The Sun That Shone Through Smoke (28.3)


52-AG-30. Dbagbo Dominance — Camp Vijaya

Though the sky was characteristically bleak in color, the rain had momentarily abated.

Camp Vijaya was lively as could be and took full advantage of the respite. People left their tarps and tents and worked under the sky (technically under the camouflage net). Radio operators brought the receivers out on handcarts and laid back beside them on towels as if sunbathing. Engineers worked on small parts out in the fresh air, soldering and sanding and treating on tables in the grass. There was a soon a pungent scent of chemicals and paint swirling through the camp; but everyone was happy to be free of the rain.

Around noon there was a small disturbance. People cleared out of the area near the workshop at the sound of Karima’s bugle and at the insistence of Captain Rajagopal. Small crowds gathered in a circle around the edges of the camp. Once the way was clear, Chief Ravan had the workshop opened, and stood by with a megaphone in hand.

“Everyone ready? Time to begin the Raktapata tactical mobility test!”

Farwah popped up from the front hatch.

“We’re just driving in circles around the camp.”

Chief Ravan turned the megaphone to his head.

“We will commence the Raktapata tactical mobility test with an additional and valuable scientific stipulation — it is forbidden for Farwah to speak during the test!”

Naya laughed a little, standing at the edge of the wood while Chief Ravan shouted at Farwah. Roaring to life, the Raktapata started its first lap around the workshop, its engine powering an uncommon torsion bar suspension. Power was transferred to the drive wheel in the back of the track, and from there the other wheels. It navigated the terrain at a brisk pace and took corners very easily. She watched it speed up, more gracefully than she would have thought a vehicle of that size capable of. Somehow she had expected the vehicle to move much more stiffly, but it turned and zig-zagged quite smoothly for a tank.

Sadly the spectacle would be short for Naya. She had somewhere to go today.

Nevertheless she continued to steal glances as she made her way. Walking along the outskirts of the camp to stay out of the tank’s path, Naya followed Isa to the back, where he climbed into the Sharabha half-track and cheerfully waved her to the passenger seat. She climbed on beside him and settled on the stiff cushion atop the rigid metal seat.

“Where are we going exactly?” Naya asked. She had been given very little in the way of instructions for the day. Previously she thought she would have no chores on the 52nd.

“Chanda. We’re going to pick up sundries for the camp from the supply dump.” Isa said.

“Hmm? Sundries? What kind of goods are talking about here?”

Isa smiled. “Towels, soap, herb shampoo, kitchen and bath paper, razors, brushes, deodorants, anti-fungals and other hygiene products like that; we can’t run on food alone, you know! A whole camp full of gearheads goes through these things very quickly!”

Naya nodded. “I noticed. Hard to scrub your face three times a day just with water.”

“Too true. We’ll be bringing back a lot hopefully, so help me carry the crates, ok?”

Isa hit the starter, and the Sharabha whined awake. Avoiding the Raktapata as it lapped around the camp, the half-track slipped out of the camp and through the jungle, down a path that Naya had not trod on for over a week now. She suspected that the real reason for this trip was that Chief Ravan and Captain Rajagopal had noticed her flagging condition and decided to get her out of the camp for a breather. Other people came and went to Chanda on errands just to get a breather. Naya was not enthusiastic about returning to Chanda for any length of time. She liked the camp well enough. But orders were orders.

The Sharabha was much faster than the Tokolosh, quickly reaching a speedy 60 km/h even on the meadow. After leaving the forest Naya raised her eyes reflexively to the sky, and she looked out for airplanes. She had two too many encounters with Nocht’s damnable Luftlotte in her life and she did not need another. However the skies were clear of planes and though partly cloudy the weather was agreeable. Chanda was soon in sight and without incident. Isa drove the Sharabha up a steep grassy slope north of the school and followed it into the sports field, reducing his speed. They were among civilians and had to be careful.

Naya saw children out on the field near them, playing, gathering around teachers–

She sat up against the back of the seat, avoiding the window at her side.

“Something wrong?” Isa asked, turning the wheel to steer the Half-Track to the depot.

“Nothing. Just don’t want to seem like I’m goggling anyone.” Naya replied.

Isa looked skeptical, shook his head, and parked the half-track beside a big tin warehouse that had been set up near the track and field in order to house army supplies.

“You know, you’re a real weird gal sometimes, Naya.” He said. He was smiling.

Naya smiled back, in a cutesy, deflecting sort of way.

She had seen Aarya out on the field, and an awkward instinct overcame her.

Inside the tin warehouse, a tall, plump young woman was hard at work unpacking many syringes from small wooden boxes packed with foam rubber sheets and sand. She had her black hair bunched up behind her head, pinned with a wooden hair clamp. When she turned to meet them her round, dark brown face was dusty from the packing sand, and she wiped herself with a towel before reaching out a hand and vigorously shaking with Naya and Isa.

“Hujambo! I’m Sharna. You’re the folks from the forest, right?” She said happily.

“Sounds like us!” Isa replied. “Can you help us find the sundries we requested?”

“I’ll do ya one better!” Sharna pointed over her shoulder at a corner of the room. There was a stack of seven or eight crates of varying sizes there, labeled “FOR CAMP V.”

“Mighty kind of you!” Isa said. “Naya, please get started on those crates.”

Naya looked at him critically. Had he just brought her here so he could be lazy?

Isa seemed to catch on to her silent accusation. “I have to fill out some records!”

“Yeah you’d better have to, you sloth!” Naya grumbled. Sharna snickered.

“Here, I’ll help you. Better than unpacking individual spirits-damned syringes!”

Sharna stacked two large crates together and hefted them easily. Naya watched in awe as she casually left the warehouse with them. She struggled to pick a crate up and follow. When she lifted her own box she felt like a penguin waddling under the weight.

Out behind the Sharabha, Sharna pulled down the ramp and pushed her crates into the back, securing them with the ropes on the benches. She stretched out her hands to Naya and generously took her crate in too, setting it down on the benches with the rest. Naya bent down, holding on to her knees, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her forehead. When did she get this weak? She used to be able to carry things like this so easily. Now her lower back and her hips protested from walking thirty meters with a box.

“Listen, I can carry the rest.” Sharna said. She had a big smile on her face. “Just leave it to me alright? I don’t want to see a comrade put herself out of sorts for a crate of soap.”

Naya felt a bit annoyed, like she didn’t want the sympathy. But she suppressed the bad thoughts and smiled back. “Is it because it’s better than unwrapping individual syringes?”

Sharna’s eyes glanced off to one side and she whistled a little. “Maybe it is.”

She walked down the ramp. Naya started back to the warehouse, but stopped when she saw Sharna staring out into the field suddenly, and heard a voice calling out to her.

“Hujambo, Sharna! I see you’re busy, but can you spare a few towels from–”

Naya froze up at the sound of the voice. It traveled down her spine like a surge of electricity. She tried to slouch, hands in her pockets, shoulders raised over her neck, head down; she tried to make herself smaller, less noticeable. She kept her back turned to the two of them, and moved millimeter by millimeter, trying to inch away from the field.

“Eh? What do you need them for? How have you run out this quickly?” Sharna said.

His voice sounded deeper, stronger, more confident than she remembered it. She hated everything about it and hated how it had changed more. “We’ve got some sick kids, just little colds, but they’re contagious. It’s not fair other kids get to play in the field and they don’t so I want to get them cleaned up, give them some towels and take them–”

Naya felt the pause, palpably. It was in the air. She felt it like a dart hitting her shoulder.

In that interminable second she prayed a thousand times not to hear the word–

“Naya? Naya Oueddai? Is that you over there?”

She grit her teeth.

From her slouching, sneaking stance, she turned her head a little over her shoulder, trying to appear disinterested. But then the sight of him drew too genuine a shock from her.

She remembered Darshan as a lanky teenage boy, too-tall in his ill fitting track shirt and shorts, long-legged, tough in a wiry way, sort of like she had been at his age. He had grown into himself. His chest was broader, his shoulders too. Even in a dress shirt and tie, in plain brown pants, she could see thickness to him she didn’t before. He had cut his hair closer and neater, his face smooth and clean cut without his thin mustache and beard. As a kid he had been cute perhaps, but he was infuriatingly handsome now.

“You know each other?” Sharna said, clearing the dead air. She remained unacknowledged.

Darshan approached a few steps, and his face brightened up. He raised his hands to his head and laughed a little, and he spread his arms as if he wanted to embrace her.

“Naya, spirits bless you, it’s been so long! It’s been years! Gods alive.”

Naya turned fully around. There was no helping it anymore.

“Six years or so?” Naya said, grinning a little, keeping her distance.

“I’ve lost count; I never counted! You just vanished one day. Does Aarya know you’re around? Gods she’ll be so happy to see you! Listen, she was right around here a minute ago–”

Naya raised her hands defensively. “No, no, no. I’m busy right now, sorry Darshan.”

Her eyes kept honing in on the ring around his finger. She found it hard to stand in place. Some part of her wanted to run away and hide somewhere; another just wanted to tackle him down and crush his goddamned face. He didn’t deserve that, she knew it, but it would have felt so good to have finally broken these awful ties once and for all–

“Yeah, she’s kind of got a job to do. You two can catch up some other time, this is urgent.” Sharna interrupted. Thank the Spirits for her. Naya nodded her head vigorously.

Darshan smiled kindly, a bit bashfully. It was a sudden, burning flash of the boy Naya had known once, scratching his hair as though something had hit him in the head, laughing self-effacingly and responding in a subdued tone of voice. It was the same voice that he had used when he confided in Naya that he was very fond of Aarya Balarayu.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Naya! You know I’m just so happy to see you. It’s great that you’re working hard for the army. We civilians owe you a lot these days.” Darshan said.

“Yeah.” Naya said, simply, awkwardly. She had to force it out of her tongue. Just one syllable, but it felt like such a burden to say. It had been years! What did two people in this situation tell each other? Particularly when one wanted again to be gone?

But Darshan simply didn’t know malice. He smiled again like a little kid.

“Me and Aarya are both working as teachers here. I’ll tell her you’re around, maybe we can meet up tomorrow, circumstances permitting. Spirits bless you.” He clapped his hands together in front of his face and bowed his head to her in reverence.

Naya waved her hand stiffly and nervously at him in response.

Still smiling, Darshan departed to the field. As he left, Isa exited the warehouse with a crate, upon which rested a carbon copy of the supply corps documentation he was filling out.

“Never in a million years would I have thought a crate of towels could be this heavy!” Isa protested, waddling up to the ramp with the crate in hand. Sharna plucked it from his grip and set it easily down on the benches with the rest while Naya stood around.

