

[boston_bruiser]

For Voodoo's money? It's Jimbo. Again.

Say what you want, but the man's got pride.

Voodoo half-considers telling him to quiet down before shrugging it off. After all they've been through, he rates humming whatever he damn well pleases.

Okay, whatever they damn well please. Because from the sounds of it, the soloist has an accompanist now.

[acts_of_gord]

He'll never admit to it afterwards, but the harmonizer is Jan ten Boom. Who has nothing at all to do with Australia, but does have a decent ear for music, and who is not really good at sitting in the dark unless he's waiting for someone to walk past him so he can set off an explosive charge at exactly the right moment. (Jan's good at making infrastructure not be there any more.)

Gordon just sits back and waits. He's pretty sure the Indonesian police women are praying, but you don't interfere at a time like that.

[boston_bruiser]

Jan does indeed have an ear for music. If the fact that a couple other people have picked up the tune by now is any indicator, that is. The volume's not overbearing, or even loud - it's more "informal caroling" than "drinking song".

I'm always traveling, I love being free/And so I keep leaving the sun and the sea...

Voodoo checks the stopwatch again. Ten minutes left.

But my heart lies waiting over the foam/I still call Australia home...

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon settles back in his seat and runs his hands over his face. This is the last quiet he's going to get for a long time, music or no; he'll be hearing gunshots for a week after the last bullet is fired. It's always like that. He'll deal.

All the sons and daughters spinning 'round the world / Away from their family and friends...

He has the general idea of what he's got to do ahead of him. He'll just think about it all later. When there's time. When it's safe.

But as the world gets older and colder / It's good to know where your journey ends...

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo, for his part, taps out the tune on his knee, trying to clear his mind as best he can. A tense trigger finger's no good to anybody.

And someday we'll all be together once more / when all of the ships come back to the shore...

There'll be the post-battle shakes afterwards, of course (if there's an after). There always will be, so long as he does this for a living.

How long that'll be is another matter entirely.

I'll realize something I've always known / I still call Australia home...

The room falls silent. There's no applause, no whistling, not even nods of acknowledgement among the group. Someone sniffles.

It feels like an eternity before Voodoo checks the stopwatch again. 45 minutes. They're ready.

He clicks the stop button and sets the stopwatch aside.

"Let's go."

[acts_of_gord]

There's a round of murmurs of acknowledgment. For his part, Gordon doesn't say anything. He just nods once and stands up. The pulse rifle is secured across his back and the crowbar is strapped to his side as securely as possible while still allowing him to move.

Don't be ridiculous. Of COURSE he has the crowbar. He ALWAYS has the crowbar.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo's already up and patting himself down for any loose gear. There's none, of course - his MP5 is slung and secured to his side, and his pistol is secure in its holster. If there was one thing BUD/S beat into him it was attention to detail.

He turns to the shed door and pushes it open. There's a new moon tonight, but the stars are out in full force, dotting the sky like some kind of astronomical blanket. But it's no time for sightseeing.

"Follow me." Voodoo starts across the sand, his boots sinking deep into it with every step. He can see the Sergeant Major's contingent down the beach a little ways, and heads for it, cradling his diving mask in the crook of his elbow.

It's not long before they reach it. Shephard himself has what looks to be a M40A1, and the rest aren't too shabbily armed, either. Voodoo clicks his tongue twice to get their attention. "Hey. Anything new?"

[hecu_marine]

Shephard is very, very good at sitting still and being quietly observant; he's had to practice since he was six and got taken on his first hunt. He shakes his head. Nothing new, no changes- all systems are go as far as he and his are concerned.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo nods, then turns to the raiders. "Like I said, Team Four is first in. After that, it's Team Five, then Team One, then Team Two. Team Three, you bring up the rear. Good luck."

And with that, Voodoo dons his diving mask and fins, pausing momentarily to hook up his rebreather to the mask. The rig hisses to life, and he breathes in the sweet, desert-dry air. The connection's good - so far, anyway.

