Same Vultures, Different Motive

[Cassie Granger 0]

Same Vultures, Different Motive

 

That Colonel Tigard, Commandant of SOCCENT,* had left Aquiri Station, raised quite a few eyebrows. That he'd been at Coronado Special Operations Command for a few weeks raised even more. He was there for a specific purpose, and that purpose included Warrant Officer Cassidy Granger.

 

Fresh from the secluded training grounds of Coronado Island, Cass came to parade rest in front of Tigard's desk. "Warrant Officer Granger reporting as ordered, Sir."

 

The colonel took a few minutes to finish reading the padd before him, then slowly pushed it aside. His eyes had that damned if you do, damned if you don't look - not something often witnessed in the battle-hardened leatherneck. An extended, critical look at Cassie paused at the bruise on her cheek and patched cut over her left eye, both expected consequences of her latest maneuvers. One injury didn't show: a broken arm, courtesy of a teammate's stupid during AUD/S* recert. A modified cast, slim and flexible beneath her uniform, allowed her limited use in the final stages of healing.

 

"They cleaned you up pretty well, Gunner," he said finally. "How's the arm?"

 

"Getting there, Colonel. Doc says it should be ready by deploy."

 

The chair gave a creak as Tigard leaned back, elbow on the armrest, still giving Cass the once-over. Either he wasn't quite satisfied with her response or something was bothering him.

 

"Blow anything up this time?"

 

"Yes, Sir."

 

"Anything you shouldn't have?"

 

"No, Sir."

 

After a long pause he set his jaw. "Glad to hear it. Have a seat. You'll be here a while."

 

Cass bypassed her usual stiff sitting posture to ease into the chair. Despite keeping up daily PT, there was nothing like a trip to Coronado to make your body wonder what happened.

 

"You've made quite an impression on Creek, Sunny. And on her captain. Anything you care to fill me in on?"

 

"Sir?"

 

"Anything not in your file I should know about?"

 

"No, Sir." Nothing she could think of, anyway. So far she'd ruffled a few feathers, even earned a reprimand, but it was all there in black and white - some of it red.

 

"Good, because you're about to be scrutinized down to the Coronado sand still in your backside."

 

At that, Tigard shoved his chair back and left the room. Three plain clothes military personnel entered through the conference room door to the left of his desk. Their eyes sharp and their posture strict, the newcomers took up positions behind Tigard's desk, their padds giving a solid thunk on its polished surface just before they sat. It could have been a scene out of a cheap holovid, except it was real, and Cass knew for damn sure why they were here.

 

Several hours later they left to circle easier pickings. Cass couldn't decide which hurt more - her body or her brain. Only then did she realize she'd been sitting in the same position the entire time. It hurt to move, it hurt not to move, and it was the most intensive grilling she'd had since SERE* training.

 

They left a padd behind. In full view. On Tigard's desk.

 

She sat there, staring at it.

 

Tigard entered from behind and stepped around his desk. He seemed more relaxed as he gave the extra chairs a satisfying shove until they ricocheted off the far wall, then retrieved his own. "Pick it up, Sunny. It's your next assignment."

 

= = = = Official Communication = = = =

= = = = Encrypted LZT-5641 = = = =

 

To: Calestorm, CPT Ashton; Wesley, Audraya CDR; JoNs, CDR K. Vacer

From: Walking-Coyote, RADM Shauna; Tigard, COL Craig

Re: New Orders

 

The command and senior line crew of the USS Comanche Creek will be temporarily transferred to the USS Washington Crossing for duration of assignment to the Outland territories. Your primary orders are to arrest and remand into Federation custody the Black Kris leader known as 'Litasha'....

 

After reading through, Cass looked up. "I'm due for fighter quals on Monday, Colonel. Something I should know about, Sir?"

 

"Hell, Sunny. If you can pull a Tomcat out of a spin dive approaching 9 Gs at 2500 feet by the seat of your pants, there's no need for quals. What?" He leaned forward to rest his forearms on the desk, the glare in his eyes putting a check on the fire in hers. "You think those things happen randomly? That program on 'Creek was intentional. My orders."

 

It took all her training to bite back an all due respect, Sir. With a clench of her jaw, she backed down. Mostly.

 

"Now. Simmer down and listen," Tigard shifted into a change of pace.

 

"Washington Crossing has some touchy new R&D equipment. You will know that tech so well you can operate it in your sleep. You will know every inch of that ship, inside and out. You have six hours to relax, then report to Building G so the engineers can throw more at you than you've had in years.

 

"When you're done there, you'll receive the latest Intel on the cartel, the Black Kris, and this... Litasha. There's not much. What we do know comes from a few who were unfortunate enough to live through her torture. It's not pretty, Gunner, so if you want to ring the bell, now's the time to do it."

 

She stood her ground, resolute.

 

"Any questions?"

 

"No, Sir."

 

"Very well. Dismissed."

______________

*Special Operations Command CENTral

*Advanced Universal Demolition/SEAL

*Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape