Tag: Adventure

The Fallen General (40.1)

This scene contains violence and death.

45th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Ayvarta, Tambwe-Ajdar Border — Ghede River

Despite the amount of bodies pressed to either side of the river, everyone could still hear the sloshing of the water as it rushed downstream. Everyone was silent. Breaths reached farther than bullets, and faster. Ghede was a slow conquest, and an even slower defense.

Eyes peered over boulders, around sandbags, over grass-covered outcroppings upon which they lay belly-down with scopes and binoculars, peering downhill or uphill over the stream. Shadows flitted around trees, behind bushes. The opposing fronts were separated by only the width of the Ghede. In some areas the lines were as close as a hundred meters. Had it not been for the water they could have charged bayonet-first.

Despite the water, charging bayonet-first was still the choice outcome.

In several places the Ghede was only a half-dozen meters deep, and the rhythm of the battle was predicated on this fact. Men could swim across, if given the opportunity.

Lacking the mobility to cross quickly, the dueling sides fell into a war of munitions.

On the Nochtish side, mortar tubes were gathered by the dozens. Anti-tank and artillery guns of small calibers were pushed to the line of bushes at the edge of the wood, fifty meters from the river and nearly three hundred from the nearest Ayvartan position – not much, but enough to go unnoticed. Snipers climbed to the bushy canopy and adjusted their scopes. Light M5 tanks hid behind the tree line, and adjusted their guns to the same shooting tables in use by the anti-tank guns. Across a river they were merely mobile guns. There would be not armored blitzkrieg over the water of the Ghede yet.

Lines of foxholes formed a divide eerily reminiscent of the battles of the Unification War period, where two trench lines separated by a thousand meter no-man’s-land stared at one another for months, some years, before new technology entered the picture and caused a shift. Whether the abominable but ultimately slight shift caused by chemical weapons – or the dramatic, tide-turning shift caused by the entry of Nochtish tanks.

No new technology would cause a shift here in the Ghede, and the soldiers only wished they had a professional-looking trench line. Scattered foxholes and sandbag walls were broken up by the dips and rises of the uneven riverbanks, and the intermittently rocky and sandy and grassy terrain. Riflemen scraped from various divisions, agglomerated into the new 13th Panzer Division, waited sleepily for the next offensive to be declared.

There had been a few previous build-ups and failed attacks, but the lull between them felt like years’ worth of peace. Munitions built up, and men awaited commands, but on the Nochtish side of the Ghede there was a lazy, almost contented mood, like that of a holiday. There were no Generals here, no shouting orders, just distant voices, the sporadic tossing of a few shells, and half-hearted attempts to wade into the foam.

Bullets wailed and blood splashed, but after the fact everything was easily forgotten.

Until the next build-up, the next command word, the next attack.

“Noble cause.”

When the command came the landser crouched beside the field radio box could scarcely identify it as such. He raised an eyebrow at the strange call and the handset shifted against his ear with the shaking of his hand. Turning his head, he signaled to his superiors nearby that he was on the line. He then cleared his throat, and called back.

“Say again?”

“Noble cause,” came Chief of Signals Fruehauf’s voice once more.

“Noble cause?”

Fruehauf did not reply and the line went suddenly dead.

For several moments the radio man stood staring off into the distance.

He shook his head and his wits returned to him. Noble cause was the command.

That meant this build-up was now complete, and all munitions were to be released.

“We’ve been activated.” He whispered to the nearest man. “Pass it on.”

Word spread quietly across the line. Ayvartans monitored the radio traffic, or so everyone had been told; and they could see and hear across the river fairly well during quiet periods like this one. Therefore the rallying cry could not be loud or electric. Hands and tongues passed along the command, across every gun in the 10.5 cm battery, through the hatches of every M5 Ranger, behind the shields of every 37mm doorknocker gun, to every three-man Norgler machine gun team, into every foxhole and sniper nest.

“Noble cause, we’ve been activated.”

Guns of all sizes were loaded. Discarded helmets set back on vacant heads. Bayonets lugged, for no clear purpose. Men scrambled up, looking out over the river once more. Their movements were mechanical, reflexive, their minds still catching up to the events.

Once the entire river-front had been alerted, a runner was sent back to the guns.

Infantry would fire after the mortars and cannons drew the first blood.

With his upper body bowed low the man took off running.

He made it scarcely a few meters before he heard death whistle overhead.

A column of gray smoke and dirt, seething with hot metal, blossomed behind the trenches, and the runner went flying into a nearby tree, splashing blood and flesh.

They were preempted, despite careful planning.

The Ayvartans had gotten wind of the impending attack.

No sooner had the landsers noticed their dead man that munitions started falling over their line by the dozen, exploding all along the river-front. Small mortar shells came quickest, hitting the earth hundreds a minute along every kilometer of enemy positions, casting thin plumes of smoke and dirt into the air. Fragments of metal went flying over every foxhole and trench, and men huddled to their knees to escape the airborne death.

Following the mortars came the ponderous fire of much larger guns, striking farther behind the front, smashing trees, vaporizing bushes, torching holes into the thick green canopy above. Chunks of wood like flying stakes joined the shell fragments in the air. Thousands of fragments and fast-flying debris struck shields and thick trunks and the metal armor of tanks, hitting cover with such frequency it resembled automatic fire.

Amid the thunderous pounding of the enemy artillery, Landsers scrambled to their combat positions, bracing machine guns over rocks, pulling up to the edge of the riverbank on their bellies or scarcely above their holes and raising their battle rifles. As they joined battle their green tracers flew over the water, snapping branches and biting into rocks and flying into bushes. Between the rhythmic pounding of enemy ordnance the infernal noise of the norgler machine guns filled the silence, and lit the air green.

Lines of green bullets stretched over the river, and lines of red flew back the other way.

Behind the infantry line the air stirred as the 10.5 cm batteries finally retaliated.

Within the opposing tree-line the Nochtish fighters saw bright flashes as their own shells went off on the enemy, raising their own pillars of turf and metal as they struck.

There were flashes brighter still as enemy guns lobbed shells directly over their heads.

At the center of the line, a boulder was smashed to pieces as a 122mm Ayvartan gun struck it with direct fire. Chunks of hot rock struck against helmets and sandbags.

Red machine gun tracers from the Ayvartan side bounced off rocks and kicked up lines of dirt and overflew the foxholes, chopping up bushes behind them. Men scrambled to keep under the slicing red lines, unable to hear the thock-thock-thock of the Ayvartan machine gun over the cacophony of explosives landing by the dozens all around them.

Snipers perched atop the trees briefly glanced at the fire flying under their feet before returning to their scopes. They peered across the river, trying to discern the shadows from the enemy troops. The Ayvartan’s side of the river had much less space between the water and the treeline, and the entire Ayvartan line was cloaked in the vegetation.

But the difference between a rustling branch and a shooter was obvious – one flashed red and the other did not. Aiming for the muzzle flashes, snipers shot into the dark, moving from flash to flash in the hopes of scoring a maiming hit. As positions shifted and munitions discharged, however, new flashes and new targets appeared, as if a hundred shining eyes belonging to a monster, and no real effect could be discerned.

Joining the rest of the artillery, the company of M5 Rangers assisting the river offensive dug into the forest and fired blindly into the sky and through the trees, following the coordinates on the shooting tables. Theirs was the most solipsistic work within the battle. Encased in metal, the gunner and commander could hardly see around them in the wood, and the work of shooting was purely mathematical. They were shielded entirely from retaliatory fire, and only when the tank shifted positions to protect itself did the crew seem to awaken from the mechanical slumber of shooting and loading.

In theory an enemy was being hit, but the tank crews would not know it. Even the landsers at the front line, withstanding the brunt of the enemy barrages, couldn’t tell a tank shell apart from any other artillery, much less guess at whether it was accurate. It was all explosions to them, dirt flying and metal slicing through the air and fire briefly rising and abating within seconds. Whether across the river or around them.

Fire and fragments, an atmosphere thick with smoke; everyone was awakening from their dream-like haze to the violence of the Ghede. The first injured were dragged away through the tree-line, and men rushed from behind the tanks to take up vacated holes. Guns and tanks and machine gunners took the lead from the riflemen who clumsily began the battle, and the munitions war played out over every foxhole and trench.

Across days of the mind this war raged, but in the physical realm it was only minutes.

Then the final shell crashed down on the Nochtish side. Nobody was hurt.

Slowly the fire subsided, the colored lines vanishing from the air. Silence followed. Only the crackling of dust, falling to earth, could be heard. Neither side launched an attack.

Within the hectic moment of this offensive, nobody had bothered to cross the water.

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The 1st Regimental Headquarters (37.1)

This story segment contains violence and some frightening imagery.

45th of the Aster’s Gloom 2030 D.C.E

Tambwe Dominance — Rangda City, Red Banner Apartments

Madiha woke in the middle of the night in a bleary, dream-like haze where every angle became soft and everything except the edges of her vision was a rolling blur. Her shirt clung to her back and breast, cold and wet with a midnight sweat, and she felt a terrible headache and stomachache, borne of stress and lack of restful sleep. When she moved her fingers, hands, feet, they felt too heavy and too limp, alternating at a moment’s notice.

She heard something heavy hit the windowsill and it reverberated in her skull.

Alarmed, Madiha stumbled upright, and nearly hit her set of drawers as she made toward the open window. Her vision warped, tilted, came in and out, until it settled.

Framed in the moonlight, Kali stood guard at the windowsill, growling softly.

Half-closing her eyes, squinting to see, Madiha approached. Holding herself up by the curtains, she leaned half out of the window and scanned the street and the road.

Her eyes were aimless at first, but were then drawn in by the mask.

Across the street, the standing thing was shorter than an adult human.

It wore a fully white mask, featureless save for an inset gold face the size of a nose.

This small face on the mask had its own dull impression of a nose and tiny slitted eyes that moved haphazardly around like spinning billiard balls when stricken by the cue.

When they stopped moving they focused on her briefly. She felt their weight even from this far. Then they would roll again like a slot machine, moving inside and out of their sockets.

Everything of the creature’s face was obscured by the mask saved for a red chin and mouth, lips broken, a faint impression of white teeth. Around the edges of the mask was the black line formed by a thick hood that covered the being’s entire body save for its five long, dangling limbs that would occasionally thrash and dance like flailing noodles.

Nothing of the creature was congruous — every limb a different size, one shoulder lower than the other, one leg taller, and its visible mouth slanted to one side.

“Majini.” Madiha whispered to herself.

Her drawing of breath alerted the creature. Under its hood its thick legs stirred. It turned from the street to the window, and the little gold face on its white mask sniffed the air.

Jagged teeth burst through from between the creature’s lips in every direction.

Madiha’s recently recovered life flashed in her mind.

She felt those arms closing around her neck, a little neck, a child’s neck.

She felt the kicking and screaming, and the crunching of the mask as a brick struck the face in the middle and drew copious, filthy-smelling blood and shrieking screams.

“I killed you all.” Madiha’s jaw quivered. “I thought–”

A click-clacking, gurgling scream interrupted her.

Red spittle flew from the creature’s gnashing jaws. Hands flailing as if pulling on the air, the monsters twitched from one place to the next, hurtling toward the window. It moved like a cheetah on a full sprint, but it accelerated to a charge from a standing position in a second flat, and in an instant it tumbled from the street over the flower beds flanking the steps to the apartment building’s stairs, and slammed a pair of fists into the brick.

Its neck cracked as it craned its head to stare at the window.

Around the edges of its lips the teeth turned as if spinning on a wheel.

Madiha reached into her undershirt instinctively, but it was not her tunic, it did not have her holster. All of that was back at the foot of her bed, discarded. She drew back.

Raising a hand to her temple, she drew on the fire, the primordial fire.

Her eyes burnt, and the edges of her sight went red.

Every second the red was expanding, and smoke covered her vision.

All other Majini had perished in the heat of this ancient flame.

This one would join them.

“Kali, run!” Madiha cried out, her legs buckling as she struggled to kindle the flame.

Kali did not retreat as instructed.

It reared back on the window and drew air into its mouth.

In front of the window the creature appeared for a split second in mid-leap.

Kali breathed out the window, launching a blurring cone of barely-visible force.

Madiha could not hear the sound, but she felt it inside her head and in her gut.

Outside the window the Majini fell to the ground with a thud and let out its own cry.

At once Madiha’s concentration broke, and the flame she nursed was snuffed out.

Night’s colors returned to her surroundings, and all of the red was gone.

In its place there was only a sting and a nosebleed.

