This scene briefly contains racism.

---

Nocht Federation — Rhinea

Cecilia Foss left her cab about an hour before noon, and sighed to herself with relief.

“I made it in time. I should get her something.” She said to herself.

She looked around the street and spotted the chocolateur’s shop she had visited once before. Due to its stiff prices, she had hoped to avoid it. However, there was a dearth of choices. Agatha wouldn’t have accepted flowers and Cecilia knew not the condition of her waistline, so she could not buy her clothes. Any of the other categories of appropriate gifts would’ve been too expensive for their sorts of rendezvous. She loved Aggie, but what modern sapphic had the money to buy a lover diamonds and pearls or caviar and wine?

Shaking her head with consternation, Cecilia stepped into the chocolateur’s.

Though that annoying old man was nowhere to be seen, his hand was everywhere.

There was a short line at the register; and an extra decimal place on many of the prices.

Cecilia sighed deeply. She went to pick up a box of truffles a size smaller (and a decimal place shorter) than the one she had bought before. As she reached to swipe the cheap box before anyone else saw the thrifty purchase or contested it, she struck a gloved hand.

“Excuse you–” She was about to hiss venom, but was surprised by the hand’s owner.

Drawing back from her was a man in a grey coat and cap, lanky and disproportionate, as if he had been extruded through something. He looked big and tough but it was all coat, Cecilia could tell from the neck, and the flash of wrist. Thin, an older man, with an angular appearance, grave in the face, with a sharp nose. He had a tired look about him.

“Einschel?” Cecilia asked.

“Cecilia.” Dreschner said.

She blinked, and knew not quite where to start. She never really did with Dreschner.

He had been something like a father to her, but not enough to make things easy.

Or perhaps they were as easy as they could be. She wasn’t sure how she would think of a “real” father, and maybe it had been for the best Dreschner wasn’t so hands-on.

“Those were for you. I can pay for them and you can take them for your purposes.”

“Interesting. You’re not going to visit Flavia?”

“I think she would rather I did not. This one was the last straw for her.”

Cecilia imagined in her head some kind of comical scene with Dreschner’s wife forcing him to choose between panzers and herself, and Dreschner driving away in an old M2. It was probably something more tragic than that; but at any rate that was none of her concern. She nodded her acknowledgement to Dreschner, and picked up the box.

Together they walked to the cash register and stood in line.

“Are you here for the Allied Forces Assessment?” Cecilia asked.

“I was called to report personally.” Dreschner said.

He sounded curiously unemotional toward such a notable achievement.

“I didn’t think you were important enough for that.” Cecilia teased.

“I’ve become more important.” Dreschner replied.

Of course; he had gone to Ayvarta, like he had gone to the islands before.

To make something of himself in the war, to advance his status.

“Are you satisfied with your progress then?”

“No.”

He sounded blunt enough now she did not ask him to elaborate.

“Why visit me?” Cecilia asked.

“Flavia has our sons, and her sons. She has family. You’ve got less.”

Cecilia felt compelled to snap back at him. “I don’t need you.”

“I’m not here because I’m needed or wanted. I’m simply here.”

“Do you want to be here then?”

“I am here.”

Over their awkward exchange rose a third voice, in anger.

“God damn it, learn to count or go back home!”

Cecilia raised her eyes. Behind the cash register was a dark skinned woman, long-haired, dressed in a smart-looking uniform with a baker’s cap. She was struggling with change for a large denomination mark. A man in a thick fur coat and cap heckled her from the other side of the counter. Every time he shouted, she shook up, and probably had to start over counting. Cecilia sighed. Everyone else in line was becoming uncomfortable with it.

“Shorry sir, un momend.” Said the cashier, on the verge of tears.

“You’ve had enough time! You and your kind are nothing but an inconvenience! Dragging the world into war and dragging the fucking shops into the stone age now too! You can’t learn the language, you can’t learn to count, what’s wrong with you, lazy m–”

Dreschner stepped forward from his place in the line.

“Jeez, Einschel stop–”

Cecilia couldn’t grab his coat fast enough.

He charged up to the register, and delivered a sharp shove to the man’s shoulder.

“Hey what the fu–”

Upon seeing the uniform, the irate customer paused in his tracks.

His face turned white and his bravado seemed to leave him.

“You are holding up the line, you sniveling coward.” Dreschner said.

“General.” mumbled the man.

Dreschner stepped forward, once more invading the man’s space.

“You can tell my rank? I bet you’re a failed recruit. You wouldn’t last two seconds in Ayvarta. These people you so disdain would humiliate you, you worthless fool.”

Dreschner nodded to the lady behind the register and counted the money quickly.

“You don’t deserve to even breathe the air she and her people do. Take it and go.”

Dreschner threw the coins at the man’s face.

Stumbling backwards, he scrambled around the shelves and left the shop.

He turned to the rest of the people in line.

“Do the rest of you have some decency and patience?”

There were nodding heads.

Cecilia covered her face in her hands and wanted to die.

Once it was her turn at the register, she thought to apologize to the woman, who was surely embarrassed and shocked and distressed by the whole thing, but she figured, the woman would be even more embarrassed, shocked, and distressed, by receiving the pity of a stranger at the cash register. So she merely pushed Dreschner away like a rambling grandfather prior to exchanging her money; and she made sure to give exact change.

“Dank you so mush.” said the young lady at the register.

Cecilia blinked and looked up from the chocolates and the cash in her wallet. She took actual notice of the woman then. Her Nochtish was okay; her voice deep and lovely. Rich brown skin, smooth dark hair, a little yellow dab of something on her nose, rich red lips.

She had a radiant smile and gorgeous green eyes– and a good figure too.

“Listen, I–”

There was something the cashier girl was trying unsuccessfully to hide at her station.

