2005

​

The snow-capped peaks cast long shadows over Novum Sambir. Despite the looming dusk, the streets and windows of the dead city remained unlit.

 

Danyil was silent, having exhausted all his conversational resources. M14 slumped against Eighteen’s shoulder, her eyes concealed behind a mask. She was restful despite the healer’s fretful animation. 

 

Eighteen’s right hand scrawled across the slanted board on her lap, alternating between minute scribbles and broad, lash-like strokes. 

 

“Prepare for landing!” Danyil announced suddenly. 

 

The healer bumped her elbow against M14’s belly with a start, rousing her. 

 

The markswoman groped about, still wearing her eye mask, as the healer capped her pens and ink bottles and stowed them into her duffle. 

 

“Bag...bag...” M14 mumbled groggily as she reached down to her ankles. 

 

The helo yawed, and the fox yowled. The true hand caught the sliding cage and held it in place.

 

Eighteen zipped her bags shut, then snatched M14’s wrist and guided it to her rucksack. 

 

The cabin pitched, trembled and levelled. The hatch slid open. MG5 saluted as boots stamped pavement. “It’s good to see you in good health, Kommandant.” 

​

“You too.” The true hand hoisted the fox’s rattling cage. “You aren’t here out of worry for Fleur’s well-being, I hope?” 

 

MG5 cracked a fleeting smile. “No, I, along with the others, were sent by Frau Kalina to participate in this joint operation.”

​

So this is the reason for the detour.

 

“What are our operational objectives?” 

 

The machine-gunner shook her head, “I’m afraid I am not privy to that information.” She blinked, pressed the headset on her ears, and answered. “Ja…ja…ja, Frau Helianthus. Right away.” She then fixed her cat-like gaze to the false eyes. “Briefing’s in fifteen minutes. I’ll be attending the meeting as your temporary adjutant.”

​

A bump against the shoulder. Frantic hands snatched the snapping and rattling animal carrier. “I’ll take care of the fox,” M14, still blindfolded, declared. “Call me when you need me.”

 

“I will.”

 

Behind the Mi-26 to Siskin 2’s right, a strange black helicopter. It resembled a Mi-8 but with an angular silhouette. MG5 noted interest. “416’s team arrived eight hours ago. They will be joining the joint operation under your command.”

 

“...No objections from her commander?”

 

“If there are any, I wouldn’t know of them.” She shrugged. “I understand her Kommandant deals with Frau Helianthus directly.”

​

“I see.” 

 

Passed rows of bipedal machines, all with their hatches opened. They had rocket pods attached to their shoulders, and their arms ended in cannon-bores. 

 

“We are allowed heavy weapons?”

 

The machine-gunner glanced at the camo-clad technicians among silent blocky Dolls; their unfeeling gazes followed our footfalls. The automatons were mono-eyed, armed with Kalashnikovs. “Nein,” she replied. “These are the military’s. We are on the way to meet with their CO.” 

​

“Hey, Ceto!” 

 

Nivy waved as he exited the building ahead. He was followed closely by Fleur, who had turned aside and retrieved a pair of sunglasses. “Can’t get off the battlefield, can you?” He smiled warmly as he showed his hand.

 

Took his hand, shook it. “I can scarcely rest with Ringleaders at large outside the cordon.” 

 

His easy smile faded. “That’s the least of our worries; the KSSO is here.” 

KSSO...Komandovanie Sil Spetsial'nykh Operatsiy. Special Operations Forces.

​

“What sort of joint operation requires us to receive such esteemed guests?”

 

“Sangvis’ resurgence in the region is interfering with Svarog Heavy Industries’ prospecting plans, and someone high up isn’t happy about it. Helian wants you to take care of the problem, give the Kapitan a good impression.” 

​

Inhaled. Exhaled. “Should it not be you who presides over Grifon’s side of the operation?”

 

“Escort duty. Sangvis raiding parties’ been hitting our supply convoys the past two weeks.” He smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you out to dry; my reserve echelon will be joining you for this operation. Command room’s mine, however.” He pointed towards the Mi-26. “You’ll be using the command chopper. HQ’s been dying to test it, see if the retrofits hold up.” 

 

He glanced over the false shoulder, at the camo-cladded Dolls and their technicians in the assembly ground, then leaned forward and spoke hushedly, “Something’s not right. This is the Soviet Army’s kind of job. Below the KSSO’s paygrade.”

 

“You suspect a scheme?”

 

“I can only say for certain that this is highly unusual. Against regs, I’m certain. Maybe there’s a conspiracy, maybe I’m being paranoid. Still, wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. Their Kapitan isn’t fond of our kind of people anyway.”

 

“Our kind of people? You meant mercenaries or foreigners?”

​

“Yes.” 

 

“...Yes?”

​

He grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. He leaned back, “Watch yourself and be on your best behaviour around their Kapitan. Don’t want Helian yelling at us for leaving a bad impression now, do we?” 

 

“I will be cautious, courteous and humble.”

 

“You better be. We’re counting on you.” He patted the shoulder as he brushed past. “Good luck.” 

 

Fleur stopped briefly, her yellow eyes hidden behind shades. She greeted, “Guten Abend, Kommandant Yilmaz, Schwester.” 

