A Fairly Reasonable Crashout (RWBY Adam SI) ch 44

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Atop his wagon, the farmer pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders, shivering. Under him, wooden wheels creaking as they rolled along the fog-shrouded road. He was not alone. A dozen wagons were with him, trailing behind him. Travel was dangerous especially in these dangerous times and the more people travelled as one, the safer they would be. He was not one for politics. The specifics of who and where confused him. That did not mean he didn't listen to the news every now and then. He was apolitical, not ignorant. He did not want to stay in Mistral anymore. Bandits had raided his farm, and the nobles took what was left. Hence, the only thing left to do was pack up everything he had and leave. Not to Mistral, surely. Even he knew that there was no future there. Atlas, he did not want his family to be swept up by the chaos there. He bore no ill-will to the faunus but even he felt that the SDC went too far. The only options left to him was Vale or Vacuo.

Vacuo was a desert so that was out of the window. Vale on the other hand was offering programs for settlers to inhabit their lands. That, he was going to take.

And thus, the convoy moved, slowly but surely.

Then, he stopped. The road revealing train tracks, and the barrier closed.

"Xiao! What's the holdup!?" a voice cried from behind.

"Incoming train!" Xiao cried back.

"I don't see any tr-"

The earth trembled beneath the caravan as the earth rumbled. The farmer frowned, his grip tightening on the reins. The horses snorted nervously, their ears flicking at the mounting vibration. Then, the rumble erupted into a deafening roar as a shapes tore through the clouds. The caravan's horses reared, whinnying in panic, their eyes wild. "Shhh!" Xiao cried. "Shhh!"

His reassurances got his horses to calm down. He turned up to see bullheads escorting bulky freighters. All white and silver, snowflakes painted on their sides and wings, all headed south.

From one, SDC-Mistral Regional Manager Stiltz Dalrymple sat cross-legged behind his desk, his sharp eyes fixed on the array of screens in front of him. The monitors displayed detailed maps of the surrounding area. Topography, elevation, and every tactical detail he needed to command the forces under his control. Confidence simmered in his gut, a steady rhythm that matched the quiet hum of the ship around him. How could it not? At his disposal was a veritable army of Atlesian Knights, supported by air assets, and backed by a platoon of the SDC's finest men. The ship he operated from, a company freighter, served as both an aerial command center and his eyes in the sky. While the Atlesian Knights were formidable, they needed a controller to activate and direct them. Without him, they would remain inert, lifeless machines. But with a single tap on the screen, he could unleash them. Dalrymple had personally inspected the Knights earlier that morning. They were flawless. efficient, tireless, and cost-effective. No need to feed or clothe them, heal their wounds, or keep them entertained. The only real expense of this operation was transport.

Licking his lips, he leaned back in his chair, the polished metal creaking softly beneath his weight. His hands clasped together, fingers steepled as he watched the squadron of bullheads rush forward on the screens. Their engines roared as they cut through the clouds, Schnee snowflake proudly emblazoned.

Dalrymple's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile. "Begin broadcast," he commanded, his voice cold and precise.

"Yes, sir," came the immediate reply.

From the ship's speakers, his voice rang out.

"People of Mistral. We are operating in this area to eliminate armed bandit groups attacking the SDC. For your safety, you are urged to relocate to designated SDC safezones. The towns of Dien, Bien, and Phu are these safe-zones. Those who remain may unintentionally be placed in combat zones or detained if found actively supporting armed groups. Any villager who reports armed elements or surrenders hostile actors will be rewarded immensely."

The towns and villages that were in the region were what provided travellers a place to rest and resupply. By removing said towns and organizing them into safe-zones, they could deny the bandits aid and force them out into the open.

He continued. "To the bandits who have so dreadfully endangered commerce and now the lives of those living here, I suggest, in the name of everything good, that you surrender yourselves. I swear, on common law, that you will be treated with dignity and respect. There was no need for this until you forced our hand. You have been warned."

And with that, he cut off the transmission. He preened. Straight to the point, and factual.

"Repeat my transmission and spread it far and wide," he commanded. "Begin deployment as well. I want this brother-forsaken country in our grip."

