Chapter 18: Retrieval

By the next morning, Yuki awoke to a firm knock on her door.

She felt groggy, her head still heavy from drinking more alcohol than she ever had in her life. For a moment she couldn’t place where she was. Then the memory of gunfire returned.

She shook her head, almost in a ritualistic attempt to dispel her inner demons, and then rose from her bed.

When she opened the door, a masked man in full winter camouflage stood in the hallway, rifle slung across his chest.

She immediately tried to slam the door shut, but a gloved hand caught it mid swing.

“Yuki, it’s me. For fuck’s sake.”

She froze.

“…Dean?”

He pulled the balaclava down just enough for her to see his face.

“What the hell are you doing dressed like that? You scared the shit out of me!”

He exhaled through his nose, faintly amused.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d still be asleep. It’s almost noon, and we’ve got work to do.”

Those words cut right through the haze.

“What do you mean work?”

Instead of answering, he stepped back and gestured for her to follow. Once inside his room, he shut the door behind them and grabbed one of his FPV drones from the desk.

He handed her a plate carrier.

“Put this on.”

She blinked at it.

“Dean—”

“Put it on.”

His tone wasn’t harsh; it was simply decisive, and Yuki obeyed.

Dean helped guide the vest over her shoulders, tightening the straps with measured adjustments rather than rushing through it.

He checked the fit, tugged once at the shoulder webbing, then handed her a helmet.

“This is just in case. You’re staying inside so you won’t be in danger. But we don’t cut corners. Especially not in regard to safety.”

He clipped the chin strap himself.

Then he set the drone down on the balcony floor and returned to her, holding out the controller rig.

“I’m about to give you a crash course in the basics of UAV operation,” he said. “Nothing fancy; we’re going to go over takeoff, hovering, thermal toggle, and landing; that’s it. Do you think you can manage that?”

Yuki nodded her head, only for Dean to shock her in the next moment as he sat down on the bed and guided her onto his lap.

It wasn’t a romantic gesture on his part; it was simply the most optimal position in order to teach her the controls. After all, he operated his own drones from a dropdown panel bolted to the front of his plate carrier. And Yuki’s UAV setup mirrored his own.

Yuki flushed with embarrassment as she felt Dean’s warm breath on the nape of her neck. But he didn’t seem to notice while he was walking her through the controls step by step.

“This switch here toggles thermal. When you hit it you will see the palette change, just like the first time I showed you the drone. Don’t panic if the image flattens; that’s completely normal.”

She nodded. He then reached over and grabbed her left hand, bringing it up to her shoulder. She practically jolted at the touch, but again Dean’s priority was on the task at hand.

“This button on your left shoulder strap? That’s the push-to-talk for your radio. If you see something, anything that doesn’t seem right to you, you press it. Don’t shout, just speak clearly.”

He reached up to the top of her helped and positioned the FPV goggles over her eyes.

“Use slow movements on the sticks. It’s not a video game.”

She launched it clumsily the first time, but he patiently corrected her grip. The second attempt was better, but still ultimately failed during takeoff. By her third attempt, Yuki had smoothly lifted the drone into the air and stabilized it.

“Good,” Dean said simply.

She flushed slightly at the approval.

He stood and adjusted his own kit while she scanned the perimeter.

“Here’s what’s happening,” he continued. “I’m going outside to retrieve the weapons from yesterday. I need Overwatch. If you see movement within five hundred meters, thermal or visual, you hit your push-to-talk and tell me the direction and distance. Don’t narrate your feelings, just give actionable information.”

She swallowed.

“Got it.”

He paused.

“…And if someone approaches the house?”

“I tell you immediately.”

“Correct.”

He hesitated, then added quietly:

“I trust you.”

That settled her more than any instruction could have.

Dean did not leave through the front door.

He exited through the rear, snowshoes already secured. He had cleared a path earlier that morning while Yuki slept. The powder was deep, but the shoes distributed his weight cleanly.

He moved efficiently; not rushed, nor hesitant.

The reinforced concrete walls of his property rose above the snowline. Razor wire still crowned the top, but he had cut a small section before dawn and marked it for later repair.

He vaulted cleanly, landing in a drift that swallowed his calves.

The world beyond his walls was silent. And it was only after he was anchored down behind some snowcapped evergreens that he pressed his own PTT.

“This is Papa Bear, Mama bear what’s your status?”

Dean chuckled briefly as he momentarily waited for the expected response.

“Mama bear? Who’s your mama bear!”

Dean simply shook his head, while Yuki quickly realized she was getting heated and corrected herself.

“Ahem… I mean… I turned on the thermal overlay,” Yuki replied, voice steadier now. “I’m not seeing any signatures within five hundred meters.”

“Copy that mama bear, over and out….”

Dean advanced slowly and smoothly, cover to cover. Tracing the treeline to parked vehicles and eventually to low fencing.

The first rifle lay half-buried in snow beside a frozen body. He brushed frost from the receiver and checked the chamber. The bolt resisted slightly in the cold.

With some effort he cleared the magazine, ejected the round, and slung the weapon across his back.

He worked methodically, every firearm, every magazine., every potential threat piled up in the sled behind.

Midway through retrieval, Yuki’s voice cut across the radio.

“I saw some movement… One figure. Approximately one hundred meters, at your four o’clock.”

Dean dropped instantly, prone in the snow, rifle already oriented in the called direction.

Through his optic, he saw a figure standing. The man swiftly raised his hands as he spotted Dean pointing his rifle at him.

The contact froze on the spot, unarmed, neither advancing nor retreating.

Dean held the sight picture for a long three seconds, but the figure didn’t move.

Dean slowly lowered his rifle; he pointed two fingers toward his eyes. Then toward the figure, and then drew his thumb across his throat.

The message was delivered without words, and the man clearly understood. He stiffened and did not move.

Dean rose and resumed movement without turning his back fully until he had regained the cover of his own walls. He did not fire, not today, after all; he had already made his point the day before.

Once inside the perimeter, he pressed the push-to-talk again.

“Good call.”

There was a slight exhale on the other end.

“I almost missed him.”

“But you didn’t.”

He said while he dragged the sled toward the workshop entrance.

“And that’s what matters.”

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