​

“You too, Fleur,” MG5 replied. 

 

Fleur smiled at her warmly, then hurried after her husband.

 

Metallic rings, door hinges creaked. Inside the brightly lit briefing room, beyond the rows of chairs and before the white screen to the left, beside Helianthus, stood a pale-haired man clad in battle attire. They appeared to be amid a conversation, interrupted by our arrival. 

 

“It seems your backup Kommandir has finally deigned to join us,” said the pale-haired soldier.

 

Helianthus shot a wooden stare; dark circles ringed her eyes. “Allow me to introduce Takticheskiy Kommandir Cetin Yilmaz.”

 

“Kapitan Yegor Arkadyevich Lebedev, KSSO First Company,” the soldier replied; he did not offer his hand. His grey eyes flickered up and down, examining, evaluating. “Take a seat. Vice-Director?” 

​

Metal scraped against metal. A dull thud followed. Images emerged on the white screen: a map of the entirety of S09 with red arrows, photos of mechs, bipedal and quadruped, and shield-bearing Dolls, resembling bulkier, beige-coloured versions of the ones stationed outside. 

 

The thin scar on the Captain’s left lip twitched as he began to speak, “At 1400, these Sangvis heavies, supported by light elements, entered S09 in loose formations of ten units. We lost track of them in this region. At their estimated speeds and with the reports provided by your bases, we believe…” he tapped the border area between Subsectors Three and Four, “...they are still here. Grifon is to locate and report their positions by 0000. Then, await further orders.”

 

Approximately four hundred square kilometres of hilly terrain to cover, all to be reconnoitred within three-and-a-half hours. 

 

“How many units?” 

 

“Estimated three hundred.”

 

“How did the KSSO ascertain that number?”

 

Lebedev did not blink. “You don’t need to know.”

 

Thirty clusters at minimum. Needles in haystacks.

 

“What support will we receive? Radars? Upgraded drone sensor packages?” 

 

The Captain gazed impassively, “We leave the methods to your discretion.”

 

So, we are to do this with only the Dolls and their drones trekking about on foot. 

 

“Why not send your own men and equipment? Certainly, you have the means and manpower?” 

 

The Captain’s gaze hardened. “This operation is put together on short notice. That is all you need to know.”

 

So, they are still amassing their forces. 

 

“That is all I need to know.”

 

Lebedev made no comments. 

 

“These Sangvis heavies…Grifon had not engaged them throughout the year since the beginning of our contract. From whence they came?” 

 

“You do not need to know.”

 

Helianthus tapped on the projector sharply; she was frowning, lightly shaking her head. 

 

“Complete your objectives by 0000. We leave the methods to your discretion.” He nodded at the Vice-Director and departed, without a single look back. 

 

Helianthus turned off the projector and strode towards the unlit white screen. As the door snapped shut, she removed her monocle and pinched her nose’s bridge. Her stout posture betrayed hints of exhaustion. “I’ll answer your questions.” She placed the monocle on its perch. “Throughout the past two weeks, the Sangvis had been raiding their factories and stockpiles within Odesa Oblast. What you saw are Manticores, Numeums and Aegises, all Sangvis products used in the war, mothballed due to obsolescence. We believe they intend to return these to their Carpathian factories for reverse engineering and reproduction.” 

 

“This is an urgent matter. Should we not organise sector-wide hunts to intercept them?”

 

She sighed, her exhaustion more apparent, “We are stretched thin. The cordon will have to do. We have the coordinates to covert radar stations sprinkled throughout this region. However, we do not have their access codes. HQ is currently negotiating with the client for them.”

 

“Covert radar stations. From the war?” 

 

She nodded. “They haven’t been used or maintained since the war’s end. There is no guarantee they are still functional. I have already sent their coordinates to your console aboard the Command Helicopter. MDR is trained and equipped for e-war. I understand P7 is, too. Maybe they could access them.”

 

“And the KSSO would allow this?” 

 

Helianthus’ stare hardened. “You’ve heard the Kapitan: ‘We leave the methods to your discretion’.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve transferred command over Groza and SPP-1 to you. They were already tried and tested in a covert operation a night ago. Their experience should benefit the operation greatly. That is all I have for you. I’ll leave you to prepare.” 

 

Gaze followed her departure, then landed on MG5 as the door closed. “Who from Erlikan, except P7, MDR, M14 and Eighteen, are here?”

 

“SVD, Mosin Nagant, Ingram and Team FN, Herr Kommandant.”

 

Blinked. Turned around. MG5 was as still as a statue.

 

“Where is Skorpion?” 

 

“She’s back at base.”

 

“And Ingram came here without her?”

 

“She insisted on participating in the operation when she heard Thompson would join us in the next…” MG5’s eyes rolled up, “...three hours.”

 

Three hours. Too late for recon. A follow-up operation?

 

“Tell me about Thompson.” 

 

“Another Doll with a Command Module. Her team has a high success rate. However, Team Thompson has a reputation for being…” the machine-gunner knitted her brow, “...rowdy.”

 

Elite, equipped with a Command Module, like M4 and FAL. Rowdy. Ingram and Thompson would get along well. A Doll with a Command Module leading a loutish team, the follow-up will be a combat operation.

