Rain on the Plains. 

 

This phrase should bring to mind the all-relieving shower upon the sun-baked earth. Yet, it inspired a sense of foreboding when uttered by Intruder and M16A1, 

 

It has been a week since we captured Subsector Four, six days since Erlik’s Gate became operational, and since 16Lab personnel occupied Safehouse Three and scraped off everything of value. Four days since Helianthus declared Grifon and Kryuger has completed its operational goals of tightening the cordon of Sangvis territory. 

 

We are no closer to learning what ‘Rain on the Plains’ meant. 

 

The beacons, which serendipitously came active two days ago, marked the locations of Team AR’s concealed operational logs in S09—highly detailed video logs. Team AR knew not how they were made. M16 had a ‘hunch’, though it hasn’t been substantiated.

 

‘Lycoris’, ‘Elisa’, ‘OGAS,’ ‘Parapluie’. 

 

Names and terms repeated on multiple documents M4 had no opportunity to peruse.

 

Sangvis Ferri’s deceased head researcher. 

 

A girl or thing of great importance to the aforementioned researcher. 

 

A defunct network, framework of 1970s’ Second New Economic Plan.  

 

A term for ‘umbrella’ or ‘parasol’.

 

From sheer number of repetition, I can surmise all of these are relevant to ‘Rain on the Plains’. However, with such scarcity of intel, I have yet to divine how they fit together. Persicaria would know more; all of 16Lab’s work in Safehouse Three ultimately fell in her possession. Yet, she kept her lips pursed tight. 

 

There is still the matter of the beacons—who left them? The Hacker? Most unlikely. The vid logs were locked behind pre-war encryption protocols, The Hacker has a penchant for modern systems, utilised unconventionally. Moreover, he would announce his involvement in the usual fashion: a black screen with yellow texts.

 

Someone else? For what reason and to what end?

 

…

 

I felt as though I had unknowingly accrued more debts or favours unwittingly.

 

…

 

That glistening in the horizon, beyond the greens. Desert. So, Ukraine has a desert.

 

Is it Collapse-scoured as well? 

​

​

​

0845

​

“That’s Odesa Desert.” Rasputin had peered over his shoulder. Sensing Makarov’s ruby glare, he swiftly returned his attention to the terrain beyond the cockpit. “It’s been there since the beginning of the war. Crawled in from Romania.”

 

Slipped the dictation device into the coat’s pocket. Uttered, “...It has been eighteen years since the start of the war.”

 

“It wasn’t the war that did this,” Makarov interjected as she returned to tapping on her tablet. “The desert in Romania had been there since the 1960’s.” She lifted her gaze from the screen, grimaced, and added, “Oltenia, was it?”

 

“That’s very far from the shore, Dyevushka,” Rasputin replied. “Are you sure you aren’t mistaken?” 

 

“Deserts grow, Tovarisch,” Makarov responded without looking up from the screen. “Compounding factors!” She lifted her right fist and unfurled her fingers, one after the other as she recited, “Deforestation, climate change, collapse storms…” 

​

“Collapse storms ravage Europe?”

 

“Da.” Makarov lowered her hand. 

​

“So the Calamity has reached here as well.”

 

Makarov’s chuckle was bereft of mirth. “It’s not that bad. Mild, compared to what the Balkans and Central Asia have to go through seasonally.”

 

“Just a little breeze compared to theirs,” Rasputin added, to Makarov’s consternation. “They are close neighbours with the Red Zones.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Regardless,” the pilot continued. “We aren’t going to the desert. The coordinates given to us place the destination well behind the Green Line.”

 

“...Green Line?”

 

“The border where desert and arable land meet,” answered Makarov, her ruby gaze meeting the false eyes. “The Ministry of Agriculture grew hardy grass there. Miracle of bioengineering, they said. Part of the project to arrest the growth of the desert. Of course,” she shook her head. “Unless the Sand Wall is completed and its decontamination towers brought into operation, it’s only a matter of time before even that fails.”

 

“The Sand Wall’s construction halted some time before the war. More pressing matters, y’know,” Rasputin interjected. “You can see its foundations from here if you squint.”

 

“I see.” 

 

“By the way, we are arriving in a minute.”

 

“That so?” Makarov laid down her tablet and looked over the pilot’s seat. She paused momentarily, then inquired, “Are you mistaken? That’s a Meteorological Station.” 

 

“Look at all these helos and tell me I made a mistake. Return to your seat, Dyevushka; I’m taking us down.” 

 

Skorpion stirred groggily awake as Siskin 2 tilted upwards to begin its descent. The cabin shuddered, and the door slid open. The pigtail-wearing doll was the first to disembark.

 

The false arm shot out and caught the burgundy beret blown in by the vortex. The feet cracked the gritty ground underneath, the false hand squashed the beret onto Skorpion’s crown. 

 

“Wear your beret properly.”

 

“Aaayeee,” the T-Doll drawled. 

 

“Your coat’s drooping on your right shoulder. Straighten it.”

 

“And you had been swaying too much throughout our journey here.” Makarov criticised, having alighted after us.

 

“Not my fault Rasputin keeps rocking the ride,” Skorpion averted her gaze and pouted. 

 

“It’s not that rough of a ride.” Makarov adjusted her coat and straightened her beret. “Not even someone as slovenly as you could have slept through the trip if that were true.”

 

Sigh exhaled. Planted the true palm on Skorpion’s shoulder. She ceased growling, blinked and lowered her clenched fists. 

 

“No bickering while we are here.” False eyes glanced about. “Not with all these commanders and their adjutants present.”

 

“And not while we are meeting the Director and the Vice-Director, right, Tovarisch Kommandir?” Makarov’s smirk melted quickly as she directed her gaze to the helicopter to Siskin 2’s right and frowned. 

 

“Whatsamatter?” Skorpion uttered provocatively. 

 

“That’s Kommandir Shvets,” Makarov pointed at the commander closest to us. "And that's Kommandir Boehler." She turned her finger towards another commander who paced about with a limping gait. Her brow furrowed as she looked around again. “Every Kommandir here except us is from the Rearguard Companies.” 

​

“Maybe we are just early?” Skorpion remarked. “You know, to leave a good impression for the Erlikan Company?” 

 

Makarov scowled; she still hasn’t taken to the name her peer had imposed upon the company. Seeing this, Skorpion cracked a smirk. 

 

Inhaled. Exhaled. The watch’s hands read 0850. “We are ten minutes ahead of the scheduled meeting time. Doubtful there will be more Tactical Commanders arriving...”

 

The hair stood. Biting pain in the false limbs. The heart pounded against the ribcage. 

 

Whistling in the clear sky.

 

“Get down!” the lungs screamed. Ears popped, flesh seared, metal shrieked, and carbon fibre snapped. Feet left the ground, red overtook sight.