Madiha hurried to the window and found the creature’s mask shattered into bloody pieces. Its limbs were snapped and twisted by the strength of Kali’s breath, and its hood caved in at the center. Soon it began to die the Majini’s death — it disappeared slowly. As the body and cloak melted away like wax and sank through the earth itself, Madiha saw the impression of a sewn-up face flash briefly from behind the shards of white porcelain.

It was gone as if it had never existed.

Madiha gingerly reached a finger to her blood-soaked upper lip.

The pain of her own brains burning felt very real, but nothing else did.

A thin shaft of light expanded across Madiha’s window to encompass much of her room as the apartment bore the full brunt of Rangda’s dawn. At pace with the light a small, dragon-shape shadow extended across the room, the bed, and over Madiha’s face.

Madiha opened her eyes, facing the ceiling. She turned her head to face the window.

Last night felt like a dream. Some parts she could confirm, but others were ephemeral.

She touched her thin nose, and removed a pair of bloody tissue papers from it.

No more blood drew from her nostrils. And the psychic sting in her brain had passed.

She sighed. As a child she could throw several flares before feeling anything.

It seemed she would not have to start over from scratch.

As she sat up by the side of her bed, eyeing her uniform and hazily piecing back together her plans for the day, someone knocked on the door twice quickly.

The door then opened a crack, and Parinita peeked her head in cheerfully.

“I come bearing gifts!” She shouted, holding a paper bag in her hand.

Seeing Madiha sweaty and in her underwear, a little gasp escaped her glossy pink lips.

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have barged in. Should I go?”

Madiha shook her head, gently waving about her black hair, nearer to shoulder length after almost a month of new growth, and messy from her tumultuous sleep. She stood up off the bed, leaned back, raised her arms, pushed her chest forward and let out a yawn. Glistening sweat delineated the lines of lean muscle on her bare limbs, and trickled down the brown skin of her slim, toned body. She felt no hint of awkwardness.

“It’s perfectly fine.” She said, through a long exhalation. “So long as it’s just you.”

Parinita laughed, delicately covering her mouth with her hand while ogling.

“I suppose it’s alright anyway since we’re both girls–”

At the window, Kali groaned audibly and slammed its tail on the wall.

“Eep! It still doesn’t like me.” Parinita moaned, retreating further behind the door.

Madiha shot Kali a frowning look.

“It’ll have to warm up to you eventually.” She said, in the tone of a command.

Kali blew a little air from the nostrils at the edge of its beak.

Madiha shook her head at it. “Come in Parinita, don’t stay by the doorway.”

Parinita nodded. She entered, her hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing a fresh skirt and dress uniform. A light dusting of cosmetics gave her lightly bronzed skin a bit of a blush, and the reading spectacles perched on her nose made her look more a secretary than ever. She wore a skirt uniform and a pair of classy flat shoes in green to match. Though fairly fit, Parinita was slightly rounder and softer than Madiha in form, and at least ten centimeters shorter.

Examining her, Madiha felt a little thrill in her chest. She was always a lovely sight.

Closing the door behind herself, Parinita tottered up to Madiha, and put her hands on the woman’s head. Madiha felt a cooling touch seep in through her cheeks and smiled as a wonderful, relaxing feeling spread through her, touching her strained body and her too-hot heart and head. She locked eyes with her secretary as the eldritch fires invisibly dispersed.

“You are far too hot this morning, Colonel.” Parinita said, smiling faintly.

Her hands were still on Madiha’s face. Madiha reached her own hand up to touch hers.

“I’m still unsure exactly how it happened.” Madiha said. It played into the little entendre Parinita might have been setting up, but it was also true. Her memory of the past night was a fading blur. She recognized something happened, but it felt too unreal to be true.

“Just be careful with it.” Parinita said. “I might not always be around catch sight of it.”

“Someday I’m going to have to interrogate you about that.” Madiha said, smiling.

“I owe you the conversation.” Parinita replied. “But we’d need more time than we have.”

Madiha nodded. Like her, Parinita had her own illogical secrets, and she probably yearned to share them. Madiha was perhaps the only soul who could relate to the alien things Parinita must have known. But life always pulled them harshly in certain directions, and they hadn’t yet found enough peace to fully confess to one another. Each of them held pieces of the other’s puzzle; everything was strewn on the floor without interlocking.

And yet it felt like both of them could still see a lot of the picture nevertheless.

Their day would come sooner or later, but Madiha felt that they had an unspoken understanding on this matter regardless. Each was drawn to the other, sharing a kinship in and out of battle since the day they were thrust, violently, into each other’s orbit.

It was rushed, and strange, and perhaps dysfunctional. And yet it felt natural.

Had not Aer and its Moon been bound together by a cosmic disaster? That was the last science Madiha read on the subject. The two were inseparable now. It felt quite right.

Contented, Madiha replied, “I’m not worried. We’ll discuss everything when it’s right.”

Parinita nodded her head, tufts of strawberry hair bouncing just over her forehead.

In a way, Madiha felt like she already knew everything. Such was their bond now.

After lingering for several moments, their eyes, so tightly locked before, finally parted, and they set about preparing for the day. Madiha entered the adjacent bathroom to wash her face and teeth, and Parinita returned to the door, and took from a hanger outside the apartment a fresh uniform and a bundle of needed sundries that had been left for the Colonel, and set it down on the bed for her. When Madiha returned, she sat at the edge of the bed and set apart all the layers of her uniform to begin dressing up.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Madiha asked while picking out her socks. She quickly found that she had been given were women’s long stockings, which she never wore.

Sighing, she pulled them up along her long legs.

Parinita giggled at the sight. “Hopefully we can get the headquarters ready by today, I’m thinking that will take the bulk of the afternoon to do. We also need to go over our table of organization and draft some simple training programs our troops can start on soon.”

As she listened, Madiha mechanically donned a white shirt, hastily buttoned the collar, and started doing her long red tie in a simple knot; seeing this, Parinita reached suddenly down, pushed her hands aside, and finished tying it herself. Madiha was surprised.

“I know how to tie it.” She said, as her secretary’s skillful hands completed the knot.

“Think so? Give it a quick look.” Parinita cheekily said.

Madiha pulled her tie up and stared at the knot. Somehow the red and gold lines of the tie formed a complicated pattern. Parinita had managed to divide the knot into neat little quadrants. It was a much more eyecatching knot than anything Madiha knew how to do.

“Oh ho ho! You see? It’s called a lover’s knot, because it’s hard to tie it for yourself.”

Parinita stuck out her chest, satisfied with herself, while Madiha turned a little red.

Once the Colonel was fully in uniform once more, Parinita combed her hair as best as she could, and the two of them left the building side by side to get a start on the day. Parinita handed her some candied fruit and a bread roll from the bag she had brought into the room, and they ate as they went. A fuller breakfast could wait. Madiha expected to relocate to the base quickly. She started thinking about hailing a cab to take them.

Directly outside, a sleek black soft-top car with its canopy pulled back awaited them.

Behind the wheel of the car, reading a newspaper, Logia Minardo leaned back on the chair. Her uniform looked as crisp as ever, and her cheeks and lips were delicately touched with pigments, but her hair wasn’t collected into a bun. It hung down to her shoulders, a little messy, looking recently wet. Perched on her nose were a pair of shaded glasses.

The Staff Sergeant had a pen and paper in hand and was plotting out the daily crossword puzzle on the driver’s seat. When the door to the apartments opened and shut, Minardo turned her head, spotted her superiors, and waved her pen to greet them.

She pointed at the newspaper.

“Do either of you know an eight-letter word for ‘used to make instrument strings?'”

Madiha blinked hard at her, still bewildered by the vehicle, while Parinita smiled.

“Drakegut!” Parinita cheerfully replied, after less than a second’s hesitation.

At the open window to Madiha’s room, Kali shuddered violently and bowed its head.

Minardo looked down at the paper, counted the spaces, and wrote it down.

“Perfect! As a token of my gratitude, you get a free ride.” She said, winking.

Madiha tipped her head with confusion. She still could not place the car. Her companion was much more energized by the prospect. Cheering, Parinita took Madiha by the hand and led her to the vehicle, pushing her into the back seat and making a big show of sitting near her.

“We have our own chauffeur Madiha!” She chirped. “Now we’re VIPs!”

Instead of metal seats like the scout cars, this civilian model car had plush wool-stuffed seats. The back seat was especially bouncy and comfortable, with a tall, rounded backrest. A roomy interior accommodated the two passengers well, with sizable legroom. Even the floor was snazzy, softly carpeted in a gray color that complimented the shiny black exterior.

All of this was posh, but the most stunning piece on the car was the dashboard radio.

It was set into the middle of the car’s front, extending the instruments panel.

Separating the driver’s and the front passengers’ legroom was the radio’s thick box, with a printed meter and needle in a white plate on the front. A piece of paper taped to the dashboard contained a list of civilian frequencies, scribbled in Minardo’s compact and neat writing. Aware of everyone’s attention on this item, Minardo turned it up. Immediately a steady drum beat, energetic shakers and quick strings played from the large speakers.

“Wonderful, isn’t it? Very dancey!” Minardo shouted over the radio.

Parinita’s face lit up, and she clapped her hands and nodded along to the music.

“Minardo, where did you get this? How did you get this?” Madiha snapped.

Unconcerned, Minardo turned down the volume on the radio, until the drums became background noise, “It’s a M.A.W. Bijali 2030! It’s brand new, fresh out of the depots.”

She sounded quite excited, but this information only made everything more puzzling.

“That does not answer my question at all!” Madiha replied.

On the rear-view mirror, Minardo winked again. “To some people, I’m a VIP, Colonel.”

“Neither does that! What do you even mean?” Madiha demanded.

In lieu of an answer, Minardo hit the clutch, pulled the stick back, and started to gently slide out from the side of the street and onto the road. She crept little by little onto the asphalt and then corrected the nose of the car, and with the gentlest little step on the acceleration pedal, she started them forward at about fifteen kilometers per hour.

There were no other vehicles in the immediate vicinity, and few people on the streets.

Structures and pedestrians scrolled leisurely by as the car inched forward.

“Just relax, Colonel! You’re looking too high strung this morning!” Minardo said.

Madiha let go of a deep breath and dropped against the seat, defeated.

There was a bump behind them. Kali dropped onto the back of the car and laid on the rolled back canvas frame of the vehicle’s soft canopy. It yawned and purred at them.

“It better not scratch the paint!” Minardo cried out.

Kali growled lightly and made a show of retracting its claws.

Madiha said nothing.

After several minutes, Minardo finally shifted to second gear, and accelerated to a relaxing thirty kilometers per hour. They did not go the direct route to the base. Instead, Minardo seemed to delight in taking them for a very leisurely little stroll around the corner from the apartment and farther north into the urban heart of Rangda.

It felt more like riding a horse-drawn carriage than a brand new car.

“Don’t just stare ahead!” She instructed. “Give your necks some exercise! Rangda has a lot of scenery. Our ratty old base won’t go anywhere. Try to enjoy the town for a bit!”

Madiha grumbled inaudibly, annoyed at the distraction. She turned her head away.

On the adjacent street, a teenage girl, perhaps training for a dash, bolted past their car.

“Minardo, you could stand to go a little faster.” Parinita said, her enthusiasm deflated.

Up front, their driver adjusted her rearview mirror so she could see them and scowl.

“Why, I never! I’m with child! If I have an accident, what would become of my baby?”

Parinita looked puzzled, but she kept quiet, perhaps seeing as how she had already stepped on her own tongue around Minardo once before on this very subject.  She sighed.

“Well, there are better services for orphans now than ever in Ayvarta’s history.”

Madiha spoke up nonchalantly, holding her head up with a fist against her cheek and an elbow on the car door, staring at the street. She thought she sounded perfectly logical, but from the startled way that Parinita turned to stare at her, she surmised she had done wrong.

Minardo practically growled. “There wouldn’t be an orphan born at all if I was hurt badly!”

“Oh.” Madiha said. Somehow those dots had not connected fully for her before.

From her tunic, Parinita withdrew an army code booklet and tapped Madiha in the head with the book’s spine. Madiha took her scolding with as much dignity as she could muster.

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Gloom On The Shining Port (36.1)

This story segment contains brief violence.

42nd of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Core Ocean — West Ayvartan Waters

At noon, amid the deep blue of the ocean, the Heavy Cruiser Revenant launched a floatplane patrol. Near the bow of the ship, the Revenant’s two catapults were turned northward and Remora float planes hurled to begin their journey. Each would cover hundreds of kilometers of sea and return within hours, reporting via radio any contacts with enemy ships.

From the operations deck, at the fore of the massive, armored citadel of the ship’s forward superstructure, Captain-At-Sea Monashir stood with her hands behind her back, staring seriously at their operational map of the West Ayvartan Naval Sector, as they knew it in their strategic planning. Her chief concern now was the Bundesmarine of Nocht.