 

“Do you wish to address our people?” 

 

“How much do they know about the joint operation?”

 

“Kommandant Washington has briefed them. He has also already sent out P7, MDR, 416, G11, WA2000, Five-seveN, FAL and FNC on recon.”

​

“I see.” Pushed the chair back. Got up. “Update me on the operation’s progress.” 

MG5 got up as well. Her boots tapped against the panels as the door swung open. “The teams have been in operation for three hours. Kommandant Washington predicted them depleting their provisions after your takeover and had prepared MP5 and M9 for the courier mission. They are currently on standby….”

​

​

​

2211

​

Red clusters at the edge of M9’s detection radius. One large, a Manticore light assault mech, and the other four small, possibly Aegis heavy infantry and other light Sangvis units.

 

“Command to Petit Couriers, halt.”

 

The two blue blips froze; MP5 visibly winced on the feed. “Proceed northeast, fifteen degrees.” 

 

As the blue dots circumvented the red clusters, MP5 spoke, “I…” she paused, hesitant. Before she could continue, M9 interjected, “We’ll appreciate it if you drop ‘Petit’ from our Echelon designation.”

 

“Commander Washington insisted that I state your designation in full.”

 

“Nivy’s teasing us!” she exasperated. “Drop it, please!”

 

Inhaled. Exhaled. The Sangvis were moving away towards the northwest. Their migratory pattern was consistent with previous observations; all the reported coordinates of Sangvis presence, to the south-east of Petit Couriers’ position, were cleared when they revisited them. 

 

“I hadn’t his permission.”

 

M9 grumbled even as their blips proceeded towards Alpha, to the north. “Cilka’s right about him all along. He’s a…”

 

“M9! Don’t be rude! Couriers to Command, we have arrived at Alpha’s coordinate. We can see the trunk with the branches bent at right angles. Please confirm our location.”

 

“Command copies. You have arrived at Alpha.”

 

False gaze fell upon the laptop’s screen to the console’s right. “Hey! Hey! Everynyan!” Airwaves Squad’s marker lit up; MDR and P7 waved from the screen, their motions, previously visually unintelligible during their battle against the Radar Station’s ICE, were now fully readable. They had presented themselves before a thin light pillar. “You saw that, right? Right? Kuro’s brilliant battle against the ICE!” She brandished her gun at the shattered remains of the server security, all taking on the form of disintegrating Sangvis carcasses.

 

Text streamed down the right side of the screen like a waterfall. MDR’s eyes flickered up and down, a furious crimson hue emerged on her cheeks. 

 

“It’s not a video game! I am literally fighting for my life here! Literally!” She pointed at her shoulder, which was not whole but leaking azure blocks, each with the estimated dimension of one metric cube. “I said!” She stomped her foot. 

 

“Command to Airwaves.” 

 

“Hey! Hey! Kuro!” P7 batted the black beret off the raging and stomping MDR. “Commander’s speaking!” 

 

“Complete your task, log out and let Petit Couriers in.” 

 

P7 kicked the pillar, changing its hue from red to blue. “P7! You are stealing my show!” MDR barked as the cat-nun stuck out her tongue at her. The silver-haired doll peeked aside, then stomped her foot again. “Chat! Chat! What the fuck, chat!” 

 

P7 grinned impishly before pouncing at her compatriot. The screen turned black. “THE STREAM ISN’T OVER!” Kuro cried as a bold white ‘INTERMISSION’ appeared center-screen.

 

False eyes turned their gaze towards the command console. A clear fifty-kilometre radius emanated from Alpha, exposing and tracking eight Sangvis clusters, all steadily drifting northwest, some making short detours likely to circumvent difficult terrain. The rubble-choked road blocking passage into Subsector Four, ten kilometres from the ruins of the Sangvis Comms Relay, as the birds fly, must be their destination.

 

“Master Yilmaz.” 

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. G36, the self-proclaimed maid, placed a small cup of coffee by the laptop. 

 

“How goes the operation?” 

 

Nivy must have gotten worried. 

 

“We’ve only just activated Radar Station Alpha. Command to Frostfall, sitrep." 

 

Silence.

 

“...Command to Frost...”

 

“Shut up!” Frostfall’s marker lit up. “You are distracting me!”

 

“Awwww, the little Ice Queen’s frazzled,” came Five-seveN’s teasing voice. “In a little trouble? Need a little help untangling that yarn?” 

 

“Who’s the one who doesn’t know how to rewire electrical systems? I even agreed to let you on lookout duty while I handle the repairs, so do your job and let me do mine!”

 

“Master,” G36 interjected. “I like to speak to WA.” Her brow was furrowed, her countenance severe. Her frown suggested it was not a request.

 

Moreover, she was a close friend of Springfield’s. 

 

Removed and handed her the headset. “Make haste.” 

 

She nodded as she put on the device and pressed the button. “G36 to WA, Master Nivy will hear of this.” 

 

A pause. The feed showed that the markswoman had grown still. G36 glanced at the screen, then added with a gentler tone. “Don’t be dejected. Your chocolate ice cream is on its way, ETA thirty minutes.” 

