Migrating the Minefield - SCP Foundation

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FROM: lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n

TO: lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g

CC: lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|derahs.xobni-gnitroper#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|derahs.xobni-gnitroper; lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|koorb.p#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|koorb.p; lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|7zelaznog.j#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|7zelaznog.j; (45 additional addresses hidden)

SUBJECT: Re: Bad news from the elf pit

Greg,

BLUF: Communications on the line to DSU#31 are up 600% over the past 48 hours. Power players are agitated but the message is muddled. Best guess: some MIA/KIA personnel are no longer MIA/KIA and causing problems for important people. DSU committee decisions are necessary by the 25th.

We can't avoid sending an out-of-cycle report upstream at this point. It needs to be processed by our trio ASAP for the JMTFAC to handle during their mid-level conference on the 30th. There is no other way to get timely approval for insertion through a gap, and that's where this leads as far as I can tell.

Analysts are still digging for details (deciding what transmits is its own courtly game), but the picture has clarified since yesterday: there is high-level belief across states that we have a new presence in Cherinmark. Reports vary between one stray (specifically FID#990941, KIA), a group adopting her issued moniker ("Mealworm"), or a full operation that is causing chaos. It obviously isn't the last option unless we've been sidelined. Some messages explicitly state, and some merely imply, that letting this linger will empower radical elements who want back onto Earth for all their usual reasons.

As if we needed extra variables, some reports mention SCP-7636-13 being loose again. I don't want "radical elements" or the GOC getting their hands on that thing after the angst losing it brought down from on high. With Alpha-85 disbanded in all but name (recall my report on atrophy), we need JMTFAC authorization and resources to scale this action for speed, stealth, and efficiency. Pull OPLAN 16 from the DSU#31 binder for reference.

Considering how acrimonious the exit was, I don't think they would invite us back unless serious fires burned behind this smoke.

- Mives

"I didn't do it for any of you," said Mealworm beneath the clouds' seepage. Cherinmark was wet as ever after leaving the Cairn with little more than a word for Kieh Teh Kor Rang. What thanks were there to offer? He had eased one burden, true, but managed to saddle her with yet another magical sword in the process. Quests, questblades, none of it suited her.

Another of those shaggy nightwalkers loitered beneath where her feet dangled off the edge of one stone spire among the many that formed Cherin's Hubris. Its asymmetric constellation of eyes shone with the same long-trapped moonlight as all its kin, blinking in twos and threes as raindrops landed on matted black fur that absorbed what little illumination existed in those lands. From her perch, Mealworm could see hints of everburning braziers whose highways had been swept away long ago and luminescent bulbs that throbbed beneath the treeline; beyond those, a warm glow, lost in haze, marked where Unceda squeezed its civic mass through that valley.

Residual stim lingered within her skull even then, lining old fractures and older plugs—dredged by the ghast that mirrored its wielder's most potent self. This wasn't the heady stuff of dominance though. Sometimes to know was to stare down intrusive thoughts, unblinking, unflinching, even as their presence corroded and contorted. Sometimes it was to feel her ideal self drifting out of reach, ever more touched by this place that should have been a mere setpiece for proxies moved to and fro by knowing hands. Being treated as anything but an invader, a duplicitous outsider, proved that the last ten years were more poisonous than any drink offered in the crypt city above.

"Planning to leave you all behind, actually."

The titan howled at her, sound reaching resonant pitch with metal stakes pounded into the mountain by ancient hands wielding older hammers toward uncertain purpose. Everything hummed, everything trembled, all as Mealworm's brain sifted for meaning.

"I'm not a fawn, and I can survive a few hunts too. Cherinmark doesn't need any more blood it didn't let itself."

A bellow driven by tripartite diaphragms.

"One of you would eat me eventually, and even if I stayed, we don't live for centuries where I'm from. What's the point of having company that barely lasts a blink?"

A keening echo that reverberated in distant throats.

"Yeah, the forest must be good company. Or maybe these mountains? The sea for sure, that's a scale suiting something like you."

A wail that carried saltwater on musky breath, each sip taken so long ago that the whales and serpents who shared it were relegated to sea snow—flesh stripped, bones eroded, until only treasures sealed in ambergris marked their graveyards. Sand between double-cloven hoofs and tongues sliding through seaweed knots. Such was the absence of a drink last tasted before mankind claimed the shore, so potent that even Mealworm could perceive it.

"That bad, huh? And probably too many humans to eat before they'll let you through." She watched its blue-stained tongue loll between teeth suited to crushing anything and everything without worry. Iron plate. Ceramic composites. Reactive armor. "You don't actually need to swallow whatever you kill. Could've left me with something from my squad to bury."

Considering her height, it was the first time anything had looked up at Mealworm with such pure eyes, each radiating admiration, anticipation, and such innocent fascination that it was hard not to laugh. No strays had ever lingered long on the aircraft carrier while growing up, and none had ears flit so freely. Trees toppled beneath near-silent tramping. Cherinmark shifted as hundreds of other eyes in night's darkest patches turned toward her perch. Which behemoth had been the one to trod overhead, to intrude upon her cave, to nearly consume her years before? Well, if she could overlook Aster's affiliations, she could overlook that too. After stripping every bit of company from her, there was no reason to exit these hungry lands alone.

