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Twenty-two days had gone by since West’s impromptu visit to the BSAA Headquarters.
Precisely twenty-one days since the Hound Wolf Squad had been removed from their bullpen and re-assigned to Oliveira’s leadership with Valentine overseeing a brutal training schedule for them. No explanation given despite multiple requests.
Three weeks since Captain Chris Redfield had been shipped off into the field with zero comm activity. Solo.
Not a single person had heard about where he was going or what the objective was, neither his next of kin, nor Leon S. Kennedy, who was notorious for getting classified information between the agencies.
Twenty-one days that had friends, colleagues, and loved ones climbing the walls to hear something about his status.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three Weeks Prior
“I can look away from a lot of things that you do, Redfield, but this was one that cannot be ignored or covered up in any fashion. You know that we cannot interfere with how the DSO operates and certainly cannot take custody of their escaped prisoners. We are not a sanctuary for wayward operatives, and West is neither sanctioned nor employed by either the BSAA or the DSO. He has no legal standing in this country at all.” He regarded the tense posture of the larger man seated across from his desk.
“What is to be done then?”
“I have no choice but to strip you of your command over the Hound Wolf Squad effective immediately until further notice. They will be transferred to another squad and all operations will cease. Another team will take over the projects you were overseeing.” Holding up a hand to as if to stop the words from the now red-faced Captain, “The President wanted them to be fired and you to be stripped of all rank and dishonorably discharged from the service here, with arrest and treason charges to follow. Your Squad would have received the same treatment, but I was able to divert that conversation. Barely.”
“Since when do we take orders from the President? We’re an international agency, not tied to one specific country.” Chris growled out.
“Since he decided that if we can’t play nice with the DSO, he is willing to declare the BSAA as a domestic terrorist organization that encourages treason, subject to swift and complete destruction of all bases on American soil. From there, it’s a toss-up for which other countries will react with the same ill-advised action.” Sighing, he made eye contact with Redfield once more. “I was able to cut a deal with him to avoid that.”
“I’m not going to like this.”
“Not even a little bit. I have been informed that it is a personal failing of mine to allow you to operate as you do, toeing the line of direct insubordination. Normally we walk the line of silent disobedience and passive aggressive stunts, but not this time. You’re getting the full DSO Kennedy Protocol. Solo mission, no back up, no overwatch, no support. No medical treatment here when you get back, just debriefing and go until you’re called back in. You will receive a go bag on the flight and briefing on the way. Estimated time of mission is one week.”
Chris’ jaw tensed and worked as he suppressed the violent words that were threatening to erupt from his mouth. Hands tightening on the armrests of the chair until the wood under the fabric crunched, he took several calming breaths before responding.
“When I return, what will my status be after debriefing?”
“Upon successful completion of your mission and debriefing, within 24 hours your status will be reinstated as Captain in the BSAA.”
“And the Wolves?”
“If your Wolves prove able to integrate effectively without your influence, they may be permitted to work with you in the future. Pray that your deep-flowing disobedience doesn’t cost them their careers or lives.” It was everything within the Director not to flinch at the guttural, predatory growl that rolled out of Redfield’s chest as he leaned forward in the chair.
“If there is so much as one hair out of place on their heads, I’ll tear the entire BSAA down with my bare hands and then burn down the DSO. Am I clear?”
“You’re dismissed, Redfield.”
The next evening as he was boarding the plane to head to Curaçao, he sent a message to the Hound Wolves group chat.
“Behave. Alpha signing off.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ten o’clock in the morning of the twenty-third day brought a stirring in the BSAA Headquarters. Whispers from the comms room created tension that could be cut with a knife. The still-restless Hound Wolf Squad had been obedient to their Alpha, working without complaint in his absence. Not without some degree of adjustment; Oliveira was more of a Beta in command and much friendlier than Redfield with his subordinates. They weren’t used to lessened structure and smaller workloads, with frequent check-ins by both Oliveira and Valentine. Nevertheless, they completed their assignments with the same level of efficiency as under Captain Redfield’s supervision.