At her flanks, the Selkie class frigates and the Aircraft Carrier Admiral Qote were getting ready to depart and rejoin the East Ayvartan Fleet as a potential defense against Hanwa, whose role in the conflict everyone suspected, but no one knew for certain. In any conflict with Hanwa, their first strike would definitely be an assault on the nation’s Navy, and likely a first-strike against their naval command. Chayat was sure to become a target.

Admiral Qote would certainly be needed in such a situation. Not so much the Revenant.

As such it would be up to the Revenant to escort the Charybdis back to Rangda in Tambwe, while the Admiral Qote was relocated, and the Selkies covered it in transit.

Captain Monashir was used to acting alone or on limited resources. Nevertheless it paid to be cautious and use everything at her disposal. Before her support ships departed, Captain Monashir had requested enough time for a full reconnaissance patrol. The Admiral Qote had gracefully acquiesced to her request and delayed its departure a few hours.

She waited with her breath held in her chest, surrounded by radio and navigation equipment, viewing the ocean through slit windows at the front of the compartment.

Though she loved the view of the sea, it was no longer important to the crew.

In this new age of warfare, what she saw with her senses hardly mattered to the fight. A battle might be decided far before she even knew a battle was imminent. Seaplane recon was the best Monashir could hope for at the moment. The Revenant had an underwater sound detection system, and while the navy was intrigued by the ARG-2’s capabilities in Bada Aso, there was no time currently to install such a thing on the Revenant.

She watched her float monoplanes launched, and could not quite see them fly away.

Radio reports came in every fifteen minutes from both planes.

No contacts; clear seas; etc, for the first few hours.

Then a report came in: “Remora-3 has sighted a heavy cruiser. Looks like a Lubon Gloucester judging by all the big guns strapped to it ma’am. I don’t see any supporting ships, and it seems westbound. It’s far from home. I can’t imagine what it’s up to.”

That’s what it took; in this age of aircraft and signals, those words were worth more than the sharpest eyes on the deck of any ship. She had her contacts, hundreds of kilometers away.

Quickly the crew began to work on triangulation, while their aircraft shadowed the enemy. Soon they worked out a possible course for the Gloucester, as well as a potential combat area. Such an action begged the question: would they engage the Gloucester?

They couldn’t reach it on the surface. But passing this information to the Admiral Qote would allow them to deploy some of the 62 aircraft on-board. Though the Qote would have flushed at the request — 14 of its aircraft had been lost in Bada Aso, 10 to landing accidents, rendering the crew gun-shy — they might have ultimately agreed to do it.

Garuda and Roc aircraft could have attacked the Gloucester within the hour.

This would be an easy fight for them, and would eliminate a royal navy heavy-hitter. No resources would have to be diverted other than the planes and a few travel delays.

However, they were only two days out from Rangda, and the stray ship did not seem to be headed for their land. Though it had no business in these waters in war-time, and though Lubon was certainly Nocht’s crony in this war, Ayvarta and Lubon had not yet engaged in shooting. This attack would mean the Ayvartans shed first blood on the Elves.

It was all well to destroy this one ship. Captain Monashir, however, saw further risks.

“Let the Gloucester go. All Seaplanes return to base. We speed to Rangda.”

Captain Monashir knew she had lost her nerve. She had been confronted with a situation and turned her head from it. Bitterly she recalled her first impression of Madiha Nakar before her own battle — a battle the Captain had seen as reckless and unnecessary. Nakar had achieved an incredible result. But the thought of going out of her way now to destroy this Elven ship, while tempting, still felt reckless and unnecessary.

Monashir was not Nakar, and the sea was not Bada Aso.

Operations in the western Ayvartan waters were thus concluded. Admiral Qote broke off, and met new escorts. Captain Monashir sailed for Rangda. She was sure of her choice.

44th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Core Ocean, Ayvartan Waters — Heavy Cruiser Revenant, around Tambwe.

Easterly winds carried cold from the Kucha over the little dominance of Tambwe across the lower northwest coast. Under the hot noon sun blaring over the ocean, the cold turned into a fresh breeze. But much of the deck was vacant, and there were few around to savor the air. On their final approach to the city of Rangda, only several hundred kilometers from harbor, the cruiser Revenant and its crew took a deserved break for lunch belowdecks.

Floating on the opportune breeze, a certain creature found the empty deck suitable.

And weary of the ship’s confines, a certain Warrant Officer found the creature in turn.

Hidden behind one of the lifeboats on the ship starboard, Parinita Maharani peered out onto the raised prow, near the forward gun turret housing the massive 300mm double cannons, where she found this beast bathing in the sun. Her eyes drew wide open and she pushed a hand against her own lips to stifle all the little noises her mouth spontaneously generated.

This was a Drake, one of the many large, reptilian animals in Ayvarta. In the continent’s vast wilds, the Drake in its various forms was a fairly common form of solitary predator.

However, this was a most uncommon form of drake.

Slender and the size of a big cat, it was much smaller than its siblings. Instead of a snout, like other drakes, it possessed a hard, beak-like mouth with a jagged interior. Instead of scales, the creature was covered in fuzzy down, like a baby bird. Though it lacked true wings, and had quite developed front and back limbs with stubby claws and strong muscles, there were fleshy, earth-tone membranes extending between its front legs and flanks, that amassed into folds while it lay in repose. What drew Parinita’s gaze the most was the gaudy purple-and-teal coloration of the creature’s fuzz, that shifted with one’s eyes and the position of the sun’s light as though the creature were encrusted with a gradient of gems.

“A Kite Dragon!” She squealed to herself, staring at the creature from afar.

Though still a Drake, its ability to “fly” on the wind lent this creature its name.

And a legendary reputation. Parinita’s head filled with little girlish fantasies.

The Kite Dragon raised its head and stared lazily around itself, awoken. Parinita feared that it might take off, but it did not. It raised one of its front legs over its head, and with this motion it stretched taut the flap of beautifully colored skin that made up its “wing.” Bending its head it nibbled on its own skin, likely to relieve an itch, and then laid again under the sun, unconcerned with the surrounding machinery of this giant modern warship.

Such a shocking sight; the futuristic grey meeting the regal purple of the past.

Watching this living treasure, Parinita could hardly contain her excitement. She hesitated to approach it. She was awed, seeing the history of the world that she had been taught, the mythical history, a part of it at least, confirmed before her eyes. Though on the one hand she had hated her grandmother, those stories she told had become quite a part of her the past month. Those ideas that she kept alive, those things only she knew.

To see them in flesh, to interact with them, made her proud. It made her special.

In her mind, she did not even question where this being came from. It was fated to come.

But what pure maiden did it seek? Perhaps; could it be? Herself? Parinita was giddy.

“Chief Warrant Officer, I have safely removed the rat from your bed quarters–”

Parinita turned around and sharply shushed the person coming in behind her, snapping instantly out of her pleasurable reverie. It was Sergeant Agni, whom she had tasked with removing a pest from her room. It had been a hasty compact. Parinita had run screaming out of her room and found Agni outside the door by sheer coincidence. Seeing a familiar face, she hid behind Agni for several minutes and then shoved her into the room, shut the door and ran way. Informal, unspoken; as one does with these sorts of things.

Standing out in the open, Agni turned her head from Parinita and toward the deck and finally seemed to notice the Drake. There was no change in her disinterested expression upon spotting the majestic being laying on their ship. She blinked, and stared, dead-eyed. Agni never emoted, and the sight of the Kite Dragon had no visible effect on her.

“What is that?” She asked simply.

“It’s a Kite Dragon.” Parinita triumphantly said.

“What is it?” Agni reiterated with no change in tone.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“No.” Agni dryly replied.

Of course she hadn’t. Barely anybody did anymore.

As a child, whenever her grandmother deigned to pay her attention, Parinita received a thorough instruction on Ayvartan mythology. Her family, she had been told, where once faith healers and spirit priests, highly valued by their people in supernatural matters. They were also keepers of the histories of tribes and ancestral, nascent nations. She knew all about Kite Dragons, and as she spoke, she carried herself quite proudly for this.

“Kite Dragons are the highest order among dragonkind that is left in the world. Drakes cannot fly, but Kite Dragons have achieved such a status, that they needn’t fly. They merely trick the wind into ferrying them, like a kite. It is said that the regal Kite Dragon moves under its own power only in the presence of pure maidens, such as princesses and saints and songstresses, whom it takes very kindly to. It is said that an ancient King once followed a Kite Dragon for days to find a beautiful bride in Dbagbo, suited for queenship.”

Parinita finished with a flourish of her hands, awaiting a response from her audience.

“What a lazy little Drake; it sounds quite ridiculous.” Agni said, touched not by the tale.

“What? Ridiculous? It’s amazing. This is an extremely rare, majestic being!”

“Can it breathe fire?”

Parinita threw her hands up. “No!”

Agni shrugged. “I’m not interested then. I’m not a pure maiden anyway.”

“You’re damn right you aren’t! Not with this attitude!” Parinita said.

Agni opened her pouch, and pulled up a black, furry thing from it.

“Here’s your rat, by the way.”

Parinita drew back.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA–”

Agni shuddered. The Kite Dragon crooked an eyebrow at the sudden screech.

Parinita bolted up the nearby lifeboat hoist, finding a strength hitherto unknown to her. In two lightning-fast hand-holds she made it onto the life raft and threw herself under its covering tarp, crying aloud. Agni must have lost her mind! That rat was at least 100 cm!

“Agni, kill it! Shoot it! Throw it in the ocean! It’s a rat! A rat!” Parinita cried.

She peered out from under the tarp and found Agni staring at her with those same blank eyes, mindlessly petting the rat’s head as its plump body dangled from her fingers. She felt a skin-tingling disgust with the little beast, it’s pink fleshy little limbs, its stringy tail. She could see it in her mind creeping around, teeny-tiny, festering in people’s garbage!

“It’s harmless.” Agni said, holding up the little fiend and shaking him dismissively.

“Rats bite you and scratch you and carry diseases!”

From under the tarp Parinita flailed her arms helplessly.

On the deck, the engineer seemed to finally realize her officer’s disgust, and nodded her head solemnly. She averted her gaze, looking almost remorseful of her current conduct.

“I’m sorry; I did not understand just how much they affected you. I shall rectify this.”

Agni withdrew her pistol from her hip and put it to the rat’s pathetic round head.

She locked eyes with the rat as Agni prepared to finish it.

Parinita groaned sharply as if deflating. “No! No! Ok! Don’t do that!”

“Should I just let it go then? There’s really nowhere else for it–”

“Fine! Fine! Let it go! You barbarian! Let it go!”

Instead of shooting, Agni nodded, put down the rat and released her hands.

Parinita watched in horror as the furry devil scurried away.

Freed, the beast flounced up the deck, crawled over a fire extinguisher box, leaped to the prow, and was then snatched in mid-air by a sudden lunge from the Kite Dragon.

Clacking its beak, the creature tossed the rat into the air and swallowed it whole. A gross bulge formed on the creature’s throat as its meal went down. Uncharismatic noises issued from its beak and nostrils; once its meal had fallen far enough, the dragon relaxed, laid back and stretched out on the deck, its belly glinting royal purple in the sunlight.

“It ate the rat.” Agni said, sounding very lightly puzzled.

“It ate the rat.” Parinita mimed in a much more anguished tone.

She climbed back down from the life rafts and set foot on the deck once more.

Seizing Agni by the shoulders, she shook up the engineer, gritting her teeth in frustration.

“I blame you! I blame you!” Parinita shouted as Agni’s head bobbed.

“Did something happen up here?”

One of the side doors from the conning tower opened, and Colonel Madiha Nakar emerged.

Tall and fit, and quite well-dressed in her black, red and gold KVW uniform, the Colonel managed quite a presence. There was a look of consternation on the normally soft features of the Colonel’s brown face, her dark eyes locked onto Parinita’s hands as the guilty secretary manhandled Sergeant Agni. Parinita withdrew her hands and fidgeted, looping some of her strawberry hair around her finger and laughing perhaps a little too girlishly.

For her part, Agni seemed unaffected by the gentle thrashing.

“That happened,” She said, pointing out onto the prow.

Madiha turned her head to look and stared at the creature, narrowing her eyes.

She raised a hand atop the gentle bridge of her nose to shield her eyes from the sun.

Her lips curled into a serious expression.

“That thing is in the way and needs to get off the deck promptly.” Madiha said.

She started toward the prow before Parinita could relate to her the myths she told Agni.

Parinita watched as the Colonel approached the Kite Dragon and started shooing it.

She was in distress, waiting for the creature to lunge angrily at the impure Colonel.

The Drake opened its double-lidded green eyes, and raised its head in consternation.

