Chapter 56 – Home Away From Home Away From Home
“This is it, turn here,” said Sophie, looking down at her phone for directions.
Cole pulled off the road and onto a dirt path. Twenty-five miles southwest of the DOR compound, they were at the rental house Sophie had secured for him. The dirt path leading deeper into the woods went on for a quarter of a mile before it opened up to a 2-story house and old barn. His truck was parked out in front on a circular gravel path.
Pulling the rental up and putting it in park, Cole killed the engine and swung out of the vehicle, looking up at what, to him, was a massive house.
“Look at this place,” he said. “There’s no way I can afford this!”
Sophie laughed at that. “Mr. Colton, you’re no longer on an E5 salary. Your bounty from Vael alone covers this house for the next three months, and that’s not even touching your new base pay. Come on, let me show you the inside.”
Sophie led him through the double-wide doors at the front into a furnished living room with a sofa, small television, and some other pieces of furniture. Cole stared at the unfamiliar stuff.
“All the furnishings are rented through a local contractor, and if anything isn’t to your liking, just let me know and I’ll have it replaced.”
The kitchen, likewise, had been fully stocked with cookware and even staples in the fridge and pantry. A den revealed a comfortable man cave with a built-in wet bar and full-size refrigerator and another television. Cole opened the fridge, which had been stocked with beers and soft drinks.
“Who paid for all this?” asked Cole.
“You did,” Sophie replied. “I have access to your residue surplus funds for discretionary spending, but you can limit that, if you want. But judging by your jaw dragging on the floor, I feel like I hit the mark on this place.”
“It’s… I mean, how did you find this place?”
Sophie grinned. “It belongs to a one-star out of Andrews that coordinated air assets for DOR. But he retired and moved to Florida this year to be closer to his grandkids. Wait till you see the workshop and the range.”
“The range?”
Cole followed his squire to the back of the house, where a keypad-locked door opened to reveal a workshop playing host to a selection of power tools, including a drill press and a drop saw, as well as a workbench of armorer’s tools. A pegboard hung on the wall, proudly displaying his pistol and rifle collection, with boxes of ammo lining a shelf. Out behind, through a barred window, the property stretched back several hundred meters with several berms lined with steel targets of various size and shape, as well as a line of barriers for practical shooting.
“Are you kidding me?” asked Cole. “This place has its own firing range?” he looked at Sophie. “Alright. What’s the catch?”
Sophie tapped her phone off and put it in her pocket. “No catch, Mr. Colton.”
Cole gestured to the range and the house. “This… this is all too much, isn’t it? A retired general’s place, fully furnished and stocked. I mean, hell, last year I got denied twice for housing allowance just to move off-post. And even that billet I’ve got on post was nicer than most places I’d have been able to afford. This is like, flag officer housing.”
His squire shrugged. “Welcome to DOR. The entire department hinges on retaining Kickers—and welfare when not on-mission is a key factor in that retention. I don’t know how else to impress upon you the absolutely vital role you’re filling in the organization. The amount of people in the country who do what you do is in the double-digits. Are you aware that out of those tryouts who survive Curahee, over seventy percent don’t finish? Half use the flare gun to signal the proctor to withdraw them before the end of the first day. Soldiers, Marines, combat vets who went through the whole training process and noped out at their first brush with an otherworld enemy. Your former rank doesn’t matter.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Cole shot her a look.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I mean, of course it matters. But it’s not what defines your value—or your role—to DOR. You should see some of the high-level Kickers’ places, the ones bringing back high-purity LF residue. Some of them have full-on compounds with live-in cooks, maids, personal trainers. Others indulge in more… hmm, no judgement from me, but less legal outlets for their increased wealth.”
Cole relaxed. If others were showing that kind of excess, suddenly he didn’t feel so bad about his new double-decker farmhouse. “What happens to the ones that wash out, anyway?”
“Many of them continue to work for DOR in some capacity,” said Sophie. “A lot of them pull the plug right away when they get a class and see that it won’t be something that ever helps them in combat. Some of them return to the DoD. Others become support or security for portal transit sites or escorts for non-attuned auxiliary personnel from Andrews when we need them. Some work in the medical facility or the off-site research labs. DOR is bigger than what you see on the main compound. And it all revolves around the otherworld extraction teams and the Kickers that crew them. Everything is replaceable, except the Kickers.”
Sophie held up a jingling set of keys. Cole, still slightly apprehensive, took them, feeling the comfortable and familiar keychain. He smiled.
“I guess that makes sense. My grandpa give you any trouble?”
“Only that he talked my ear off and he didn’t want to let me leave until I’d had about 4 cups of coffee,” she said. “For which he does not believe in sugar or creamer. Tried to pry it out of me what we had you doing that was so secretive that you had to be within one-hundred miles of Washington. Had a few things to say about the people there, too.”
Cole laughed. “Yeah, sounds about right.”
“He’s a sweetheart, though,” she admitted.
“When you’re comp’ny, sure. But he can be a real hard-ass, too. Try living with him for fourteen years.”
After swapping keys, Sophie took the rental. Before she left, she leaned out the window. “Don’t forget, you’ve got the debrief tonight. Until then, get settled, enjoy your downtime. I’ll compile a few options for your team’s next assignment.”
Cole waved as she left, then went back in to finish exploring the house. He hadn’t even touched the second floor, which had three bedrooms—one of which had his civilian clothing in boxes, so he changed into a shirt and pair of 5.11s that both still smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke from his granddad’s place. In the basement, there was a full home gym setup. On a whim, he loaded up the bench-press machines. Under an LF field, he was over twice as strong as his un-enhanced Earth self. He put three-hundred pounds on the machine and pushed. It didn’t budge. He let out a breath and got up.
After that, he headed back out to the firing range with a set of ear pro and one of his bolt-action hunting rifles. He deployed the bipod and set it on the bench. Peering through the scope with unaugmented eyes, he almost wasn’t sure how he ever functioned. Even though he had 20/20 vision, the scope image seemed fuzzy, no matter how he adjusted the diopter. He shrugged and fell into rhythm of fire-ping-reload, putting each fresh round directly into the chamber before pushing the bolt forward. Hitting stationary targets wasn’t much of a challenge until he pushed out to the distant berms where he started to miss shots.
In Syria, he’d had active combat patrols, including serving as quick reaction force to support other units. But he’d never looked forward to them. But here, with better eyesight, enhanced muscles, and super-human running speed just a portal away? It was easy to see how Kickers could get addicted to the enhancements. His box of ammo ran dry, so Cole policed up his brass and returned the rifle to the new—his new armory. After a quick lunch, he got back in his truck and headed back to the DOR compound.
It was good to be back in his own vehicle. The old beater had been bought fifth-hand, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, he hadn’t been able to afford to trade it for anything. Now? He almost didn’t want to know how much money was flowing into his accounts. Too much money changed people. And while he wasn’t broken up about a little extra-legal activity to blow off steam, there were definitely some in the organization he could see taking that to the extreme. Some of them to cope, some of them simply because life was short and they had the means.
Between Curahee and Vael, being a Kicker didn’t seem like a career that produced a lot of old men.