Cecilia was tall enough to see a familiar little green book lying behind the register.

It was the same sort Cecilia had read when studying for her own citizenship.

After that one war, that made it a little dirty to be a Frank, to speak with an accent.

“Here’s my number, call here at night if you need someone to practice with.”

Cecilia quickly scrawled it down and handed it to the cashier, whose face lit up.

“I sertainly vill! Dank you so mush–”

“Cecilia. Tell me yours when you call me, doll.”

With a flourish of her blond hair, Cecilia turned on her heel and departed the shop.

At her back, the Ayvartan cashier girl watched her leave, probably in awe.

Perhaps she felt a sense of the romantic mystery left in the air in Cecilia’s wake.

Cecilia, however, just felt so awkward that she had to leave immediately.

“What was all of that?” Dreschner asked, following several steps behind her in haste.

“Ugh. Don’t talk to me. I don’t know you. I don’t know anyone at all.” Cecilia said.

“Well. I don’t know what to do with you. I try to be generous, I try to help you–”

“You know what to do now, and it’s not talk to me.” Cecilia replied.

Dreschner paused for a moment, boiling over red.

Cecilia kept on walking with an inexpressive face and a careless swing to her gait.

Despite this, Dreschner continued to follow behind her as they went down the main street in Rhinea. Perhaps he was going the same way, or perhaps he had something still to say.

Whatever the case, she was ignoring him.

She hoped dearly to hear that girl calling. She was probably her type.

That would make this hellish day worthwhile, Cecilia thought.

---

Windsbach station repair personnel looked upon the radars with consternation.

Repairs on the ACS would not be speedy, and it was necessary to make absolutely sure before a piece of the defense network was taken offline, that it was necessary to do so. That it could not limp along, that it could not be troubleshooted, that what was on that screen was not supposed to be there, or caused by some external force. They knew not about the significance of the aluminum, not yet. When a radar was taken apart, the base went on lock-down. FREIJA was the most guarded secret of Nochtish information tech.

Windsbach, however, was not alone. All across the Federation’s northern and eastern coasts there were a series of oddities that had the radar engineers calling back and forth.

“Varburg, this is Windsbach, we got large bogeys headed north-northeast, do you copy?”

“Negative Windsbach, don’t know what to tell you, we got clear skies over here.”

“Tauta, this is Kielring, the lights here are screaming aircraft, what’s your status?”

“Got nothing weird up here Tauta. You must have your ACS going or something.”

It was exhausting for all parties involved. With their hearts clutched hard in their chests, their lungs screaming for breath through the stress, through the uncertainty, they called their counterparts, and they worked over the lines, never looking directly at the skies, only at the infallible FREIJA, the invaluable FREIJA. In this solipsistic shelter they worked out the procedure to the letter, with the utmost care, to insure secrecy, efficiency, safety.

“Just to be safe, fighter patrols are routing to the affected areas until the dishes are fixed.”

Everyone was thankful for the eyes, but their work had to continue regardless.

There were more exchanges. Every different place, calling every other different place.

A silent panic to the world at large, for all the stress was confined to the wires.

“Ciel, this is Morthufe, we’re having a spot of bother with these dishes. Your skies clear?”

“No, we’re having the same trouble, but we called the observatory at Cathgad. Nothing.”

“God damn it.”

“Schneeheim, this is Junzien, we got clear skies, but the coasts are going nuts. How’s–”

“THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!”

Soon as the operator in Junzien connected to Schneeheim there was a great rumbling over the telephone line, it sounded like they were in the middle of an earthquake over there. This gave the Junzien radar center a great fright, and that fright turned to terror with every scream of desperation that Schneeheim managed to send through the unfolding chaos.

“We’ve got fighters over the ice, how the hell did they get through, Junzien?”

Nobody wanted to acknowledge the significance, because if they did, it would become a matter of whose fault it was. It was already one — how the hell did they get through — but it would become someone’s responsibility to fix it the moment it was acknowledged. And so everyone was speechless, shellshocked into submission as Schneeheim screamed for help.

“We’ve got people on the ground, we’ve got guns firing, but it’s too much!”

Patrols were alerted, in mealy-mouthed tones, that something was happening up north.

Vaguely, Tauta, and Ciel, and Windsbach, and those other places, were briefly spoken to.

“Oh god they’re Helvetian! Those are Bearcat II and Cathawks! Helvetians!”

This was perhaps the last thing anyone wanted to hear about this situation.

And it would be the last thing they heard.

At that point the line to Schneeheim died, and it was no longer their problem.

It was Junzien’s; and it was also Rhinea’s.

Both lay within the immediate zone of attack of any force that hit Schneeheim.

Especially a Helvetian heavy bombardment force prepared enough to blind their radars.

---

Read The Previous Part || Read The Next Part

This scene contains violence.

---

????

Overhead, a livid sun bore down on a white, rocky beach beset by a turbulent ocean.

Gaul Von Drachen sat up, and spat out sea water.

His entire being hurt. Everything hurt. Being himself simply hurt.

His whole existence was hurt. But it was fine enough. He was alive.

Recovering some sense of what had transpired, he stood up.

Farther down the shallows on the shore, he saw another, familiar body.

Absentmindedly, he picked up a crab from the sand and threw it at the man.

“Puñeta!”

Gutierrez cried out and struggled monumentally with the crab on the wet shore.

Von Drachen walked past him, reassured knowing that he was still alive in some form.

He started to walk.

Time had lost most of its meaning to him. Owing to the heat, and maybe thirst and now perhaps malnutrition, depending on how long he had been out, Von Drachen’s world was a blurring, shifting mess, and the seamless, endless landscape of the Ayvartan beach seemed to play endless tricks on his mind. For example, in the distance, he thought he saw a pair of beautiful young girls, in shining silver outfits, waiting on the beach.