 

“W-What is this!” A loud yell interrupted the moment. Airwaves’ and Couriers’ feeds showed MP5 writhing and coughing. “This is not pie!” 

 

“But it is pie, right, Kuro?” P7 nudged her sworn sister’s rib. 

 

“Yeah, yeah! It totally is pie, right? Chat?” the grinning MDR glanced aside. “Chinese pie! From this afternoon’s ‘Kuro’s and P7’s Cooking Show’...Hush! It’s totally the right recipe!”

 

“Yeah! Right recipe!” P7 interjected. “Special! Five types of pepper and cheese powder!”

 

“Y-you tricked us!” M9 complained. “I’ve eaten many pies, and not a single one of them tastes like this!” 

 

G36 frowned and pressed the button again, “G36 to Petit Couriers, commence Operation Tomato Juice.” 

 

MP5 opened one of her bag’s pockets without delay; it was marked with a blue ribbon tied around its zipper. She fished out two red-capped bottles and gave one to M9. They frantically washed down the pie. Still giggling mirthfully, MDR and P7 pulled out two blue-capped bottles. The moment they took a swig, they coughed, spilt their drinks and writhed excruciatingly.

 

P7, with great exertion, collected herself and read the bottle’s label. “What the heck! This is not tomato juice!”

 

G36 pressed the button again. “G36 to Airwaves, Springfield prescribed this juice to salve mischievous spirits.” Her expression stayed stern. “As Frau Springfield said, ‘The juice is squeezed from ‘Viper’, the king of chillies. A sip has the sting of tear gas.” 

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Stop this pain! Chat! Stop laughing at me! No more ‘wwwwwww’! No, the supachat is not easing the paaaaain!” 

 

G36 removed the headset and returned it. Her frigid gaze fell upon the coffee once more.

 

Frowned. Picked up the beverage and drank it. The heart raced, the tongue felt grimy.

 

“Master Yilmaz?”

 

The cup clinked against her tray. “This is a strong brew.” 

 

The maid nodded. “Master Nivy said you needed a ‘pick me up’.”

 

“...I see.”

 

Retrieved the flask. 

 

“Has the espresso energised you?”

 

“...Yes.”

 

G36 nodded and departed via the opened hatch. 

 

Opened the bottle, felt the capsule on the tongue, washed it down with water. The palpitation calmed. Sigh exhaled. “Command to Petit Couriers and Airwaves. Wrap up in five minutes and proceed to Beta. Command to Frostfall, estimated time to completion?”

 

“Frostfall to Command,” Five-seveN on the line, “Looking at WA’s progress...mmmm...forty-five minutes.”

 

“Airwaves will be arriving in thirty. Expedite.”

 

“Hear that, WA? Commander wants it done by thirty.” 

 

“Shut up!” the markswoman sounded agitated. “Who do you take me for? I’ll get it done by fifteen!”

 

“You hear that, Commander? She’s given her word.”

 

“I said I’ll get it done in fifteen! Shut up and let me focus!”

 

“Command copies. Command to Foxhunt. Sitrep.”

 

“Foxhunt to Command,” FAL replied, “Power systems are active. Trying to figure out the password.”

 

“Command to Foxhunt; the console will lock up after three failed login attempts.”

 

FAL clicked her tongue. “Foxhunt copies. How goes Frostfall?”

 

“Still working on restoring power.”

 

“Heh.” The riflewoman snickered derisively. “How disappointing after all that hot air they blew. I’ll remember this.” 

 

Glanced at the feed, FNC was absent from view. 

 

“Where is FNC?” 

 

“I had her scout out the perimeter. Don’t worry, I will recall her if she runs into trouble; this position is highly defensible.”

 

“Any updates on enemy activity?”

 

“FNC saw two Manticore groups pass by fifteen minutes ago.”

 

“Direction?”

 

“Northwest. I’m sure they would have passed by Delta.”

 

“Command copies. Keep up the good work. Command to Dormouse.”

 

“Ja,” 416 answered. "Alles klar, Commander. Power’s online, console’s active.” A moment of silence. “Have you not received the access codes yet?”

​

“No updates from the Vice-Director.”

 

“...Is that so? I’ll await further updates.”

 

“A moment. Foxhunt claims two Manticore groups should have passed you by. Confirm?”

 

“Dormouse confirms. My sentry can do at least that much.”

 

“Heading?”

 

“330 degrees.” 

 

Towards the blocked mountain pass.

 

“Command copies. Hold your position and report further sightings.” 

 

Airwaves and Petit Couriers departed Alpha and headed north. On the laptop’s screen, shadow-shrouded trees loomed, and underbrushes crept. White texts streamed down beside tarnished silver draped over a black jacket. 

 

“Command to Airwaves, you are committing an OpSec violation.”

 

MDR froze on the screen for a moment. She glanced aside at her drone, then yelped as she kept walking, “Shut! It’s fine! Da--Manager-bro said I can stream as long as I do not reveal anything incriminating. Look!” She waved her hands around. “No signposts! I’ve even spoofed my geolocation data!”