The first sign that something had changed was the look Valentine got when her phone buzzed six times in a specific pattern with notifications at ten a.m. that immediately seized her full attention. Straining to hear the conversation from their desks without getting caught, the Wolves silently perked. Getting up from her desk, Jill made her way over to Oliveira and showed him her phone.
“Dios mío! Finally!”
“Four-thirty arrival, scheduled to finish at five p.m. De-con may be permitted, but no medical.” She shook her head.
“We’re gonna have to do something about that, Supercop.”
“Better be careful though, if we blow this it’s over.” She bit her lip and straightened, “I’ll run interference to get the de-con greenlit.”
“And tell Becca, see what she can come up with. I’ll handle logistics and loop in Kennedy.”
Nodding, they resumed work until lunch before dismissing the Squad.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At precisely four-fifty, Valentine called Tundra off the training field.
“Berkhoff! With me.” The woman in question jogged over quickly.
“Ma’am?”
“I need you to go down to Medical right now. Dr. Chambers has something for you. It is of the utmost importance that you don’t let security or the Director find out what you’re doing. This conversation never happened, capisce?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Perlman will meet with you as an escort. Now go.”
Tundra took off for Medical at a discreet pace, faintly hearing a chopper coming towards the landing pad from the southwest. Upon arrival, she found herself waved over by Dr. Chambers to a supply room.
“Ms. Berkhoff, thank you for coming on such short notice.” Rebecca’s smile was on the tremulous side as she looked up at the taller woman, “I have been trying all day to get these kits distributed throughout the first aid stations on the first floor. But with how slammed we’ve been here today, I just can’t spare anyone to get it done. Think you can help me out?”
“Yes, of course Doctor.” Raising an eyebrow, she nodded and looked at the medium sized crate that Rebecca indicated.
“Thank you. It’s important that you put the kits in the stations around the first floor, ending in the men’s locker room of the gym. Be finished by no later than five-thirty there, and double check that locker 507 is stocked as well. One infusion every three hours until all are put away, understand?”
Nodding slowly as she peered into the crate, “Yes, Doctor. If I may say, these bags are usually given in eight hour cycles?”
"One will drain in three hours, even if you put it at a slower drip than I recommend. 507 comes equipped with a rambunctious, slightly insatiable metabolism right now. Thank you for doing this, Ms. Berkhoff. On your way.”
Tundra grabbed the crate and headed out, meeting Lobo at the door, who had both of their bags slung over one shoulder. Transferring the crate to his arms and taking her bag, they proceeded to head to the first floor for their job. Twelve kits distributed, they made their way towards the gym’s locker rooms to drop off the final two. Darting into the women’s first, she placed the kit away before taking a calming breath and following Lobo into the men’s locker room.
Umber Eyes was guarding the door to the showers, nodding to his teammates as Tundra stocked the final first aid kit away, leaving only IV bags in the bottom of the crate. Motioning to Lobo to set the crate down on a bench, she walked to locker 507.
Captain Redfield’s locker.
Opening it, she noted that there was a host of first aid supplies crammed into it, as well as written instructions for dosages of pain medications and sedatives if the pre-loaded syringes needed use. Grabbing both her work bag and Lobo’s, she proceeded to carefully stow the bags from the crate and the supplies from the locker, being careful to not overload them and make the bags bulge suspiciously.
Night Howl walked into the locker room and casually dropped off a stack of clothing from his bag on the bench, as Lobo carried the empty crate out of the locker room for disposal. Tundra followed, heading towards her car with Lobo and Night Howl once he was finished. Making their way out of the building, they had managed to avoid suspicion from the security guards.
