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"Little early in the year to be taking a break, don't you think?"

St. Andrew couldn't think of any reason why his boss would be reffering to a different climate. But he did know, like it or not, they'd be going. The President was asking a rhetorical question after all.

The sniper had heard the garbled yellings, and heard the sound of the turrent moving. He took this as a sign to move. Of course, he was a bit too late, running out of the room and getting only far enough to miss the initial shrapnel. However, a nice chunk of brick struck him in the back of the head, effectively disconnecting his spine from his brain, and killing him when his body just stopped functioning.

The men on the ground had taken it as a good idea to stay down under their cover while the chaingun fired. The man with the Steyr that had reached his hand up to fire blindly, ending up with a hand lacking in most of it's bones, and a grip on a gun with dent and a scrape in it.

As the chaingun finished firing, one of the men shifted his weight, and barked out a loud order. It was vague, and for good reason. He merely screamed. "Redisperse!"

Three of the men went to the left, strafing the soldiers as they made the short run for cover, while two others went to the right, taking the slightly longer run towards the jeep that had been shooting at them not a few moments earlier.

The last three stayed in the center as a base of fire... well, one of them was the base of fire, while the man that had been shot in the hand, and another one of th men, worked on treating the wound.

One of the grenadiers, which had stayed where he was, ducked down low under the window, lighting his last molotov cocktail and flinging it out of the window, before grabbing a knife he had in his belt and crawling towards the door. The other two, happened to have their own pistols on them, and rather than using another "grenade," They popped out of the windows to fire two or three times at the soldiers, before jumping back into cover.

It was at this that timing truly became crutial... were the men to run out into the street to attempt to strafe the soldiers who were ducking into the allys beside the buildings on the same side of the street, they would either be charging straight into the blasts from the overheated grenades that had taken out the gunner, or they would be leaving themselves open to a counterattack from the soldiers who now had substantial cover to fire from at the men who charged through the open street.

Cover fire only accounted for so much, and from their position in the niches and allys along the side of the street, there would be no help from the support in the building.

The ten remaining soldiers were huddled into the cover, from both the flames and the blasts, so only four could return fire at this point; though they did readily. The first, and closest to the building, was caught unprepared as the men opened fire again upon them so soon, and in a moment he was riddled with holes. Though the three that were still standing were able to catch the men as they came around the blaze that had obscured vision between the two groups, getting the first clear shots off.


Unfortunately, the positions were such that these shots, fired blindly, did nothing to the soldiers... however, as the ground troops were moving out into the street in front of the building, firing blindly out the windows and throwing flaming bottles into the street could have an adverse effect on their charge.

Cyr took the papers proudly. None of the three had really been designated 'leader', but her name had been said first, and the documents were in her hands. Her eyes beamed, though the rest of her figure was settled and disciplined. You couldn't expect her to start hopping up and down screaming sugoi or something, could you?

Didn't think so.

Her mind jotted down each little bit of information President White offered them. She'd write it down on something later. Other then that, a casual salute and a 'yessir', she had nothing else to offer.

~

Durman huffed slightly, but let that silly indignation slide in favour of happiness for his companion. Anyways, White wouldn't've gone to the trouble of calling all of them if he didn't have something in store for the other three as well.

"You'll have to forgive me, then, St. Andrew," replied President white as he went back to the desk and retrived the other packet; handing it to St. Andrew. "You won't be going back directly, yet..."

"You, Sayaka, and Durman have a bit of a trip ahead of you. I need you to go pick up something for me, and bring it back with you to Durem." He looked over the group of them once more, then gestured to the giant window behind him, and the dark, cloudy sky. "Take a good look, gentlemen, because in two days time you'll be wishing for this kind of weather. You three are going to Guldor."

Durman was a wall of indifference.

"Nothing that should present a problem, St. Andrew," President White reassured, walking to the bookcase against the west wall and pulling a bound set of files from it; beginning to leaf through the pages of a report on one of the laboratory's old experiments.

"Just a simple errand before you join the others in Durem, call it taking the scenic route. I need you to go pick up my son and bring him with you. It is vey hard to find a messenger that would cross that hellish place, so simply calling to ask for his return is out of the question, you see."

Vincent turned the page.

"Unless you'd rather not waste your time on something so mundane...?" he looked up for a moment, his hand poised at the edge of the folder with a page between hsi fingers. "Either way, your final destination is in Durem. The address for your new base of operations is in the materials you've recieved. Thank Mr. Black for finding a place so suitable to your needs."