FROM lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n

TO: lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g

SUBJECT: Fw: Re: FD-532 for Operation BIRCH CREEK

Attachment: FD-532 Signed_Countersigned_Final_v3.pdf

Greg,

BLUF: You need to call Kurt Jackson and/or pull any threads you have in direct OVCOM to squash our new dispatch (see attached).

Bad news: the request hit JMTFAC at just the right time to catch their attention, but only because they're in another fight with doves on the Ethics Committee and want to flex. Instead of getting folks from another DSU team, or even just NSRE certification and some cultural flexibility, they're sticking us with Nu-54 plus all the equipment they drag along. This does not meet described mission needs. Call Kurt!

They dusted off plans for DSU#14 (similar gap dynamics, otherwise unrelated) that give no consideration to far-side geopolitics or capabilities, let alone natural challenges. I have no confidence any Nu-54 boots are prepared to operate without SATNAV or star trackers in unmappable terrain. I have no confidence in their equipment's ability to penetrate mixed A3/AD with armies already in the field. I have no confidence they are prepared to work around any of the "adventurers" we marked as high risk (try explaining Mirin the Maw's particularities to Nu-54 leadership though).

Nobody will even have the second round of inoculations under this timeframe. They are going to get caught, and in doing so, are going to ignite the whole continent again.

- Mives

It took some maneuvering to stay atop the tallest behemoth in that herd's head as it strode from deepest Cherinmark. Fires burned orange on green on black in the distance, now freed from thickest haze—not only campfires in the middle ring of wild territories, but those sparked by magic and machines, by all-consuming defoliants that spared little its heated lick. Then there was the occasional patter of minefields, the drumbeat of artillery, the thunder of larger munitions that states hoarded for special targets. All throughout, drakes braved skies filled with chaff and tracers, not to mention lightning bound by wizards' gilded teeth and serpents summoned from the overgrowth. Gregor's clever maneuver had clearly metastasized into far more violence than any one army could hope to exploit.

And for what? There simmered no discordant philosophies, no true divergence in how to value a life or measure its merits, only snapping and snarling to reinforce the status quo. Not like how the Foundation was forced to fight against fools who thought they could dispose of mysteries without solving them or that surrendering to strange currents was the surest way to survive. Mealworm ran one hand through a particularly thick tuft of fur as her steed turned its head, neck sinuous and serpentine, in pursuit of whatever path its ancestors followed to the shore. Her wars were different than these royal spats, as were her grudges. They had to be.

Antlers on either side of her perch vibrated throughout their slow, steady journey over cliffs and rapids-made-creeks. Electronic warfare had been among the last schools of wizardry transmitted from beyond, an anti-magic designed to drag combatants back into mud only after being allowed to soar. Some marrow-borne mechanism turned these crowns into antennae, capturing noise broadcast from geothermal taps scattered across mountainsides. Mealworm hummed along to the music formed at its junctures. Her mount approximated it in rumbles too, and soon a roar echoed across the landscape that dwarfed the loudest sonic weapons. All the more reason for stragglers to flee their path.

For all the far-flung noises adopted from Earth's soundscape, there was plenty of the traditional combat that so many still cherished. Bastions where a handful of skilled warriors held off greater numbers of conscripts. Clearings thick with bodies writhing beneath pollen weapons or having succumbed already. Mixed cliques of adventurers brandished as royal assets in the manner that ever justified their nurturing—hurling spells, absorbing punishment, working to outpace counterparts' elixirs and magicks before their own ran dry. The sight from on-high was far removed from her norm. Where Mealworm had once flitted, others now gaped skyward, apparently unable to comprehend the scale on display. And, indeed, those that gaped too long were crushed underhoof, never to join the ossuaries formed within each gut. What else could they manage against the terror birthed by Cherinmark's night? Swords and halberds meant nothing to those forms; they showed no concern for arrows flaming or otherwise, nor for bullets of any caliber. One might as well have tried maiming the land itself.

Only after spotting a downed helicopter near the outer ring did Mealworm attempt to direct the migration's path. Something had blown a hole in its tail—probably Fort Jesslen's battery, maintained by an unusually isolationist lineage, though anyone with half a brain would have known not to fly nearby even after secreting away a QILIN. Only, its profile was wrong for any -3 operated by Foundation advisors prior to the Banner Burning. Too sleek. Too modern. The detachment holding its perimeter was laden with unfamiliar equipment over familiar gray-on-green uniforms too. Perhaps sensing her squint, the behemoth beneath leaned down, neck tracing an uneven route until she stood a few dozen yards overhead with a hand balancing against one antler.

"Hey!" she shouted down at bewildered faces who had failed to recognize the herd's approach until it was too late. "Who are you, and where's your GECOM? Cherinmark hasn't allowed overflight for years!"

