Chapter 10

1812

“Command to Team FAL, no more hostiles on the screen. Return to base.”

“Team FAL to Command. Understood.” The blue blips started moving south-westwards from the edge of Hevhj environs. “We are on our way.”

Crumbling rubble from beyond the walls. A pause from the radio. 

“Commander, are you at Southern Checkpoint A?”

Another pause.

“Right. Tell Madame Springfield to prepare us something sumptuous for dinner. I want a cup of soufflé.”

“Oh! Oh! I want what FAL’s having!” 

FAL sighed. “FAL to BAR.” A pregnant pause. “Shut up!” She chided sharply. She then took a deep breath and exhaled, “Team FAL to Command. Out.” The radio fell silent.

Steel shrieked outside. Stale air expelled. Slid the command tablet into the pouch. The stitching ached as the true leg limped out into the light.

A pink comet streaked past the door. “Papasha!” Sudaev cried. She was holding a metal tray. “Papasha!” She stopped behind her sister, aboard her Power Loader. 

Papasha twisted a lever, and the machine shuffled right. She lowered it, and the machine crouched down.  

“I’ve brought chay!” Sudaev cried again, louder, trying to be heard despite the hydraulic hisses and actuator creaks. 

The car’s frame shrieked under the crushing grip of mechanical pincers. 

“Papasha!” Sudaev circled to the left side of the Loader. “Sestra!” A dull clang. She had kicked the machine’s leg. Papasha jumped, the wreckage crashed onto the cobbled street. Sudaev thrust the tray upwards. “Sestra!” she cried insistently. “Chay!”

False eyes turned towards cobbles. Oleksiy fell somewhere in the vicinity. Could not pinpoint the exact spot. There was...

“No blood?” Lev sipped on his flask. “If you are looking for blood, there isn’t any to be found.” 

Another sip. 

“Sangvis energy weapons. Cauterise wounds. Not any more merciful than bullets, however, considering...” He exhaled, wrinkled his nose, then emptied his flask with a single gulp. After corking his bottle, he gestured towards the church tower. “Come on,” he said. “It’s almost dinner time.”

“Later.”

Sun...still so high up the sky, quite some distance away from the mountain-peaks. 

“...Later.”

Lev scratched his chin. “I suppose I have time.”

Hissing hydraulics. Papasha, having finished her tea, had resumed her task. Sudaev, riding the machine with the teacup and the tray in hand, swung her legs. 

​

​

​

1907

​

"I've heard about Stefan and Oleksiy," said Grigori, after consuming a spoonful of soufflé. "Awww, Griga," grinned Dimas cheekily, while digging into his own cup of the dish. "Is this the part where you call Oleksiy a 'good man'?"

Grigori frowned. He opened his mouth, and Nagant slapped Dimas at the back of his head. "Cheeky Dimas!" she reprimanded, "you are rude to the deceased!" 

Lev snorted. The soufflé crumbled between the teeth. The flakes and the baked flour tasted strongly of eggs with a hint of carrot. 

Grigori sighed. "No, he's an incessant grumbler, but that's beside the point." 

A sip on the tea. Tasted of cinnamon. Skorpion made a mess, crumbs all around her mouth. She looked up, blinked, tilted her head slightly to her right before Sturmgewehr twisted her face towards herself and scrubbed her mouth. 

"Does he have family?"

"A father," Lev replied as he stabbed his fork into his meal. "Never talks about him, however."

"They are estranged," Grigori clarified. "Anton Antonovych. Old history professor. You probably saw his books. Never wanted Oleksiy to join the military, as I understand."

"You know the man?" Lev asked. 

Grigori swallowed his bite. "No. Not really." He drank his tea. "I only read his book, and heard Oleksiy’s grumblings about him, is all."

Another mouthful crumbled between the teeth. Flakes scraped the tongue, tea washed them down the throat. 

"Perchance you know his address?"

"Don't bother visiting." Grigori chewed on and swallowed down another mouthful. "Anton disowned him for joining the military. Didn't change his stance when he wound up in Grifon instead. Doubt he's happy seeing any of us turn up to deliver the news. Besides…" He pointed at the Grifon patch on my shoulder. "Old Kryuger would have sent a condolence letter anyway." 

He sighed. "I'm more worried about Stefan." He then glanced towards the serving counter. Sten's smile masked her frustration. FNC had returned to pester her. Springfield at the back, bathed in the oven's glow. "And Springfield." 

"Stefan will live," Lev assured before drinking his tea. "Whether he comes back is another story." He looked towards M14's table. She was very quiet, despite being jostled about by a merrymaking SVD. "I'm more worried about M14. She's grown attached to him over the past week." 