Madiha tapped her feet hard near it, and nudged it brusquely with her shoes.

Spotting her, the creature narrowed its eyes and sniffed. Parinita was ready to cry out.

Suddenly it sprang up onto Madiha’s chest and curled its tail around her in embrace.

“Parinita!” Madiha cried. “Why is this strange bird attacking me!”

Parinita’s jaw dropped in response. She wasn’t being attacked; the Kite Dragon had just acknowledged her as a pure maiden. Perhaps the purest it had ever seen judging by how it nudged its head lovingly over Madiha’s breast, and curled its tail around her waist. It seemed almost positively in love with her, hooting and clacking its beak, its down standing on end.

“I think it likes you.” Agni said dully.

“It does!” Parinita said. She made a little squeeing noise. This was a once-in-a-lifetime sight! She almost wanted to rush belowdecks and get the cameras. “It really likes you!”

Madiha stood still and stared in dismay at the gently stirring creature.

“Gross.” Madiha moaned.

Nonchalantly Madiha pushed on the Kite Dragon. It unfurled and fell back on the deck.

Like a strange cat, it bounced back against Madiha’s legs, rubbing its flank on her.

Madiha sighed. “I don’t want this.”

Parinita gasped. She was in disbelief at everyone’s sheer lack of curiosity. Even if they knew nothing, this made no sense! “Madiha, look at it! It’s beautiful! It’s such a rare, majestic–”

“It eats rats.” Agni interjected.

At once Madiha looked down again at the creature and seemed to have new eyes for it. She knelt, picked it up by its front legs, and raised it to her face. She gently spread its gliding flaps, and blinked at the colorful display of its bejeweled fuzz once exposed to sunlight. Eyes closed, contented, the creature lifted its long gradient colored tail and slipped it beneath Madiha’s neck-length hair, lifting several tufts of her messy bob.

Nonchalantly, she deposited the creature back onto the deck and walked away.

“I will reassess its utility, I suppose.” She said without affect.

Parinita raised her hands to her face, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

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The Smoke Blocked The Sinking Sun (25.5)

 

This story segment contains descriptions of chronic pain, and lavish, lingering details of food and very harsh vulgar language.

 

45th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Dbagbo Dominance — Town of Benghu, Chanda General School

Naya felt a sting in her calf seven hundred meters into the endurance run. She grit her teeth and ran with all of her might, trying to remember the strength and stamina that she used to have. It wasn’t so long ago. It was only three years ago that she had competed right in this track, for this very event. She had run for the whole two kilometers. She could run it! She grit her teeth with frustration. She had run it before! Naya kept muttering to herself.

Dashing across the track, arms pumping, taking long strides with her legs, the cold air washing over her, the sweat. None of these sensations measured against the pain. She felt sick to her stomach with anticipation. When it hit, she had to ready. She had to power through it. She couldn’t let it stop her–

It started in the muscles in her legs, but that was only the warning shot.

Any part of her that was sore and active could be struck by the pain first.

Moments later her whole body felt as though she had hit a wall of nails; the pain overtook her, coming from no wound and no apparent source. She slowed down. Sharp, puncturing initial pains gave way to a coursing electrical agony, low-key at first but spreading and gaining strength. Her body started to shake with it. Her teeth chattered, her fingers curled. She wept from it.

Naya tried to run through the pain, forty meters more, fifty meters, sixty, but then her knees shook, her legs locked. She took a bad step and she fell.

Just short of the kilometer marker on the orange track she collapsed. She reached out a shaking hand but she could not touch it, could not crawl to it.

There was nobody else on the field. Not even the sun was up to look upon her predicament. She had come out early, precisely to be alone. To struggle, to fight; and to fail without anyone there to panic at her plight. She curled up in a ball, clutching herself, sweating, weeping, gritting her teeth, dressed still in a hospital gown that just barely kept out the cold. Waiting; enduring the pain.

* * *

“Hey! You’re still under my care, so don’t run off without telling me.”

“I’m supposed to be out today.”

“You’re out when I clear you. Please follow procedure for a little bit.”

Naya had nonchalantly walked back to her room, hoping not to meet anyone along the way, but Dr. Chukwu had apparently come to take care of release procedures early. She had waited in front of the room, who knows for how long now. When they met she shook her head and ran her hand across her forehead. Naya could understand her frustration. She didn’t really intend to cause trouble for the doctor or anybody. She just had an impulse to satisfy.

“Are you cold? Your hands are shaking a little.” Dr. Chukwu said. “Ancestors defend; you shouldn’t have gone out like this in just your bed clothes!”

“I just had a bad night. It’ll go away once I get breakfast.” Naya said.

“If you say so.” Dr. Chukwu produced a file folder from her coat. She spread it open. There were photographs of Naya, taken not only within the past few days, but also a few from her teenage years. There were several documents, some looking worse for wear with age. Naya felt tense as the doctor leafed through them. She procured one specific page and handed Naya the rest.

Naya opened the folder. It contained medical records, her birth certificate, photographs, school evaluations. There were various sizes and descriptions. Of her current self, at age 20, Dr. Chukwu’s handwriting remarked things like, “lean build, some conditioning but a comparative decline in muscle judging by teen photos, average height, bit underweight, still visibly athletic.”

“What is this?” Naya asked, though she knew what she was seeing.

Dr. Chukwu explained. “After the storm two years ago a lot of records were damaged, including your own. You’ve not sought out any healthcare since, and your army fitness test was sloppily recorded; in short I’ve taken the liberty of starting a new record for you, based on what I could salvage from the remnants of your combined records, surviving school records, and the tests I’ve run the past few days. I apologize for my comments in advance; I’m supposed to supply a written description, and I’ve never been good at that.”

Naya searched through the documents and found no mention of persisting or chronic pains. She cracked a little grin. “I find them flattering, to be honest.”

After signing the medical records and release document, Dr. Chukwu gave Naya a fresh uniform to change into in a paper bag, and a meal card for the local civil canteen — in her case this meant the school cafeteria, unless she wanted to walk three kilometers to the town center of Benghu for her meals. Perhaps she could have made it on her own, but she didn’t want to risk it.

Dr. Chukwu then lead her to outpatient processing, where she answered a few final questions from a clerk. She handed in her documents and waited for them to be copied, sorted, and processed. She then received a bag of things she was carrying when she came in — her old weathered uniform, her pouch belts, her revolver and ammunition, flares. There was a fresh copy of the Comrade’s Companion, a little book of socialist philosophy, everyday wisdom and wilderness survival tactics, handed to new recruits in the armed forces.

“We wish for your continued health, comrade.” Said the clerk.

Naya nodded her head. She wasn’t so sure she had her health back at all.

She bid farewell to Dr. Chukwu, and used the privacy of her hospital room one final time to change into her green army clothes. She left the makeshift hospital rooms behind and made her way across the building to the cafeteria.

Sitting in a bench table, she caught the smell of mixed spices, coming from the kitchen. A basket of fresh baked flatbreads was already set on each table. Naya picked one of the breads and started to nibble on it for a moment, until she saw a man behind the counter waving at her. She raised her head.

“Don’t just sit there nibbling on bread!” shouted the man. He smiled and waved at her again. “Food’s ready, come on up and I’ll serve you some!”

Naya took her place at the counter, at the head of a line that had yet to materialize. Behind the counter, the man took a half-glance at Naya’s meal card and urged her to take a metal tray, already divided with sections for various meal items. Into the round bowl-like segment he spooned a hefty helping of orange curry with eggplant, potatoes, carrots and peas, topped with a handful of fried cheese cubes; a cup of simple stewed lentils went into a small scoop-shaped portion of the tray; and in a square, flat area he deposited a big piece of seitan covered in a sauce of nuts and butter.

Finally, the man gave her a little bag of creamy, drinkable yogurt with berry preserves mixed in. He had taken it from a box, from which he also took a straw and gave it to her as well. Water was also available if she desired.

Warm air wafted up from the meal, carrying fresh scents. Naya bowed her head to the cafeteria man. Behind the counter she saw two other people lounging near hot flat-tops, ovens and stoves, having prepared large batches of food meant to last the breakfast and probably lunch period. Maybe even the supper. All of it could sit and be reheated easily. She was lucky to get it fresh out of the kitchens. She thanked everyone and returned to her table.

Soon as she set her tray down, children began to trickle into the cafeteria.

Naya took the piece of flatbread she had been nibbling and dipped it in the lentils, taking a bite; she then punctured the bag of thin, milky light blue yogurt and drank. She took a wooden fork and knife from the center of the table and started to cut a piece of her seitan. A few soldiers came in to eat. She paid them no mind — she didn’t really know anybody here anymore.

She took her time with the food. It was the first nice meal she had been able to eat in weeks. She had spent far too much of the Aster’s Gloom eating lentils and dehydrated eggs and powdered milk out of boxes. Nutty, mildly spicy Seitan, firm vegetables in the curry, fresh, soft bread; it was like a dream.

Painstakingly tasting the eggplant, she caught a glimpse of a woman her age, striding through the cafeteria’s twin doors and skipping gaily toward a table full of children. Naya’s eyes fixed on her. At the table, children greeted her.

“Good morning Ms. Balarayu! Thank you for joining us!” They said at once.

Ms. Balarayu sat down among them and touched hands with each of them.

For a moment, a brief, foolish instant, Naya thought that perhaps she should tell Aarya that she was there, that she was back home, that there was nothing bitter between them anymore. But she found herself quickly unable to. The more she thought about it, the more the taste in her mouth turned to vinegar.

Naya averted her eyes, and shifted toward the end of her own table. She hunched, as though she could make her shoulders cover her whole head. It would not do to waste the food; so she ate quickly, desperately spooning lentils into her mouth and shoving big bites of the flatbread in with it.

Hearing Aarya’s sweet voice singing to the children was like a torment.

Her plate was soon empty save for remnants of the sauce at the bottom of each tray. She left that behind, an un-Ayvartan thing to do; everyone relished scooping up the sauces with flatbread, wiping the plate. Naya did not want to linger any longer. She was suddenly sure that she was not supposed to be here. She was an unwanted thing in this old place. She had to go now.

It was nothing like the nails in her legs that morning, but it still hurt.

Perhaps she was being childish but she couldn’t talk to Aarya Balarayu.

She just couldn’t talk to her about little dreams born and killed in Benghu.

Naya left her tray, and as surreptitiously as she could she ambled out of the cafeteria, hands in her pockets, head bowed low so as not to be recognized. She got past the doors, through a hallway and out the lobby, exiting the building. Her pace did not slack. She felt like she was being chased.

On the short flight of stairs down from the rearmost school building, Naya bumped into someone in her hurry, causing them to drop a file folder and scatter its contents. She realized then that she was clear of the building, and felt foolish for her lack of attention. She took her hands out of her pockets and kneeled beside the soldier, helping them to gather up the papers.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking, it was my fault,” Naya said. Across from her the soldier shook their head quietly. She saw the soldier’s eyes — dull grey but with clear, bright red rings around the iris. She wasn’t just imagining them.

“Oh, I know you,” the soldier said in a dry, dull voice, looking at her more closely, wiping some of their neck-length gray-blue hair behind one ear. Naya however did not know this person at all. This soldier had a smooth, gentle, light face. Probably a zungu; from the hair color she had to guess Svechthan ancestry might play a part. Slender and a little shorter than her size, the soldier dressed in the green of the territorial army with an engineer’s badge.

“I don’t believe we have met.” Naya replied, handing them the documents.

“We haven’t before; I’m Farwah Kuchenkov. This file is about you.”

From the name, she thought she could pin down a bit more about him.

Naya and Farwah stood up together. Farwah bowed his head at her in thanks.

She took the gathered-up file from his hand and looked through the pages. It was indeed about her, a military record. It also contained her medical record from earlier — there was a copy of what she had signed just a few hours ago. Ayvartan bureaucracy could apparently be very speedy when it wanted to be.

“I’m a KVW Engineer, with a research unit stationed nearby.” He said. His voice was wholly devoid of affect. It sounded a strange mix of eerie and comical. “My superior requested someone of particular dimensions.”

“Excuse me?” Naya said, looking up from the file with an eyebrow raised.

“We’re testing equipment and need someone of particular height, weight; strength requirements in general must be taken into consideration too.”

“You’re a Svechthan, right?” Naya asked suddenly. “Sorry, just, this would be my first time meeting a Svechthan if so. Not that I avoided your kind or anything, Mister Kuchenkov, just that I’m pleased to be able to meet–”

“I’m Ayvartan.” Farwah said. “My mother was an emigre who found love.”

Naya scratched her hair nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. My mother was a Svechthan, but I wouldn’t be considered a naturalized citizen of that nation. I wanted to clear that up. Facts are important.” He said. His voice sounded even more monotonous now.