 

The false eyes caught the words ‘Kyiv’ and ‘Pit Ivan’, preceded by negatives. MDR grinned impishly. “Thinking of stream-sniping me, huh, chat? Too bad!” She balled up her fist and struck her right puffed-up chest. “I’m two steps ahead!”

 

The chat livened up, responding to her taunts. It had responded to G36’s proclamations earlier, when she was accused of violating OpSec. 

 

“Have you been broadcasting my commands?”

 

The black-garbed Doll froze again. P7 stopped beside her, blinked and wore MDR’s grin. The livestreaming Doll paled. “Cetin! I- Nigerian Prince, fuck off! Your country doesn’t exist! Anyway! I can explain!”

 

And she just revealed my name to her audience. The audacity! The chat had begun repeating disrespectful permutations of my name!

 

Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. Pinched the bridge and shook the head. Pressed the button, opened the mouth, blinked. Red dots winked on the eastern edge of M9’s detection radius. One dot, two, three...five minutes to arrive at Airwaves’ and Petit Couriers’ positions.

 

“Command to Airwaves and Petit Couriers! OpFor arriving at your location in five minutes!”

 

“Couriers to Command!” MP5 spoke urgently. “There is a spot we can hide in.”

 

“Command copies. Cut all signal emissions, activate IFF spoofer, hide until the OpFor has passed. Do not engage! If discovered, resume signal emission and evacuate to Beta ASAP!”

 

Blue dots turned red then vanished. Microdrone feeds cut off. A bold ‘Intermission’ appeared on the laptop’s screen. The chat froze like petrified waterfall. 

 

“Command to Frostfall, OpFor contact with Airwaves and Petit Couriers imminent, directly south of Beta.” Tapped the digits on the console. “Keep ten kilometres away from these coordinates. Hold fire.”

 

Statics. Brief, tense silence. “Frostfall copies,” WA2000 replied. 

 

Comms snapped silent. Light grey radius and blue clusters did not reemerge on screen. WA’s and Five-seveN’s blips surged southwards. Two minutes, red blips appeared at the southern edge of their Five-seveN’s radar radius. 

 

Retrieved the capsule, swallowed it with water. False finger pressed the headset’s button.

 

Watch...2245...2246... Five-seveN’s radius stalked the Sangvis blips, keeping them at the edges. 2247...2248...OpFor departed Airwaves and Petit Couriers' last position. Four red dots, seeming stragglers, turned blue. 

 

Microdrone feeds reactivated. MP5 and the rest crawled out from among hanging roots. ‘Intermission’ vanished, MDR emerged, the red ‘live’ button winked on, the chat flooded with messages, half concerned and half taunting. 

 

Sigh exhaled. “Command to Petit Couriers and Airwaves, rendezvous with Frostfall and proceed to Beta.”    

 

“Awww, I don’t get to show off to the Commander after all.” Five-seveN emerged from the underbrushes, angling her head to avoid making eye contact with any feeds.

 

MDR’s chat lit up again, a combination of jeers for the earlier absence of activity and compliments directed at Five-seveN’s appearance. MDR, however, kept her silence, her eyes glancing at her drone. She and P7 appeared to be shaken. 

 

WA, peering from behind a tree, simply slung her rifle over her shoulder and turned northwards. MP5 hurried after her, clutching her bag. “Miss WA, your ice cream.” 

 

“Later. We have wasted enough time out here.”

 

“So, you’ve fixed it?” P7 seemed to have recovered. “No loose wiring? No rats?”

 

The markswoman winced slightly upon the mention of rodents.

 

“All lights on?”

 

“Hmmmph!” WA turned her nose away. “Of course, I’ve fixed it. I did say I’d fix it within fifteen minutes, and we were long past that. You took too long!”

 

“Aaaack! You said it!” MDR joined in closely, the laptop’s screen panned towards the markswoman’s pale face. “If we get fried, we’ll haunt you!” 

 

WA winced again. Her face reddened. “I’ve said I’ve fixed it!” She knelt, brushed away dirt and dried leaves and tugged at the hatch underneath. “Enough hassling me. We don’t have much time.” Steel creaked, light leaked out of the widening crack. “I’ve fixed the power in fifteen minutes, so you do your part and bring the radar online within ten.”

 

Feeds panned down the ladder, coated in peeling paint. The floor grates rang. WA led the group along the dimly lit corridor into an opened airlock. A white text box blinked on the screen in a room for three. 

 

“Alright, guys!” MDR spoke to her drone. “Ice Queen thinks we need ten minutes to crack this. We’ll show her! Let’s do it in five!” 

 

WA gave her the stink eye as the chat lit up once more.

 

“Shut! It’s not like I don’t post replays or clips,” MDR chided as P7 connected her wire to the livestreamer’s nape. “P7 and Kuro! Jacking in!” She plugged her own cable into the port.

 

The chat erupted as the screen blanked out. The false eyes caught “Show tsun-chan!”

 

What is a ‘tsun-chan’?

 

“Frostfall to Command,” WA2000 rolled her eyes as MP5 tugged on her sleeve. As she received a tub from MP5, she announced. “WA heading out on lookout.”

 

“Oh, Häagen Dazs?” Five-seveN leaned behind the corner, waving. “Leave some for me!”