Sharna tactfully said nothing while they loaded the rest of the crates. When everything was loaded and it was time to leave, she gave Naya a wan little smile and wiggled her fingers while waving at her. Naya waved back and then rubbed her shoulders while she waited in her seat, trying to pat down the aching tendons. Isa took his seat on the other side of the half-track, Sharna secured the ramp, and the Sharabha started up anew.

Under the engine whine, Isa turned to Naya with a cheerful expression.

“Do you want to stick around longer, maybe get a breath of meadow air?” He asked.

Naya shook her head. Isa looked briefly downcast and turned back to the wheel.

He sighed. “I’m sorry Naya, I thought a little exercise outside the camp would make you feel better and I asked the Chief to send you along. It was presumptuous of me.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for caring.” Naya replied. She stared down at her own shoes.

“I really want to make things right. I know I messed up the other day–”

“It’s not your fault, I told you. My back’s been that bad for years.”

“Has it?” Isa looked at her with surprise. She shouldn’t have said that.

“It’s on and off. It’ll be ok. It happens to the best of us.” Naya said.

For once he seemed to divine her feelings from her tone and said nothing more.

On the drive back, she felt quite stupid about everything. She felt terrible, avoiding her old friends like that. Aarya and Darshan had been so good to her. They deserved better than this behavior. After her parents separated she left to join Battlegroup Rhino and disappeared for years without word to them. Now she was suddenly back, and she saw explicitly in Darshan’s face how awestruck, how happy, how relieved he was to see her. To break that up so she could load crates was nonsense. He must have known it was nonsense. He must know now that she was trying to avoid confronting them. He must have some inkling of her feelings.

Any confrontation with them meant a confrontation with herself that she didn’t want.

She felt sick of herself; framing it as “confrontation” made her feel even more foolish.

“Isa, what would civilians know of the current situation on the front, huh?” She asked.

Driving down the meadow toward the forest, Isa turned his head to her briefly.

“Well, they wouldn’t really know much. We tell them to evacuate, they evacuate, otherwise they don’t have to know what the army is doing explicitly.” He replied. “It would only cause undue panic for them to hear that the offensive is going badly and at the moment we’re still processing how to get as many people away safely as we can.”

Naya started to tear up. So they definitely thought that they might get to speak with her soon, that it was just any other day for them and they could spend it peacefully with a friend.

Isa was still staring. “Naya, what happened? I know something happened.”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Naya replied. Her face was rigid, contorted into a fake smile while the tears streamed down her cheeks. She still thought she could run away from everything.

Isa shook his head. “There’s only so many times I can respond with ‘if you say so.'”

“Find synonyms then.” She said bitterly. Isa looked on at the meadow without reply.

The rest of the ride was quiet; the rest of her day in camp, equally, painfully so.


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The Sun That Shone Through Smoke (28.2)


52nd of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Solstice Dominance — The 10th Head

Premier Daksha Kansal left her private car and walked down the street a few meters, staring sideways at the property across the empty green park as though it was a suspicious animal that was readying to jump. After a few minutes she turned her back to it and returned to her car. Her driver advanced to one of the driveways around the grass and followed it up to the building. As the Premier and her company rode to the property, she glared at it through the car window with her chin supported by the back of one hand. She shook her head.

“What do you think, Premier?” asked a big man seated across from her.

“It’ll have to do.” Kansal said simply.

Palaces and all they entailed did not sit right with the new Premier.

In 2007 Daksha Kansal and a few accomplices attacked a radio station in the southern capital of Bada Aso. She had been sent there to expose the government’s corruption. There was a script, a quick, punchy message that would embolden the struggling; Kansal hijacked the message in the heat of the moment. She broadcast her ambitions. Across Ayvarta, for a brief moment, people contemplated the possibility that one insolent woman at the bottom of the world could seek after the head of the Emperor and the heads of his family.

What was intended to be a moderate message of protest, became a declaration of war.

One year later, the ambition would be realized. The Zaidi would stand in the bloodstained halls of the Imperial palace having brutally disposed of the regime.

There was nothing left of that particular palace anymore.

It had been destroyed, the land repurposed.

But not all of the royal estates shared the same fate: one Palace remained. Humble for an estate, but complete, accessible, and suitable for Kansal’s new purpose.

Ironically it was once the abode of one Pajar Kashlik, the chief provider of impetus for the project of a nationwide radio infrastructure in the early 2000s.

In Ayvarta it seemed that the past and future always entwined in eerie ways.

Kansal’s car parked just outside the broad, 24-step concrete stairway leading into the estate. Two wings with richly decorated facades extended thirty meters each to the left and right from a grand, gabled entryway in the center. The Kashlik estate house was only two stories, and it was much longer than it was wide. Surrounded by trees and shrubbery on three sides, with an empty green park in front, and situated atop a small hill, the estate had a commanding view of the sparse northern borough of the capital. One could see some of the northern wall of Solstice from almost anywhere on the property.

Despite its richness, compared to the People’s Peak it was a squat, unassuming rectangular building that anyone could believe served no function but to play host to the noble excesses of its occupants. It was just the pleasure house of a low Pajar. Kansal despised large, unnecessary houses. In fact the space made her distinctly uncomfortable and brought back bad memories. But the People’s Peak was a juicy, obvious target. It was a monument — it would be targeted and would be difficult to defend. She needed a hideout.

She needed a 10th Head for her besieged 9-Headed Hydra.

“I hate the place, but we kept it for just such a thing, so let us use it.” She said.

“At the moment we can’t build something more communist to replace it, comrade Premier; that is the only reason that I suggested it! It is a property where we can house the entire SIVIRA staff apparatus and its equipment in relative safety and comfort.”

“Is it even wired?” Kansal asked skeptically.

“Yes! That is another reason I suggested it, Comrade Premier, and it is one reason it was not demolished. Pajar Kashlik had his estate thoroughly modernized by 2008. He had telephone, he had a personal telegram connection, radio, backup gasoline power generators. He even had refrigeration — a giant gas-powered ice room for storing food! It is the perfect place for our operations. Even as we stomped flat the other palaces, the Commissariat of Development realized that the Kashlik estate had too much practical value to destroy.”

As much as she hated the place, her pragmatism was overcoming her bias.

Her car had an extended rear cabin with two plush seats facing each other. She occupied the rearmost seat, and across and in front of her was comrade Kamau Mamani. A tall, hairless man with skin like black diamond, smooth, dark and glistening in light. His manners were gentle and reserved. He made no movement that was sudden, and spoke with his hands always on his lap. Daksha appreciated this. People who gesticulated wildly always made her nervous, though she knew they had their reasons for those behaviors.

He was her chosen companion on this business. Mamani had picked out the new location of the headquarters of the “SIVIRA Of The Supreme High Command,” or SIVIRA. This would be the new national headquarters unit of the army in the process of unifying — known as the Sunhera Thalsena or “The Gold Army” in the Arjun speech. It was variously referred to in the past two days as both the STS and the Gold Army. The Gold Army had gone through a few names in the KVW’s hasty planning. There was talk of naming it after the Svechthan Red Army, but a unique name was needed. Hydra Army was considered as well, but while Kansal found the name personally appealing, they needed something more universal.

“Gold Army” had history — it was an informal name given to the Emperor’s Ten Million Men.

There were still legends and histories taught to children that referenced it.

Right now, their army needed to feel like living legends in order to survive.

Thus, Gold Army it was. “The Ayvartan People’s Gold Army.”

And this estate would be The 10th Head, SIVIRA’s headquarters.

Kansal walked through the gabled entryway and into a spacious but empty lobby. It would have to be furnished with a front desk. Long hallways in either direction led to the wings, and doors directly ahead led deeper into the building. Recessed staircases around the corners led to the second floor. It seemed as though a lot of foot traffic could channel through the building unimpeded — a necessary feature in the time to come.

Through a ground floor door at the end of the lobby, Kansal wandered deeper into the palace, opening doors and peering inside grand tea rooms and game rooms and gathering places. All of these could be converted to operational areas. At the center of the building there was one room of immediate interest, with a long carpet leading to a desk enclosed on three sides by tall bookcases. Overlooking the desk there was an animal’s head mounted on the wall. Gray with rubbery skin, large, deep-set eyes and four massive tusks surrounding a fiercely grinning stub of a snout — a preserved King Tusker head.

“Remove that grotesque exhibit from here post-haste. Replace it with my copper hydra.”

Mamani smiled at her and rubbed his chin. “Chosen your office then, comrade Premier?”

Daksha silently acknowledged him by walking up to the sizable mahogany desk, running her hand over it to trace a line over the surface dust, and taking a seat in the big chair behind it. She sat with her hands clapped together over the surface and closed her eyes.

“Yes. This will be my office. My above-ground office, anyway.” She said.

“Splendid. We shall start accommodating the departments here.” Mamani said.

“Right. You may go, Mamani. When Chakma arrives, send her here if you meet her.”

Mamani nodded his head, saluted, turned and promptly left the room.

Premier Kansal sat behind the desk for a few minutes after Mamani left the room. She put her elbows to the wooden surface and held her head in her hands. She steepled her fingers and stared out across the room, over the carpet, to the door. Nobody would be soon to arrive — she stood from the desk and checked the books on the shelves. To her surprise, Pajar Kashlik had managed to collect all fifty volumes of the Lubonia Encyclopedic Collection before she had him killed. A lot of other outdated but valuable scientific, anthropological and zoological books lined the shelves. The Pajar had managed to make himself into quite a scholarly man on the backs and purses of the working class people.

Shaking her head, she left the volumes behind and wandered the estate alone.

Over the next few hours more of the staff of the new SIVIRA began to arrive in trucks and half-tracks and liaison cars, finding themselves pointed mostly to empty rooms at first until more of their equipment caught up with them. Trucks started to bring desks, chairs, file cabinets, and other necessary office amenities. In their place, old chairs, leather couches, and king size beds and other frivolities were hurled out onto the green patio until a use for them could be found. Daksha had a mind to donate them to youth hostels.

In the middle of the haphazard furnishing, a KVW gendarme alerted Daksha to the arrival of her new War Secretary, and she promptly made her way to the green to meet her.

Exiting a liaison car, a short, golden-skinned woman with her hair in an orderly black ponytail, pristinely dressed in the KVW black, saluted Premier Kansal. Daksha nodded to her in return, resisting the urge to salute — she wasn’t technically in the military anymore as Premier. Standing across from her Chief Warrant Officer Cadao Chakma had a small smile on her round face, and her diagonal, folded eyes shone with a color like the sun.

“Comrade Premier, I’m honored to be of service! When I heard of my appointment, I immediately set about gathering my proposals. I’m ready to work right way!” She said. Her voice was charming and bubbly; she sounded like she was ready to jump up and down.

“Your initiative is appreciated, Secretary Chakma.” Daksha replied.

“Secretary; I can hardly believe it.” Chakma replied, almost as if to herself.