He looks up to see Nari and Brandon walking into the surf, the others forming a line behind them. He joins up with Freeman as the line walks into the water.

Were he someone else, he'd probably find this a good place for an out-of-context Shakespeare quote.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon's not a big Shakespeare man, himself. Matter of fact, the last time he had anything especially poetic or derived from the Classics to say during combat, he kept it to himself. Nobody needed to hear about the Charge of the Light Brigade during the battle of City 17.

There are small-c classics, though. He can't quite help but smile behind his helmet's clear faceplate as he murmurs, "'Survival is the ability to swim in strange water.'"

He doesn't say anything else. He just sets out to swim.

[boston_bruiser]

After the surf's up to his neck, Voodoo pushes off with his feet and slides headfirst into the water. The initial loss of gravity's still jarring, but he recovers and scans the water ahead of him.

It's pitch black, for one. He can barely see the pair ahead of them. A jellyfish floats by, something tangled in its tentacles. It's too dark to make out exactly what - not like it matters, anyway. For now, he just focuses on his technique.

[acts_of_gord]

This isn't Gordon's idea of a fun time. He's half convinced he can feel box jellies squirming into the HEV suit, even though he knows perfectly well that unless it's been recently damaged, the thing is water-tight. It comes of doing too much reading. Perhaps if he concentrates on not being seen by any sentries who might possibly be posted, with whatever passes for binoculars among the Combine? ... all right, the suit's stealth mode doesn't really work in water, but it helps a little.

(He's not going to think about dinosharks. They don't come into this water, not with the box jellies. No dinosharks, dammit.)

It's a way to pass the time on a long swim, but he's still immensely grateful to see that they're coming in close enough to the rig to make out the details.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo can sympathize somewhat. Night dives have never been a favorite of his - of anyone that he knows, really. The swimmers are essentially in a vacuum, and like they say, nothing fills a vacuum like imagination.

Or, you know, something really long and scaly and probably carnivorous brushing by your shins. That works, too.

Honestly, Voodoo's as grateful as the next man that the rig's close enough for him to make out the sentries still on watch - time spent thinking about how to take them out is time not spent thinking about what the hell just brushed past his shins. Again.

[acts_of_gord]

The HEV suit being what it is, Gordon can't feel nearly as much brushing past. Just that there's something there and that it's probably not a fish, considering these waters. More likely-

Gordon is a scientist at heart and has been a thinker all his life. The fact of the matter is, though, that at Black Mesa he saw that first scientist gunned down by the Marine supposedly there to rescue him, realized that he was going to die within seconds himself, and acted on that information before his brain had time to process it in anything like a conscious thought. This? Is like that. The syllables saltwater crocodile don't even have time to form in his brain. He just holds up one hand very briefly, assuming Voodoo can even see it- and then dives.

If he ever sees Hephaistos at the Bar again he's going to thank him personally for the work the Engineer of All Engineers did on the suit's helmet. He's down there a while, a fact well attested to by the thrashing, roiling waters in the immediate vicinity.

Some time later he breaks the surface again, crowbar in hand.

There's still stuff stuck to it. And the water is considerably darker now than it was a short time before.

[boston_bruiser]

For the first time in his life, Voodoo's speechless.

He looks at the crowbar. Then at the water. Then back at the crowbar. Then back at the water. Then at Freeman.

Holy shit.

To say Voodoo's eyes are the size of dinner plates would be somewhat of an exaggeration. Think half-dollars. He's been on a hot evac more times than he can count, but taking on a crocodile with a crowbar...

He doesn't know about the "Doctor" part, but one thing's for sure: Freeman's one crazy son of a bitch.

[acts_of_gord]

"I miss my crossbow," Gordon murmurs, whether Voodoo can hear him or not. "Let's go. They're going to notice eventually."

