Sousuke, also in fatigues, sat in his chair and nodded silently.
“So?” Clouseau asked next, attempting to move things along. “What’s the something bad?”
“The pirates’ commander was the one who fired the missile, and Kurz blew him away. He unloaded his machine guns’ 12.7mm rounds... um...” Mao looked down at her clipboard. “...54 times in all, leaving no trace behind.”
“Ahh...” It sounded like he’d seen that coming, and he wasn’t exactly surprised... but Clouseau still closed his eyes, a vein in his forehead throbbing. “Wonderful. So, Weber, how do you propose we interrogate the man you just blasted into a fine red mist?”
Kurz Weber, sitting in the seat next to Sousuke, laughed hollowly. “We can’t. Well, we could ask an itako from Mt. Osore, maybe. But we’d need one that can speak Chinese.”
“I was being sarcastic, Sergeant,” Clouseau growled.
“I’m aware of that, Lieutenant.”
Clouseau and Kurz glared balefully at each other, and Mao let out a small sigh. The two men really didn’t get along; to say that they’d gotten off on the wrong foot would be a vast understatement. They’d had a few sorties together since their disastrous first encounter, and she was genuinely surprised that Kurz had never “accidentally” shot Clouseau in the back.
“Ah, excuse me,” Yang Jun-kyu spoke up hesitantly, as if to fill the silence. “If you don’t mind my saying so, it really was the only option at the time. Kurz’s M9 was just at the limit of taser range, and the smoke there was pretty thick, so that probably wouldn’t have worked. There was no guarantee the enemy didn’t have a second shot prepared, so he really had to dispatch him as quickly as possible.” Yang was the traditional mediator in these situations.
Clouseau took that in, then surveyed the room. “What do the rest of you think?” Everyone present, including Sousuke and Mao, signaled passive agreement, and Clouseau seemed to respect their judgment. “Very well. Maybe it was unavoidable, then. I’ll report this to the major—I think it’s clear that that pirate base has no connection to this Amalgam organization, which means we’re back to square one. We’re no closer to finding their base of operations than we were before.”
“Anything turn up in the analysis of the Venoms and the Behemoth?” Mao asked. Mithril had recovered a number of remains of Amalgam-made machines from previous battles, including the Behemoth from six whole months earlier. It was expected that if the research and intelligence divisions analyzed them in earnest, they could identify where the parts had been made and any corporations involved in their creation.
“Most of the core elements from the remains are ‘origin unknown,’” Clouseau answered. “The non-proprietary electronic bits have a variety of origins, including some made in Western Europe, and some in Japan.”
“No way,” she protested. “There can’t be many factories capable of building specialized machinery like that, can there?”
“Not many Western factories, anyway. They’re still reviewing particulars and commonalities between the designs, but for the Venoms, at least, the pervading theory is that they’re modeled on the Soviets’ next-generation AS.”
“The Shadow?” Mao questioned. The Zy-98 Shadow was the codename for a next-generation AS made by the Soviets’ Zeya Experimental Design Bureau, the successor to the Rk-92 Savage. Western militaries had only become aware of its existence a month ago, and not even Mithril knew its full particulars, but it was said to have a full electromagnetic propulsion system powered by a miniature high-output palladium reactor, and specs on par with the M9’s.
In other words, Clouseau was saying that the Venom was a modified Shadow. “We can’t draw conclusions just yet,” he cautioned them. “All we know is that, in terms of basic structure, the Venom is to Zeya’s new model as the Arbalest is to the M9. At any rate, we’re going to focus on that ‘Badam’ keyword that Sagara heard. Although... we still can’t be sure that that wasn’t some nonsense Gauron was spouting just to mess with us.”
“I’m certain there’s something to it, sir,” Sousuke insisted. Clouseau’s feeling was understandable, but for some reason, Sousuke couldn’t convince himself that what Gauron had told him in Hong Kong meant nothing.
“I know. Though it could also be a trap... best not to let our guard down, either way,” Clouseau mused in response, then shook his head dismissively. “Well, anyway, our job isn’t information analysis; it’s pest control. On any mission where there’s the slightest possibility of encountering a Venom-type AS, we always have to be on the top of our game. Major Kalinin feels the same way. Remember that.”
The group voiced a variety of, “rogers” and, “yeah, yeahs.”
“Now, I want a report from all of you by seven in the morning,” Clouseau instructed. “Weber, you’ll handle the watch over the three pirate lieutenants we captured.” They had brought the prisoners they’d taken on Badamu Island on board, where they were bound and blindfolded. The minute they arrived at Merida Island, the men would be interrogated by operations HQ staff.
“Huh?! Why do I have to—”
“That’s an order,” Clouseau said, cutting him off. “Pick PRT members to serve as the watch team and tell them what they need to know. Got it? This is all on you now; I don’t want a repeat of the Perio incident.”
“Roger,” Kurz responded after a second. He sounded surprisingly earnest about it; perhaps he was remembering what had happened to Clouseau’s predecessor, McAllen.
“All right, dismissed,” Clouseau finished. “Good work today, everyone.”
The soldiers stood up and left the briefing room, chatting.
“Hey, Ben,” Mao said to Clouseau, once the others were gone.
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you make Kurz do it?” she wanted to know. “I’d be happy to run the watch.”
“He needs a little more proper NCO experience. I’m teaching him responsibility.”
“Oh, I get you.” Mao nodded as if in perfect understanding.
“And it’s more than that,” Clouseau went on. “I spoke with Major Kalinin and Colonel Testarossa. Now that
