[IC] Operation: Dagger Steady (Nightrunner x Byrd Man)

[Byrd Man]

Chamery, France
July 14th, 1936

The lone figure trudged across the open field, his hands in his pockets. He kept his head down as he climbed up the small, muddy slope. Distant thunder rumbled across the overcast sky from far away. At the center of the hill was a tiny shrine, a cross made from airplane propellers. A plaque attached to the cross explained who was buried there in French.

Lieutenant
Quentin Roosevelt
Escadrille 95
Tombé glorieusement
En combat aerien
Le 14 Juillet 1918
Pour le droit
Et la liberté

The figure gripped the cross hard and fought back the urge to cry as he remembered a previous lifetime.

"Quentin," Theodore Roosevelt said softly. "My little boy... Nearly twenty years... Not a day goes by that I do not miss you, or your brothers and sisters. I would give anything in the world to see them or you at least one more time, this immortality be damned."

"Monsieur!" A voice shouted from behind Roosevelt. A young French boy ran towards him, waving a piece of paper. "Un télégramme est arrivé pour vous."

"Merci," Roosevelt said as he took the message.

DEAR TR
COME HOME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. NEW EMERGENCY HAS CROPPED UP. WILL EXPLAIN AT RUSHMORE.

Q.

Roosevelt stuffed the telegram in his pocket and bent down at the grave. He kissed his hand before placing it on the cross, touching the plaque with his son's name engraved on it..

"I'm afraid I have to go, but I will see you soon."

He stood and ruffled the French boy's head before smiling.

"Thank you very much, lad. Now, would you be so kind as to show me where the nearest train station is?"

[Enarr]

Brooklyn, New York
July 14th 1936

Hunched over a long, smooth counter, Andrew Jackson rested his head on his folded arms as he fought off a slight hangover the only way he knew how.

"Slow down, will ya? My tap's gonna run dry," a bartender laughed as he looked at the former president, who he did not know was formerly a president.

"Slow down? Me? The day I slow down is the day I stay dead!" Andrew shouted as he pounded on the counter before snatching the nearest shot glass of whiskey.

"Hey, hey, hey. I think you've had enough to drink, old-timer."

Andrew scoffed at the man, "The time you stop getting payed is when I've had enough to drink!" He said as he flipped a quarter into the bartender's apron.

But, suddenly, from behind, a man rested his hand on Andrew's shoulder and pulled lightly. The seventh president swiveled on his barstool and looked behind him to see a courier, not a man looking for a hard-earned scar, who was passing him a letter.

The courier quickly said, "Your services are required," before scuttling off.

"Whatcha got there?" The bartender asked.

Old Hickory only grumbled, "A call from destiny," before following the courier out of the bar, and then, he began a walk to the nearest train station.

[Byrd Man]

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota

The beige '32 Packard sped down the winding dirt highway, contrails of dust flying in the air in the car's wake. To the left of the car, the looming mountain appeared in the early afternoon sun. So far half of George Washington's and Thomas Jefferson's face had been carved into the rocky mountain face. The Packard pulled off onto a small side road and slowly moved down the bumpy road. After thirty minutes on the road, the car came to an opening at the foot of the mountain. Two guards at attention beside a steel door leading into the mountain. They wore the olive drab fatigues and broad brim hats of the American Doughboys from the Great War, rifles slung over their shoulders. An old man with thick white sideburns and a bald head stood in front of the guards, puffing a cigar.

The Packard stopped and Roosevelt stepped out of the back. He eyed the bald man and grinned.

"Mr. Q."

"Mr. Roosevelt," Johny Quincy Adams said, expelling smoke. "Sorry to cut your vacation short, I know what this time of year does to you."

"Think nothing of it. In fact, a little bit of action will be sure to pull me out of my doldrums."

The two guard saluted as he and Adams passed. Teddy returned the salute and entered through the steel door behind Adams. They continued through a dim hallway, going down a soft slope into the heart of the mountain. The hallway reeked of fresh paint. Moving dollies and packed crates filled nearly every nook and cranny of the corridors and rooms they passed.

"How much longer until everything is set up?" Teddy asked.

"Not too much longer now. William Henry Harrison still needs to be exercised from the Smithsonian basement, you know how hard it is for ghosts to let go sometimes. He marks the last of our personnel still in Washington."

"I still never figured out why we had to move from Washington, the best place to operate."

"We have your cousin to thank for that," Quincy said as he puffed a large smoke ring out. "Young Franklin is increasing the power of the federal government, it's getting harder and harder to operate in the shadow of a Washington that continues to get brighter and brighter. A bit industrious, that one."

"Well we Roosevelts do have reputations as go-getters."

"While we Adamses are known for our stubbornness."

Adams led Teddy into a large, open space room. The room was covered in world maps on three sides, a fourth wall blanketed in pictures and files. A large wooden conference table spanned the stretch of the room. Someone sat at the table, waiting for them.

"Mr. Jackson," Adams said coolly. "Sorry to have kept you waiting, but Mr. Roosevelt has just arrived. Make yourself comfortable, Teddy, and I'll start the briefing."

"Bully."