They were not waiting for him; he figured they would know right away he was just not interested. Nymphs must have had some way to parse which men were worth eating.

As he walked past, however, he tripped on a stone, and nearly fell.

However, the taller of the nymphs seized him, and they laid him down on the beach.

“Is it an enemy soldier?” asked one.

“Without a gun he’s not an enemy anything. He’s just a victim.”

“You’re far too kind Gwen. Jeez. He could be dangerous.”

“He looks like you could snap him in half. Come on.”

One of the girls loomed over Von Drachen. She had a shining face and golden hair.

“I am known Gwendolyn.” She said, in tormented, slow Ayvartan. “Are you forsaken–”

“Good god, the word you want is lost. Lost. Potea.” He shouted in elvish.

Gwendolyn drew back and kicked sand in his face.

She stormed off.

“Now, now.” said the other girl, darker-haired, more severe-looking. “Things just got interesting here. So you speak Lubonin, huh? Where did you wash up from, stranger?”

Von Drachen spat out the salt on his tongue, and delivered a surprisingly swift reply.

“I’m General Gaul Von Drachen of the Cissean-Nochtish combined Allied forces–”

“Forget that Drachen jerk Lydia; Lydia, look!”

On the beach, that awful Gwendolyn girl suddenly pointed out to sea.

Lydia looked over the ocean and smiled.

Von Drachen struggled to crane his head to his side.

When he did, he saw in the distance the massive figure of a Vittoria-class battleship.

He grinned. He laughed.

He laughed with such cadence Gwendolyn and Lydia were disturbed.

Both of them seemed ready to kick sand in his face again.

And yet, lying on the sand, injured and dehydrated and defeated, Von Drachen laughed.

“You won this time, Madiha Nakar! But there will be such a splendid infinitude of battles! So much chaos! Is it the sun, or does it look like a glorious future is ahead of us?”

It was not the most rational thing to do, but he reveled in it.

---

Read The Previous Part || Read The Next Chapter

This scene contains violence and humiliation.

---

Rangda City — Ocean Station

“I can’t believe he escaped. I let him escape. After all of this.”

“Escape? Madiha, he jumped into a roaring river in a storm. He’s dead.”

“I wish I could believe you, but I’m almost positive he escaped.”

“Calm down. Move on to the next plan, okay?”

“Right.Right. Yes. We have to get moving. We can’t stay here.”

Everything felt completely wasted. Victory here was very hollow.

Despite everyone’s efforts it was clear that Rangda had fallen as a defensive position and as a livable city. Farther south the front line with Nocht was moving, Lubon was coming from the Ocean, that much was confirmed, and the defense of the city was in disarray. Coastal defenses had been compromised, and the rout of the airlanded Elven force only delayed the inevitable. No one wanted a naval confrontation with Lubon at this vulnerable juncture. On the eve of victory an evacuation was called. Tambwe would be abandoned.

Fighting in the city had all but died down. Though many Lubonin knights and air troops had fled and hidden in the city ruins, or even fled the city altogether, the bulk of Lubon’s remaining airlanded forces surrendered to the Ayvartans and their materiel was destroyed. Officers were taken prisoner, soldiers disarmed and left bound at the remains of the demolished port, to be rescued by their own navy whenever they arrived at the city.

Some food was furnished for them, but that was the only courtesy they would get.

Meanwhile citizens were freed from Mansa’s so-called “curfew.” From the airport, the University and other places, refugees from their own home were walked out by Ayvartan soldiers, briefed on what had transpired, and escorted to train stations and bus terminals. All land-based transportation in the city was slowly summoned, in a herculean effort of coordination, to begin a three-day evacuation of the city and its surrounding villages.

No one was happy with the arrangement, but there were no riots or upheavals. Time was given for things that could be carried to be collected, for old homes to be picked clean of anything that could find use in a new home. Exhausted soldiers traded places guarding civilians, keeping traffic going, keeping people moving. This effort started on the very night after the Battle of Rangda, as soon as the first civilians demanded the privilege.

No one was happy, but everybody worked, and everybody moved on with living.

“Colonel! Congratulations! It’s so good to see you here!”

“It’s good to be here, Private.”

“We’ve really only just started, but the evacuation is moving swiftly, I feel.”

“That’s good. It is thanks to your tireless effort. Keep up the good work.”

“Always ma’am! I’m proud to serve under you! Glory to the socialist peoples!”

Across the street, a private looking after some old folks smiled, called out, saluted.

She was full of vigor, but the people at her side were glancing askance at the Colonel.

They were picking through the rubble of what was once their home.

In light of that, the fabled Colonel, the savior of Bada Aso, was no hero to them.

But they said nothing. They were moving on.

For Madiha Nakar, it was hard to move on from being the hero. As she watched tragedy after tragedy transpire under the rain and the intermittent glow of the streetlights, she felt no sense of triumph. She had absolutely failed. This was not Bada Aso; this was not Adjar Dominance. Her soldiers still viewed her with respect and glowing eyes, and all of them veterans of Bada Aso, they knew hard fighting, and though exhausted, and hurt, and driven to extremes, they were thrilled now to have achieved another battle. But this was not a depopulated city used for a setpiece battle. This was a home. And she had ruined it.

When she blew up Bada Aso, everyone had left it. They had left in an orderly fashion. Those who remained, wanted to. They remained to fight with her, and to help her fight.

These civilians were not those civilians.

“You’re being real hard on yourself. I can tell.” Parinita said.

She wrapped an arm around one of Madiha’s own and curled up near her.