The crowbar's just got to be fastened to his side again, and then he's ready to move. The sooner they can get up onto the rig and do what they came here to do, the happier he'll be.

[boston_bruiser]

Unfortunately, with the HEV suit being airtight, Voodoo can't hear him, and it's too dark to read lips, so he settles for a shake of the head as he resumes swimming.

It's not that far to the rig - a few minutes more, and Voodoo's pulling himself onto the grating. He takes his mask and fins off, then pulls on his headset and shoulders his MP5. He flips the fire selector to semiautomatic and makes his way to the stairs, carefully stepping over a pair of dead Combine soldiers on the way.

Puncture wounds on the backs of their necks. Severed their spinal columns. Assholes never felt a thing. Chalk up two for Team Four.

[acts_of_gord]

Once he's made his own adjustments Gordon opens his helmet's faceplate, glances down at the corpses and pauses for just a moment. It seldom hurts to check for- no, they weren't carrying pulse rifles. Oh well.

He takes their ammo anyway, stashing it alongside his own. What he has, their living comrades can't find and use. And there are living ones about; he can hear footsteps on patrol nearby.

You wouldn't think something as bulky as the HEV suit could flatten against the wall that effectively, would you.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo certainly wouldn't, but he'll save the thinking for later. He flattens himself against a wall and peeks around the corner - sure enough, it's a two-man Combine patrol, headed straight for them. If they see him, they don't show it.

They're patrolling along the walls instead of staying in the middle. Stupid.

He unsheathes his tomahawk and gets Freeman's attention. Two-man patrol, he mouths. Coming our way.

[acts_of_gord]

Gordon nods once and readies the crowbar. He's not generally fond of using it on Combine proper- they're better armored than metrocops- but just now gunshots would be a bad idea. Best to put everything he's got into it and only switch out for a firearm at maximum need.

Ah. And here they come now....

[boston_bruiser]

To anyone watching, what happens next would probably look like an illusion or magic trick. One moment, the soldiers are strolling along the wall - the next, they're gone.

Anyone listening, however, might just barely pick up the dull thwack of a tomahawk severing a spinal cord.

Voodoo grabs the soldier by the shoulders just as he's about to fall, then gently lays him on the ground - no need to have him crumpling to the ground and making even more noise.

Wait...are those wires?

It takes a closer look, but as it turns out, no, those aren't wires. They're electrodes, along with what look like some kind of tubing.

"What the fuck?"

"Messed up" doesn't even scratch the surface.

Still, they've got a job to do. He can ponder this when they're not neck-deep in Combine troops.

A cursory patdown reveals nothing besides some ammunition and a grenade, both of which he pockets. The weapon (a nasty-looking submachine gun) gets kicked into a particularly dark corner.

[acts_of_gord]

"Word of advice," Gordon murmurs as he eases the other corpse off to the side. "If you manage to break the masks or helmets open, don't look inside."

His preferred weapon against Combine close-in is the shotgun. The first time he used it on one, it revealed more of the Combine modifications than he wanted to see.

But there will be time to be disturbed later. Right now they've got to get on the move and sweep everything with a pulse that isn't wearing a lambda out of this place.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo doesn't say anything. Instead, he shoulders his weapon and makes his way down the hall with Freeman. If they're on schedule, the last two teams should already be on their way to the first floor. Four and Five are probably already holding position on the second floor, which means they've got to hurry.

For such a vital installation, it's got remarkably crappy security procedures - their trip up to the first floor, aside from taking out the patrol, is uneventful. Once there, Gordon and Voodoo make a beeline for the comms array. It's behind another bland nondescript steel door, locked by what looks to be some kind of screwed up retinal scanner, but it's a futile effort on the part of the designers - the antennas copiously mounted to the side are what gives it away.

This is it. This is really it.

Voodoo takes out a door breaching charge and plants it on the door, taking care not to upset the blasting cap or detcord. He takes one side of the door and Gordon the other.

He keys his radio.

"All teams, report in."