FAL, frowning, stood up and strutted towards the snipers. A few words, SVD lifted her arms away from M14's shoulder and sulked. 

"As for Springfield..." Lev looked towards the serving counter. Springfield hunched forward while placing her tray of baked goods onto the serving counter. Sten jumped, FNC scampered away. She was wearing a frozen smile. "Give her time." 

"...How long has she been in Grifon?"

Lev rubbed his chin. "She was here before I joined up." 

"...I see…" 

"She's from the first batch of second gens assigned to Grifon." Grigori stabbed his fork into his cup. "Back then, Grifon had more troopers like us performing frontline duty." He lifted the baked chunk towards his eyes to inspect it. "Any T-Doll on active duty worked in mixed squads. You can imagine." He closed his teeth around the fork. 

"As I said, give her time." Lev drank his tea. "She will be back to her usual self, soon enough. More importantly…" dark brown eyes, transfixed towards my position, "...how are you holding up?"

Grigori glanced back and forth towards Lev, then myself. Dimas watched silently, though he was tensed like a curious yet cautious cat. Nagant's reproachful glares, directed at him, had no effect. Skorpion slurped on her tea loudly, though her single eye was fixed onto us. 

"I'm fine." 

Eggs, carrot, crumbled crust, washed down by the cinnamon flood.

Lev narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that, Fox. Tell us."

"Did I miss something here?" Grigori asked. 

Lev drank his tea, then remarked, "Look at his face. Did you see anything out of the ordinary there?"

"When you pointed it out, he looks…" Grigori leaned forward, rubbing his chin. He regarded me with studious eyes. "...I think he looks a little pale."

"He's been like this since he saw Oleksiy's body." Lev stabbed his fork into his cup again. "I even found him skulking around Southern Checkpoint A, where Oleksiy fell, staring at the ground."

"Give me time." Inhaled, exhaled, drank tea.

​

​

​

2300

​

A swollen pain throbbed in the true thigh. Back tingled by the eerie blue. 

Muscles strained to straighten the spine. A muffled clink. The false palm had tapped against a filled jug, nestled between the shot glass and the Smirnoff bottle. Nictated the false eyes; fluids had welled under the true eyelid. Pressure unevenly distributed onto the table; a tablet pressed under the false hand. 

Compacted flour scraped against the rough tongue, its passage carried by the chilly flood. 

Swollen pain continued to throb. The true leg refused to budge. 

Head rolled back, eyes towards the blank ceiling. Looked to the right. Cables ran along the bottom of the dirt wall, behind Skorpion’s chair, towards the rusted iron gate. 

The skull rocked forward, the spine groaned. Blank screen to my left, paper below my chin, displaying my Cyrillic scrawls. Plastic pen laid at the bottom right. 

Sweat upon the brow, the forehead felt feverish. Twitching and trembling in the false hand. 

The laptop lit up. Linen sheets, striped by the broken sun.

​

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Accidents happen. Mistakes happen. You can’t plan for everything.” 

Demir...Kadir...Timur...Zoltan…

Dust flecks rose from their bloodied sheets, rose into the broken light, like souls sundered from their mortal shells.

Living brothers, died on behest of a corpse. 

​

Oleksiy’s address refracted by the near-empty bottle, its distorted words melding with the red logo. 

Picked up the paper, read it twice, folded it and tucked it under the laptop. 

The throbbing subsided. The chair creaked. Aching in the stitchings as I passed Skorpion’s chair, towards the iron gate, up the steps. Blue light caressed my false cheek. 

Three T-Dolls and a guardsman gathered around a chessboard. FMG-9 shot up from her seat and saluted. Blunt end of her pen pressed against her forehead. “Boss,” she greeted.   Skorpion turned around and waved vigorously. Ingram nodded and resumed scraping her knife against a sharpening stone. Bohdan raised his eyes. “Commander,” he grunted. He then returned to his study of the chessboard.

“You really should go back to sleep,” advised Skorpion, insistently. 

“I am well-rested.”

The loud clack on the board caught her attention. She froze up upon assessing the situation on the board. FMG-9 snickered and scribbled into her notebook. 

“Carry on.”

“Aye, Boss.” FMG-9 gave an informal salute. She resumed spectating the match.

Tiss hurried past, either to witness the battle of wits or to disturb FMG-9. BAR yawned and rested her forehead on her folded arms. FAL snapped her novel shut. “Come on,” she said as she got up and circled around the bench. “This isn’t the right place to sleep.”

BAR whined as she was forcefully marched towards the exit. 

“Ah, Commander.” Sten put down her folded-up apron and glided towards the counter. She beamed, “It’s already past last order, but I can make you an exception. Anything you want?” She gestured at the shrink-wrapped aluminium tray to her left. 