Having exchanged their pleasantries they walked back to the Premier’s new office side by side. By the time they arrived, the Tusker head had been taken from the room, and a copper Hydra installed in its place. Looming over Daksha’s head as she sat on the desk, this nine-headed serpent reared back in quiet menace. Chakma had the full view of the creature from her seat opposite the Premier. The War Secretary laid various documents on the table.

“You’ve expanded your proposals since we last met, I assume?” Daksha asked.

“Indeed!” Chakma said, clapping her hands together. “I worked very hard!”

Prior to this post, Cadao had been a staff officer working on training doctrine with the readiness corps. As the KVW prepared for war in the past few weeks, she caught Daksha’s attention by compiling and submitting a research paper on resources and organization for rapid remobilization. Like a growing number among the KVW’s troops and staff, her training was not fully complete — in fact they had not even begun to give her conditioning. She lacked the red glow in her eyes because she was not yet even considered for it.

But she had a vision and at the moment Daksha needed above all else people with vision.

“Alright. Let’s pretend I don’t know what you’re here for. What have you got?”

“Yes ma’am! As you can see, I’ve assembled my organizational proposals for your consideration.” Chakma said cheerfully. “These documents contain an expanded version of the proposals I previously submitted. Tapping into various sources, I believe that we can immediately rally six corps worth of troops in Solstice itself — around 225,000 men and women in total, from KVW units, Revolutionary Guards, Police, survivors of the southern battles and Battlegroup Cadets mostly far along in their training.”

“What about the remaining battlegroups in the north?” Daksha asked suddenly.

“That might be the one sticking point.” Chakma breathed in deep, stuck out her chest and spoke with greater conviction. “Comrade Premier! This may be controversial, but I believe it is imperative that these forces remain in place to guard the territorial integrity of northern Ayvarta against potential incursions against the rear echelon of the Solstice Dominance. Though we could sorely use the 400,000 troops in place there, I believe we should tap into only 1/4 of these forces and leave the remainder in case of a naval or aerial threat to us!”

Daksha felt a nervous twitch. She suppressed a snap judgment, an urge to reprimand what she saw as wayward naivety. Certainly it was a daring proposal to make to her, at this time when they needed as much manpower as possible in the south to forestall an invasion. Daksha could not fathom why they wouldn’t make use of all their forces.

“I was led to believe you were submitting a proposal for remobilization.” Daksha said.

Chakma looked momentarily nervous, but gathered her convictions and continued in the same forceful tone of voice as before. “Ma’am, I believe we can build a fully-equipped, thoroughly organized force that will better serve our purposes than painfully remobilizing, reequipping and reorganizing the northern defensive battlegroups, which are currently lacking in officers, standardized training or even a standardized force organization.”

“True,” Daksha said suddenly, nearly interrupting the last part of Chakma’s sentence, “but can Solstice endure the mustering of this force, or will we have an army without a capital?”

“I can make no guarantees, only predictions based on good info, ma’am.” Chakma replied. Her forehead glistened in the room’s dim light, and she swallowed hard after speaking.

“Alright,” Daksha grinned, false sweetness mixed with all too real venom, “I think you need a break, Secretary Chakma. It is your first day on the job and you are visibly nervous.”

“Ma’am?” Chakma choked up and sat very stiffly against her chair.

“Fetch yourself a drink, think things over, and return to continue your proposal.”

Daksha waved her hand dismissively, picked up a pair of reading glasses from her pocket and started to look over the document folders. Chakma looked around the room in confusion, got the hint, and slowly, awkwardly retreated out to the hall. She left the door half-open, and Daksha could see her shadow out in the hall, pacing and pacing without aim.

Finally Chakma returned, and without taking a seat, she saluted the Premier just as stiffly as she previously sat. Her face was composed; she certainly intended to look serious.

“Ma’am, I stand by my proposal. I believe that if we withdraw too many forces from the north we could suffer a surprise attack by Hanwa or Lubon, who are certainly allies of Nocht and whose intentions in the conflict are not yet fully clear to us!” Chakma said.

Daksha looked up from the documents, staring at the new War Secretary over the lenses of her reading glasses. She crooked an eyebrow at her, and then returned to the documents as if disinterested. This further rattled the War Secretary, and though it came from a confrontational place, it represented the most gentle scorn Daksha was capable of.

“That is true, but you are essentially telling me to withdraw no forces.” She said.

“Untrue ma’am! My proposal outlines the creation of one more army out of 100,000 forces from the north deploying to Solstice. Thus leaving three armies, one each guarding the Northwest, North and Northeast! I believe this caution will pay off in the future!”

“We could those 400,000 troops in the South to fight against Nocht and stop them from beheading us here at Solstice. We can raise new troops to defend the North and East, where we have a better position anyway. Compared to Nocht’s forces 225,000 is a paltry number. Do you really believe you can have armies rolling out this quickly?”

“I believe by the new year we will have 500,000 defending Solstice and 1 million on the way, ma’am, if you follow my mustering, training and organizational doctrine!”

Chakma spoke up while looking straight forward and over Daksha’s head, avoiding eye contact from the seated Premier. She gesticulated as she grew more nervous and each rapid and unpredictable movement of her hands corresponded with a nervous, strained bump in the Premier’s weary heart. Daksha pulled off her glasses and pointed at the War Secretary with them, jabbing them sharply in the air as she said key words and phrases.

“You are invested in your plan; so then you are willing to take responsibility for it should the worst happen? Staffers have a habit of feeling safe playing with the lives of men and women and cities and farms and other organic things as if numbers on a chart could wholly represent them. I know this: because I was a brash idiot organizer once too.”

Not exactly true. Daksha had been a revolutionary organizer, but she had no formal military experience and could not totally relate to a Cadao Chakma the way she could relate to a Lena Ulyanova. Everything she knew about war and revolution she intuited from experience, from success and failure, from the movements of enemies against her, from the scars on her body and metal still embedded into her flesh. She never had charts back then. War was an animal instinct to her, and it was a clean science for Chakma.

Nevertheless, it appeared that Chakma had unwavering faith in this science. It was perhaps the same intense faith that Daksha had in her own ferocious instincts.

“I am willing to take responsibility!” Chakma said. Her voice was growing strained but there was a fire in her eyes and she stood perfectly still and straight as she spoke.

Daksha smiled warmly in return.

This time it was a genuine smile and accompanied by genuine sentiment.

So genuine it was that Chakma could see the total change in demeanor, and her stiff pose slackened in her confusion. Daksha stood up from her chair, took Chakma by the shoulder, and shook hands with her, the woman looking at her as if she was a ghost.

“Congratulations on your promotion to War Secretary, comrade.” Premier Kansal said.

Chakma blinked, and returned the hand shake in earnest. “Thank you ma’am?”

“Come, sit, and let us discuss the intricacies of your rebuilding plan.”

Leading the woman kindly to her chair, Daksha sat behind the desk with a bubbly expression on her face that seemed to continually confuse and unsettle her new War Secretary. As they spoke, Daksha became even more convinced that this was the proper person, and that her faith in that initial spark she saw in the woman was not misguided.


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The Sun That Shone Through Smoke (28.1)


51st of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Solstice Dominance — City of Solstice

Early in the morning of the 51st, various impromptu street meetings were convened to inform the public of recent developments. Newspaper articles had yet to be drafted as the news happened at an inconvenient hour — but everyone needed to know. Dull-voiced KVW politruks in their red and gold uniforms stood before crowds forming in parks and midways and read their scripts as loud as they could over the murmur.

“Comrades of the Socialist Dominances of Solstice. From the People’s Peak to your ears this is an important announcement. Last night saw the end of the political deadlock that has been threatening the capital for the past month. The National Council of the SDS has decided to step down from governance, and have appointed Daksha Kansal, from whom many of you heard the past week, as Premier of a new government with a mandate to improve responsiveness and efficient pursuit of the People’s will.”

Pauses, to gauge the crowd. No response. Thus the statement continued. “Premier Daksha Kansal and the newly-created SIVIRA, the Supreme High Command, will be handling executive and military matters henceforth. There will be no changes affecting the self-directed labor of Unions or the economic policies on Cooperatives. Regional Councils will be subordinate to the SIVIRA on military matters but will continue to be responsive to the concerns of the People in this time of war as they have been in the past.”

Nodding heads, glances exchanged, intrigued, curious faces; some confused. Satisfied the politruks continued their announcements. “Our country is in a desperate struggle against a vicious enemy, and it will take great heroism to fend off its heinous attacks. In the coming days, Premier Kansal will interact with the People and commiserate on what can be done by all of us, the socialist workers, to prepare for and win the real war that lies ahead. This being said, the matter is settled. For now, tend to your labors and to yourself — remember that your work and health represent the work and health of the nation!”

Across the city the Politruks delivered their speeches and then stepped down and ambled out of sight, leaving behind the crowds and ignoring any questions asked.

There was no great outcry one way or another, no visible social shift to match this political shift. People simply listened, nodded their heads, and continued about their day with a prayer for the comrades further south, upon whom Nocht continued to encroach. For most citizens of Solstice, the words of Daksha Kansal still resonated, if not entirely the contents then the spirit of them. Many of them knew this was a necessary step and after her showing on the 45th, they were eager to see what her governance would bring.

On the 51st of the Aster’s Gloom, Solstice knew of the Supreme High Command; and that news would be slow to trickle out from the Capital to its embattled children.


51-AG-30. Dbagbo Dominance — Camp Vijaya

Nobody paid the rain any attention. By now it was simply the state of nature.

Dark adobe-red mud covered the ground in the clearing. Sparse green spears of grass stretched from crowns of mud and from murky puddles. Despite the cover of the overgrown canopy above, rainfall scored the site as if unhindered, each drop marking its fall on the soft ooze covering the forest floor. Gloomy and wet, the jungle grew cold.

As the convoy approached, frogs jumped out of the puddles and scattered away. Their falls left their own round prints on the muddy ground. Naya watched, downcast.

Karima sounded a bugle call, perhaps only because she wanted to. As long as she was bugling she was out in the rain — Lila held on to the umbrellas in her place instead.

After the bugle call was done echoing through the forest, everyone made ready.

In a thoroughly unenthusiastic voice, Chief Ravan announced, “Today, we are conducting tests on the 76mm KnK-3 gun. Mainly endurance tests. We already have armor data.”

This time there were few formalities and fewer spectators. Under the unrelenting Dbagbo rainfall, a paltry few engineers set up the prepared plates. Standing off to the side, again under an umbrella, Ravan barely seemed to pay attention to the test.

Inside the Raktapata’s turret, Naya handled one of the 76mm shells. Before her the KnK-3’s mechanisms were much more compact than those belonging to the previous guns, though the casing bumper connected to the breech ring was closer in than the length of a shell. This meant she would have to lift the shells up over the bumper and slide them into the breech. Thankfully each 76mm shell weighed only 6.3 kilograms and had a manageable length.