 

“It’ll melt by the time I get back,” the sniper remarked as she passed her by, heading towards the exit. “Don’t think about it. You need to watch over our hackers.”

 

“I’m sure Petit Couriers can do it just fine. Besides,” she pointed at her temple. “You need my radar.” 

 

WA grumbled as she ascended the ladder, followed closely by the handgunner.

 

The laptop’s screen lit up again. “It’s starting, guys!” the chat said as the light lattice lit up. “Hoho, let’s see what the server architecture looks like,” MDR said aloud as she racked her rifle, just as the black wall, similar to the ones protecting Erlik’s Gate, sprung up before them. “Five times dilation!” she announced. “Ten times!” P7 replied, grinning goadingly. “Be first to pierce the firewall!”

 

“Game on!”

 

The chat’s tempo sped up.

 

“Hey! Chat! You are supposed to cheer me on!” MDR cried as she dashed after the handgunner. “What the fuck!”

 

The watch read 2305.

 

“Kommandant.” The heart jumped and palpitated again. “Team Thompson and the supplies have arrived. I’ve registered them into our Zenner subnetwork.”

​

New names on the tablet’s screen: Thompson, Super SASS, M1911. 

 

On the clipboard, the list included armour-piercing munitions and anti-tank grenades.

 

“Anti-tank grenades? These were obsolete since the Second World War.”

 

MG5 replied, “They returned in vogue in the Third World War. Heavily utilised against the PEU forces crossing the Carpathia.”

 

“PEU?”

 

“Pan-European Union. NATO successor.”

 

“I see. Is this all HQ can spare?”

 

The adjutant nodded stiffly.

 

These, along with Groza, SPP-1, the present Erlikan personnels and Nivy’s reservists, made up five echelons.

 

“Your assessment of the KSSO’s capabilities?”

 

“They lack manoeuvrability,” she replied stoically. “I do not see any transport capable of ferrying their Minotaurus and Hydras into the AO.”

 

Firepower over maneuverability, the opposite of special forces MO. Lebedev intended for us to operate as vanguard. Is this meant to be a test? 

 

Looked at the laptop. MDR and P7 had penetrated the firewall and engaged the ICE, taking the form of Guards, Dinergates and Jaegers. Behind them, another black wall obstructed their progress. 

 

The watch read 2307. At Alpha, Airwaves took fifteen minutes to seize control over its systems, six minutes to penetrate the first of the three layers of defences, five for the next; they were improving. By optimistic estimates, they will take control of Beta in ten minutes, rest for two minutes, journey thirty minutes to Gamma, gain administrator access in less than ten minutes, rest for another two minutes, followed by another thirty-minute journey to Delta. 

 

We will not complete our mission by 0000.

 

Jotted down coordinates on the post-it note and handed it to the temporary adjutant. “Tell Team Thompson to gear up and transfer munitions to the transports, stand by once they have completed their assignment. Send these coordinates to Kapitan Lebedev.”

 

MG5 received the note and read it. “The rubble blocking the western road into Subsector Four…I understand you intend for the KSSO to intercept the Sangvis there?”

 

Nodded at her. She nodded back and excused herself. Drank the water with the capsule, tapped the console. Picked up the tablet, brought up the echelon screen, reorganised the team compositions, refrained from touching the ‘Finalise’ button.

 

MDR and P7 moved in a blur, cutting a swathe through the station’s defences and making contact with the second firewall.

 

WA and Five-seveN hid among the bushes under the antenna, five steps away from the hatch, keeping vigil while consuming their ice cream. MP5 rummaged through her bags, taking inventory. M9 had removed her radar backpack, though its cable remained attached to her nape. She was tweaking its console, performing calibrations.

 

At Gamma, FNC slid down the ringing ladder while FAL teased Fel with dangling snacks. 

 

At Delta, 416 drummed her fingers impatiently on the console’s keyboard.

 

On the laptop, white texts poured; MDR and P7 had penetrated the second firewall. Another lattice field crystallised before them, its layout more labyrinthine compared to previous. Platforms, with turrets perched, rose and suspended in midair. Clusters emerged on MDR’s scanner, denser than before. Two turrets, three, shattered like glass. Then, the blurs stalled and fired upon the emerging OpFor: ICEs taking the form of Aegises, their shields locked together, blocking passage.  

 

“Ack! This is new!” MDR exclaimed, clocking down before clocking up again, the unintelligible motion of her hands reminiscent of the changing of magazines. Crystalline tracers evaporated against the shield wall. An explosion ignited behind them a millisecond later. 

 

The purple streak that was P7 bounced against the obsidian walls. She landed behind the Aegises, twisted around and magdumped to no effect. The behemoths contemptuously kept their backs to her, crouching and bracing their shields, weathering MDR’s onslaught. The handgunner pounced, then swerved as freshly-spawned turrets unleashed interception fire upon her. P7 spun around to reposition, only to find Dragoons cutting her off. She cried, her clearly distressed voice too sped up to be discerned, though the words ‘Help!’ and ‘Kuro!’ could be made out.

 

Another explosion rocked the Aegises, and this time, their chassis cracked. Another torrent of crystal darts penetrated the gaps in their defences and shattered them into rising, evaporating cubes. MDR meteored towards P7, firing at the turrets, then at the Dragoons. They did not retaliate, too fixated on the ping-ponging handgunner. 