"Yes, sir!"

The first phase focused on fortifying existing outposts and depots. These were critical to sustaining the army, ensuring a steady flow of supplies and reinforcements. Securing the rear lines would provide the stability needed for the operation to move forward without fear of disruption.

With supply chains and strong-points firmly established, the second phase could begin: seek out the enemy and destroy them. But as the SDC deployed in force, eyes watched them.

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Sienna tightened her grip on the binoculars. "Freighters," she said, voice low, counting the silhouettes. "Those types typically carry containers. About 75 metric tons."

Adam dropped to one knee, boots sinking into the ground, at her side. Despite the massive military force overhead, a strange sense of calm enveloped her, a bitter irony given the odds they faced. Sienna's grip tightened as she scanned the horizon again. "Standard bullheads, too," she added. "We're going to have to worry about their miniguns if we ever get close."

"Why does the SDC need the military if they can transport an army like that?" Adam asked, eyes forward.

"Because the Atlesian Military has a navy and the SDC does not," Sienna replied. "What you see here are security forces, Adam. Remove the freighter, and you have force made to protect SDC assets. Don't let their uniforms fool you."

Adam exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. "Still, we can't fight them head-on," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "We'll be outgunned."

"Do you have a plan, then?" Sienna asked. Of course, she knew that he had something in mind. But it still needed to be asked. But before Adam could ask, the faint sound of hurried footsteps reached their ears, the crunch of running shoes against dirt cutting through the quiet. Adam glanced over his shoulder to see Malik sprinting toward them, his face flushed and his breathing uneven.

"Adam!" Malik called out, his voice loud enough to carry but still hushed with urgency. "We've got village elders here! They want to meet you!"

Adam rose to his feet, brushing dust from his knees, and exchanged a glance with Sienna. Her expression mirrored his calm.

"Bring them here," Adam commanded.

Malik nodded and turned on his heel, disappearing back toward the treeline. Adam rested a hand on the hilt of his blade, his gaze shifting back to the freighters above. Images went back to Solitas, where he was weaker and arms poorer. But that was not the case now. His men were poorly equipped, yes, but they were skilful. They have fought overwhelming odds before, but came better out of it. He had to admit some fear at this. Who wouldn't. But that fear was tempered by experience and confidence in himself and his men.

"Funny," Sienna muttered. "Of all the things I thought I would feel in starting this, I did not think I would feel calm."

He turned to her. "You aren't afraid?"

Sienna shook her head. "No. Why would I be? We fought and planned for this moment."

"To the end?" he asked.

She nodded. "To the end."

Not a few minutes later, the village elders arrived. They came in a small group, five in total, their weathered faces marked by years of toil and wisdom. Each step they took was deliberate, their movements slow but purposeful, as though the weight of their decision carried as much gravity as the situation overhead. The leader of the group, an older man with a long, silver beard and piercing gray eyes, stood at the forefront. Adam straightened as they approached and Sienna, still holding the binoculars, lowered them and crossed her arms,.

"You need to leave," the elder with the silver beard said, his voice gravelly but steady. "All of you."

Sienna's eyes narrowed at the tone. Adam however was calm. The elder continued. "Your presence here is putting us all in danger. Do you not see the freighters in the sky? The SDC is threatening us because of you!"

Sienna moved to retort but Adam raised a hand, silencing her. She stopped, her mouth closing as she stepped back, allowing him to speak.

"I understand your concerns, Elder," Adam said, his tone calm and measured, though his crimson eyes flickered with restrained emotion.

The elders stood still, their bodies tense, waiting for his decision. Their expressions betrayed both hope and doubt, as if bracing themselves for a confrontation.

Adam straightened, his voice firm and resolute. "Which is why my men and I will be leaving post-haste."

The declaration hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. The elder blinked, stunned. Of all the responses he had anticipated, this wasn't one of them. "...You will?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

Adam nodded once, his expression unwavering. "Indeed. We will pack up immediately." He turned sharply, his gaze finding Malik, who stood frozen, clearly caught off guard. "Give the order, Ashina," Adam commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Malik blinked, his wolf ears twitching as he struggled to process the words. "Y-yes?" he stammered, then quickly turned and jogged off to carry out the directive, still wide-eyed.