Naya could pick it up and put it down easy. She set the shell atop the brass bumper.

Unlike the 85 mm and 100 mm gun, the KnK-3 was not exactly a prototype according to Chief Ravan. It was ready for manufacture for all intents and purposes and the model they had was an example of the early production run. Today’s test was much more about how it performed mounted on the Raktapata than about the KnK-3 itself.

One immediate sore spot was the gunnery sight. It was jammed very close to the side of the gun, separated by a thin metal bracket. She could accidentally bang her head on the gun when shooting via the sight. To make matters worse the glass was lower quality and gave a dimmer, foggier view of the surroundings than the experimental gunnery scopes on the other guns. Her periscope could not sight the gun, but it offered a much better view and she would have to rely on it more strongly to spot enemies from afar.

Before the test began, she pulled back from the gunnery sight and raised her head to the periscope, watching the engineers preparing the 80 mm plate at 500 meters.

“Why is the plate so much closer this time?” Naya asked over the radio.

Chief Ravan sounded pained in her reply.  “The KnK-3 gun can’t do better than this.”

“I see.” Naya said. She remembered that her old 45mm anti-tank gun could not penetrate any more than 43 mm of armor at 500 meter ranges, and no more than 32 mm of armor at 1000 meter ranges — and this was taking into account 90 degree angles that were not always guaranteed. It was enough power for light tanks and the sides and rear of medium Nochtish tanks, but inadequate against the faces of most tanks at significant ranges.

Though the 85 mm and 100 mm guns had been able to plow through seemingly any amount of steel put in their way, the KnK-3 simply could not punch at that weight class.

“Naya, commence 10-round endurance fire when ready.” Captain Rajagopal said.

Naya nodded her head, entirely to herself. “Acknowledged!”

She picked the 76 mm shell she had been playing with up from the casing bumper, turned it on its side and loaded it in at an angle until it sat on the feed slide, and punched it in. Instead of an electrical trigger like the 85 and 100 mm guns, she instead had a shooting lever. She reached for it, pulled it to open fire, punched the hot brass off the feeding slide that connected the breech ring and bumper, and then started to time herself. Grabbing a shell, loading it, and shooting; this second shot was better representative of the time it took.

Nine seconds. Not bad, she thought. Was she getting better?

After each shot a tiny puff of gas escaped from the breech. It was thinner and less noxious than that of the 85 and 100 mm guns but it was still quite annoying to her! She also had to manually beat away the brass casing after it ejected and hit the bumper. Sometimes it fell off by itself, but most of the time it simply remained on the feeder after firing!

She focused entirely on the repetitive motions, reaching, sliding, pulling. She barely looked through her gunnery sight, and did not need to readjust. Loading and shooting as fast as possible was her number one priority in an endurance fire. Her fingers hurt, and she felt a distinct pain in her left right shoulder and flank with each passing round. Her breathing quickened and her arms felt loose and aching after the 10th round. When the endurance fire was completed about one and a half minutes had elapsed in total.

Naya raised her head to the periscope to view her handiwork.

Many of her shots had stricken the edges of the plate, none of them had hit the dead center. Of course, the aerodynamics of the 76 mm shell were different and she hardly accounted for them. It was significantly lighter and shorter, and she had been told it was made from much cheaper materials than the bigger shells. She could see chunks of metal embedded in the target plate everywhere, leaving ugly scars and compromised sections of the armor. There were two dirty holes with a lot of metal still embedded, but at least indicative of a limited penetration; but most of the plate was merely banged up and dented after the onslaught.

Naya turned her periscope around and saw Chief Ravan rubbing her forehead with her hands in quiet frustration. This was certainly less impressive than the previous guns.

“Sorry ma’am!” Naya said through her radio. “I didn’t do so well now!”

“Dear, for the umpteenth time, it is not your fault.” Chief Ravan replied.

Chief Ravan called her engineers and had them take down the busted plate. For the two penetrations they could not find significant shards even after thoroughly searching the surroundings with magnets — it must not have been a very effective penetration. Perhaps the quality of the shells caused them to ground to dust. Eventually they put up a second plate, this one thinner and smaller than all the previous targets.

“Naya, for this test use five AP shells, drawn from the reserve ammo stowage. Your target is a 50 mm thick plate at a 60 degree angle at 500 meters.” Ravan called out.

Beneath her there was a long shell basket holding the tank’s remaining ammunition. The racks at her back held only ten shells for quick access during a fight, and the baskets below and to her left, hugging the wall, could hold a total of fifty extra shells. However for the day’s test only 15 extra shells had been furnished for the Raktapata’s use.

This was another rate of fire test. After all, a tank would likely have to fight off its reserve ammo in a heated exchange with a mobile enemy, where it could not afford to replenish the ready rack. Reaching down to seize a shell would add time to the firing of the gun.

It might also inflict on her back some punishment she wasn’t sure she could take.

Swallowing hard, hands shaking, she tried to steel herself for the task ahead. She closed her hands into fists, sat back in her chair, and focused away from her own body.

It was tough. She was aching a little everywhere. She could feel the wear on her, as if still stretching taut the muscles and tendons in her shoulder, arms, flank and hips.

“Naya, commence 5-round endurance fire when ready.” Captain Rajagopal said.

Naya breathed in deep, and she started to time herself. She bent down and to the side, seized a shell, raised herself back up to her seat with it, angled it into the feeder slide, loaded it, opened fire. Fifteen seconds. She pushed away the hot brass with her hand — her insulated gloves protected her — and took a quick peek through her gunnery sight.

She confirmed a clean penetration on the plate; she started reaching for the next shell.

“Cease fire and cut the engine now!” Chief Ravan shouted suddenly.

Farwah complied immediately and the tank grew gradually silent. Naya dropped the shell back into the basket and painstakingly helped herself up, standing on her chair, and then on a foothold in the turret wall. She peeked up out of the turret hatch in the rain. Though persistent, the rainfall was gentle and relatively sparse compared to the past few days.

It allowed her to hear the buzzing overhead, beyond the jungle canopy. She looked up in a panic but could not see anything through the green. Chief Ravan waved her down.

“Naya! Get back into the turret now! You’re safer there!” She shouted.

Naya gestured behind her, where an AA machine gun was set on a pintle.

“I could use that to defend us!” She called over the radio, her lips trembling.

“You won’t do any good Naya! Just hunker down and wait for it to pass!

Shaken up, Naya remained out of the hatch. “Could it be one of our planes?”

“No. Our planes have no reason to fly over this place!” Chief Ravan said.

Disobeying the Chief, Naya turned around and seized on the machine gun. It was a Khroda heavy machine gun slapped on a pintle mount with a box magazine. She scanned around the canopy through the pop-up metal sight on the machine gun but she could see nothing but slices of grey sky and the the rain filtering in through the lush ceiling of the forest.

Chief Ravan pressed her hands against her face in frustration at Naya.

“Can we call for air support?” Farwah asked over the radio, still inside the tank.

“We barely have active planes in Dbagbo. Our airfields close to the border were bombed early in the invasion and surviving planes were moved to improvised airfields farther north.” Captain Rajagopal said. “Nocht’s flights have only been hindered by the incessant winter rains. They otherwise have near full command of our skies right now.”

“I suppose their air men must have gotten testy of late.” Chief Ravan said.

“Or they’re desperate for intelligence to feed an attack.” Captain Rajagopal replied.

They heard the buzzing of the engine again, closer overhead. Everyone quieted for several minutes and stood still. There was no shadow, no way of knowing that the plane had passed or whether it had them in their sights. They heard the buzzing come and go beneath the gentle rain but could not divine its direction. It was moving fast.

Then there was a shriek on the radio that startled everyone.

“I saw it! I saw it through the canopy!” Lila shouted.

Naya scanned around in a panic but the plane did not materialize for her.

“What kind of plane was it?” Karima demanded.

“Monoplane! Grey with big propellers!” Lila replied. “Going that way!”

Again Naya raised her gun, this time with a direction, but again saw nothing. She grit her teeth, her hands shaking against the gun handles. She felt as if half-alive and half-dead, as if her body was preparing for the fact that within an instant all sensation could cease. Though the aching temporarily subsided, her stomach turned and her muscles locked.

Everyone stared helplessly up at their invisible assailant, standing near thirty two tons of armored vehicle that could do nothing to protect them, helmed by a shaking girl whose thoughts were whipped up into a swirl of panic and recklessness and self-hate.

Rain dribbled down the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, masking her tears.

Overhead the buzzing of the engine grew near.

Everyone took cover; with a gasp, Naya succumbed and hid back in the turret.

Holding on to the hatch, she heard a swooping sound.

She grit her teeth, hands tight on the handle, shaking and shaking.

No machine guns, no bombs.

Overhead the buzzing of the engine grew distant.

After several minutes of silence, everyone inched out of cover.

“Back to camp while we have the chance!” Chief Ravan shouted.

Leaving behind the testing plate, the engineers packed up their tools and rushed back into the Sharabha half-track with Ravan and Rajagopal; Farwah exited the tank, hooked it quickly to the Tokolosh, and started out of the clearing. Moving so quickly, everyone forgot Naya inside the turret, but that was fine for her. She was still crying furiously.


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The Drake Given Fangs In Benghu (27.5)

 


 

50th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Solstice Dominance — Solstice City, People’s Peak

A sharp cry broke the lingering silence in the chamber and sent its occupants cringing.

“What is it that compels you to fail so constantly?” Daksha Kansal shouted at the top of her lungs at the delegation, the room now a quarter empty compared to its attendance in her previous address. Her voice boomed across the room even without a microphone.

It was the first thing out of her mouth when she took the podium in the Council chamber, and nobody dared to speak over her or to assert their basic dignity in the face of her insults.

Most of the Councilors were juniors on their first terms in office, voted in a handful of years ago when the Council swelled in size; many had resigned after the speech of the 45th, bowing under the political pressure they were not trained to handle.

They had run for office on their dreams and ideas, but even simple proposals now carried with them terrifying responsibility ever since the Nochtish invasion.

“How much longer will you put your offensive, denigrating parliament circus before the people’s needs? When does this chamber plan to vote favorably on our survival?”

Though she knew that this Council wouldn’t last beyond the day, her words still took on a helpless, furious tone, open in its frustration. She couldn’t help but hate the position that they had put her in by following their political playbooks to their dying last. Those within the audience that knew, could see their insight plainly in her voice and expression.

Throughout her furies Councilor Yuba’s Liberal bloc, for once united almost wholly behind Kansal’s words and actions, stood in rapt attention, rubbing their hands together. Within them, a microscopic minority shuddered with the knowledge of the events likely to transpire that evening. Yuba was one who was shuddering. He avoided her gaze.