Naya closed the filed and returned it to him. “Facts are indeed important.”

Farwah nodded. “Would you be willing to start working today, Ms. Naya Oueddai? We are under a bit of stress due to the current circumstances.”

“Sounds good to me. I haven’t a thing else to do.” Naya replied. It was not exactly what she had hoped, but it was a military position away from here. At the moment, she was feeling empty and aimless. This would be good for her.

Farwah stretched out his hands and took hers, shaking them vigorously, with a small smile. He seemed as excited as someone like him could get.

“Good! I’m very glad. The RKS-57-P Raktapata awaits us then, Naya.”

# # #

Dbagbo Dominance  — Village of Silb, 8th Panzer Division HQ

“Reiniger! What is your problem, huh? Answer me right now!”

Schicksal rushed down the dirt paths of Silb village, trailing after the irreverent lieutenant in command of their R-company. He had a head start on her, but he wasn’t running. She caught up quick; but he kept walking as though there was no problem at all, coolly smoking a cigarette. Halfway through the march he dropped it, stomped it, and kept right on.

She continued to follow him and to berate him all the way down a side path toward a workshop he had occupied as a roof over his M4 Sentinel tank. He walked into his makeshift garage, threw his hat in a corner and sat down on a bench, staring at the bogeys and the return rollers as if there was anything at all there that he could tweak at the moment. Schicksal followed him in and hovered around him, hands on her hips. Both were wearing full dress uniforms — Schicksal even had a peaked cap with a silver eagle.

“Reiniger, answer to me! I’ll be writing a report for General Dreschner on your disrespect and it behooves you to cooperate!” She shouted.

“Jeez! Stop shouting in my ear you banshee!” He shouted back. He slammed his fist aggressively on the tank’s track but she was not intimidated by it.

“Why did you run out on the honor’s ceremony for Kunze?” She asked.

That was the crux of the evening’s problems. Reiniger had stormed out of the ceremony in the midst of it, in a way that was public and untoward and so very Reiniger. Everyone knew he was a rough, irreverent guy, but this was too much. His fellow soldiers could very well wonder whether he’d run out on their own funerals and posthumous honors. And as a commander in battle it may someday be his duty to arrange such things. How would he fare then?

“I’m not payin’ any respects to that piece of shit. I’m glad he’s dead.”

“That’s far too much Reiniger! You shouldn’t say such things!”

“Oh come on Karla! You hated him too! Everybody did! Not a single, goddamn soul in the division liked Kunze, because he was an idiot, a blowhard, a good-for-nothing, who just went and got people killed!”

Reiniger stared at her briefly, sighed loudly and went back to staring at the bogeys and the track, running his fingers along the segmented metal.

“This a service that everyone expects of everyone else.” She said. “Just as you are expected to protect your fellow soldiers in battle, you need to be there for them when they’re gone. What would you say to his wife, Reiniger?”

“She ain’t here; and that’s different! That’s completely goddamn different! You think I’d tell her all this? I’m not a goddamn monster, Schicksal!”

Schicksal squeezed her own forehead. What a stubborn, difficult fool!

“So you don’t feel an ounce of remorse for your actions at all?”

“Nah, write me up, Schuldirektorin Schicksal. I’ll take a detention.”

“You know this is really easy! You can just say you are sorry!”

“I ain’t sorry for making up fake shit to say about a useless gasbag.”

Schicksal felt like she was dealing with a literal child at the moment.

“So if he’s so worthless as you say, how did he become a lieutenant?” She said, hands on her hips, leaning Reiniger like a teacher to a student.

“Dumb luck. You don’t know him? I’ll tell you all about him.”

He turned his chair around to face her with a big grin on his face.

“Our dearly departed son-of-a-dog Kunze was part of a light platoon scouting out a village in Santa Vista. His unit came under attack, and he found and shot the AT gun that had them pinned. Made a 2000 meter shot with his pokey 37mm. Suddenly everyone’s lining up to hump his leg.”

Schicksal crossed her arms. “That sounds like an achievement to me.”

“To you, yeah, and probably anyone who hasn’t shot a tank gun before, probably why they promoted him.” Reiniger said dismissively.

Schicksal pouted. “So what’d you do for your rank then, mister?”

“I earned it!” Reiniger shouted, raising his voice sharply. “I fought the goddamn Cissean Civil War since it started. I was part of the so-called ‘volunteers’ who got sent in 2026; then because the volunteers’ Nochtish ties couldn’t be acknowledged, all my work before 2028 didn’t count for shit. I was fighting the anarchists while Kunze was sitting his ass in a school chair and earning below averages on his officer tests! Fuck that guy!”

Reiniger looked like he wanted something to throw to the ground to complete his tantrum, but there was nothing in the way. He settled for a back-handed kick against one of the bogeys on his tank, making a loud noise in the shop.

“Reiniger you are very overly impassioned about this.” Schicksal said.

“I hate people who just glide to success overnight.” He said. He turned his chair back around, giving Schicksal his back. “Leave me alone already.”

“Even if it’s crap, just give me an apology! We need you on the field!”

Schicksal was raising her voice now too. Reiniger shouted back.

“Shut the fuck up and leave Schicksal, before I make you!” He shouted.

Before he could air anymore heated invective they were interrupted.

“Hi~! Hey~! Hello~! What’s all the commotion huh?”

They heard a sing-song voice coming from outside the shop — the doors were left open to the air, and their row could probably be heard from afar with everyone else attending the ceremony. Reiniger and Schicksal turned their eyes on the doors and outside, where a panzer officer strutted closer.

A panzer officer with a lot of medals, pins and a fancy black dress uniform.

“Oh wow! I’m so lucky~! I found exactly who I wanted to see!”

Approaching them, the youthful, slender, pretty officer smiled and tipped his head in a cute gesture with his hands behind his back. Reiniger snorted.

“And just what brings you here, fairy?” He said under his breath.

In an affected voice, sweet and self-indulgently cruel, the officer said, “After all the whining that I heard, I’ve decided I came here to laugh at you.”

Read The Next Chapter || Read The Previous Part

The Smoke Blocked The Sinking Sun (25.4)

 

This story segment contains descriptions of medical procedures.

44th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Dbagbo Dominance — Town of Benghu, Chanda General School

“Forceps please!”

Leander looked over the tools atop the medical cart and unwrapped the forceps from their sterile kerchief. He deposited the object in Dr. Agrawal’s waiting hand. She nodded to him, and slipped the forceps gently into the incision, pulling it quite open. There was blood, and such a gradation of fleshy colors, that Leander felt a little sick, and had to avert his eyes from the patient. Dr. Agrawal used a hand-pumped drain to suck off excess blood.

“Elena, vitals?”

On the opposite side of the table, Elena tapped on the patient’s neck to check for a pulse, and lowered her head to the chest to check breathing and feel out the man’s heart. She stood upright again and nodded. “He sounds normal!”

“Good. I can see the main fragment.” Dr. Agrawal said. “Clean tweezers!”

Eyes half-closed, Leander picked the tweezers from the assortment of surgical instruments, unwrapped them and handed them off. He felt strangely squeamish in such close proximity to a minor surgery. While he had shot people and potentially caused much worse damage than this in battle, he never had to see the wounds he inflicted up close. He didn’t have to watch a supine person, unconscious from injury, picked open with metal tools.

“Leander, drain; blood is pooling over the fragment.” Dr. Agrawal asked.

“It’s really easy Leander, you’ve seen me do it!” Elena said reassuringly.

Leander tried to hide the apprehension in his eyes as Elena and Dr. Agrawal looked at him. They all wore masks and caps, but Leander’s entire body language gave away his discomfort. For Dr. Agrawal this was just routine; and Elena had her convictions as a burgeoning medical officer to carry her. Her expression and body language were nonchalant. As they should be, he supposed. He picked up the pump, pushed aside the cart with the tools, and leaned in on the patient beside Dr. Agrawal. With one hand he dipped the pump tube in the blood, careful not to touch the patient’s open flesh, while his other hand squeezed the bulb and slowly drained the blood pool.

“You’re doing good Leander!” Elena cheered. She had had her turn with tools while assisting a previous patient. They traded places twice that day.

For Leander, it never got easier to look at people cut up on the table.

He tried to avoid looking directly at the incision, but he caught glimpses of it nonetheless. It was inevitable. He could see the splinter embedded into the person’s flank. Luckily it had not managed to cause any major damage — just a small nick into the stomach. Dr. Agrawal calmly pulled the piece of metal with a pair of tweezers and deposited it in a plate held out by Elena.

This splinter was a sharp, jagged bit of metal, perhaps 4 millimeters long and 1 millimeter wide. Enough to kill if it went too far inside; even if it stopped short of the vitals, it would cause sickness and a slow death. Many modern weapons were designed with the delivery of cruel fragments in mind. Fragment pulling had been most of their work for the past few days.

Once the splinter was out, Leander stepped back, and Elena came around his side. She was more delicate with her hands and better suited for the final stretch of each operation. She helped clean the incision and Dr. Agrawal sewed it back. They applied surface disinfectant on a cotton swab.

One more surgery completed. Dr. Agrawal sighed with relief. Elena covered the dormant patient in blankets and wrote up a few things on the clipboard stuck to the end of the table, and they left the room, Leander pushing the medical cart. Once outside they removed their masks and head coverings. A pair of soldiers nodded to them and walked in. They would carry the patient from the operating table to a more permanent bed for observation.

Dr. Agrawal wrapped her wavy hair into a part-black, part-white ponytail. She removed her blue operating gown, as did Elena and Leander. Under them, Leander and Elena had their territorial army uniforms, standard green. Dr. Agrawal had her white coat, her button-down blouse and her skirt. They dropped their gowns in a tub under the cart, slated for thorough disinfecting.

“You both did very well today. You’ve been a great help.” Dr. Agrawal said.

“Thank you!” Leander said, smiling brightly and waving his hands.

“I’m glad to help.” Elena said. She looked admiringly at the Doctor.

“I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the medical corps.”

Elena beamed, lighting up with good humor. Leander felt happy for her. Finally she got a taste of her ultimate goal. It must have been nice to know what you wanted and to be able to carry it out even in a small way.

Dr. Agrawal smiled back. Though the subtle wrinkles around her eyes and mouth didn’t disappear, she looked a lot less weary and weathered when she was in her element. It made her appear younger and more energetic — she was visibly in good spirits whenever she was taking care of somebody.

“I’ve got a little task for you two, and then you can take off the rest of the day.” She said. “Please check up with your friends in the supply depot and fetch me a crate of Notatum. We’re running low; I wouldn’t want to have to run out and search for one in an emergency. Situation’s still fluid out there.”

Elena took down a note on her pad; Leander looked down the hall. No new patients were coming in, but the battle was still ongoing, and had been for the past week. Any moment now a chronic patient could be rushed through.

“Of course, Doctor!” Leander nodded his head, turned around and ran off to the supply depot without a moment’s delay. Elena looked up from her pad, shouted for him to wait and ran after him. Dr. Agrawal waved as a parting gesture, but the two barely saw it, they were already taking the corner.

* * *

After arriving in the Dbagbo Dominance, Leander and his unit, as well as the other remnants of Battlegroup Lion, were put under the custody of Dbagbo’s regional army unit, Battlegroup Rhino. Rhino troops fed and housed and clothed them as comrades but ultimately, Battlegroup Lion was limping too badly to continue to fight. Units like Leander’s were parceled off to rear echelon positions in need of staffing while Rhino fought to defend Dbagbo.

Meanwhile the Civil Council was still in disarray. Dbagbo was on its own.

Dr. Agrawal pulled some strings to get Leander and Elena assigned out of the supply corps into her little surgery unit. Leander because she liked him well enough, he supposed; and Elena because Leander confided in the Doctor that Elena was eyeing a position in the medical corps. Dr. Agrawal approved.

Thankfully his other friends were not far away. They had elected to work in the town of Benghu several kilometers to the northeast of Shebelle, one of Dbagbo’s primary cities. Benghu was also within a reasonable distance of Dbagbo’s coastal capital of Lamu. So while Benghu itself was a sleepy rural town stretched over a few meadows and woodlands, its roads and railroad brought daily news from the front in Shebelle and the Army HQ in Lamu.

It was a good spot for any Lion troops who wanted to be near the action.

Chanda General School was primarily a pair of long, rectangular two-story classroom buildings painted peach built parallel to one another, flanked by a small square administration building and a big field for sports and other activities. This field had a sporting supplies warehouse that had been turned into a supply depot for the few army support units stationed in the school.

“Today’s patients weren’t that bad. And there were comparatively fewer of them too.” Elena said. “So I guess the front might be stabilizing.”