The elders exchanged glances, their shock evident, but before any could speak, Adam returned his attention to the leader. "We will not allow harm to come to you because of our presence here," Adam assured him, his voice steady and sincere. "With us gone, there will be no reason for the SDC to target you. Do not abandon your homes because of some Atlesian twat. This is your land, your town. Stand firm. And should you ever need us..." Adam's gaze softened, though his words carried the weight of a vow. "...you know how to reach us."

The elder hesitated, seemingly lost for words, before giving a slow, respectful nod.

Adam turned without another word, walking away with his coat billowing lightly behind him. "Sienna," he called, his tone calm but purposeful.

The tiger faunus caught up with him quickly, her movements as lithe as they were deliberate. Once she was beside him, she leaned in, her voice a low, furious whisper. "We're leaving? Just like that?"

Adam's expression remained calm, his eyes focused ahead. "Trust me," he replied evenly, though there was a flicker of something. Determination, or perhaps calculation, in his gaze. "You'll see."

Sienna frowned, but said nothing more, following him quietly, her mind racing as the group prepared to move.

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"Sir...we got a situation," a voice spoke to him.

Dalrymple had been busy eating, a hot dish of rice, chicken, and vegetables, when the officer spoke. "What is it?"

"There's a village. They're refusing to leave. They claim the bandits left," the officer reported.

Dalrymple blinked. "What?"

"The village elder met with the bandit leader and asked him to leave. He agreed," the officer continued. Dalrymple set aside his utensils, and stood up, napkin falling from his lap to the floor. His chair screeched back, a thin metallic shriek, and the officer in front of him stiffened at the sound. He smoothed the front of his coat before he spoke.

"Repeat that," Dalrymple said.

The officer swallowed. "The village claims the terrorists have already departed. The elder himself says they left after a meeting. The villagers see no reason to evacuate."

Dalrymple's jaw flexed. His eyes went back to the monitors, to the maps glowing clusters of red and white, each one representing a village. That village, that little stubborn cluster, should have been gray by now and their populations funneled into pens where they could be easily monitored.

"Where is this elder?" Dalrymple demanded.

"At his village, sir. He can lead us to their camp, if we wish," the officer said.

Dalrymple sat back down on his chair. "Send them," he ordered. "And quickly."

The officer saluted and ran off. Dalrymple's thoughts egged at him. Was the bandit really that easy? No, the simplicity of it all stank. Radicals do not fold. Terrorists did not bow their heads and march off into the hills because a frail old man asked them nicely. "They want us to believe he's gone," Dalrymple whispered to himself. "They want us to think the threat has evaporated, that we can fold up our tents and go home. Which means…" He let the thought linger, tasting it like iron on his tongue. "…he hasn't gone anywhere. He is still here."

His monitor pinged. The scouts had arrived. From the facecams of his men, he could see everything. "They left in a hurry," their guide claimed, a young boy no older than fifteen. "Some of them wanted to stay and fight but their leader insisted."

"Did they say where they were going?" The scout asked.

The boy shook his head. "No, only that they would not let harm come to us, and that they are gone."

Dalrymple leaned forward over the console, elbows braced on steel, eyes narrowing at the jittery feed from the scouts' cams. The boy's face filled the lens, dirt-smeared cheeks, frightened eyes too young to know the weight of lies but Dalrymple didn't see innocence. The boy's words echoed in his brain. Each one was too neat, too tidy, like lines fed to a child for recitation.

Dalrymple tapped the table once. "Scouts. Pan around. Show me everything."

The view jerked, swinging over churned earth, patches of trampled grass, a scattering of discarded tins. Dalrymple froze the image, magnified it, eyes narrowing further. If this was a true rout, they all would have left a mess. But it was too clean, too tidy. He leaned back slowly

They were still there. He was sure of it. Were they really going to abandon their support base? His gaze flicked to another monitor, where the stubborn village marker still glowed yellow.

They were complicit, clearly. Or maybe the bandits have blended to the population?