The Collaborator faction was just as quiet and just as shaken despite being in the dark about the true purpose of the night’s deliberations. After a wave of panicked reform in the mid 2020s they essentially ruled the Council. Proportional representation meant that the large territories of the south, historically more self-centered and rebellious, could put into power a mass of contrarian Councilors who thought they knew best for the Socialist Dominances as a whole. This mass allowed them much more room to work. They could pick up people from the Liberal bloc who agreed with them and supersede the weakened “Hardliner” bloc that housed the remnants of Daksha’s old communists (and a motley crew of anarchists, social-democrats and other similar artifacts with them).

The Collaborator’s 4-year-long dynasty was fast approaching its end due to the events of the month. After the Nochtish invasion, the Collaborator heartland was lost. Its first flailing attempt to save it claimed 50,000 and more Ayvartans in Tukino. Latest in a series of half-baked and disastrous Collaborator attempts to pull everything back together was the preparation of an offensive in the lower Dbagbo region. Though the Council had given itself military responsibility, they lacked the expertise. The Dbagbo offensive was already going poorly and had cost them significant credibility. Though everyone was appalled by the results and the farce that led to them, initiative was one thing the Council seemed unable to muster regardless of the circumstances — unless strong-armed toward it.

Yuba cordially provided the strong-arm by politely inviting Kansal to speak again.

Daksha Kansal was visibly furious, strangling the edge of the podium and shouting herself hoarse at the bowed mass of the council before her. “I warned you that our military was not yet in the proper shape to fight the Nochtish forces! I outlined several steps that had to be taken in order to repair our forces and prepare for battle! Perhaps I was not clear enough, but those steps were to be taken before a major offensive operation, not during or after! They were to be taken in whole and not piece-meal! It is completely ridiculous to think that a partially mobilized peace-time force can be ordered to start a general offensive!”

Kansal was a monument in the podium. She sported the full dress uniform of the KVW, prominently red with black and gold highlights, wearing a Marshal’s pins (for there were no unique pins for the Warden) and her medals, including the very first Hero of the Socialist Dominances medal ever produced; but instead of an officer’s peaked hat she wore a black side-cap, adorned with the hydra on either side of the head, and the hammer and sickle in front. Her long hair was still mostly black, her skin still a deep brown. A few wrinkles graced her eyes. Tall, slim, athletic and well-proportioned, Daksha still looked vibrant in her early 50s. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun behind her head, and a dab of red lipstick and some skin powder gave her a refined appearance that night that was rarely seen.

“None of the reserve divisions committed to this action were at full preparedness! You sent them to battle with basically no plan but to move forward against strong enemy positions! Across a river! Against Nochtish aircraft and tanks when Rhino’s reserves were almost bereft of equivalent forces! Your operation was pointless and unnecessary. You made a show of commanding our armed forces to seem as if you had the competence to continue to govern. Now you have ground away troops that are necessary to respond when — and I say when, mind you, not if — Nocht breaks through Dbagbo’s front line! It was this same kind of poorly thought massed attack that ended with our forces trapped in the heinous Tukino pocket! Clearly you were not paying attention then and neither are you now!”

On the far left of the room, the “Hardliners” snickered. They were only ones in the room with a reason to be smug. They knew this censure was not directed at them. They had abstained from every little congressional disaster that had unfolded the past week.

“Years ago, my office conceded to a peace-time draw-down in military forces and a restructuring of our military and political bureaucracy in light of the crisis brought on by the Akjer treason among others. Back then I cooperated with your operations to the fullest extent. I conceded to the Council in good faith, knowing that some action had to be taken in case of counterrevolutionary elements. I was foolish to believe then that you wouldn’t exploit my concessions as you do now!” Daksha said. She pointed a finger specifically at the rightmost set of seats where Collaborators twiddled their thumbs.

Though it could not compare to the tragedy unfolding now, from 2024 through 2026, little more than a decade after the establishment of the SDS, a wave of very serious troubles arose after several political leaders, including in the Council, in the Military and in the Civil sectors, were implicated in foreign-sponsored treason and potential sabotage. This crisis ended in the severing of ties with Nocht, the covert beginning of of interventions in Cissea and Mamlakha, the purging of individuals and the restructuring of the Council and Military in the wake of losing several top officials to KVW-supported investigations.

To its credit the Council responded quickly to the crisis — to its detriment, the response was aimless and in the worst possible faith. After thorough investigations and several executions, the reform process was run away with. Council was broken up into two chambers, one powerless. Proportional representation was introduced and swelled the Civil chamber in the Collaborator’s favor. The KVW lost its ability to dictate the policy of the Territorial Army. The Council lashed out at anything that could compete with its authority in a desperate bid to preserve itself against future treason. It was senseless.

Yuba’s faith in democracy led him, like a child, to walk hand in hand with that chaos, and to follow it to most decadent depths. His belief was only recently shaken. All of this situation still felt alien — to look back on his decisions with such regret frightened him.

Daksha continued speaking, her tone more moderated. “Ayvarta can never and will never be a ‘utopia without arms’ in a world where Nocht exists. I demand that this Council to rescind demilitarization, fully remobilize all reserve military assets, and return to the Military Council the command of the so-called Territorial Army. Put that to a vote!”

Daksha turned sharply around, walked off the podium and abruptly quit the room, leaving behind a dreadful and long quiet that the Liberal bloc did not move to disturb. A resurgence of activity was slow to come. The Collaborators, normally at the front of any motion, were at first in disarray. Their leader, Arthur Mansa, an old veteran of the Civil War and one of the founding members of the SDS, had vanished to Tambwe to support its regional Council, presumably at the behest of his son, who had only recently ascended to the regional council and now faced an invasion. His subordinates, perhaps not as capable as he may have imagined, seemed afraid to take any measure until he could be reached for consultation. This had put them a step behind everyone else in Council.

In addition, when his orders did come, they had inspired disaster after disaster lately.

As such the Collaborators had a crisis of leadership, and with them, the Council.

Little conversations started to rise in volume around the room. Dozens of debates in miniature sprang up as everyone thought of what to do. People stood up and crossed the room to discuss with counterparts they knew personally or to fetch their aides.

Finally, Councilman Yuba stood up with a few of the Liberals and took the stage.

With his appearance the Council quieted and returned to a semblance of order.

“Comrades; the most recent source of your contention has been the fact that the Standing Procurement Plan for the year has already been passed and approved by the central agencies.” He said. Around the room a packet started to make the rounds, passed around by Liberal aides. “However I have gone through great effort to compile Warden Kansal’s proposals and incorporate them into a quarterly Supply Bill that can be easily added to the Procurements Plan. I propose that we put this measure on the table and hold it to a vote. Let us end this debate once and for all. Give the Warden the courtesy of her proposal standing or falling, in whole, on its merits! This Council needs an immediate resolution to this issue.”

Only part of the room was aware that regardless of the outcome of this vote, the Civil Council they had known for the past 4 years was issuing its final motions.

It was not uncommon for Liberals to craft bills — everyone had projects to do. Most often, National bills were extensions of regional projects, because in a big way most of the blocs were very regional. Collaborators came from the south; Liberals largely from the North; Kansal’s “Hardliners” the few representatives voted in from Solstice itself. What was strange was for Yuba to go out of his way to introduce what seemed like a KVW project, and a radical, suspicious one at that. However, everyone was under too much stress to consider it deeply. Surprise supply bills happened; it wasn’t ominous by itself. In this instance it was easy to believe Yuba was just doing them the courtesy of getting the KVW out of everyone’s way. Liberals were known to be fairly diplomatic in that way.

Without further deliberation the machinery of the Council started to digest the bill.

Across the chamber, Whips ran around their blocs gathering up the votes and holding debates in miniature. There were problems abound — many of the junior collaborators for example had been “brought up” the past few years to believe that Demilitarization was good and that ceding power to Daksha Kansal’s faction in any way was essentially steps toward a coup. They didn’t say this, nobody said it directly, but their insinuations could only add up to that one picture. Many of the Liberals also thought this way in some form.

Among the Liberal bloc many wondered what had gotten into Yuba lately, but most of them deferred to his authority as a veteran. Even the older juniors believed themselves to lack the seasoned dedication of the few Council elders. In any case a unique feature of the Liberals that fateful night was being aware enough of the world outside the numbing labor of legislation to be more afraid of Nocht than a phantom coup by Daksha Kansal.

Among the few Hardliners there was no Whip and a Whip wasn’t necessary. They normally abstained from these kinds of votes but they would vote unanimously in favor of Kansal’s proposal. Many of them were ex-Military Councilors from when the Military Council actually had a say in government. They had run successfully in Solstice after the abolishing of the Military Council’s votes, and established themselves as the local political force.

After an hour’s worth of reading and discussing the plan, the fated instant arrived.

Votes were gathered, counted, and to a collective silence Kansal’s bill failed again.

Yuba took to the podium once again, this time alone. He turned his head from one side to the other, casting a hard, serious look around the chamber before speaking.

“Comrades, I used to believe strongly that any proposal made in this chamber was a proposal for the good of the country. Years ago I supported the reforms made after the Akjer incident. I feared that our beautiful nation could be toppled by a few tainted ideologues. I feared the militarization of our country, and how members in the military and the civil sectors had conspired to profit off our secrets and security and to collude with foreign powers. I feared the great power that officers and civil servants had gained.”

Around the room there were whispers, wondering what the point of this was. Kansal’s package had failed and it was time to move on to the next piece of business. There was a refugee housing bill for example that needed to be properly torn up among them.

“I learned to fear many things,” Yuba continued, “and to see this Council as a protecting light against the sources of that fear. I thought through our dialog here nothing could fail to be resolved — and I thought anyone who refused our dialog was being extremist. I was wrong. We were the extremists. We went to extremes to see ourselves as infallible. We went to extremes to see our own comrades as enemies. We went to extremes for our own power and rationalized to ourselves that what we did for ourselves was for the good of all. We went to the extremes of self-delusion and self-grandeur. We were like children playing a game with ourselves, holding our rules as sacred. Yes, we kept food going and kept the rain out. But as a whole we have regressed in our politics and organization.”

Yuba gathered up his papers on the podium, and then threw them away.

“The Socialist Dominances of Solstices was imperfect when it was founded, and our self-centered bickering has rendered it now near to destruction. I abide that project no longer. I am calling for a Motion Of No Confidence against the 7th National Council of the Socialist Dominances of Solstice in light of the defeat of Supply Bill AG-49-#1216.”

Thus the killing blow, that had been so carefully prepared, was finally struck.