“I hope so; it’d be nice to have a break. Everyone still seems to be in a hurry. I thought we’d be less desperate here than in Knyskna, but I guess it’s bad everywhere you go.” Leander replied. As they passed through the school halls they saw various people coming and going, bringing food and medicine to patients, carrying tubs of water and sponges to bathe the bedridden.

One whole building of the school had been taken up as a hospital, because the local infirmary in Benghu was too small. There was a field hospital several kilometers closer to the front line, but there was only so much that anyone could do for the injured out in the mud while under fire. Rear echelon hospitals were the best bet for the incapacitated and heavily wounded.

Outside the hospital building, they followed a dirt path, lined with decorative shrubs, that led between the two big buildings out toward the gate on one end and the field in the other. Through the windows on the opposite building they saw teachers, still teaching, and small children and a few teens still attending school. Not everyone could be evacuated. Not even all of the children.

“You’d think they could spare at least one truck.” Leander said as they passed. He waved to the classroom window, but all the children were marveling at a science experiment, a little fake volcano erupting.

“Literally everything is tied up. It takes us how many days just to get new tools in? I think Dbagbo’s hit its limit on transportation.” Elena said.

“Still, they’re kids, y’know? I wish they could be gotten out of here.”

“I know. But the children who had parents willing to leave were allowed to leave already. So those who are left, maybe they can’t or won’t go.”

“That’s true.” Leander said. It hadn’t crossed his mind that maybe some people wouldn’t want to run away from home. He felt suddenly ashamed. Perhaps he was a coward, thinking about running and retreating all the time. But who could blame him? He was a Zigan; his people had always been running. He always thought first of preserving life than “homes.” Most of his life he hadn’t “a home,” but when things got bad, you moved and survived.

Together the two soldiers left the buildings and started across the field. For once, Dbagbo was seeing a fairly nice day, so there were people outside partaking of the partly cloudy weather. There was a circular track for races and dashes, and in the center a broad, grassy green area for football and exercises. Leander saw a few recovering soldiers running laps; Elena pointed him toward the center field, where a teacher was sitting with a gaggle of small children all around her. They sat in a circle and had a little picnic, singing songs and eating snacks drawn from army patrol ration boxes. Elena started waving to the children, and they waved back.

Their teacher joined in the waving and urged Leander and Elena forward.

Leander pointed at himself in confusion, and she nodded and waved again.

Elena wasted no time and ambled toward the group. Laughing and smiling she pulled Leander along by the hand. There were a few different children present; very dark-skinned little umma, light and tan zungu kids with blond and brown and red hair, arjun children with long black hair and grey eyes. Meanwhile their teacher was a zungu woman with dusty olive skin and wavy brown hair, in a simple brown dress with an orange sari. She looked very young — perhaps not that much older even than Leander himself. Early into her twenties perhaps. She was pretty, with a gentle appearance to her.

All of this group, from the children to the adult, stared expectantly at them.

The teacher stood from the grass and bowed her head. She spoke softly. “Sorry, I know you two must be busy; I’m Ms. Balarayu. I took the children out of the classroom to reassure them, and I was hoping you could help.”

“Oh!” Leander nodded. “Sure! I’m Private Gaurige. Army medical corps; temporarily.” He added quickly, so they didn’t think him a doctor.

Elena looked at the children as though she had found a glade of fairies. She looked quite taken with the kids and excited to be in their presence. “I’m Private North, also Army medical corps. Pleased to meet you! You have such a wonderful class! Anything we can do to help you, consider it done!”

Ms. Balarayu bowed her head. Her smile never faded. And it looked very natural too, like that of a cheerful teenage girl accustomed to smiling. He supposed working with small children meant a lot of smiling, whether one wanted to or not. But he truly couldn’t tell if she was putting on an act.

“Children, these two are soldiers, here to help people! Our soldiers are our friends who are trying to make things better for us. Isn’t that right?”

She smiled at Leander, and Leander smiled back. “That’s right, children.”

“There are bad soldiers who are trying to do bad things, but our good soldiers here, they are heroes who will do everything to protect us.” Ms. Balarayu said. She gestured toward Elena. “For example, Private North is a doctor.”

Now it was Elena’s turn to point at herself in confusion. “Well, I– yes, I’m a doctor. I help people who get hurt or sick!” She quickly seemed to gather that the children could use as simplified a version of the events as possible.

“It can be a little scary to have soldiers with weapons at the school and around the town, but they are good people who are here to help us. They are nothing like the bad soldiers you’ve heard about. Those bad soldiers are not Ayvartans like you and I. Ayvartans are good people.” Ms. Balarayu said.

All of Ms. Balarayu’s children looked at Leander and Elena. They were dressed in simple tunics and pants. Some of the girls had skirts and sari. None of them could have been older than ten years. Leander felt a little awkward from all the attention. He was probably not much of a sight for them. He wasn’t very strong or tall — he was pretty slender, soft-faced, more the picture of a singer or dancer than a soldier. Elena wasn’t much either.

“Do you have any questions for our new soldier friends, children?”

One child eagerly raised his hand, a little umma boy, with brown curly hair and very dark skin. Elena leaned forward, hands on her knees, and smiled at him. He looked past her — he seemed fixated on Leander above all else.

“Mr. Soldier, I heard there was a big fight. My daddy is a soldier too, Mr. Soldier, like you; what will happen if my daddy loses the big fight?” He said.

Leander froze up. His eyes drew wide. Elena looked on speechlessly at the little boy. Ms. Balarayu clutched her skirt, but tried to keep up a picture of strength. Leander collected himself as fast as he could. This was not a question anyone was expecting. It was such a dire question on so many levels. It touched upon him, upon his insecurities; but it also meant that this boy, circumstances depending, might never see his father again after this.

Though the responsibility was suddenly enormous, Leander spoke up.

“Your father is trying his best to protect you and all of us. He won’t lose; even if he has to run away from the bad guys sometimes, he’ll come back a winner, because he fought hard to save everyone.” Leander said. He made it all up quickly as he went. But he found as he spoke, it captured his feelings.

After all, he believed that he lost at Knyskna, and he was still here. No amount of tanks destroyed changed that outcome. Maybe this boy’s father would lose the battle; but Leander knew, if it was him, like it was before, he would retreat so he could fight back some other day. He had to believe that he was meant to be here even though he lost. That life went on beyond one battle, and that there would be more chances. Knyskna, Dbagbo, they were not about winning or losing, not yet; he had to believe that to be the case.

“That’s right.” Elena said. She stared briefly at Leander, a little mystified.

Opposite him, the little umma boy nodded his head and smiled at Leander.

Thank everything; his words had reached the boy. Leander sighed a little.

Ms. Balarayu seemed to sigh with relief as well. “Thank you, Private Gaurige.”

Thankfully, the two of them found cause to extricate themselves from Ms. Balarayu and her group after that exchange. Waving goodbye, he and Elena made their way quickly to the tin warehouse under a big tree across the field.

Inside, there were many dozen crates of supplies. Sitting near the open back of the warehouse, they found Bonde and Sharna lying around near a table. Sharna was lying atop the table, taking up most of it — she was a big girl. Bond meanwhile was balancing a patrol ration box on his index finger.

“Hujambo!” Leander said, waving his arms happily as he entered.

“Hujambo!” Elena joined in, sweeping her red hair behind her ears.

Bonde looked up from the ration box and dropped it. It crashed on the floor and made a noise that seemed momentarily to startle the young man.

“Hujambo, Leander, Elena! Nice to see you again. You both look like you’ve had it pretty easy.” Bonde cheekily said. He spoke nonchalantly as though he did not care that he had dropped that box so noisily on the floor.

“How’s the work today? You look busy!” Leander said, grinning at him.

“Don’t get cocky, my friend; you’ve come right after peak hours for us.” Bonde said, wagging his finger. “You should see it when a truck comes.”

Sharna raised her head from the table. She waved half-heartedly, and shifted against the surface. “We’re waiting on a truck right now.” She moaned sadly.

“You sound under the weather, did something happen?” Leander asked.

“This happened.” Sharna said. Her voice was a long, slow droning.

“Not yourself outside a sniper post?” Elena said, poking her plump belly.

“You weren’t here when it happened,” Sharna moaned, “you don’t know.”

“She’s just whining because we had to take inventory of everything here.” Bonde said. “We weren’t exactly efficient about it so it took us all night.”

“They had us count down screws. Do you know there’s special screws for medical stuff? Do you know there’s more than one kind? I had to count and sort how many of each different size we had. There’s a LOT of sizes.” Sharna said. She shifted from lying on her side to lying on her back, and spread her arms and kicked her legs on the table. She seemed to be trying to fly.

Leander burst into laughter at her antics. Elena cocked a little grin.

“Oh ho ho, then you’re poised to help, Sharna.” Elena said. “We need a crate of antibiotics, if you please. You must know where they are, I’m sure.”

“Doctor, help thyself.” Sharna said, sticking out her tongue childishly.

Leander continued to laugh, while Elena sighed and walked past them.

“I wasn’t paying close enough attention to what I put where I’m afraid.” Bonde said. He went back to trying to balance the ration box on his finger, while Elena dug through medical crates. Leander would have helped but he was still busy giggling to himself over uncontrollably over everything.

* * *

Dr. Agrawal had a dedicated office on the second floor of the occupied school building. There she had her desk, a cabinet for medical records, a telephone, and enough space along the wall for a trio of sleeping bags. Though she slept relatively little, her assistants both made good use of the little nook.

Elena and Leander took turns carrying the wooden crate of anti-biotics gingerly up the stairs. They found Dr. Agrawal sitting behind her desk, looking at herself on the back of a steel plate while applying pigment to her lips. She was startled when they opened the door, but managed not to run the brush off course. She quickly applied the rest of the bright red layer, put away the pigments in her desk, and addressed her two waiting assistants.

“You sure took a while to return! But thank you.” She said. She took the crate and laid it atop the desk, cracking open the top to check the contents.

“Everything in order?” Elena said, hands behind her back.

“Yes, it looks quite fine.” Dr. Agrawal smiled. “Thank you so much.”

Elena looked relieved. She must have wanted to make a good impression on the doctor. It was easier for Leander, he had nothing particular riding on the outcome of these errands. Elena must have thought each of them a test.

“Yes. You have both done splendidly, comrades.” She said.

Leander and Elena both saluted her at once.

“Thank you ma’am!”

Dr. Agrawal chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Leander for an instant.

She sat farther back on her desk chair. “Elena,” she began, “I would like to speak to Leander in private. Patient-Doctor confidentiality, you know. I look forward to working again with you tomorrow. Please go relax for now.”

Elena looked concerned for a moment. She gave Leander a hesitant look. Leander nodded to her and smiled, trying to communicate silently that he would be alright. She nodded back; her concern not quite alleviated.

“Yes, of course.” She finally replied. She bowed and exited the room.

Leander closed the door behind her and returned to Dr. Agrawal’s desk.

“Hey, um, what is going on Doctor? Anything bothering you?” He asked.

The Doctor beamed at him and withdrew a very large foil paper package from under her desk. She handed him the package and a letter that came with it.

“My friend Dr. Kappel is very excited about meeting you.” Dr. Agrawal said. “She sent me a gift for you, as well as a letter to help lift your spirits.”

“Oh wow!” Leander said. He put down the foil package, unable to discern what it was from shaking it. It was flat and broad. Instead he broke open the letter and started reading. In Knyskna, Dr. Agrawal had turned Leander on to the science of Dr. Willhelmina Kappel, who was studying gender and gender identity — things quite important Leander, as a very non-conventional man.

His eyes crawled hungrily over the soft cursive scribbles of Dr. Kappel.

 

Dearest Leander,

Guten Tag! Or should I say, “Hujambo!” Do you like my hand-writing? Can you read it? Please ask Dr. Agrawal to recite it to you in a safe place if you cannot read it. I do not like to type to kindred souls. It feels too cold. Besides which, handwriting is a better way to practice my Ayvartan than typing.

My name is Willhelmina Kappel, PHD from Rhinea University, and I am today both a Master Surgeon and Chief Psychotherapist in Solstice’s Ulyanova Medical Center, as well as a voting member of Solstice’s Commissariat of Health. To me, however, those things matter less than my job as a teacher. A teacher to surgeons, to psychotherapists. But more importantly, a teacher to my fellows, all over the world, who have not had a friend who is like them and that understands them as they are.

I want to share with you something that I think you will understand. You see, when I was very young, my family had it in their heads the odd notion that my name should rightly have been “Willhelm.” I think you can relate to this situation! I indulged myself in secret, feeling like a deviant; but in reality, the deviation is in society, not in ourselves. I am a woman just as much as you are a man, or whatever or whoever you desire to be, Leander.