Within the communal showers, Piers and Canine were assisting an exhausted Captain get clean without tearing his wounds back open, keeping him upright as he tiredly scrubbed. Death by exsanguination post-op was the last thing anyone wanted. Three weeks of grime, sweat, blood, and other assorted nameless substances poured down the drain after losing the battle with soap and shampoo. What they saw as he toweled off and dressed horrified them.
Saying that Chris Redfield had lost weight on the mission would be a grave understatement.
As the man struggled to dress himself with adrenaline finally wearing off, it was apparent that the once form-fitting clean sweats were dangerously loose on his frame. The broad shoulders were far less rounded with muscle, his pecs, arms, and thighs greatly reduced. Face lean and somewhat hollowed, it was as if every ounce of healthy fat had been burned off his body before it began cannibalizing the muscle mass for survival. While his abs were still mostly present, his entire abdomen curved noticeably inward as if the organs had been displaced elsewhere in his body.
The extreme difference in the three weeks of absence made him seem taller, ganglier than anyone his size should have been. It was unnatural and chilled the trio to their cores.
“Can you make it to Jeep, Sir?” Getting a slight nod, they finally left the locker room with Canine and slowly made their way out to the parking lot as well.
“I don’t know what happened to him, but we’ve gotta make it right.” Piers muttered.
“I could see the faint outline of his ribs.” Canine spoke softly.
"He's taller too, by a couple of inches.. I think he somehow had a growth spurt." Piers added.
“How bad is it?” Tundra questioned as the rest of the squad arrived at the cars surrounding their Captain’s Jeep.
“I… I’ve never seen somebody drop that much weight in three weeks unless they were a P.O.W. or had been kidnapped and starved for a couple of months.” Umber looked towards the doors as Chris slowly made his way over, “I’m guessing that he was under much more stress than usual during the op and probably didn’t have much access to nutrition beyond whatever MREs he was sent with.”
“He normally needs two or three MREs to get a full belly. I don’t know if Supply would have approved of that on such short notice.” Night Howl added, unlocking the Jeep with the spare key he’d been given by Oliveira earlier. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he watched as Canine took their Captain’s bag and helping the larger man into the passenger side.
“Let’s get you to the safehouse, Sir.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chris ached.
Every inch of his frame was wracked with pain and exhaustion as he buckled himself into the passenger side of his dark green Jeep. He had yet to look any of the Hound Wolves in the face as he adjusted his seat to a semi-reclined position, about halfway between sitting and laying. The careful stretch helped ease the aching in his gut as cramps started all over again with a noisy, painful growling coming from his middle.
“We’re almost there, Sir. I take it not much time for meals with your schedule?” Night Howl queried softly, evidently not wanting to prod too deeply just yet.
“Three iguanas and the leg of a goat I had to fight a B.O.W. for in order to keep.” Came the raspy response.
“That’s lean protein, not much else to them.”
Chris hummed a quiet response as they parked at a medium-sized, secluded cabin-style safehouse surrounded by heavy tree cover. There was a pair of motorcycles parked next to the house on the right side. The door opened, and out stepped Claire Redfield and Leon S. Kennedy.
“Welcome committee is already here. Let’s get you in and resting.”
Nodding, he adjusted his seat before unbuckling and stepping slowly out of the vehicle. Piers was already at his side with an arm going around his waist in support, the rest of the Wolves having tailed the Jeep to escort their Captain to safety. Leon and Claire moved back inside, making way for Chris and Piers to get through the door and then up the stairs to the master bedroom.
Sitting heavily on the bed before kicking off his boots and socks, Chris allowed the Wolves to descend… literally. Surrendering in utter fatigue, he found himself carefully adjusted by gentle hands on the bed, shirt and sweats removed so that his wounds could be cleaned and stitched where necessary. Vitals were taken, before a needle pricked into his right arm with the IV from the infusion bag set up and beginning to drip.
Tundra sat on the edge of the bed once she was certain the drip was adjusted to Dr. Chambers’ instructions and the Wolves had gotten their Alpha comfortably reclined.