Across the chamber there was gasping and the turning of heads. Men and women stood up and shouted immediately that this was impossible, that it couldn’t be done. But Yuba and his handpicked conspirators knew that it could be done, it simply had never been done before. Defeating a Supply Bill was one of the potential ways in which a Motion Of No Confidence could be introduced. After that there would be a vote to dissolve government, appoint an interim government, and announce special elections. All of this was constitutional protocol.

There was in fact, in the Constitution, even a protocol to reinstate a Premier, though the office of the Premier was slashed after the death of Lena Ulyanova. It had never been amended out of the Motion of No Confidence. Council had been too arrogant.

“Comrades! Order! This is your duty now! Do you think this government is worthy to continue? Within your hearts, if you truly believe this, then vote! It is that simple! But I beg of you; if you have even the slightest doubt, then this Council must be shredded. Without a will of iron our country will sink.” Yuba said. His face was stone, but in his heart of hearts he thought of himself as pleading to them. This was a final chance to absolve himself of the guilt and infamy of history. He was taking on a great burden now.

Slowly the Council quieted from an outcry to a murmur. Councilors regrouped and with their faces sullen, their eyes downcast, they readied themselves for the pivotal vote.

Everyone knew this would be the moment of truth. But there was no more climactic drama to be found. Collaborators started to split up among territorial lines. Liberals held together for once. Hardliners announced they supported the No Confidence motion completely, and they announced it before anyone else had a word in. Yuba, having called the motion, painstakingly acted as whip and went to each of the blocs. There was no trembling in his voice or in his movements. His bodily actions were like a voice in flesh, carrying out a fact; one did not shirk from facts. One just spoke them neutrally. That was his body, his mind, his voice, as he tallied the votes for the destruction or salvation of the 7th National Council. He was neutral; as Liberals often prided themselves in being. Objective, rational, emotionless.

His heart cried, however, from the stress of his duty. But it had to be this way.

Yuba had always been a firm believer in the process, in the strength of democracy, in its ability to rehabilitate humanity. Over the past few weeks, he told himself, he had been neutral. He bided his time and picked his people silently and carefully while the Council made itself look weak, foolish, incompetent. He had not instigated that. They had done it all alone. They reaped what they sewed. Doubt and disillusion was at its peak among the Collaborator councilors, and now he had given them the way out, one way or another.

There would be no more climactic drama. No more back and forth. One side had won.

Votes were tallied and the consequence read aloud — the 7th National Civil Council was dissolved, and deliberations began on an interim government. There was no better idea being floated than that which had already hung in the air before: assign Daksha Kansal a Premiership alongside a small interim Council with a mandate to resist Nocht at all costs.

Special elections would not be held; with the Collaborators dismissed, nobody could vote them in again because the territories of Adjar and Shaila were lost and perhaps soon Dbagbo and Tambwe would fall in addition. Yuba knew that for a time this meant the effective end of Ayvartan democracy as they knew it. It was all up to Daksha Kansal now.

It had to be this way, he told himself. Socialism would withstand it or fall.

“It is time then,” Yuba called out, “the Council yields, to Premier Daksha Kansal.”


 

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The Drake Given Fangs In Benghu (27.4)

49th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Dbagbo Dominance — Camp Vijaya

Naya felt a tense mood around the camp that day as the regional news spread. People exchanged grim looks at the radio tent, and at the few gendarmes looking at the half-tracks and supply tents and planning for a quick evacuation if necessary. A few days ago, from what she understood, the Civil Council had launched an all-out offensive against the Nocht forces that had breached the border and occupied the area around Silb, and the southern Sandari.

But this offensive failed, miserably and painfully. Now the front was wide open.

Despite this, Captain Rajagopal had everyone continue their tasks as planned.

In every red-ringed eye around, Naya felt, for the first time, a muted doubt and fear. They didn’t perform these emotions as obviously as the average person, but she could nonetheless grasp the tension. Even the fearless KVW felt a measure of fear here.

Menial chores at least offered her a little distraction from the uncertainty around her.

Dbagbo’s rains persisted, pouring their way through the gaps in the camouflage netting and falling over the encampment. Across the camp the ground turned muddy and damp as water found its way through every orifice. Tubs were laid near the trees to collect water for clothes washing and other tasks. A series of tarps and tables went up around the chow line so people could relax and eat their food as intended, rather than as rainwater mush.

She helped a few engineers to set the latter. She worked for several minutes under the rain then took her place inside the kitchen tent, water dripping off her and soaking through her apron and cap. At least she could warm up near the oven while the flatbread cooked.

Despite the hardship, she offered a jovial smile along with every scoop of lentils.

After helping with breakfast she helped move some tools into the workshop, and then she started preparing for lunch. Most of the contents were the same as breakfast, except that a spicy seitan slice was offered to bulk up the portion. After 1300 everyone was fed there was nothing else to do — she didn’t have dinner duty or any remaining chores.

Though they could conduct tank tests under the rain, the Raktapata was in the workshop, behind closed doors. Ravan and her engineers were hard at work cutting and soldering and lathing. They had a lot of work: trying to bulk up the recoil buffers on the KnK-10, fixing the problems with the 85mm A.A.W, and mounting a 76mm KnK-3 on the Raktapata so it could have some armament. When delivering the tools she heard that regular maintenance on the wheels and the track, on the turret gear, and other parts, was also on the schedule. Any testing would have to resume tomorrow or the day after.

She had heard similar things yesterday and wondered, nursing a fear she felt was pathetic and childish, whether she would ever be able to sit in the Raktapata again.

For the past few days she had barely worked. She had no chores on the 47th and on the 48th the test hadn’t gone well. She had a few chores today but nothing else. Sitting alone in her tent trying staring at the stitched steam on its ceiling had gotten quite old.

Judging by Farwah’s presence in the kitchen tent, standing idly beside a boiling pot of barley porridge with an apron and cap, he was not destined for much work today either.

“Farwah, what do you do around here when you’re not working?” Naya asked.

“Sometimes we play football.” Farwah said. “I’m the goalie so I don’t have to run.”

Naya looked out at the muddy terrain and rainy weather and shook her head.

“We could gather some people and play Commissars in a tent.” Farwah said.

She narrowed her eyes, struggling to pierce his implacable expression.

“You’re suggesting we go play Commissars in a tent?” Naya asked.

She worded it slowly to make obvious her skepticism. Farwah was unmoved.

“Yes. We can play in that big tent, where they host briefings. We barely use it.”

“So we gather people, and we go — play Commissars? A little kid’s game?”

Naya gestured with her hands while very slowly repeating the words, because she wanted to confirm to herself that this was indeed their course of action. Perhaps at some point in the past few minutes she had grievously misinterpreted him. But again Farwah had no grand rebuttal and merely nodded his head to her, his face a portrait of calm.

She crossed her arms and relented. “I know two people who might agree to it.”

Farwah nodded. “I know two people I can bring as well, so that would make six.”

After closing up the kitchen tent for lunch, they picked up a pair of umbrellas and went their separate ways. When they returned each had two people in tow for the game.

Naya had found Lila and Karima hunkered down in their respective tents, Lila reading an anatomical manual, Karima doodling a girl in a dress on the back of a pamphlet about ‘Socialism In One Country.’ Tactically, Naya made sure to fetch Lila first since she was easier to convince, and was therefore able to get Karima out of her tent at all.

New among Farwah’s little cadre was a fetching young man, tall and dark with long, straight black hair tied into a braided tail. He had a smooth face and slender build, and a dignified, almost meditative kind of expression — there were no rings around his orange eyes.

Behind him, Captain Rajagopal tottered along, much to everyone’s confusion.

“You brought a Commissar to play Commissars?” Karima muttered through clenched teeth, pulling Farwah and Naya aside for a moment. Captain Rajagopal would have read her lips otherwise. Naya looked over her shoulder and the Captain waved happily.

“She was free, and she is a person I knew, who can play.” Farwah said simply.

Karima sighed and broke their little huddle. Everyone gathered inside the tent. There was a stack of chairs in a corner, and an unoccupied podium with a projector canvas behind it. There was a lot space in the tent. Maybe 30 people could have fit easily.

“We should do an introduction before we start.” Lila said, clapping her hands together.

Farwah’s friend smiled and raised his hand. “I’m Corporal Isa Bhaduri. I’m normally driving the water truck out to get refilled, but today, that’s unnecessary.” He said.

“He’s my friend.” Farwah said, gesturing to Isa as if unveiling a treasure.

“I’m Naya Oueddai, and I have nothing to do so that’s why I am here.” Naya said.

Karima introduced herself curtly; Lila with a skip and a hop and a giggling laugh.

Captain Rajagopal smiled, removed her cap, and set it aside. She raised her hands.

Naya reached up to her ears and realized she did not have her headset with her. She was not expecting to interact with the Captain significantly, and as such had forgotten it. It felt terribly oafish and inconsiderate of her — now she would not know what the Captain was saying. She also realized nobody else had any headsets either.

The Captain made a few gestures. Naya followed along but did not understand.

“She introduced herself and said someone should explain the rules.” Farwah said.

“Oh.” Naya nodded to the Captain. “I can do it. I played Commissars as a kid.”

Captain Rajagopal made a gesture that seemed like ‘go ahead’. Naya nodded again.

Naya laid out the rules. “First we have to vote to elect a Commissar from among ourselves. Then the Commissar, once elected, can either issue Commands or put you in Interrogation. Commands means you have to do what the Commissar says, and Interrogation means you have to answer the Commissar truthfully. After that, you become Commissar, and the last Commissar has immunity from the new one. However, if you fail or the group thinks you’re chicken and cheated on your tasks, everyone has to vote again for a new Commissar. You keep going until everyone’s too tired or someone’s mom breaks it up.”

Captain Rajagopal clapped her hands rapidly and cheerfully at Naya. Lila joined in.

“Wait a minute, everyone will just vote for themselves then.” Karima protested.

“You don’t have much faith in Democracy huh?” Naya said. Grinning, she crossed her arms and stated, matter-of-factly, “That’s why everyone has two votes, and everyone has to vote for two different people. Someone usually comes out on top that way.”

“Interesting! I wonder who you’ll vote for?” Lila said, cocking an eye at Karima.

Karima turned her head and crossed her arms and said nothing more.

Captain Rajagopal volunteered her hat, and they cast votes using paper from a notebook that Karima carried on her person. Once everyone voted, Captain Rajagopal tallied all of the votes and cheerfully pointed at Naya, silently declaring her Commissar.

Naya’s eyes narrowed and her face settled into a dark little grin.

She covered her mouth delicately with her hand and laughed. “Karima.”

“Should’ve known.” Karima shouted through gritted teeth, stretching the syllables.

“What should I have you do?” Naya wondered aloud.

Captain Rajagopal did something new and silently mouthed a few words.

“No obscenities or I’ll shoot,” is what Naya got out of the gesture.