 

Uncapped the bottle, washed down the capsule. Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. 

 

The last of the ICE shattered against the crystal floor. The chat flooded with praise. Aegises, Dragoons, Dinergates, and other ICE were dispatched mid-spawn; the hackers had identified the most effective ICEbreakers to use against them.

 

“Hey! Boss! Been wonderin’ why you din’ come out to greet me.” 

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. True fingers curled around the bottle. False eyes peered over the shoulder and met red pupils concealed behind tinted lenses. 

 

“Turns out yer been watching a livestream the entire time.”

 

“This is Thompson, Kommandant.” MG5 emerged from behind the hatch, frowning. “The Kommandant’s is watching MDR and P7’s hacking progress.”

​

“Any source of surveillance is valid, be it the usual methods...” waved at the monitor, “...or a livestream.”

 

“Big Boss would chew you out for that if he finds out...”

 

The true fingers flexed, gripping empty air. Thompson grinned as she looked at the command tablet’s screen. 

 

“...but I’m no rat.” She made a series of taps, then returned the device. “I want these gals in my team.”

 

Team Thompson:

 

Thompson

Super Sass

M1911

Ingram

M9

​

False eyes turned their gazes towards Petit Couriers’ feed. M9 drummed her fingers against the petrified P7’s crown, clearly bored of the passing minutes. 

 

“Why her?”

 

“Gal’s light on her feet, and she’s been patrolling around here for weeks.”

 

“Wouldn’t Ingram suffice?” 

 

“Eh, nah. She’s more familiar with Subsector Four. ‘Sides, I hear she’s hot-blooded. Doesn’t know fear. A devil in close combat. Perfect fer diversion and line-breaking. Lookout’s too good fer her.”

 

“You are familiar with the Dolls of S09.”

 

“A good Boss knows her underlings.” Her eyes twinkled, she still smiled confidently. “Lend me them for the night.”

 

Sigh exhaled. “You must have received Nivy’s approval for M9’s enlistment.”

 

Her confidence remained fixed upon her lips. 

 

“I see. The assignments will be finalised by 0000.”

 

“Yer sure about that?” Her crimson gaze turned towards the command console, then the laptop. “Seems ye progress hasn’t gone past fifty percent.”

 

The watch read ‘2317’. MDR and P7 were stalled in an open field, where a Manticore and an array of Jaegers had spawned. They had not penetrated the second firewall. 

 

Rapping against the hatch. “The Kommandant works best when he isn’t disturbed,” MG5’s tone was frigid. Thompson shrugged and slinked out of the helicopter, the temporary adjutant’s gaze following her exit. She then turned her attention towards the false eyes and reported, “Kapitan Lebedev has received your advice and instructed you to focus solely on completing your mission.”

 

“Your impression?”

 

“I think he intends to ignore your advice.” 

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. “Team FN will perform the blockade.” Took the bottle; it sounded hollow. “Tell Eighteen I need more medication.” 

 

As MG5 received the plastic container, she inquired. “The medic who came with you and M14?”

 

Nodded at her. 

 

“Copy.” She exited the cabin. 

 

P7 and MDR had separated, diving into and out of the rising, sinking and disintegrating ebony walls. Jaegers shattered, darts ricochet against the Manticore’s hide. 

 

“I can’t hold on, Kuro! I’m overheating! I need to clock down!” 

 

“Kuso!” MDR made a flurry of sped-up motions, then fired into the Manticore’s flank. Swapped magazine, fired another burst, struck the mech’s ammunition drum. The detonation banished the Manticore, and the riflewoman swapped her mags and cut down the Jaegers.  

​

More red on the scanner.  

 

Tiny images of glowsticks flooded the chat.

 

The hackers pierced the second firewall to face even stiffer resistance. 

 

“Fuck! This is harder than the last one!” MDR seized P7 under her left arm and dived behind cover, flinging her grenade at freshly spawned ICE: three Manticores and twelve Dragoons. Her movements had slowed enough to be perceivable. 

 

Pitch black. Blinking yellow box. 

 

MERGE PETIT COURIERS WITH AIRWAVES

​

A file popped up on the command tablet’s screen.

 

SEND ATTACHED FOLDER TO PETIT COURIERS. INSTRUCT THEM TO OPEN FOLDER AND RUN EXECUTABLE. 

 

Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. Tap on the keyboard. 

 

what is tis for

 

The yellow text resumed flowing in the following line.

 

CONFIRM INSTALLATION, INSTRUCT AIRWAVES TO ACTIVATE BOTNET

​

Picked up the command tablet, swiped at the screen, tapped confirmed. Then, transmitted the folder to the former members of Petit Couriers. Pressed the headset’s button. 

 

“Command to Petit Couriers, I have merged you with Airwaves. Open the folder I have sent you and run the executable.”

 

“What? What is this?” M9 exclaimed. “Everything in this folder reeks!”

 

“MDR and P7’s processors are at their limits. They need support.”

 

M9 glanced at the microdrone. “Here goes nothing…executable…files installed. MP5?”

 

“Done!”

 

“Command to MDR and P7, run your botnet program!”