I want you to know that you are not alone and that you are not sick in any way; what you have is not a disease. You do not need to be cured, and with some help, you can become your ideal person. Doubtless you have met some very ignorant people in your life. But I want you to know that there are many people who understand, who appreciate you, who do not look down on you for who you are; and many others who are exactly like you and I.

This world is a different one than the one “Willhelm” was forced to grow up in. There are people who don’t understand, but there are also people and cultures that have been paving the way for us. Since I began looking and sharing, I have found many people like me, and with all of their experiences and my own expertise, I have begun to compile a lot of documentation about our many situations. But those words and documents don’t mean anything by themselves; making people happy and healthy is what I am after. I will do everything in my power to help you, Leander, because I know what it feels like. Until then, I urge you to be calm and hopeful.

Medicine has come very far; I have personally seen to it that it has!

Should you require professional-sounding words to describe us try these: “transgender” persons. It is an adjective, not a noun or verb. I took it from chemical literature. So you can say with pride, I am a transgender man! Or just a man, you know, whatever makes you happy! There are many traditional words in the Ayvartan language, such as Hijra or Kojja, but I hesitate to use them as I am a whole foreigner — not even a Zungu! 

Excuse the ramblings of a silly woman, but I am very excited about this!

Because Panchali shared with me some details about you and your case, I’ve begun to make preparations. As a token of my appreciation for you and what you have experienced thus far, enclosed you will find a much better binder than any you can fashion for yourself or encounter casually.

Wear it around people — it can pass as a form of underclothes easily, and it will smooth the form of your breasts under your uniform. PLEASE DO NOT BIND USING BANDAGES. This is very important. Some disclaimers: for safety concerns, try not to sleep in your binder if you can help it. Also, stretch your arms over your head and twist your chest often. This is not perfect, but hopefully it will keep you comfy until we can meet in person.

I apologize for the length and casual character of this letter. I hope I do not assume too much about you. I promise to have the most open of minds when we meet, and to listen to every word of yours without judgment. Let us meet, for it is always an auspicious occasion when people like us do.

I wish you the best of luck and health. Say hello to Panchali for me too!

You can trust Panchali; I trust her too. She is one of the good ones!

Love,

Dr. Willhelmina Kappel

 

Leander felt his eyes tearing up as he read the letter. Dr. Agrawal stood up from her desk and tentatively approached, putting a supporting hand on his shoulder. She looked at him as he read, and grasped the paper in his hands, and of course she could only see the tears in his eyes, and not the swelling of his spirit, the immeasurable feeling of relief that rushed through him as he read the words of this woman he had never seen. He felt so immensely strong to finally have words for what he felt and to finally meet someone like him.

“Leander, is something wrong? Did Willhelmina write something insensitive? She can be a little over-eager; just tell me and I will have words with–”

He shook his head, and suddenly embraced Dr. Agrawal as if in Kappel’s place. He started to weep into her chest. She returned the embrace, stroking his short wavy hair and patting his back. Leander whimpered, “it’s fine, everything is fine, everything is wonderful,” to her and she quieted and allowed him to sob and work everything out. He was so stricken with emotion that it was hard to think. It was an eerie but delightful experience.

“Thank you for everything, Doctor Agrawal.” Leander said. He felt an outpouring of affection for her too. After all, when he had no idea if he could trust anyone, she was so kind to him. “Dr. Kappel says hello.” He added.

Dr. Agrawal smiled. “She can be a handful, but I know she means well.”

After Leander calmed down, they opened the foil package together, and there was a black sleeveless shirt inside. It looked flat enough at first sight, like normal clothes, but with some sort of panels and meshwork inside. The neckline was fairly concealing and the underarm too. It was an incredible piece of clothing. When Leander picked it up it had a bit of heft to it too.

“Dr. Agrawal, could you stand by the door, facing away? I want to try this on, but I’m a little uncomfortable being looked at.” Leander said softly.

“Of course! Of course! You needn’t hesitate to ask.” Dr. Agrawal replied.

She quickly turned her back and stood in front of the door, blocking it in case anyone tried to go in unexpectedly. Once out of her sight, Leander removed his jacket and undid his shirt. He removed the medical brace that he had been using to bind his breasts. Easily, he slipped into Kappel’s binder.

Leander pressed his hands against his chest. He never quite considered the size or shape of his breasts much, he didn’t think they were especially big or cumbersome, but there was still something incredible and interesting about being able to slide his palms and the underside of his fingers over a suddenly smooth chest. There was no mirror in the room, but he knew it looked flat.

“Doctor, you can turn around; what do you think, how does it look?”

Dr. Agrawal turned around and smiled at him with delight. She approached, and walked all around him, checking the garment. She pulled on the straps and on the back, and stared directly at his chest. “Not even a little bump left behind. It is indeed a much better binder than we had. Is it comfortable?”

He moved his arms and twisted his waist and chest. “It’s very flexible.”

“That Willhelmina is incredible. In such a short time, to produce this–”

Suddenly the door opened behind them; a woman with a bandana leaned her head inside the door and looked at the two of them, at first casually and then with a growing confusion. Both of them froze up, Leander shirtless, Dr. Agrawal hovering near him. The Doctor stared back nervously over her shoulder. Leander fought his instinct to cover his breasts with his hands — after all they were bound down and covered, so he should have been fine.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know you were busy.” said the woman at the door.

Dr. Agrawal turned around, hands behind her back, smiling and speaking with a contrived, sweet affect. “It’s nothing Dr. Chukwu. You are not intruding. What brings you to my office today? Would you like a mint?”

Leander cringed reflexively, averted his eyes and started putting his shirt and jacket quickly back on. Dr. Agrawal stretched her arms out, picked up the tray of mints and thrust it toward the door, beaming ear to ear. Her hand was shaking a little and it was quite obvious she was nervous about this.

Dr. Chukwu quirked an eyebrow and waved away the mint tray.

“Not today, Dr. Agrawal. Anyway. Ma’am. I need to consult with you about our amputation procedures. There’s a few borderline cases here.”

“Of course! Let’s go see the patients.” Dr. Agrawal briefly nodded toward Leander, and then pulled Dr. Chukwu away down the hall, defusing their little situation. Leander remained behind, sighing with embarrassment.

At least now he knew that people had no visceral reaction to him.

 

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The Smoke Blocked The Sinking Sun (25.3)

 

41st of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Dbagbo Dominance — Village of Silb, near Dbagbo Border

“AGAIN?”

Karla Schicksal thrust her arms up and shouted at the top of her lungs. She pushed open the top hatch and climbed out of the cupola. Her worst fears were confirmed as she pushed herself up over the edge of the turret top.

She found the M4 Befehlspanzer struggling to turn its tracks, helplessly in place, sloshing the wet goo of a pit that it had somehow worked itself into.

Wedged into the mud, the tank’s rear was a touch higher than its front. She pulled herself clear off the turret and stood up on the tank’s hull. Looking over the sides she could see the return rollers, half of the track idler and the top of the track over the puddle, but the drive sprocket and all but one of the road wheels were completely submerged. There was water and mud up to the drive hatch up front. No amount of spinning seemed to move the tank.

Schicksal collapsed, sitting with her hands up to her face, wanting to cry.

Soon it started to drizzle again. Big, cold droplets splashed over the tank.

Schicksal had promised General Dreschner she would have the Befehlspanzer at the new base in Silb by the time he returned from his plane trip, down to the Oberkommando Suden’s new base at Dori Dobo in Adjar Dominance. It was her shot to command a tank — a weaponless radio tank, but a tank. She was the first woman ever to command a tank for the Federation’s forces.

Twice already her tank had become mired in the muddy fields of Dbagbo.

At least the first time, Reiniger and some of his men were around with a staff truck and helped push and pull her out. Now, however, she was all alone.

She felt embarrassed about it, though this was not a unique predicament. In fact mud had been a recurring issue for everyone since the generals of the Oberkommando Suden gave the order to start the Dbagbo Attack Operation.

Generalplan Suden estimated that Dbagbo was to fall by the 40th of the Aster’s Gloom. That was no longer possible. On the 41st, much of Battlegroup Lee was still coming in slow and the Panzer Divisions in Dbagbo had failed to make it to the Champa Wildlands, a vast savanna with low tree density where Panzers would have a powerful advantage against Ayvartan troops.

Oberkommando Suden had failed to account for the mud and bad weather.

Schicksal returned to the inside of the tank, assured the driver that it was not his fault and took to the radio. She called the Panzerpionierie — the engineers who served the 8th Panzer Division in mechanized support positions.

“This is the Siren; the General’s panzer is mired along Crapway 66, maybe a few kilos from S-Point, umm, possibly 7-S-9250. Could use a mule here.”

She was speaking in code — broadcasting grid points taken from their maps of Dbagbo. Much of Dbagbo functioned on dirt roads, which the Nochtish called “crapways” as a derisive play on “highways.” They had numbers for the roads, and then major grid locations revolving around Dbagbo’s towns. S-Point was Silb, and the S coordinates where all in Silb’s map squares.

“All our mules are tied up at the moment Siren, there’s a lot of dirt to plow.”

That meant that their armored recovery vehicles were just too busy. Right now the 8th, 10th and 15th Panzer Divisions were active in Dbagbo, and they had in total close to 800 tanks in theater, with reinforcements on the way.

That was 800 tanks that could be getting stuck in the mud at any given time.

Not to mention supply trucks, staff cars, personnel-carrier half-tracks — all of these vehicles were just as unprepared to wade through the winter mud.

“Roger, but I’m gonna need to press you on this mule-driver. Leave the cloth wagons behind, there’s a grand chariot here in need of pulling.” She said.

Her voice grew irritated. She insisted that a recovery vehicle drop whatever light panzer it was tugging around and come pick her up instead.

“I’ll see what I can do to make you the priority Siren. Mule-Driver out.”

Schicksal stuck the radio microphone back into its hook on the radio box.

She sank back, sighed and kicked her legs childishly. What an annoying conversation that had been — it put her in a completely foul mood now.

Ever since the disasters in Bada Aso the Heer issued guidelines and urged that the lower rungs had to take greater care with their radios. Though there was no evidence for this yet, many in signals theorized that the Ayvartans had sophisticated radio capture and possibly dedicated signals intelligence teams undermining Federation communications. Chatty signals girls were blamed for many missteps — equally gossipy grunts with portable radios, less so.

She sighed and prayed that their encryption equipment got here soon. She hated having to speak like one of the automatons in science fiction pulps. She just wanted to be behind her radios again, doing her job. Then she could not possibly fail. Not like now, where Dreschner was asking her to do all this.

She hoped for all that was holy that an ARV would come for her soon.

* * *

Silb was a woodland village of about eight hundred people, spread across a few kilometers of small clearings with wooden buildings linked by winding dirt roads. It was linked to the outside world chiefly by a train station and supply yard connected to the city of Shebelle up north. Since the communist expansion, only a paltry few modern administrative and service buildings had gone up. Its inhabitants were largely treated as a collective farm, growing in clearings in the wood and small plots out in the meadow. They also hunted and logged in the Silba forest into which the village was mostly set.

That was true, perhaps, until around a week ago. Now it was another ghost town. Schicksal had not yet actually seen a real Ayvartan village inhabited by Ayvartans. There were in fact many villages that had been left behind the line of the Nochtish advance, but it seemed Schicksal was always sent to the deserted ones. More room for the division’s panzers to sit on, she supposed.

By the early evening the Befehlspanzer’s long journey to Silb was finally complete. Following the dirt road, the tank made it into a clearing a short distance into the Silba, where a pair of panzergrenadiers were acting as guards. They checked up on Schicksal, and quickly allowed her to pass. Her tank trundled up past the collapsed ruins of a red brick building, and followed a series of road signs to a brick platform. Across from it there was another ruin, this one a roof of tin sheets fallen over black and grey ash.

The Ayvartans had destroyed their administration building and the supply warehouses near the train station. It didn’t quite matter. Nocht didn’t have any trains yet that ran on Ayvartan rail gauge, and conversion of the railroad network was an undertaking not even in the planning stages at this point.

Instead the supply yard was used as parking space for the 8th Panzer Division Headquarter’s compliment of fighting vehicles — 3 M4 Sentinels, and 5 Squire Half-Tracks with long noses and Norgler machine guns.

Schicksal climbed out of the Befelhspanzer and shook hands on the train platform with Colonel Spoor, the gaunt, serious leader of the 8th Panzer Division’s newly-acquired 7th Panzergrenadier Regiment. Though General Dreschner preferred to be at the front lines with his handpicked cadre of young, brash Panzerkompanie lieutenants, the organizing work of higher officers like Spoor was necessary for Dreschner to have his little adventures.