“Sir, I will have to change out the bag ever three hours until the supply runs out, so I’m sorry in advance if you get woken up in the process. Dr. Chambers said that you can eat light meals starting tomorrow after the infusions are done, best not to push your stomach too hard at first. Do you have any meal requests?”
“Just not chicken. Had enough chicken-of-the-tree in Curaçao to last me for a while.”
“What about eggs?”
“I’d love some tomorrow.” Came the raspy, sleepy reply. A moment later, “Did you all behave while I was away?”
“Sir, yes Sir.” The whole team answered as one.
“Good.”
“Get some rest, Sir. I’ll be back in a few minutes with some pain meds to help you.” Tundra patted his arm. Getting soft grunt of acknowledgement, the Wolves left the room to go back downstairs.
Claire came to sit next to her brother on the bed, stroking his hair carefully and avoiding the stitches just above his eyebrow.
“You need a good shave and a lot of hot meals, Chris. I haven’t seen you this size since your S.T.A.R.S days.”
Leon made his way over, settling down with a cup of coffee in the armchair next to the bed. He watched as Tundra came back in, giving the pain meds through the IV line before retreating from the bedroom once more.
“Your pups are already cooking Chris. I think they’re more stressed about your health than you are right now.”
“My pups have a developed a feeding kink.” The words were slurred as the medication kicked in, sending him into peaceful, painless slumber. Leon snorted, Claire giggling as she shook her head.
The bedroom was silent for several minutes, except for the quiet breathing of the sedated man in the bed and birdsong outside.
“They gave him the Kennedy Protocol, Claire. Did to him what they do to me every op. No food, no back up, no medical supplies, and no support. Just ammo and a briefing. They knew that he was being monitored by Rebecca under medical restrictions and did it anyways. I don’t think the BSAA is any better than the DSO at the end of the day.”
“Going to stop calling him the Golden Boy now?”
“Nope. Not after what he’s just lived through and the reason why he did it.” Claire’s brows nearly met her hairline.
“What did you find out?”
“Ingrid was able to get direct access to the instructions about his situation this morning. Cliff notes version turns out that if he failed, his pups would be toast permanently.”
“They threatened him with his squad?” She choked out.
“Yep.”
“And tried to kill him off in a foreign country?”
“Clearly.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days later, Chris received the summons to come back to the BSAA. Driving himself despite the protests of Claire, he walked into Headquarters at precisely eleven-thirty in the morning. He walked into the conference room where the Director, Valentine, Oliveira, Hunnigan, Kennedy, and the Director of the DSO were seated.
Taking a seat slowly, it was clear that recovery was going to be happening for the foreseeable future. Clearing his throat, the Director began the meeting.
“Thank you for coming, Redfield. This will be brief. I have reviewed all of the reports on the members of the formerly known as Hound Wolf Squad during your mission. Integration and training were completed with a minor adjustment period. Your mission was a success, and all targets for the squad were met in the absence of your leadership. You are hereby reinstated as Captain in the BSAA.”
“My team?”
“Back under your command Monday of next week. I want them to finish out this week on the assignments they currently have.” Looking to Hunnigan and the DSO’s Director, he turned his attention to them. “Any input?”
Hunnigan cleared her throat, “None on our end. All conditions set up were met and the Captain was wildly successful at stopping the manufacturing and release of the Type II Uroboros Virus. All targets were neutralized, data extracted, and the facility demolished. It is the DSO’s position that joint operations resume, and Agent Kennedy will stay as the main liaison between our facilities.”
“No objections to Redfield commanding a team once more?”
“None at all. If he can do what he did as a solo operative, what greater work can he do with an elite squad, sir?” Ingrid smiled slightly.
“Very well, thank you for your co-operation in this matter. Anything to add, Captain?”
Chris straightened in his chair, taking a breath before looking at the trio at the opposite side of the table.
“Yes. Don’t ever try to touch what’s mine again. I won’t be as compliant or lenient next time.”