On her other hand she was holding open a muddy, slightly ripped umbrella.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I always have to worry with you. It’s right on your face. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Parinita looked out over the street. They were walking to Ocean Station, having hitched a ride on a Hobgoblin tank back from the riverside, where their secret mission had failed to achieve its intended results. Both of them were a little gloomy; Madiha knew that for all she tried to play it off, Parinita was affected by everything too. She glanced over the ruins around them, and the people sifting through them for any remains of their old lives.

It was not so much valuables; nobody really had much need for them. It was memories that were important. People searched for records, and keepsakes, and family heirlooms. From houses, crumbled by shells or burned down by flamethrowers, they dug for old gifts, for priceless art, for their baby’s first boots, for the ashes of a venerable elder.

“If this was a scene in a color film, it would still be shot in grayscale.” Parinita said.

She turned her head from it and did not look at it again as they approached the station.

There were trains coming and going at an accelerated schedule. Rolling stock from all over Tambwe had been ordered to move to Rangda. Trains full of grain taken from collective farms near the front lines passed through, picked up as many passengers as could be stuffed with the food and around it, and took off overloaded as fast as it was safe to. Empty cars on obsolete engines were brought hastily back on duty, filled, and sent off again.

Everything was moving to the desert, to the eternal city of Solstice, the next battleground.

“There will be color again, Madiha!” Parinita said with a sudden energy.

Madiha nodded. She was downcast, but not defeated. Her heart was gripped with a great misery, but there was a fire inside that was burning up every depressing thought, and nursing a deep anger, a fiery hatred that was ready to burn bright, to lash out, to consume.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Madiha said.

“We will! Together. Alright?”

Parinita gripped her on the shoulder. They did not want to kiss in public.

Both of them knew it was a moment for a kiss, and they would have one when they could.

For now, they held hands on the way into the station.

Parked along the platform was a peculiar train that had come screaming into Rangda shortly after the battle was over. It was a KVW-marked armored train, bristling with guns and troop compartments, carrying a compliment of KVW rifle infantry, a super-heavy Vajra howitzer, and an amusing holiday car for the caboose. It was a quaint wooden car painted with warm colors and boasting a line of clear glass windows, much unlike the thick, enclosed, workmanlike armored sections of the train. There were lights shining brightly from within, and a sound like a gramophone record playing from inside.

“That looks like our stop.” Parinita said, laughing a little to herself.

“I would love for it to not be our stop.” Madiha replied.

“It’s the most picturesque thing here, it’s gotta be.”

Madiha sighed. She looked behind her.

Around one of the columns holding the platform roof, Kali was hiding.

She could see the little creature’s tail and wings peeking from the column.

It had been following them awkwardly ever since they left the riverside.

Perhaps the lightning and Madiha’s temper had made it nervous.

“Kali, stay there. We’ll come get you before we leave, okay?”

Kali’s head peeked out from around the platform. It blinked.

“Stay, okay? We’ll pick you up.”

Kali blinked again.

“I hope it doesn’t leave us. It’s so fun to have it around.” Parinita said.

“Kali’s also tactically useful.” Madiha replied.

Kali grunted.

It made no move to leave them, however.

Satisfied their pet was obeying, Parinita and Madiha walked around the back of the train.

They found the caboose door open. Inside was a colorfully decorated room with a table, furnished with a beautiful tea set. There were cakes, and tea, and coffee, and a pungent-smelling milk or cream, Madiha could not tell. On one end of the table, chained up, her wounds only slightly patched from when Madiha had first found her, was Paladin Varus, the highest value among the Elven captives. Across from her, seated on a cushioned chair, was a KVW officer, in the full red and gold regalia. Her dark hair was collected into a pair of long ponytails, and her skin contrasted with the bright color of her heterochromic eyes.

“Good evening, Colonel! You’re just in time.”

Standing up from the chair, KVW Commissar Halani Kuracha introduced herself.

She was a young woman, energetic, with a lithe figure and a strange ease of motion.

“Good evening, Commissar.”

“One moment!”

Kuracha promptly took a cup of cream from the table, and poured it over Varus’ head.

“I’ve been trying to have a conversation with our guest here, but she’s so stubborn!”

Kuracha started twirling Varus’ cream-covered hair in one of her fingers.

She was laughing gently all the while, a tittering coo-hoo, like a bird.

Under this humiliating treatment, Varus bowed her head with a miserable expression.

“You should tell her, Colonel, maybe she’ll listen to you, after all, you did best her in glorious battle,” with a vicious grin, Kuracha pulled Varus’ head up and stared into her eyes, as she spoke, “tell her that were it not for Helvetia’s opening of diplomatic talks with us on this crucial evening, her rudeness would be strongly corrected by my presence.”

“You should stop making playtime of this interrogation.” Madiha said.

Everything about Kuracha was far too twee, childish and deliberately affected and Madiha was immediately growing to hate it. From what she knew of the woman, thought they had seldom met before this night, Kuracha gained repute as an administrator, prisoner processor, labor camp taskmasker, and some dabbling in military command. She was trustworthy, loyal, if eccentric. Her methods, though, could certainly be rebuked.

Once called out, Kuracha let go of Varus’ hair.

“Don’t worry, that cream was cold. It was sitting out for a while.” She said.

Kuracha walked around the room, and came to a stop with a little twirl in front of Madiha.

“Burning someone would be against the accords.”

Madiha was over a head taller, so Kuracha had to crane up to look her in the eye.

She looked like she had something vicious to say; but it was swallowed by a sweet smile.

“But there are forms of duress which have fallen through the cracks.”

“Why was I summoned here?” Madiha asked.

Kuracha blinked, and clapped her hands together with a sweet expression.

“I had been monitoring your progress in Rangda, Colonel. My unit did what we could to preempt 8th Division reinforcements coming in by train. We could’ve never predicted the Elven attack, however. We believe the Royal Navy to be a ways out; our air force will be scouting in the coming days. So that is why I called you in. I will be taking command of the evacuation here. You are required at Solstice: you will fly out there post-haste.”