Muzzles swung toward her, drawing a snort from mount and rider both. Although a bearded man near the fore waved for his soldiers to settle, only a few barrels lowered while he flipped through a booklet Mealworm couldn't help but recognize. Most of Alpha-85 had discarded their field manuals after weeks in terrain it barely managed to sketch for readers, let alone guide through.

"Prithee, heed us not," he said in the common tongue. An earpiece no doubt whispered most of the translation, butchered as it was. "We tread paths in peace and seek private quarry. As strangers, let us–"

"And that phrasebook isn't even close to useful. Besides whoever your GECOM is, what rock have you been hiding under?" The residue lingering in her skull's crevices picked apart their every motion, every fidget, charting confusion with a clarity that penetrated her own. What other answer would they have for a stranger clad in the layered, loose-flowing garb that had become popular among adventurers? One whose bastard sword was slung across her back without any hint of round or rifle in sight. "No, no, I'm from Alpha-85! 'Mendicants and Moonlighters,' 'walk only in others' footsteps…' all that and why the Black Moon howls too! I'm with the Foundation!"

He flipped through a few more pages in his booklet despite this situation clearly being beyond its remit. "Mealworm? Foundation ID?"

"Yes! 990941."

"We're here to extract you. Where is the rest of your team?"

She glanced around as other members of the herd bent down to examine the clearing. Their presence, if not falling strings of drool, clearly unnerved the soldiers to no end, but it was the assumptions crystallized in their goal that gave greatest pause. "Extraction to where? I'm not setting foot near Allaingar right now, and you probably shouldn't either."

"Orders are for you to come with us through Rift 31-09, plus anyone else you've been fighting with. Nobody is in trouble, but your op is causing too much noise for diplomats to keep the peace."

"What op, and what noise? Is this about the guilds I thrashed up there?" Laughter caught in the back of her throat, instead expressed by nickering from the many-horned, many-eyed shadows now surrounding the encampment. "That's all it takes to get another gap opened from our side!?"

"I wouldn't be thrilled about a retreat leaving me behind either. You were marked KIA on the rolls, obviously a mistake now, but leadership is investing real effort into bringing you home. They care about this. There are four more–"

"No, no, no, that's not nearly enough."

"We might have to ditch some gear before hiking to the exfil point, but it should be straightforward. We can move as soon as TACRAD comes online."

"You won't get usable… and you want to hike out of…? At night?" On she sputtered, but it went unnoticed as some of the soldiers below began piling together heavier pieces of kit that were worth a fortune back home, let alone in this place where their use had never been permitted. All the better to better hide the Foundation's capabilities from would-be allies and so-called enemies. Oh, what Alpha-85 could have accomplished with better night vision, better IR, better vehicles, better armor, better bullets.

Her steed reared back a little as Mealworm stepped onto its snout, looming over them with cloak aflutter on the spring breeze, distant fires barely illuminating her shadow atop that greater shade. "You're all going to need much, much more to bring me back. Especially if the GOC hears about this crash through their channels."

"It won't be a problem," said the leader as though his helicopter wasn't beyond field repair. "We prepared for this contingency."

"Did you? Or did you get put through a few drills after a few inoculations until someone up high decided it was good enough?"

"I respect your worries, but this is a full and proper deployment. Everything is under control."

"And I don't want to be worried! They're risking your lives for someone who barely matters when there's an entire world to win. A world with our battlefields, and bones, and, and…"

"We don't want to drag you back home," he said while she fumbled for words, neck craning at the same angle as a few rifle barrels that rose again. "This isn't up for discussion though, it's an obligation."

"I've got exactly one obligation right now, and it's to everyone who fought for the Foundation's victory! We didn't kill and die here just so bureaucrats could wash their hands of the battle like nothing happened! There should be more of us here, more of them here, and more fighting that doesn't rely on magic swords!" For every tooth Mealworm snarled with, countless more were exposed on every side. Cuspids, molars, configurations with no human analogue, they all conveyed hostility just as well. "When you get debriefed, tell them they'll need an entire army to drag me back. The screech line is about to sound a whole lot screechier otherwise."

No gunfire sounded as she rose skyward again. At least someone in the Foundation had sense left, sparing themselves a trampling under hoofs that continued treading toward a horizon tinged pink. Her steed's grousing managed to sound comforting and concerned at the same time, and she ran a hand through damp fur again. "I'm fine. It's all fine. Let's get that drink before the excitement really starts."

Thus they went, crossing a final set of ruins where some adventuring party was blearily emerging into a much different day than whichever they left. Over marshlands at Cherinmark's border. Over rolling hills and the farmland that had begun encroaching upon them. Past villages and greater cities whose defenders had no recourse for that intrusion, no means of stopping grazing from treetops or on occasional cattle. Minor dams burst in passage. Larger bridges crumbled. All the while, Mealworm hummed the tune parsed from jamming signals, a hymn for fighting soon to come.

FROM lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n

TO: lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g

SUBJECT: More bad news from the elf pit

Greg,

No BLUF needed this time: SIGINT, IMINT, and all the other INTs anyone could want show relevant GOC elements preparing for reentry. This is about to leave our hands very quickly.

If the briefing at 1600 turns more serious than expected, it's been good working with you.

- Mives

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