She cringed and thought of something more innocent than before.

“Okay! Karima, let’s see if you can even lift! I command you to hold the podium over your head and jump around the tent on one foot while holding it up.” Naya said.

Karima looked like she wanted to strangle Naya, but put all that force into picking up the podium instead. She lifted it over her head, raised her leg behind her back like a ballerina and started hopping on her foot. Lila and Isa covered their mouths while laughing. Captain Rajagopal smiled. Farwah had seemingly no expression.

After several minutes of very aggressive hopping, Naya called for her to put it down.

“Now you’re the Commissar comrade! Enjoy! But you can’t target me!” Naya said.

For once Karima seemed to be above the goading. She put the podium back where it belonged, returned to the circle of acquaintances, and breathed a little sigh of exasperation. She closed her eyes and waved her finger around to determine a target randomly. When she opened her eyes she was pointing right at Farwah’s face.

“Farwah, I’m gonna interrogate you, tell me, uh, hmm.” Karima tapped her foot.

“Don’t ask just anything; It has to be something funny or bold!” Lila said.

“Not too bold.” Captain Rajagopal slowly mouthed to them.

“You’re no fun.” Naya said, surreptitiously trying to cover her mouth.

Farwah remained quiet but avoided eye contact. Perhaps he was nervous.

Karima nodded and thrust her finger toward him, poking sharply at the air.

“Tell me where you were conceived, Farwah!” She called out.

A sudden silence among the players punctuated moment.

Isa burst out laughing suddenly, breaking his previous dignified expression.

Karima looked around the room with a shrug. “You all wanted bold.”

“What the hell! I can’t believe you asked that question!” Naya shouted.

“An empty coal car in a Jomba rail yard.” Farwah unconcernedly said.

Naya gaped. “I can’t believe you answered! How do you even know?”

“I was a product of ardent love.” Farwah said simply. Naya scratched her head.

“Anyway,” Lila said aloud, interrupting the scene, “now it’s Farwah’s turn.”

Farwah immediately pointed out Naya, his dull eyes locked on to her own.

“I’m ready for you!” Naya declared. She bore her teeth and crossed her arms.

“I command you, Naya, to make the sound of your favorite animal.” Farwah said.

Isa burst out laughing again.

“You’re all a bunch of babies!” He said through his teeth, smacking his own knee.

Naya blinked. “Ribbit?” She said. Again the room fell silent for a long second.

Then Isa fell to the ground, kicking his legs and holding his belly.

Lila covered her mouth and Karima laughed aggressively at Naya’s expense.

“Your favorite animal is a frog? A frog of all things?” Karima shouted.

“Shut up! Frogs are very honest and earnest animals!” Naya shouted back.

Captain Rajagopal laughed suddenly aloud, a strange, spontaneous noise like a horse neighing. She signed fiercely, and mouthed “Ribbit,” puffing her cheeks up like a frog.

“She says you’re a bunch of babies!” Isa said, pointing at them from the ground.

Naya frowned at him. It seemed everyone knew the signs but her!

Lila spoke up. “It’s unfair to have Naya go again so soon. I want to go!”

“Let’s hold an informal vote.” Farwah said. “Raise your hands to vote for Lila.”

Everyone raised their hands but Isa, who was still chuckling behind everyone, and Naya, who had this vote sprang on her suddenly and resolved to vote for herself.

Lila clapped her hands, beamed, and pointed directly at Karima. “Command!”

“You jerk! Ugh!” Karima replied. She turned her back with an angry ‘hmph!’

“Oh good, you made yourself accessible! Ferry me to paradise, faithful steed!”

Her head up high and with a swagger in her step, Lila casually approached Karima and climbed onto her back, until she had her arms around Karima’s chest and her legs hooked around her waist. She pressed with her knees and spurred Karima on like a race horse. Sighing heavily, an unenthusiastic Karima walked around the room one step at a time, her rider’s spirits disproportionately high for the speed and energy of the steed.

“Well, then it’s also not fair that Karima gets another turn so quickly.”

Isa stood up from the ground and dusted himself off. His fit of laughter had worked itself down to short, periodic chuckling. He patted the Captain on the shoulder, smiling.

Captain Rajagopal nodded her approval. Isa then pointed at Naya.

“Again?” She sighed. She glanced at Karima, still going around the room.

“Naya, I command you to stand on your head.” Isa said.

“You were going on about how we were all babies and this is your command?”

“Baby commands for baby players!” Isa said, shrugging.

Without hesitation and in one fluid motion, Naya dropped to the ground, palms down, and kicked off, bending her back and keeping her feet balanced overhead. Isa took a step back in surprise, as if he was about to be hit. Naya grinned, and she walked toward him with her hands, gently tipping her feet forward and back to correct balance. She was once quite the prolific athlete in school — sprints, swimming, field sports, endurance, and a little bit of gymnastics. She was good enough that her body never forgot the motions.

Her body also never forgot the injuries, especially one in particular.

Captain Rajagopal and Isa and clapped and cheered but their voices started to dull. Naya felt something twist inside her, and her awareness of the world suddenly dimmed.

Then there was a sharp pain in her lower back, like a stake driven between the links in her spine. Her fingers dug into the canvas floor, she grit her teeth. Losing all balance, she fell forward on her own back and curled into the fetal position. An obliterating pain started to consume her entire body, as if a dozen knives plunging into her. Her lungs worked themselves raw but she found it hard to breathe. Her heart pounded in its cage of flesh and she felt her blood crashing in her veins as if stirred up by the pain. Her whole body shook.

Lila and Karima stopped fooling around. Captain Rajagopal crouched near Naya.

“What happened?” Lila asked. Her voice was growing distant.

Isa turned pale and watched helplessly. Captain Rajagopal signed something.

Naya closed her eyes, lost all thought and became swallowed by the pain.

* * *

A lamp hovered directly overhead, swaying, its metal cover clanking.

She heard the whistling of the wind and then thunder, hitting hard like a shell fall.

Breathless, Naya sat up suddenly in bed, scanning the room in a panic. She was in a hospital tent. She saw the beds, the stretchers, the blood packs and intravenous electrolyte packs and other such things, the tool trays, the crates with the red cross on them–

At her side, Lila stood and gently settled her back down against the pillows.

“Calm down, Naya. Don’t strain yourself. You might pass out again.” She said.

Naya groaned and raised her hands to her face. She pressed hard on her skin.

“Ugh. How long was I out? Did the Captain say anything?” She asked.

“Only a few hours, and no. You’ve been taking very bad care of yourself.”

“I’m just tired.” Naya said weakly. “I shouldn’t have done that stunt back there.”

From her side, she heard a familiar voice. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do it.”

She turned her head. Isa, looking down at his own feet, sat a few meters away.

“I’m sorry, Naya, it was foolish of me to ask that. You got hurt; and anyone any less athletic than you could have gotten hurt worse just for our childish horsing around.”

Isa looked like he had been sitting there a while. He had his hands clasped together as if in prayer, and he couldn’t lift his eyes off his shoes to meet her own. She felt sorry for making him worry. It was hard not to let her mind carry that thought and bludgeon her with it.

“It’s fine, don’t blame yourself for it. I just went too far with it.” Naya said.

Lila sat on the side of her bed, and took Naya’s hands into her own without warning.

They locked eyes. Lila looked at once both worried and very deadly serious.

“Naya, you’re not fine. You’re trying to pass that off as something minor, but that wasn’t a cramp or a pulled muscle. You blacked out from the stress and the pain that you went through. This isn’t normal and I want you to tell me the truth about it.”

There was no chance Naya that would tell her the truth about her condition.

That these pains had practically ended her life beforehand.

That they persisted as a dull aching that was so constant it simply became her default condition that she endured every second of her life even in this encampment.

That when she pushed herself too hard the pains would burst and destroy her.

There was no chance that Naya would walk out of that conversation a soldier.

She had retreated from so much already. This was supposed to be her new leaf.

This was the place where she became strong again like she used to be!

Where she was loved and admired and had a future, like before!

This was the place that would have to accept her masks.

With a smile, a wicked, almost ear to ear smile, Naya replied with a lie.

“I haven’t been sleeping. I’m sorry. I didn’t mention this before because I didn’t want to be taken off the Raktapata, but I’m really terribly exhausted and–”

Lila shook her head and crossed her arms. She sighed. “Alright, if you say so.”

“I’m fine, really. I just have to sleep it off.” Naya insisted.

Lila could definitely see through her lies, but she wasn’t pushing any furhter.

“Well, I certainly can’t detect anything wrong with you. So I’m going to clear you. I’ll put it down as a temporary fainting spell since that’s all I saw. May Hashem retain you.”

She signed something and ripped the form paper from a clipboard.

Dropping it on Naya’s lap, she stormed out of the tent, leaving her puzzled.

“Sorry about that, she means well.” Isa said. “She’s just worried, you know? She probably felt helpless as a medic. She’ll come around once she sees you’re ok.”

Naya sank back into the bed, and pulled up the brown sheets over her face.

Keep on sprinting little Naya. Until you’ve outrun everything and everyone again.


 

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The Drake Given Fangs In Benghu (27.3)

 


 

48th of the Aster’s Gloom, 2030 D.C.E

Dbagbo Dominance — Camp Vijaya

Naya’s dull, persistent aching had not gone away over the past few days, but the relatively quiet life in the camp helped her to ease into it. She had lived with worse pain than this.

She thought to blame it on the rain. Unabated, it made the environment cold and humid.

In the forest she could feel a chill needling her skin. It was better inside the tank.

There was no bugle call for this particular exercise since Karima was holding a pair of large umbrellas over herself, Lila, Captain Rajagopal and Chief Ravan, shielding them from the incessant rain. Thankfully the wind was calm, so the deluge was surmountable.

“Let us begin testing of the 85 mm A.A.W!” Chief Ravan called out over the radio.

Naya responded affirmatively. Though it was less impressive, she thought she liked the 85mm better than the 100mm gun. All of its parts were much more compact, and the gunnery sight placement was more comfortable. She could reach for the spare shells more easily. Its AP projectile also weighed maybe ten kilograms and was only around 70 centimeters long — far easier to pick up and load into the gun. Naya was sure she could sustain a higher rate of fire on the 85mm than on the 100mm gun.

Across the clearing, 800 meters away, engineers prepared the 80 mm thick plate.

Once they were clear, Naya received the fire order, and launched a round downrange.

Brass ejected; the breech also belched a puff of smoke that smelled a bit strong.

Naya hardly paid it any mind. She was used to smoke; she was focused on the target.

In an instant a smoking hole the size of a fist appeared just off-center from the painted target. Though it was an easy shot to make — 800 meters, 90 degree angled plate — Naya still felt proud of her accuracy on the target. She would try for the bull’s eye next.