"Sir? Orders?"

"Continue the search. Tighten this region. I want those villagers out of their hovels," He paused, letting the silence stretch before finally speaking. "If they resist, detain them. I want this elder brought directly to me. Let's see how committed he is to his claims under pressure."

"Yes, sir."

He stared at the village's marker one last time, his mind piecing together the puzzle. If the bandits truly had left, they wouldn't have done so without leaving behind some form of contingency. A trap, perhaps. Or worse, a rallying point nearby to draw attention away from their real movements.

Dalrymple tapped a finger lightly against the console, his lips forming a thin line as a new thought struck him.

What if they wanted the SDC to overplay its hand?

He smirked, a dark glint in his eyes. That did not matter. He had the freighters, he had the army, the men, the firepower.

What could a bunch of ill-bred, malnourished, radical bandits do to him?

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The village elder stared in horror as the SDC officer raised his voice, his words carrying across the gathered crowd like a tolling bell of doom.

"You are hereby ordered to evacuate from this village," the officer commanded, his tone clipped and unyielding. "All residents are to pack their belongings and prepare for immediate relocation. Noncompliance will result in detainment."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Mothers clutched their children tighter, and men exchanged uneasy glances. The elder's breath caught in his chest as he stepped forward, his gnarled hands trembling slightly as he raised them in a gesture of calm.

"Please," he began, his voice cracking but resolute, "there is no need for this. The Union have gone. They left of their own accord. We are no threat to you!"

The officer's cold blue eyes flicked to the elder, his face betraying no emotion. "Elder," he interrupted. "Their quickness aside, they have stayed in this area for awhile. You did not kick them out. How are we to know you aren't complicit?"

The elder's heart sank. "Complicit?" he repeated, disbelief trembling in his voice. "We have done nothing but try to protect our people! You cannot uproot us, this is our home!"

"You have until sundown to comply," the officer said evenly, as though he were discussing the weather. "Failure to evacuate will be considered an act of defiance. And defiance will be met with force."

The elder reeled, his mind racing. He turned to face his people, who stood frozen in fear, their faces pale and eyes wide. He could feel the weight of their gazes on his back, their unspoken pleas pressing into him like iron.

"Please," he said again, turning back to the officer, his voice desperate now. "We are farmers, not fighters. If you drive us out, where will we go? How will we survive?"

The officer's expression didn't change, his posture rigid. "Not my concern," he said flatly. "You should have thought of that before aligning yourselves with radicals."

The elder's jaw clenched, his fists trembling at his sides. "We did not align with anyone! They came, yes, but they left! They-"

The officer cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Enough. Sundown. That is all the time you have."

With that, the officer turned on his heel, his polished boots crunching against the dirt path as he strode back toward his waiting squad. The elder watched him go, his heart pounding in his chest as the villagers crowded around him.

"What do we do, Elder?" a young woman asked, her voice shaking as she clutched a baby to her chest. "We can't leave! This is all we have!"

"Maybe we should comply," an older man muttered, his voice thick with fear. "If we fight them, we'll lose everything."

"And if we leave, we'll lose everything anyway!" another shouted, his voice angry and raw.

The elder raised his hands again, silencing the growing wave of panic. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but inside, his thoughts churned like a storm.

Adam, you said they would not harm us. You said they would leave us in peace. But now they will burn everything we've built to the ground!

He turned to the villagers, his voice steady but heavy with resolve. "We do not have much time. Gather your belongings, but do not panic. Let me think."

The crowd hesitated, unsure, but they began to disperse reluctantly. The elder stood rooted to the spot, staring at the dust kicked up by the officer's retreating squad. But the more he stared, the more indignation bubbled in his stomach. The needed the Union to drive out the bandits which plagued them, and they did just that, asking only little in turn. He knew Adam had his issues with the SDC but that did not mean he hated them as well. And now, they had left, Brothers know only where, without issue or resentment, even promising to come back if he called.

The indignation flared. This Atlesian, this arrogant bastard!

His fists tightened as indignation turned into something else.

Resentment.

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A/N: [URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:jFv_yIXxasM"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jFv_yIXxasM[/URL]