Spoor had arrived days ago and paved the way for the relocation of the 8th Panzer Division to Dbagbo. A relocation that, by all accounts, had become a nightmare for everybody involved. Spoor looked as if dragged bodily through the brush. There were streaks of mud across his uniform, and the lines on his face looked to Schicksal like they were greatly accentuated by fatigue.

“Good to see a lively face in this bleak place.” Spoor said while they shook.

“Apologies for the delays. I had trouble getting here.” Schicksal said.

“Everything here is delayed; no apology necessary, milady. We don’t even have the supplies yet to start a proper camp. We had to clear a trap bomb out of the civil canteen building just so we could have a place without a leaking roof in which to establish a radio room. No food to be found in there, too.”

As soon as they started talking another drizzle came down from the grey sky.

“Mein gott; this leaking has been endless for the past week.” Spoor cursed.

“I was mired in it myself. You look like you’d had to push a few tanks too.”

“My half-track nearly dug a pit into the dirt road. Every man had to get out and push the damned thing, knee-deep in mud, under the pouring the rain.”

“Rotten luck.” Schicksal said. She could imagine what an ordeal that was.

Spoor raised his hand to his mouth and sneezed into it. “I suspect I might become ill from that exposure. We then had to cut open our few sandbags to pour the contents over the mud and stabilize it for incoming vehicles.”

“Engineering vehicles were too busy to help, I assume.” Schicksal said. She still felt quite salty about having to wait most of the day in a muddy pit.

“Indeed. It is my understanding that most of our Panzerpionierie, are out near the Sandari on the front lines. As of four hours ago the Ayvartans destroyed the major bridges across the river and are shelling us from positions just beyond the opposing banks — the crossing will be painful.”

Though the Sandari was not a major river, without load-bearing bridges it would be very difficult for tanks to cross — and tanks and other vehicles were the overwhelming majority of Nocht’s strength in Dbagbo. Schicksal sighed. Crossing the Sandari would become another few day’s worth of obstacles. Pontoon bridges would have to be put up, bridgeheads slowly cleared.

“We have lost incredible amounts of time this week.” Spoor said.

“Guess it’s time for another Generalplan revision.” Schicksal replied.

Once the rain let up a little she followed Spoor back to the village proper. Though she was only a signals officer, Dreschner had left instructions for her to be treated as his personal and professional deputy, albeit without any grand decision-making capability. As such Spoor treated her cordially. Perhaps it was not just Dreschner’s directives either — Schicksal had it in mind that Spoor seemed quite the gentleman. He was serious but gentle, blunt and severe in physical appearance but soft-spoken in personal manner.

Schicksal felt a little tense at first — after all she was handling the General’s official business in Silb for a while. But Colonel Spoor made it seem easy.

They walked across little dirt roads and through sparse brush beneath scattered trees barely forming an irregular canopy. Most of the village houses were very similar log constructions with mesh screen windows and concrete foundations that served as unvarnished floors. Here and there she spotted Spoor’s men gathering around the houses, searching for materiel — or mines.

Panzergrenadiers were a new sight to her. They looked rather impressive.

After the losses in Knyskna, OKS reinforced the accomplished and important 8th Panzer Division, The Spearhead Of Knyskna, with the addition of the 7th Panzergrenadier Regiment. Before, they possessed no dedicated infantry component whatsoever save a few Pioniers, engineering troops. Now they had Panzergrenadiers with them. Across the village Schicksal saw them, traveling the dirt roads, camping out in the bushes, exploring the houses.

Nocht’s elite tank-support troops, tall, rugged men, with thick hooded coats, flared helmets, carrying submachine guns and anti-tank rifles at their backs. There were a few medics with them, a few of them women; mostly the troops were tough-looking men, a bit older than the average landser. She knew that the Panzergrenadierie had higher standards for recruitment and rougher training. This seemed very evident when looking at these men up close.

Spoor himself was pretty tall, but he was an older man and an officer, and he did not at all appear able to best any of the grunts in sheer physicality.

“How are your men deployed, Colonel? Is this just your personal cadre?”

“Yes. This is my Headquarters platoon and a security company. Most of my men are making their way to Sandari to support the operation.” Spoor said. “Let us gather around a map and I will appraise you on the situation.”

After showing her around the village, Spoor led Schicksal back to the main dirt road and took the path opposite the one leading to the train station. At the path’s end a massive conifer with a thick trunk leaned into and over a red brick, open-faced building. The Civil Canteen’s cooking equipment had been left in place, but the small dining area was cleared out, and a tarp hung before it as an awning to help keep out the rain. Radio equipment and a war-room table had been set up in the building in place of the dining tables and chairs.

Ayvarta’s civil flag had been taken down from a pole and used as a carpet by the irreverent Panzergrenadiers. Waving on the flagpole in its place was the flag of the Federation of Northern States, red and blue stripes with a white eagle in the center, orbited by a star for each of the twelve Nochtish Republics (including Lachy and Franz, but not yet the Republic of Cissea).

On the table was a map of Dbagbo. Flag skewers marked current positions. Civilian maps captured in Shaila and Adjar added much needed detail on the names and locations of minor villages and towns. Dbagbo was not as large as Shaila or Adjar, but constituted a significant buffer between Nocht’s forces and the Red Desert wherein the main objective, Solstice, was located. In the interior of Dbagbo, the Sandari river and Shebelle city constituted the main defensive areas. After that, the way was clear until the Garanges, a major river dividing Dbagbo and the desert in the north and northeast.

Spoor touched his index finger on the map, along the line of the Sandari, and he slid the tip of the gloved finger down from the river and back to Shaila.

“We entered Dbagbo on the 35th, after a week-long delay imposed by the supply situation, reorganizing after the Shaila operations and the moving of prisoners from the Tukino pocket. Though the penetration of the border was simple and took only a few hours, storms began to hit and the Ayvartans retreated in good order. Mud across the front made it difficult for Panzers to advance — it was difficult for us to maintain speed on soft and loose terrain, and many tanks became mired in pits and puddles. This cost us time and it prevented us from rapidly encircling any part of the Ayvartan retreat.”

Schicksal nodded, following along as Spoor’s finger traveled across the stretch between Dbagbo’s border, and the Sandari, to which Silb served as a sort of halfway point. She noticed the flags pinned near the Sandari — 10th PzG and 15th PzG were the primary combat units currently that far up.

“Due to the situation that transpired in Bada Aso, the OKS is reassessing its intentions in Shebelle city. In the original plan this would have slowed us down, but since we haven’t even reached Shebelle yet, it does not matter.”

“Shebelle is not as big as Bada Aso, is it? And it’s not coastal.” Schicksal said.

“You are correct: it is smaller, and it can be more easily besieged.”

“Are only the 10th and 15th out there? I assumed the 8th is fighting.”

“Our 8th Panzer Division is performing mobile support. Right now the 10th and 15th Panzer Divisions are our spearhead: after being freed from holding the Tukino pocket, they were tasked with heading the Dbagbo attack. They also took the fewest losses in Shaila, when compared to our 8th Panzer Division. So then we should be in prime shape to launch an attack; but–”

He left it hanging for a moment. “But?” Schicksal said, crossing her arms.

Spoor smiled. He pointed again at the flags of the 15th and 10th PzG.

“It is true that the 10th and 15th have suffered few material losses compared to us, but they have been active for longer and more intense combat. They are tired, and they have stalled at the Sandari due to this terrible spate of rains.”

Schicksal nodded. “I assume also they must be spooked about Bada Aso.”

“Yes. Bada Aso shook our whole army to its foundations.” Spoor said.

It took them some time to get word of the catastrophe in Adjar. Schicksal could hardly believe it herself when it came in, and it was part of the reason Dreschner was recalled to OKS. Because of Bada Aso, actions in the north-west of Ayvarta were heavily delayed. Not only had upwards of 40,000 troops been killed or maimed, with the majority of the survivors wounded badly enough they would not fight for months, if ever again; but in addition the loss of the city and its port, meant that the north of Adjar was a black spot for supplies. Its potential as a transport hub and supply station was all gone.

Mobilizing Nochtish troops there in such a situation was a nightmare. Even so a minimal attack on Tambwe had to be prepared and launched to coincide with the Dbagbo operations. To date, however, it had not cracked the border.

It was still on everyone’s minds in the Federation army. Fighting in Ayvarta’s cities could prove unbelievably deadly, if Bada Aso was taken as a sign of a new paradigm in Ayvartan strategy. Nobody knew for certain what had happened, but they had a city in ruins, and tens of thousands of casualties.

“Right now General Dreschner, and the 10th PzG’s General Strich, are meeting with the OKS and Field Marshal Haus.” Spoor said. “Hopefully they can entreat the OKS to delay our attacks until we have more fresh divisions that can catch up at Sandari to support our tired Panzer companies.”

Schicksal blinked. She’d heard General Dreschner was meeting with OKS, obviously. But she didn’t know he was meeting with the Field Marshal in person. She thought he was just going to consult, or receive a briefing.

“What is the disposition of the enemy, that we know?” Schicksal asked. She felt a little tense all of a sudden, but she had to keep her cool and act like a professional. After all she was here as Dreschner’s deputy in the region.

Spoor shook his head. “We’re not certain. We know that the ‘Battlegroup’ of Dbagbo, known as Rhino, consists of 100,000 troops, just the same as Shaila’s. However, we do not have the advantage of superior numbers this time, because the majority of our divisions are far behind the line, or holding the rear in Shaila. We do not have a 10-division surprise border attack up our sleeve anymore. And for all we know Ayvarta has reinforced Dbagbo by now. Eventually they must overturn their peacetime regulations and deploy larger forces. So far we believe we have fought 4 distinct infantry divisions, all of which have retreated in good order, so we expect the Shebelle line to have 4-8 infantry divisions. Ayvarta’s tanks are practically nonexistent thus far.”

“In a perfect world, what would be the plan of attack for the coming weeks?” Schicksal asked. She hoped to brief Dreschner on the situation, which, knowing the dispositions of the Ayvartans, she now could; but she also wanted to know, for her personal curiosity, what everyone’s plans were.

Spoor arranged the little markers around the city of Shebelle. He had the 10th, 15th and 8th Panzer Divisions, the 16th and 17th Grenadier Divisions and the 11th Grenadier and 14th Jager Divisions. These latter two he had plucked from all the way down in the Knyskna area and stuck in Dbagbo. Idealistic, perhaps, with the current climate and supply situations.

“While the Ayvartans hold a small numerical advantage in Central Dbagbo, the mobility of our troops has forced the communists into holding a long, thin line across the front of Shebelle. They are unable to respond to our mobile attacks, so their only recourse is to stretch out to try to catch them in progress wherever they might happen. This gives us the advantage.”

“How so? Being outnumbered is being outnumbered, isn’t it?” Schicksal said.

Spoor never once lost patience with her. He smiled and responded politely.

“Because the Ayvartans are turtled up in defensive positions, they cannot thicken the line everywhere in response to an attack. We can decide to attack any part of the line with any amount of troops available, but they have only a fixed amount of assets with which to defend any given part of the line.”

Schicksal nodded rapidly. “Ah, I see. I understand now. Thank you Colonel.”

Spoor bowed his head. He returned to the map, picking up a little pointer stick and tracing lines from his little divisional flags. “We will engage the enemy line in Shebelle with our infantry, but instead of assaulting the city, we will break through along the flanks using our Panzer Divisions. Elements of our 8th PzG will punch through in the east and rush up to Benghu; elements of the 15th will rush to Gollaproulu in the west. With a loose square kettle around Shebelle, we can either pocket it, or force a large enemy retreat.”

“Who is the architect of this plan? It’s not General Dreschner, or else he would not have asked me to gather information for him.” Schicksal asked. Since shortly after their conversation began this had been bothering her.

“We received these orders a few days ago from Field Marshal Haus. He is an avid war-maker.” Spoor said. “General Dreschner should receive a copy when he meets with the Field Marshal. So I’m not sure why he decided to trouble you so much, milady. Perhaps he thought you should be kept a little busy, or perhaps he just isn’t well aware of how things are done by the Field Marshal.”

“I see.” Schicksal looked down at the map. Spoor was right. She had been caught up in the seriousness of the situation, but in reality this was not much of a splendid occasion for her. She got to drive a tank somewhere that a tank transporter could have just taken it; and she attended a meeting with a Colonel to learn information Dreschner would get from the OKS itself.

Dreschner did not logically require any briefings from her. After all, he was meeting with the Field Marshal, so he would have access to information at the top level. So she didn’t really have any reason to do this but busywork.

Unless he just wanted to hear what she picked up on for some other reason.

 

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