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Red Moon: Revolution

Chapter 3

The Earth is covered mostly by water, vast expanses of nothing but water. It was easy to get lost in the ocean, among the waves and the storms that wracked the Atlantic seasonally. It was easy to disappear, especially when someone didn't want to be found.

Out somewhere between Great Britain and the United States, among the clashing waves was an unmarked boat of fair, but unnoticeable size, a mere speck of grey on the dark seas on the best of days. It tirelessly chugged away, heading towards no specific destination, just keeping away from shore.

Aboard this boat was one very important man, a man who had the power to command thousands and affect entire nations. That was until he let one small thing slip past his desk, a simple psych evaluation of all of his personnel back in London. He had merely glimpsed over it in the rush of the morning and let a red flag that had been placed get by him. Now that flagged person had allowed a small army of werewolves and traitors overrun his base of operations in London. Now he was on the run. He was a hunted man and he knew it, the wolves had wanted his skin ever since the old director of Russia squealed in his dying moments, revealing his existence. From then on, everything had been going wrong, to him, humanity was losing the war.

The Coordinator sat alone in a small and dank metal room that had nothing but a footlocker at the end of a wall mounted cot which was where he was seated. He held a dying cigarette which had gone untouched after a single draw, slowing dying and just giving off a small wisp of smoke from its greying end. The room rolled along with the boat and the sound of some belongings moving inside of the footlocker could occasionally be heard over the engines of the boat and the waves that were constantly crashing into the hull.

None of this bothered The Coordinator because his mind was on other things. He recounted how all of Europe slowly fell despite his best efforts. First was Germany, then Russia. From there, one by one, stations and facilities fell silent, slowly moving westward like some disease that was spreading across the continent. It was a disease, a plague that was showing no signs of relenting and now the only cure was to cut it out and cauterize the wound.

"Sir." A knock came at the open door where a security guard stood, looking into the room, his face hidden under the shadow that the bill of his hat created. "Comms are up and command demands that you contact them."

It was expected, the few old bastards that were still alive or hadn't simply disappeared would want answers for his colossal failure and he would tell them the truth. The truth, he failed. Simple as that, but there were other truths out there. The war was not lost, not yet. The Inquisition still had holdings across the world that could be utilized to make an effect counter strike. Even now, The Coordinator knew that teams were being sent out to take out specific targets to prevent them from joining the enemy.

Enemy. The Coordinator repeated the words in his head over and over. At one point the enemy had just been werewolves. For hundreds of years it had just been that, now he was fighting other people, those that had turned their backs on humanity on moral grounds. He had heard their preachings on how the Inquisition relied too heavily on it old and outdated strong armed tactics and that it was time to sit down and talk.

While The Coordinator saw the logic behind that, he would not let those foolish people convince of anything. He knew what would happen the second he let his guard down, he already experienced it.

"Sir?" The guard repeated, unsure if he should come back later or not.

"I'll be right over." The Coordinator said as he got up, dropping the cigarette to the ground where it died out upon contact with the wet floor. He looked at it for a second, the Inquisition was dying, it needed oxygen to live and he would ensure that it got what it needed. That was his job, give it the information needed to continue to go on strong, unlike his cigarette. The war was not lost yet.

--

"How can you be so calm!" The voice rang out from the radio which didn't help the fact that any sound that was even slightly high pitched came out as a sharp crack from the ancient radio that The Coordinator was using. His ship, which he had owned for nearly a decade didn't have any of the fancy technology that one would expect from someone of his position. He needed to make sure that it was low tech because it the enemy was looking for him, they would be looking for something with sophisticated technology. He knew better, anything of the sort would just make him a bright beacon. Easy prey.

"What's done is done. There is no time to linger on what has already occurred. We need to consolidate our resources now and move forward." The Coordinator's voice came out smooth and relaxed even though it was an entirely different story in the inside. His brain never stopped analyzing. Even as he spoke, he came up with dozens of potential moves to make, eliminating them one by one until he would come to a conclusion. "South America has little to no activity and the Rio Weapons Station is still active there. I'll move myself there."

