The Two-Bottle Coup [Tankiverse fanfic]

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

The Two-Bottle Coup
Fanfic in the Tankiverse by Hippin_in_Hawaii

For the amount of time it took Kevin to drive across town, retrieve the precious cargo, and return, the generals sat and reminisced. They laughed over past shared victories, caught up on each other’s personal lives, even chatted about current films. Anything that had to do with the war, past friends, or their current situation was, by unspoken accord, taboo.

All too quickly, though, Kevin was back, carrying a shoebox.

“Really?” asked Fred, eyeing the image of stiletto heels adorning the cover.

“It seemed appropriate,” chuckled Georgina.

Inside, wrapped in a soft towel, was another bottle of the same whisky, also bearing the same select signatures.

“I took the liberty, sir,” said Kevin, setting two field cups on the table before withdrawing.

The generals sat looking thoughtfully at the bottles. “Whose should we use?” pondered Georgina.

“I’ll pour for you; you pour for me. Seems to me we’ve both got a point to make, so it’s only fair.”

Each twisted the lid from their own bottle and splashed a calibrated eyeball’s-worth into the other’s cup. They raised their drinks; there was, of course, only one first toast that would do. “To Chip,” they said in unison.

Georgina flinched. “Gods above! Do you remember when that used to taste good?”

Fred nodded. “Yep. At the time, it was above our pay grade. Sure seemed special then.”

Small talk expanded now, allowed to include more sensitive topics. Chip’s death in the northern campaign, the deaths and lives of other close comrades. The sun set; the moon rose; the levels in the bottles slowly fell. At Fred’s back, the crews of the tanks changed shifts. Presumably the snipers overseeing them did the same.

There is a natural rhythm to a reunion between dear friends, even in the most pressing of circumstances. No priority is higher than re-establishing that level of comfort and intimacy which only comes from long association through both triumph and adversity, and which is so lacking in most of one’s daily contact with humanity. It is an experience, nearly a ritual, to be savored and cherished, and not to be rushed. Not until well after midnight did they allow the exigencies of the situation to be aired.

“I imagine it’s a beehive of activity in there,” commented Fred, nodding at the Capitol.

Georgina nodded. “Watching you and I sitting out here, drinking and laughing, must be driving them nuts.”

Fred sighed deeply. Now that it came to it, he honestly didn’t know what to say. He lifted his gaze from his cup to Georgina, seeking solace in her soft blue eyes. She smiled and shook her head. “This is your mess, Fred. You go first.”

There was so much to say, but so much that she already knew. The orders followed loyally as they had begun their service. The increasing levels of responsibility, and of access to information, that accompanied a successful rise through the ranks. The gradual sneaking realization that perhaps the motives and goals of the Leadership were flawed. Or did she share that?

“Suicide Ridge” was what came out of his mouth.

She was surprised. “I remember the story, of course. It’s part of your legend, the only tank commander to be decorated while still a recruit. The man who made his tank fly.” She smirked. “How is it relevant?”

“At the time, we saw a situation, and we reacted. The enemy was slaughtering our friends, and we happened to be in the right place at the right time to try something desperate. That it worked was a bit of a surprise; that we survived even more so.”

Fred held his cup out; Georgina obliged him with a pour. “I spent a lot of time afterwards wondering about the three people we killed that day. Their names were Nyun, Alicia, and Ted. What would drive them to do such a thing? To open fire on the people they had trained with, drank with, grown close to? What blight so clouded their hearts that mass murder seemed an acceptable choice?”

“What blight so clouded their hearts… Fred, you’re a poet!”

Fred chuckled, grateful for the small levity. This was hard. He finished his shot and held out his cup again. “Yesterday…” He paused and consulted his watch. “Ok, day before yesterday, I stood in front of the graduating class, and I understood. Suddenly, I understood. In the moment where I had to choose between, well, between two undesirable ends, I understood. I saw a situation, and I reacted. I was in the right place at the right time to try something desperate.”

Georgina chuckled. “And is it a surprise that it seems to be working?”

Fred nodded. “And that I’ve survived this long.”

“Tell me what it is you understood.”

Fred took another drink. “This is going to sound silly, but since I was given my first platoon, I have made it a point to start every day by staring at myself in a mirror and reciting my oath.” He chuckled. “Ok, maybe it’s not practical every day, but I do try.”

He emptied his cup and reached for another refill.

“Georgie, for the past few years, those words have made me sick. I force myself to meet my eyes in that mirror, and listen to the words as I say them. And what I hear is sarcasm, and bitterness, and irony, and contempt. What I see isn’t a hero or a leader, but a despicable hypocrite willfully supporting a corrupt agenda. And, standing there in Victory Hall, I saw an opportunity to change that. To try to be who I set out to be. It wasn’t a blight; it was clarity.”

He took another swallow, and looked into Georgina’s face. Gods above, was she crying?

“I came here today to ask you one question, Georgie. Just one. Were you to look in a mirror and recite your oath, what would you feel?”

She came around the table, pulled Fred from his chair, and took him in her arms. “Fred, you are such a ****ing *****.” She pulled back and held him at arm’s length, smiling through her tears. “I knew that out of us, it had to be you. I just can’t believe it took you this long.”

It took Fred a while to process as he held her in his arms. He was tired, he was drunk, and he had a pretty girl pressed up against him, all of which made clear thinking a challenge. He was elated that she had just said “yes,” but… something was missing.

“The snipers,” he said as he stepped out of the embrace a few minutes later. “You didn’t signal the snipers before you hugged me.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“There aren’t any snipers?”

“Of course there are, *****. Dozens, like I said. But, included in their instructions was a special signal. Were I to hug you without signaling first, they were to move against the Leadership. By now, with any luck, all of the bastards in charge are being trussed up like Christmas geese, and some pretty radical commands are going out.”

Fred laughed and pulled her close again. She shared the embrace, and the laugh, and the tears. Then she pulled back. “We really should get under cover, though. I wasn’t lying about the Air Corps, and one of those asshats inside might get a message out before being subdued.” Hand in hand, they sprinted back to his command vehicle.

“Now tell me, Fred, how we’re going to lose this war.”

Mahalo (thank you) for reading; I hope you enjoyed! This story is part of a series. Information on the series, and links to the other stories, can be found here.

Edited October 17, 2018 by Hippin_in_Hawaii

[tweezers 1,034]

Approved.

 

As ever, a lovely read. 

[GrandExecutioner 1,403]

All starting to make sense now! Nice :D

[Merovingian 656]

all the little pieces interlocking which each other: grandiose story
really nice

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

all the little pieces interlocking which each other: grandiose story

really nice

Thanks! I'm working hard to have ties across stories. The next arc will have a detail-oriented tie to the first story I published here... pretty proud of myself for working that in ;)