Kuracha, having delivered her message, twirled back around and walked back to the table.

Madiha watched her go quietly, and spoke up again as the Commissar sat down.

“I would like to put in a request.”

Kuracha did not even turn around to meet her eyes again.

“I would like you to leave my car now.” she dismissively replied.

Her tone was still dripping sweet, but it was just harsher enough than before.

Madiha started to feel a pressure in her temples.

“I want my troops to be evacuated first. They fought hard. They deserve it.”

“Hmm? Excuse me?”

“i see no reason to repeat myself.”

“I’m afraid I’ll need a refresher.”

“My troops will be evacuated first.” Madiha said again, more sharply. “They have spent far too long already in this hole; I want them on the first train to Solstice. They earned it.

Kuracha started speaking in a machine-like, procedural sort of voice.

“Unfortunately priority is materiel first, then units, but don’t worry, there will be–”

“Why are you making this a problem?” Madiha said.

Kuracha turned back around and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Madiha did not budge from the doorway. Parinita looked uncomfortable beside her.

But she was seeing too red to move now. Kuracha blinked hard and shook her head.

“You are the one becoming over-emotional here, Colonel. Though the distance will be only a few hours, no, they will not be first, I’m afraid. This has been left under my authority.”

“Commissar, there is precedent for this–”

“Not under my command.” Kuracha cut in.

Madiha closed her hand into a fist.

“It would vastly recover the morale of this nation’s finest soldiers if–”

“You are dismissed, Colonel. Your troops will be safe and home, in an orderly fashion.”

Kuracha continued to act as if she had gotten the final word, and turned back to Varus.

“So, my dear, who was this Gwendolyn you kept mumbling about, hmm?”

Varus flinched.

Madiha walked up to the table.

Parinita gasped, but was not quick enough to stop her.

In a flash, Madiha raised a leg and kicked Kuracha’s backrest, knocking her down.

For an instant it seemed as though she would kick the dainty woman in the chest.

Such a blow would have broken bones. Knocking down the chair was merely surprising.

Nevertheless Kuracha hit the floor hard.

She scurried onto her back with great quickness and stared up at Madiha.

Her hands were shaking slightly, and it seemed like she wanted to reach for a gun.

Something, however, stayed her hand, and she recollected herself.

“You forget your place, Colonel.” She hissed from the floor.

“No, you’re confused as to your own.”

Madiha took a knee and stared down, as if to say, ‘I’m still bigger even doing this.’

She loomed over Kuracha, making herself a dangerous physical presence.

“This is not your personal playground anymore, Commissar. This is not a labor camp full of ne’er-do-wells for you to boss around. This is not a KVW political office for you vault ranks through parroting a party line. While you were hunting stray trains my troops were in this city steeped in its death and treachery. They will be evacuated first. I’m very short tonight, Commissar. And I know for a fact, right now, I am more valuable than you.”

Kuracha stared at her defiantly. She was not threatened, not in the least.

In fact, she looked just as flighty as ever. Her words dripped with sarcasm and skepticism.

“Colonel, has anyone ever taught you the power of please? It is a magic word.” She said. “I am a person of respect, and this frankly. It is beneath you; beneath your legend.”

She practically spat out the last word like venom.

Madiha remembered a pair of ruffians some time ago who told her, while withholding information she needed, that if she made friends and asked nicely, instead of demanding, she would have gotten what she wanted. That was back before she knew these people would betray, kidnap and torture her, and that she would ultimately murder them all.

Kuracha was someone she would come to blows with. She knew this already.

There were all kinds of communists. Even those who agreed politically may not personally.

Madiha had hated many of her own people. But Kuracha was something else altogether.

She felt it, as if it was being carried in the air around her. Kuracha was dangerous.

She radiated something unseemly, something vitriolic to people.

Was this part of her power too? She had felt Varus’ weakness, felt the blows that the Paladin had taken, felt her defeat enough to almost see it. Now from Kuracha, she smelled the wantonness, and felt the frustration, and the casual application of power, the lust for dominance over others. Kuracha was cloyingly, sickeningly sweet, and she turned sweet like the sugars in a plantain: activated by fire, by violence, by the application of force.

Kuracha loved to have others under her power. That love was sweet as death was dark.

And perhaps some part of her loved to be captive and to be forced and driven down.

It confirmed to her the power she still had, even towered over by someone stronger.

Madiha shook her head. All of these things had flooded her mind in an instant.

She was almost reeling from the shock of it. Like a lightning bolt outside had stricken her.

A bolt of insight, of empathy, all of it unwanted.

“I will evacuate your troops first. But only because this isn’t worth fighting over.”

Kuracha acquiesced, and perhaps in her mind, it was all a sign of her strength.

Madiha had lost control.

She stood, turned her back, and made for the door.

“Colonel, I can be an angel or a devil. It’s entirely your choice.” Kuracha said.

“I’ll consider it, Commissar.”

Madiha did not look at Kuracha’s face as she pushed through the doorway.

Parinita bowed her head respectfully at the door and followed right after.

Walking aimlessly, in a random direction, Madiha was stomping her feet. She went out under the rain, slowly soaking. She felt the shame sinking in with the water, and started moving faster. Everything about Rangda, everything that had happened, she realized it was all characterized by a lack of control. Madiha’s impulses had driven her through all of it. She felt suddenly as if at no point had she truly mastered herself, and been a willing pilot in her own life. She projected that anger, that frustration, that recklessness, to everything that had transpired. From the Mansas, to the Elves, it was all wanton id.

Soon she was running through the rain, as if trying to outrun her thoughts.

“Madiha, are you okay? Talk to me!”

