It was the 18th of August and Hush-Puppy was rattling around the back of a cargo plane, one hand gripping the canvas netting hanging from the wall and the other holding onto Łowca's collar. She was minutes away from Firebase Ember where she was going to set up an office in a backroom somewhere for an undefined period of time. Besides that she had no pressing concerns at the moment, a few calls to make and memos to send out but nothing that couldn't be put off for a day or two.
Two days ago it had been the 16th and Marie Wells had been laughing at unfunny jokes told by self-important businessmen at some fancy party in London, letting some KGB hotshot think he was cultivating a source of information on the ins and outs of the British banking system. She would have to remember to thank her host and give him his gift before arranging to have him strangled to death by one of her regular hired thugs.
The week before that and little Natasza was dropping in on her parents, finally having managed to get a day off from her work at the UN headquarters. They had breakfast, went to Mass and talked about her long dead siblings. Her only duties that day were having to fend off questions about when she was getting married and where were those grand-kids you promised and why aren't you coming around more often when you know your father doesn't have much time left? The usual answers were enough to table the conversation: When I meet the right man, when God decides its the right time and that's why I quit the CIA so please drop it because I'm trying my best.
Taking stock of recent events was a necessary habit when one was juggling so many personalities. It was the only to stay sane and even then merely a temporary fix. It had been eight or nine years since she had less than two lives to juggle, each with its own goals and ambitions and flaws. Each one had been as carefully crafted as any character on the stage and their lines set to memory so there would be trace of the player behind them. Hours upon hours spent cloaking herself in other people's skin meant that the chameleon no longer felt comfortable in her own. Like a hermit crab she had grown out of that shell and was left in a rather vulnerable state because of it.
Natasza was no more real than Marie Wells or Alejandra Reyes or any of the other covers she had adopted. It was a role she played for her parents sake, pretending that she was still the daughter they knew and loved and not some soulless automaton that had been designed only to destroy. It was familiar but uncomfortable,an old shirt that had grown too tight as she got older and more bloated by sin. The chameleon felt better when she was Hush-Puppy. The quasi-real phantom that had haunted West German back alleys in search of escaped Nazi scientists and drowned defectors in their bathtubs before they crossed the border, that was who she was for better or worse.
With a hard bounce and the skid of rubber on tarmac the C-47 slowed to a stop, the bay doors opening so that the men and material inside could stream out. HP was back in Vietnam after a couple weeks of putting out other fires and she was looking forward to getting back to work. Her cells in Saigon and hideout in Hue had the time building up stockpiles of actionable intel for her to pick from and she needed to decide what she would handle personally and what could be shunted down to her underlings.
"Łowca's , chodźmy"
The German Shepherd didn't have to be told twice, claws clacking against the ramp as he followed his mistress. No doubt the Marines they were leaving to unload were baffled by the pair. HP was aware of how out of place she was, her understated but still there makeup and light summer shirt with jeans outfit belonging back at home at a state fair. But the Department of Defense ID she had flashed when loading up with them had been enough to head off any stupid questions.
Inter-department cooperation had its uses.
The professional spook made a beeline for the room she had arranged, setting her suitcases on the desk and getting to work. Łowca looked on lazily as she brought out the pieces of her weapons, each component being carefully brushed down and inspected for damage before being fitted together. Her guns and bow had all managed to go without being broken, a minor miracle considering the quality of ride they had been on.
With her gear assembled and safely locked away in the locked gun rack she had set up (save for the Walther of course, that remained concealed under her shirt. Only an idiot would stroll around unarmed) the rest of her day was made free. There was still paperwork to do but that was a problem for a later date. HP needed a drink and thrown together bar in the mess tent would provide. She nearly jogged to the source of libation, refraining only out of respect for the oppressive heat.
The place was just as awful as she remembered, soldiers slurring drunkenly and slipping on mysterious spills, loud conversations drowning out the record player someone had set up in the corner. It was a far cry from the stately establishments she had hung out in recently, a welcome change of pace. She was in Vietnam to get dirty not to play dress up.
The warm beer she got was just as shit as all the others, barely fit for human consumption and certainly not improved by the presence of the unwashed morons that made up the United States Armed Forces. The beat up grunt outside the tent and his black and white grease monkey friend would make better company by virtue of being only two people. "Hey there, don't mind me."
She waved for the pair to keep talking, more focused on petting her dog than interrupting their conversation. She preferred listening when possible, the gossip and rumors thrown about by bored soldiers was often revealing whether true or false.