Switching from gunnery to periscope, she trained her vision equipment on her officers.

“What remained of the shell?” Captain Rajagopal asked over the radio.

Chief Ravan checked with her engineers using a hand radio and reported back.

“Fragmented after impact into four splinters. Most of the mass was lost on impact. The shard cone was tight, judging by the breach and the fall of the fragments.” She said.

Captain Rajagopal nodded her head toward the periscope. “Naya, status report!”

“Everything looks fine in here. Brass cycled successfully.” Naya replied.

“Good! We’ll hit the 100 mm plate and then test the endurance fire.”

Again the engineers set up the plate, but this time they tilted it at a steeper angle.

“This time the 100 mm plate is tilted at a 60 degree angle. Sloped armor provides more effective resistance against penetrators. Aim for the target nonetheless Naya.”

“Got it.” Naya loaded the next shell, and worked the elevation and turret controls. She stuck her tongue out, and felt a tension in her fingers as she prepared the gun. She aimed a little higher and off to the side than before, correcting for her last shot. Her fingers gripped the cannon trigger. Slowly and deliberately she pressed and depressed to fire.

In the center of the plate an ugly, irregular hole appeared where the shell breached.

“Excellent! Yes! Yes!” Chief Ravan cheered. “That 85 mm craves the steel!”

Bullseye! Naya adjusted the magnification of her sight as far as it would go and took in her handiwork. She had gotten the shell dead center. Due to the slope of the plate, the shellhole was shoddy looking and crooked. But she felt a swelling of pride nonetheless. In the cold cockpit of the Raktapata, she felt for a second the same strength that she had when she sprinted, when she kicked right past a goalie, when she cleared a jump.

Captain Rajagopal called and took Naya out of her reverie. “Private, begin endurance fire when ready. Launch ten consecutive AP shells through the gun as fast as you can.”

“Yes ma’am!” Naya said. “Beginning endurance fire! Clear the range for 3 minutes!”

From the ammunition rack she withdrew the first shell, put it down on the short extension connected to the breech, pulled the breech lever, punched the round inside, and pulled the trigger. She counted — it took her 12 seconds to complete this motion. Rack, carry, breech ring, load, shoot, 12 seconds. Second shell; she felt a sting in her shoulder that built as she slid in the third round. Third shell, and the smoke was starting to build. She coughed. Fourth shell, her eyes scanned the instruments while shooting, watching the cannon roll back in between the buffers with the recoil, the breech spitting back brass that fell under her and smoke that clouded up the turret. Fifth shell–

Naya loaded the shell and the breech closing nearly bit her hand off. Her trigger then stuck, and no amount of ramming it would dislodge a shell. Was her cannon jammed?

“Shit!” She cursed. She alerted everyone. “We’ve got a sticker! It’s not firing!”

“Get out of the tank right now!” Chief Ravan shouted. “Both of you!”

Naya gingerly removed her hand from the trigger and slowly backed away from the gun so as not to touch any instruments. She opened the hatch, letting in a trickle of rainwater. She climbed gingerly out of her hatch, and helped Farwah out of his. Both of them jumped off the tank hull, while Captain Rajagopal and Chief Ravan left their places under Karima’s umbrella, climbed on the tank and dropped inside. It occurred to Naya that if there was a truly dangerous malfunction, both of them could be killed in the tank.

“Please be careful.” She said. Neither of her officers responded one way or another.

Engineers kept their distance from the tank. Farwah pulled Naya along behind a tree trunk nearby that was just about thick enough to absorb metal fragments. There was no radio contact for several tense moments. Naya and Farwah surreptitiously peeked at the tank from behind the trunk. They saw Karima and Lila across the other side of the tank, similarly hiding. Finally there was some noise on the line — it sounded like a grunt, a rattling noise, and then a ripping noise as though someone was tearing sheets off a notebook in there.

“Looks like it’s just the electric fire control.” Chief Ravan said into the radio. “I can’t be sure whether it’s the trigger pressure, or if there’s a wiring failure or something.”

“Can we manually fire the cannon?” Captain Rajagopal asked.

“There’s a way — Naya, get me an adjustable wrench. It’s safe to approach.”

Naya felt a sudden relief. She strode out from behind the tree, crossed around the Raktapata’s back, since a cook-off misfire was always possible; she found Ravan’s toolbox, produced the necessary wrench, and climbed carefully on the tank. She leaned halfway down into the gunner’s hatch and found Ravan seated in her place, with Captain Rajagopal on the left-hand side at the back, waiting in the Commander’s chair.

Naya handed Chief Ravan the wrench. Ravan thanked her, unscrewed the head, and leaned over the gun and closed the wrench around an unseen piece of metal. She maneuvered on the turret basket, contorting herself to give the gun some clearance under her while still maintaining a hold on the wrench, and shouted a warning for everyone.

Twisting the wrench, Chief Ravan fired the gun. Naya nearly bashed her head against the turret roof and also nearly fell inside from the force. She watched as the gun slid just under the doctor’s chest and arm, while she shook in place from the force of the shot.

As if nothing had happened, the breech opened and spat out a little puff of smoke.

Chief Ravan sat back on the gunner’s chair, leaving the wrench stuck where it was.

“We obviously can’t conduct any more tests like this.” She sighed. “Let’s return to base. We’ll take out the 85 mm and replace it with the 76 mm KnK-3 or something.”

“I’m so sorry ma’am.” Naya whimpered, still hanging half-inside and letting in rain.

Chief Ravan waved her arms dismissively, as if fanning away the smoke in the turret. “Naya, it is not your fault at all. Personally, I’m blaming A.A.W in my report.” She said.

Owing to a defective trigger mechanism and, to a lesser extent, a heinous lack of obdurant solutions that resulted in the turret being full of smoke, the tests were once again called off. Farwah brought the Tokolosh back around and hooked the Raktapata on to it. Lila gave everyone involved in the turret situation a quick once-over as the resident medic, and then cleared them just as fast. Ravan and the Captain rode with the engineers on the Sharabha half-track. Karima and Lila made for the bed on the Tokolosh.

Naya requested to ride inside the Raktapata. Everyone gave her odd looks.

“Whatever for?” Chief Ravan said. “It’ll just be bumpy and uncomfortable.”

“Lila and Karima can ride up front on the Tokolosh. Everyone’ll be sheltered.”

Chief Ravan curled a lock of hair around a finger. Captain Rajagopal acquiesced.

When the Tokolosh got going, Naya was inside, seated on the gunner’s seat. She leaned back on the seat, casting lazy eyes about the turret. She felt like there was something that she was not getting. In a way she still thought that it was her fault, that she had brought something to this machine, like a curse. She looked around the turret as if she could find a solution to it. But then again, what could she even do? She was just an aimless brat with nothing to look forward to, nothing to hang on to in life, nothing special.

As the tank bumped along the forest floor, Naya felt the aching grow worse.

She pulled off her radio headset, because she was starting to weep again and she wanted to be by herself, completely cut off, when such things happened. It was only right.

“You’re just like me.” She said aloud. Her voice echoed in the empty, closed turret. “Anyone watching you would say you’re just fine. Some people might even be impressed with you. They’ll find potential and things to like. But you don’t live up to it. You’re all broken up inside. There’s so many problems– and even if you fix them, what would you do then? You’re a prototype. Something better will come to replace you in the end. It’s sad isn’t it?”

She wiped her face, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She ended up crying into the brass bumper at the end of the breech ring extension, as though into someone’s shoulders.

“We’re drakes with broken fangs. All we could do is bite, so what now?” She moaned.

* * *

Back at the camp, the Tokolosh deposited the Raktapata inside the workshop and drove off. Naya took her leave to go rest, Chief Ravan locked herself up in her work and everyone dispersed for the day. Dinner time passed peacefully by and night was falling.

It was this time that shifts were traded for any common overnight chores.

Captain Rajagopal entered the radio tent and found it mostly empty. Inside there was only Private Karima Faizan, doing one of the camp’s many odd jobs given its lopsided personnel roster — a bunch of one-track-minded engineers and a gaggle of replacements hastily procured through the slapdash efforts of Chief Ravan. At least it kept things lively.

Karima sat behind a desk with a large pair of headphones, a list of frequencies and secret codes at hand. Atop the desk was a radio unit. Beside the desk was a chair topped by a device that seemed like a chunky, ergonomically impoverished typewriter.

Spotting her superior, Karima stood up and saluted with a serious expression.

“Oh! Hujambo, comrade Captain! No important messages have come in, ma’am!”

Dhorsha Rajagopal smiled and signed at her subordinate. “At ease, private.”

Karima nodded — she had learned many common signs at an impressive pace.

“I’m willing to stay up to help if necessary.” Karima said. She spoke casually.

Casual speech was appreciated. It was easier to read than deliberately slow pronunciation. The Captain nodded her head back to the private in appreciation.

She signed again. “Not necessary. Get some rest. Your dedication is appreciated.”

Karima stood up from her desk and walked past the Captain to the tent door.

Suddenly the Captain raised her cane and blocked her. Karima looked surprised.

“Please leave that here.” signed the Captain. She pointed at Karima’s hand.

She was about to leave the tent with the handwritten note of secret codes in hand.

“I’m sorry ma’am! I just forgot!” Karima said. It would be serious if the codes got out.

“Don’t fret, I understand that it was a mistake. Have a good night.” the Captain signed.

Karima bowed her head to the Captain, gave her the codes, and left the tent without incident. The Captain put the piece of paper in her coat pocket and sat behind the desk.

Captain Rajagopal’s vision was better than most people imagined. Through her blue eye was blind to shapes and colors and contours, while it was open it could detect whether there was light or darkness. Her green eye could see fairly clearly up to two meters away or so. Some features looked indistinct, and she had problems with depth that she required her cane for. But she could read lips enough to communicate. From “Oh!” to “Captain” she could listen to every word that Karima was saying so long as it was spoken in Ayvartan.

Had she spoken them through the Captain’s special radio, the volume would have been boosted enough that the Captain would have heard it as tinny but audible noise.

These were methods that the KVW had helped her to train — they had told her they could improve her cognition, her focus, sharpen her, make her all that she could be. Most of their methods failed. But she helped develop new ones for people like herself.

There were no red rings around her eyes, but she was a KVW veteran nonetheless.

Almost as soon as she settled in the seat and started taking in the residual warmth of the previous occupant there was a rattling noise from the teleprinter. After a moment’s worth of grinding noises, it spat out a paper with an uninterrupted block of letters.

Captain Rajagopal held it up to her eye, and pulled out the week’s code sheet.

“8th Rifles retreating in east Shebelle. 3rd, 4th, 5th Rifles retreating in South. Gollaprollou vulnerable. Line to Benghu weakening. Offensive has failed. Enemy building up.”


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