Someone came running in from behind, struggling with an umbrella.

Catching up, Parinita laid hand on Madiha’s shoulder and tried to slow her down.

“This isn’t the way to the airport.”

“I apologize. I made a fool of myself, of you; of us.”

Madiha stopped dead under the storm. She felt tears starting to gather in her eyes.

Parinita ran around her and stood in front, holding her hands.

“That was reckless back then, but you were doing it for deserving people.” She said. “Please don’t hold yourself in contempt for it, Madiha! You had good intentions, and that woman was definitely trying to get under your skin. I don’t hold any of it against you.”

Madiha could not bear to look at her. She felt like a monster.

“No. It was all my own self-righteousness and stubbornness. It’s always been.”

It seemed totalizing; she projected this event throughout all of her life.

She felt like she was realizing how wrong she had always been.

It was not liberating. It was like falling in a pit. It was like dying.

“Madiha, please–”

“First Mansa’s subordinates got a rise out of me; then Chakrani made me lose my composure; Von Drachen put me off balance; and now this. This is all such a mess.”

“Those were all infuriating things. You’re human. It happens. You’re not perfect!”

Madiha sighed, and it came out as a heavy sob, and shook the tears out of her.

Parinita looked around to see if anyone was there.

She seemed satisfied; they appeared to be deep in the station, amid empty, waiting trains.

With the coast clear she raised her hands to Madiha’s cheeks, parted her hair, and tiptoed.

Madiha did not resist the kiss.

She did not reciprocate with much energy, but did not resist.

“Madiha, please calm down. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself some space. Please.”

Madiha sighed again, feeling frustrated with herself for this weakness.

“I fear I am devolving back into the impulsiveness of my youth.” She whimpered.

She locked eyes with her lover, and found an unruly sort of stare meeting hers.

Parinita grinned coquettishly, one hand over her lips. “Oh~ really~? Well, I for one am excited at the prospect of a more passionate and hot-blooded Madiha Nakar.”

She moved her hands in a cute little flourish.

Madiha burst into an involuntary chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’d tease me when I’m this vulnerable.” She said.

“Aww. I’m sorry. I was trying to make you smile.”

Madiha turned her head awkwardly, her face flushed from crying and from kissing.

“You nearly got me.” She said. Her mind was slowly clearing, just a touch.

Perhaps it was Parinita’s influence over the flame of Madiha’s power, like magic.

Like telepathy.

Or perhaps, Parinita was just that sweet and that good.

Madiha’s distress started to turn into embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got us both soaking wet. I’ve been acting like a child.”

Parinita backed away a step, still holding Madiha’s hands, and smiled.

“Forget it. At any rate, you said in Bada Aso you reconnected with lost memories, right? It’s only natural you’d change after that; and after everything else that’s happened too. You’ve been hurt and exhausted and you’ve never once thought of yourself in all of it.”

Parinita sighed and looked out over the trains.

“I’m so worried, and I just, don’t know what to do sometimes. But I’m here for you.”

Madiha squeezed her hands. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to worry you.”

“Just let me take care of you every once in a while. Okay? If you can’t do it for yourself.”

They started to walk again, this time the right away to the airport. Parinita held up the umbrella, but they were both dripping wet, and cold, shivering, and the storm was making them struggle to keep the thing over their heads. Once more they had to pick up their space and start running, until they returned to the platform. Making sure to remain out of sight from Kuracha’s car, the two of them sought shelter at the station. Dripping all over a bench, they waited for a car to come that could be hailed and pick them up.

It was a pathetic scene, but not every battle ended gloriously.

Probably most events in history simply transitioned to inglorious peace without warning.

Madiha sighed deeply.

“Hey, don’t. Just cuddle up to me for warmth and stop thinking about it.”

Parinita seemed to readily preempt Madiha’s dark thoughts.

Wrapping themselves up in a towel provided by a nearby soldier, they clung close.

“I meant what I said, by the way. You’re taking some time off to recover.”

Madiha tried to work up a little smile. “I will readily acquiesce.”

“I’ll schedule a relaxing film just for us. And a warm bed right after.”

Parinita whispered in a sultry voice.

Madiha felt a momentary titillation at the thought.

“I’d like that.” She said awkwardly, remembering their last time.

Parinita, meanwhile, had a face like a fox poised to devour.

“Please calm down about it though.” Madiha added.

Together they waited, for the car, for the plane, for a change of clothes.

And in the sky, and off in the distance, and with time, they saw the edge of the desert.

One more inglorious transition in history.

---

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53rd of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Tambwe Dominance, Rangda City — Shining Port

“Keep moving! The faster your feet go, the sooner you’ll be warm again!”

A line of guards led the captives down to the port like a funeral procession.

Whenever the line slowed, the Ayvartan guards shouted, and the prisoners moved again.

Nobody wanted to march under this storm. Nobody except maybe Gulab Kajari, who had volunteered for the job and was visible all around the line, shouting and making a racket.

Maybe she, like everybody else, wanted to shout down something other than prisoners.

Nevertheless they all moved, under the driving rain, as one depressing mass.

Little was done to protect the prisoners from the storm, and for the guards there were only cloaks and rain tarps tied with rope to their shirts or bodysuit belts. Tied together by the hands, elven soldiers from the various airlanded units marched down Ocean Road, Council, and the other battlefields from which they had been taken or where they had surrendered.

Disarmed, partially disrobed, the prisoners were cold and downcast, their heads down, the long locks of gold hair characteristic of most elves now dripping wet and hanging over their faces. They walked as fast as their remaining strength allowed. At their side, under threat from Chimera and Hobgoblin escorts, their remaining vehicles marched with them, stripped of ammunition and with their gun blocks sealed up with glue. Guards rode with the drivers to insure compliance. This mixed parade made it was way to the coast.