 

“What? Botnet?” Her reply amidst gunfire was exasperated. “My dummies are out of range, I can’t…”

 

“Comply!” 

 

"Cooommmaaaandeer...my heeeaaadd iiissss spiiiiinning..." M9 slumped against P7. 

 

The laptop screen lit up. “Oh wow! Holy shit! It works!” MDR exclaimed as her movements sped up. P7 twitched, tore herself away from her teammate and surged towards the enemy ICE, weaving past their shots. Twin comets sped past the first Manticore, then the Dragoons behind it. The light cavalry units disintegrated, and the Manticore itself dismantled moments later. 

The remaining light mechs fell, one after the other. 

 

“Cooommmmaaaaannndeeerrr….” M9 slurred. MP5 had slid down the wall. “Whhaaaaattt diiiid yoooouuuu dooooo?”

 

“The files you had installed were meant to enable your use as MDR’s and P7’s botnets.”

 

“.....Whhhhhhyyyyy? I’m…..gooooing…to….deeeleetteee…”

 

“MDR and P7 needed your processor resource to combat the server’s ICE. Without your support, they will be fried.”

 

The afflicted handgunner languidly looked down at P7, then at MDR.

 

“Please bear with it for the duration. You may delete the files after the operation.”

 

“Kommandir!” Eighteen had stumbled into the cabin, water sloshing in the bottle in her grasp. 

​

“Had you been overdosing on your heart medication??” Her cheeks were flushed red. 

 

MG5 peered from behind the hatch, her expression severe yet not daring to step into the helicopter. 

 

“Does your mouth feel dry? Any dizziness?” She slammed the plastic bottle onto the table. 

 

“I requested more medication.”

 

“How many capsules have you taken?!” she demanded. 

 

P7 had raced ahead and shattered the light pillar. A cleared radius emanated from Beta, revealing the drifting red clusters lurking beneath the fog of war. 

 

“I’ve lost count of the number of times. I hadn’t experienced the symptoms you described.” 

 

“You are not getting any more...”

 

“Gear up.”

 

She blinked.

 

“You will be participating in the next op.”

 

The watch read 2325.

 

“You have about half an hour.” 

 

“I’m supposed to be on-site to monitor your health!”

 

“We are short on manpower. Neither you nor M14 are exempted from the next operation. 0000.”

 

She blinked, then harrumphed as she folded her arms. “Don’t think you can wriggle out of this! MG5! Where’s the orderly in this base?” 

 

The medic departed with the adjutant. MDR and P7 had roused from unconsciousness in the microdrone feed. Congratulatory messages filled the chat window, though the false eyes perceived that they were mostly directed at P7.

 

“Hey! What about me!” MDR exclaimed against her audience. She was replied to by another flood of jeering emoticons.

 

Team Kuro and Frostfall refreshed themselves and departed for Gamma. They had to make three detours to evade the meandering Sangvis. Their progress slowed once they exited Beta’s detection radius. Frostfall peeled away from Team Kuro and moved ahead fifty metres. Using M9’s and Five-seveN’s portable radar, they charted a path towards Gamma, stopping every hundred metres for a minute to ensure their path was clear.

 

2340, they arrived at Gamma and were greeted by FNC. FAL awaited them below the ladder, tapping her foot impatiently. “Took you long enough, Five-seveN,” she criticised. “Didn’t you say you will get here before 2330?”

 

“It’s not my fault our hackers oversold themselves.”

 

“Hey!” MDR yelped. 

 

The chat lit up again, just as outraged at WA’s statement as its host was.

 

MDR and P7 hurriedly pushed past them towards the radar’s console as though goaded by the chat. 

 

Crystal field, black wall. M9 and MP5 slumped over on the feed to FNC’s alarm. A brief explanation given, alleviating concern. FNC laid the former Petit Couriers against the wall, then gluttonously tore into the Couriers’ pack, to MP5’s horror. 

 

“No... don’t...that was for G11...”

 

FNC had already devoured half of G11’s rum ice cream once the order was given to stop her. 

MDR and P7 repeated their tactics against the radar station’s ICE, albeit more efficiently, armed with the foreknowledge of what ICEbreakers were the most effective. Yet, the watch read 2352 when they seized control over the radar station. 

 

We will not make good time. 

 

Blinked. The laptop had blacked out again. Yellow box followed by a string of numbers.

Stop. Resumed. Symbol for Delta. 

 

ACCESS CODE

​

“Command to Dormouse! Sending you access code to Delta.”

 

Another radius lifted the fog of war, revealing the migrating Sangvis’ positions up to the collapsed passage into Subsector Four to the southwest of Delta. As predicted, they were massing to the southeast of the passage. They will make a push soon.

 

“Command to recon teams, make good speed to Delta, double time.”

 

Tapped on the command tablet. Team compositions awaiting finalisation. 

 

“Command to MG5, inform Kapitan Lebedev the mission is completed. I will grant them access to the radar station. I’m sending you team rosters. Inform Nivy and Danyil; have them arrange transportation for the listed Dolls still in base and the dummies. Then, have the Dolls stand by at the heliport and await deployment order.” 

 

“MG5 to Command, copy.”