"What you'll do..." The Coordinator could see Director Xing, an aging man from China who had fought alongside Mao during the Communist takeover, turning red and jabbing his fingers into his own radio. "Is take back London. There are too many assets there to simple let it go."

"With all due respect." The Coordinator hated saying that since he held little respect for this man. "London is lost, most of Europe is lost while the Americas remain virtually unmolested."

"So you're just giving up?" The anger in Xing's voice died down to an almost amused and mocking tone. "Going belly up?"

"I'm accepting the truth of the situation. There is more than enough resources to take advantage of in both and North and South America even if they are largely undeveloped as of right now."

"Get your mind out of America and focus on Europe." Xing said in a commanding tone. "Never had the Inquisition lost so much in Europe and it will ALL be taken back."

The Coordinator could see it, that old timey stubbornness that nearly all of the directors had. They were from a generation that never backed down, even when the fight was impossible. The traitors had that right, new leadership may be in need, but a more sensible leadership that could work more in line with him.

"You will..." With a flick of a switch, The Coordinator cut off Director Xing mid-sentence, much to the horror of the bridge crew. Their eyes, glossy and wide, looked at him in disbelief.

Ignoring them, The Coordinator faced the navigator who sat at a table that was cluttered with charts and tools so that he could keep track of where exactly they were at all times since the ship didn't even have gps either. "Can you plot a course for Rio de Janeiro?"

The navigator who had worked in his office for a few weeks before, blinked once before noticing that he was the one being talked to. "Yes sir. It will take some time with the weather..."

The Coordinator held up a hand to silence him. "Go ahead and plot it."

Without responding, the navigator turned his chair around and went right to work, grabbing a ruler, pen and a compass. It was going to be a long night for him, but he was reliable. Everyone on the ship was reliable. The Coordinator made sure of that, especially since it was due to an unreliable person that he was fleeing. Now he just needed to replace the head of the Inquisition with his own reliable people, but who and how was the question. Rio was a start, he knew people there and they would gladly take him in even in Xing would probably want his head.

Xing would have to go first, The Coordinator decided. He was too focused on what was lost, not what could be gained. The past had no place in the future. He would go down first and from there another and then another until nothing but reliable people, people who shared his way of thinking were running the show. Only then, only then could the war be won. One step at a time.

"Sir." The radioman called out. At this point, everyone went right back to work, the silence broken. "Getting a call from Director Stewart, shall I patch him through?" He had his thumb next to the very switch that was used to cut off Xing.

"Patch him through." The Coordinator expected a call from just about everyone as they all scrambled to figure out what was going on and how to address it, or more likely, find someone to blame. He would gladly take all of the blame, it didn't hurt him any and they couldn't do anything to him anyways. As far as he was concerned, all of the directors were traitors to the cause. He just needed to learn who may have a place in the new Inquisition and it helped that they were all going to call him, letting him have a nice conversation with each of them. He had time, Rio was a long ways away and his boat wasn't that fast. He had plenty of time.

The Coordinator didn't get back to his room until well past midnight. He had talked to every single remaining coordinator, all ten of them and decided that each and every one of them had no place in the new Inquisition. Of course, he didn't tell any of them that. As far as they were concerned, he was going to Rio to just regroup before setting up his intelligence network again which would help them retake Europe. IT astonished him just how badly they wanted to take back that old continent, it disgusted him. All of them, trapped in the past.

Walking back into his room, The Coordinator spied the old and wet cigarette. It was exactly where he had dropped it, there was no way of saving it. He would need to pull out a new one and throw out the old one.

Reaching into his front pocket of his shirt, he pulled out a crinkled cigarette box. Lifting the lid, revealed just one which was delicately plucked from its spot. It didn't even last five minutes before it was smoked right down to the filter.

The Coordinator made plans to call a few people that he knew in the morning. Why wait until Rio to get everything ready. He even decided that he could get Xing out of the picture before he even saw shore. Xing was supposed to be in San Diego at the moment with Director Caughey at the moment. Two birds with one stone. If everything worked out, which he was sure it would, he would have complete control of the Inquisition within two months vs the two years it had taken the enemy to take Europe. He would show them how it was done right before he wiped them out.