Riding near the front, with its gun trained on a “Patriarch” tank ahead of them, was the Chimera belonging to Adesh Gurunath and company. He waved to Corporal Kajari whenever she neared and she waved back as she moved up and down the line. There was a tarp on tentpoles over his Chimera, but some water still go in. It was a dreary scene.

“Move.”

“Be gentle! I’m wounded and you take up so much space.”

“You’re spreading your legs.”

“It hurts when I close them!”

“Liar.”

Behind Adesh, Nnenia and Eshe were having one of their petty rows about the one seemingly dry corner of the Chimera’s fighting compartment, and the limited space there for two young adults sitting side by side. They pushed up against each other, and even when quite would passive-aggressively shift their weight to annoy the other. Adesh could hardly stand to look at them, they were so frustrating. Rahani was gone; he was with the driver of the tank in front of them, pointing a gun at them. So Eshe nominally had command, but in reality Adesh was giving most of the directions to Kufu out in front.

As always Kufu had little to nothing to say and Adesh welcomed the lack of personality.

Soon the procession had made its way to port. Their arrival was heralded by a series of explosions out by the military berths. All around the port facilities, trucks and half-tracks full of engineers and their equipment drove up and down. Out by the waterside the port was a smoldering ruin. Adesh could see the smoke from his vantage, and when they drove along the coast he could see the piers in pieces, floating in the water. Rangda’s flotilla of fishing boats had been released out to sea to clog up the harbor. The Port’s cranes had their foundations blown up, and they were pushed into the sea as well. Coastal defense turrets opened fire on the lighthouse on the other end of the city and knocked it down.

All the while this sabotage and destruction was happening, the captives were marched to a series of depots, while their vehicles were set to run into the ocean at various points. There was so much junk floating along the port now that it seemed impossible for any ship to use it. They could not dock at the berths, could not get near the piers. Rangda’s shining port was now a rubble port. It would be the home of their captives for the next while.

Sergeant Chadgura and Corporal Kajari addressed the prisoners through an interpreter.

“You’ll stay in here until you get rescued by your side. You should be lucky we’re socialists and value life here in Ayvarta. There’s rations in this crate. If you’re seen in the street from now until our evacuation you will be shot. Stay here, until next we meet in battle.”

With that, the captives were locked, hands and feet still bound, in the shipping depots.

This task complete, the guards and escort crews took a moment to breathe and wait out the worst of the rain in their own little depots just off the main road of the port. It was warmer there. With more real estate to work with, Eshe and Nnenia gave each other a wider berth. The Chimera was parked outside, nearly out of fuel, to be towed by a tank transporter to the train station. Everyone would ride back to Ocean in trucks, trucks which command promised would drive out to meet them as soon as possible. Adesh waited.

He found it strangely difficult to leave the Chimera behind. Its smart green paint job was pitted and scratched and filthy with smoke and dirt and mud and rain, its side rails were broken, its track links battered and fraying, the muzzle brake was splitting, and the suspension could hardly cope with any kind of bump anymore. Over the span of a day it had been battered continuously, and was no noble beast anymore. But he felt attached.

This machine had saved him and his friends. It had won battles. It had claimed lives.

He had done all of those things too. And yet he felt like the machine would understand better than his fellows what that was like. Maybe he was something like a machine too.

Finding his own little corner of the depot to exist in, Adesh sat down on a small stack of empty shipping boxes. They reminded him of the sort that were filled with explosive shells for the Chimera. He sat there, apart from his friends, apart from the other soldiers.

Everything was quiet. Everyone was tired, wet and shaking from residual stress.

He did not feel great. His stomach was quite upset. He felt nervous tingling under his skin.

“Hey, we’re evacuating, kid! We won! Why are you so gloomy all of a sudden?”

Gulab Kajari’s gentle face suggested a weariness like Adesh’s own, despite her loud cheer.

She appeared and sat down beside Adesh, and threw an arm around him with a smile. She was the same woman as always, slight and fit, with black hair in a long braid that was coming apart from the rain, and honey-colored skin dripping with rainwater, sweat, and slick in places with the grime of battle. She had a face that was pretty in the way his own was said to be pretty, in its smoothness and softness, perhaps more sharply featured.

He could not help but smile in her presence, but it was a smile as sad as her own seemed.

“You’re tired? Aren’t we all! Just do some work to get it off your mind. It’s what I do!”

“With all due respect Corporal, I think that’s the opposite of what you should do.”

“I’ve always done the opposite of what I should’ve done!” Gulab replied.

Adesh wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He looked down at the floor and saw his own reflection in a puddle of water that had dripped and dripped down from the roof.

“What’s on your mind?” Gulab asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see anything, to be honest. I feel like I’m not thinking.”

“Huh. Think of it this way, if your cousin could see what was in your head–”

Adesh cut her off gently. “I don’t know what you could see in the head of a boy so lost he doesn’t even know who he is anymore, or what being is, or what, I don’t know, he is.”

“God, I’d be so envious of someone who doesn’t know what he means.” Gulab said.

Adesh blinked at her quizzically.

“I’ve felt similarly to you before, I think. I might’ve been that boy.”

Adesh thought he understood, on some general level.

“My head is full of fog. I used to think of myself one way, but lately, it feels like I’m becoming someone terrible.” Adesh said. “And I’m in a situation where I can’t stop.”

“What terrible things have you done? You’ve saved my life so many times today.”

Adesh sighed deeply.

“I’m not– I shouldn’t be a soldier.” He said. “Listen, Corporal: I joined the army when it was just a joke. It was just another labor union. We had soldiers and police who didn’t have to fight; it was communism, right? I thought I could use it as an escape. But it’s changed me. I know I’m capable of killing. I’m good at it. That– that really hurts, you know?”

