Blackout

Sanctuary Base Phoenix, present day.

“It was a bit reckless wasn’t it?” asked Costello as he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a silver cigar canister. After clipping the head, he withdrew a packet of matches from his right-hoof pocket and struck one. With care, he placed the finely wrapped Cuban to his mouth and puffed the Cigar alight.

“What?” Knox questioned, “taking the Tunnel?”

He allowed himself to relax and fall back into the hard backed, vinyl upholstered chair. It creaked as he did.

“The Mangroves, the Tunnel, all of it,” Macmurdo interjected.

“Piss off,” Knox replied, “we found a way in, one with almost no need for conflict, that’s what mattered. How you could believe that taking on a hundred or more of them to get in the front entrance, expending what little ammunition we had, I will never understand.”

“Irrespective of your tactical decisions, Captain,” Costello began, “taking your team through difficult terrain in a black zone, what were you thinking?”

“With respect, General, I just told you. The operation was Recon; we were there for the package, nothing more. We didn’t need those mutated mother-fuckers breathing down our necks, hounding us until we couldn’t fight anymore.” Knox retorted.

“One of your men could have been compromised,” said MacMurdo, “what would you have done if he was?”

“Everything I could possibly have done to save him, you know that.”

Costello drew in some smoke from his cigar and exhaled in Knox’s direction. “Let’s talk about your decision at the fork.”