Adesh looked out over the depot. He could see Nnenia dozing off in a corner; Nnenia who had said in the middle of a besieged church, that she had seen worse than a room full of injured men and women moaning for help. He could see Eshe, talking with the bubbly and flowery Sergeant Rahani. Eshe, who had picked up a flamethrower and killed a score of men who were coming to kill them all, burned them horribly alive while they screamed.

Eshe and Nnenia were properly horrified, stressed, injured, by what they experienced.

All of them had done horrible things. But none of them with as much comfort as Adesh.

“I’m really dangerous, Corporal Kajari. I can protect them; but I can also get them killed. Today I’ve been reckless, and I’ve been eager, and it’s scary, all of the things I’ve done.”

Adesh had been so angry. Every time the enemy threatened. He was full of anger, and he yelled, and he fought, and he begged for the chance to kill and kill and kill them again. He told himself he was protecting his friends. But he thought there was a monster in him, and it was so strong. He felt like all of his senses were awakening solely to be used for killing. Nnenia and Eshe had taken to soldiery with a hidden strength that was admirable, but neither seemed to possess the unflinching talent with murder than Adesh had found.

“You keep looking at your friends.” Gulab said. “With, I dunno, it looks like a kind of pity? Distance? I’m not sure what’s going through your head, but do you see me the same way?”

Adesh was not sure how to respond. He sighed. Gulab took him into an embrace.

“Have you asked them how they feel about that? About themselves? Have you shared what you think is happening to you? I wager they feel the same way. I think we all gotta do.”

“How do you feel about it?” Adesh weakly asked.

Gulab took in a deep breath as if she was about say something she rehearsed.

“I feel that I was living an impostor life, and for the last little while I’ve been trying to be true to myself and who I want to be, and I don’t know if other people see me as I want to be seen, or if there even is a legitimate person who can be seen that way at all. It hurts a bit. I want people to see a brave and feisty mountain girl who is reliable and lovable. I don’t know what they see, and it scares me. But the fact is, Adesh, fighting to defend yourself, and your friends, and things you believe is, doesn’t rob you of the guts of that person. Struggling to survive, wanting things to be better, and fighting for it, that’s noble!”

Adesh was surprised. He felt an eerie familiarity with everything she was saying.

He also had to wonder whether it really had been rehearsed or not!

Gulab seemed to notice his change in demeanor.

She took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes with a big smile.

And with tears in her eyes. She looked as if she had discovered something miraculous.

“I can be a girl and you can be a girl if you want to! Us fighting like this doesn’t preclude it and to hell with anyone who says otherwise. We’re struggling for something beautiful!”

Adesh blinked. He felt his face turning hot. “Um.”

“Um!” Gulab looked suddenly nervous. “I mean, you can be anything you want to be.”

Adesh nervously played a little with his hair.

“Sorry, I get carried away! But um. What I meant to say is that being a soldier doesn’t mean you’re a monster. Whatever your original intention, you’re in this army now, you’re staying here, and you’re becoming stronger, yes at killing, but also, because you care about your people and your home, and your friends, and the civilians who depend on you now.”

It was a strange word to hear. Depend. People depended on him?

“I’m not some hero, Ms. Kajari.”

“Yeah you are! Like I said, you saved me a lot today. And maybe that person, the way they save others, maybe that scares you. Because you might think you’re not worthy of the things you’re fighting for anymore. And I think it’s fine to be scared. It means you care so much, it means you’re really, truly, good. But give yourself some time and space, y’know?”

She patted him in the back, with an awkward little laugh.

Clearly Corporal Kajari was losing the plot on her own advice at the moment.

Adesh felt a little relieved to have talked to her, however.

He would still have to sit down and consider many things for himself.

But he felt a sense of relief knowing he wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to be alone.

“Thanks Ms. Kajari.” He said. He meant it. He felt the fog in his mind clearing a little.

Enough that he could, at least, create a facade of calm that could fool even himself.

“No problem, kiddo! And call me Gulab! Enough of the ‘miss this’ and ‘rank that’ stuff.”

Gulab jumped up from the crates they were sitting on, and walked proudly away.

Adesh watched her return to her partner, the gloomy silver-haired Sergeant Chadgura, and start hollering about something or other in a distressingly loud fashion. He smiled.

Soon a covered truck arrived, and the driver ushered everyone into the back.

Gulab, Chadgura, Nnenia, Eshe and Rahani, along with Adesh, crowded into the bed.

There were already two people there. A pair of young women, one curly-haired, tomboyish, the other long-haired and a bit fairer, holding hands, wrapped in a little blanket. They were sleeping soundly and occupying a corner of the truck with their legs outstretched, taking up an unfortunate amount of room for all the people coming in.

“Don’t disturb them.” Gulab ordered. “Those two lovebirds earned this.”

She sat down with her legs under her, and Chadgura did the same, conserving some space.

Adesh was respectful, and did the same.

Nnenia and Eshe continued to quarrel for space.

Rahani gave everyone a dangerous look; they settled down immediately.

“Ahem,”

He leaned forward. He had replaced the flower on his head with a poppy taken from an elf.

“I wanted to tell all of you how proud I am. Thanks to your efforts today, we won this battle. There are many shapes to victory, but the sweetest one, is to live on. Remember it.”

He smiled, spread his arms, pulled Nnenia, Eshe and Adesh close and kissed their heads.

Everyone chuckled, quietly, so as not to wake Caelia Suessen and Danielle Santos.

Rahani sat back against the wall of the truck bed.

“No matter what anyone tells you of this inglorious day, my precious crew. You won.”

He sighed deeply, and soon seemed to fall asleep himself.

Adesh, having found some small enough measure of peace, was soon sleeping too.

---

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