Behind her, Springfield scrubbed a lunch tray. Her eyes were unfocused, lost in thought. 

Sten, standing behind the serving tray, waited expectantly. 

“A brownie.” 

She blinked. Her smile trembled with uncertainty. “Brownie, Sir?”

A slow nod. 

The plates clattered. Sten had almost tripped and scattered them all over. She righted herself, picked up one of the skewed dishes, then tore the plastic wrappings and retrieved the desired pastry. A bang. Sten, startled, spun around. Springfield had placed a large steel pot onto the table and was about to scrub it. Timidly, she inched towards the serving counter and thrust the plate forward. 

“Here’s your brownie, Sir.” 

Another slow nod. The plate held firmly in my hands. Within it, a square pastry, coloured in deep brown. 

Sten glanced at Springfield nervously before straightening the pillar of plastic plates. 

“She hasn’t improved, has she?”

Sten leaned forward and, with one palm against her mouth, replied, “No, Commander, she’s still the same.” She glanced back again. Springfield had tilted the pot towards her. Her smile was hidden, her motion forceful, effortful. “She’s putting too much effort and focus into this. This isn’t normal,” Sten continued concernedly. “She’s barely paying any attention to anything outside of kitchen-work. It’s like she’s trying to lose herself.” 

A sigh escaped my throat. 

“Sten.” 

She waited, expectantly. 

“Do you have any pending tasks?”

She blinked again. “Oh, no,” she shook her head. “I was about to turn in for the night.”

“I see. Carry on with that plan.” 

Sten tilted her head slightly, indicating her befuddlement. She caught herself and nodded frantically. “Aye, Sir,” she said with a stiff smile.

​

​

2330

​

The charge of the Black Knights marked the end of the conflict between Skorpion and Bohdan. Skorpion hung her head back and groaned aloud. Upon hearing a hint of a giggle, she turned to glare at FMG-9 and Tiss. 

FMG-9 shook her head and scribbled into her notebook. Tiss looked on with a cheeky grin. Skorpion slowly looked down, her face flushed. She then turned towards me and demanded, with puffed cheeks, “Cetin! Show Bohdan what’s what!” 

Bohdan perked up, eyes glittering with interest. “Always wanted a match with an officer.” He picked up a discarded black pawn and clacked it against the board. “What say you, Sir? A round?” 

The head shook. “I do not know chess.”

Bohdan arched his brows. “Really? Isn’t chess the officer’s pastime?”

“That’s a cliche.” 

Bohdan levelled his brow. “...Huh.” 

“Ehhh,” Ingram groaned. “How boring.” She sounded disappointed. 

“Why are you disappointed? You didn’t understand anything throughout the match,” said FMG-9 as she snapped her notebook shut. “Hey, hey, FMG-9,” Ingram scoffed. “I can tell when someone’s winning.” 

FMG-9 sighed. “So can a football newbie spectating the World Cup, and she won’t enjoy it. Well,” she got up from her bench and gave a salute, “I’m returning to the barracks. Have a good night, Boss.”

“See you tomorrow, Kommandir.” Tiss saluted before hurrying after FMG-9. FMG-9, upon detecting Tiss closing the distance, lengthened her strides. 

With two broad strokes, Bohdan swept his pieces into the underside of his chessboard. They mingled in the enclosure, heedless of allegiance or hierarchy. The Black Knight lay beside the White Pawn, the White Queen lay beside the Black King, all buried together as the board snapped shut. 

Bohdan nodded respectfully before returning to his post. Ingram, having done sharpening her knife, departed next. Only three remained in the Mess Hall; Skorpion, still on the bench in front of me, Springfield, at the table closest to the serving counter, staring at nothing in particular with a cup of steaming tea at hand, and myself. 

“Are you going to talk to Springfield?” Skorpion asked suddenly. Noting my silence, she frowned, knitted her brow and continued, with a chiding tone, “Are you going to scold her about Oleksiy?”

“No.”

Her expression softened.

“I’ll only converse with her.” 

A cheek raised, china-blue eye narrowed. “I’m joining you.” 

Upon hearing our closing footsteps, Springfield removed her palm from her left cheek and greeted us with a warm, gentle smile. 

“Are you thinking about Oleksiy?”

Her smile wavered, like sun-rays choked by coalescing storm-clouds. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice tinged with weary melancholy. She breathed a sigh, recomposed herself, then offered us tea. Its peppermint scent rose to fill the nostrils, though its flavour had yet to wet the tongue. Skorpion, brim to her mouth, glanced at the both of us then produced a loud slurp.

Springfield had returned to staring at an empty spot on the weathered wall.

“I’ve heard.”

No response.

“About what happened.” 

Her tea had cooled.

Skorpion’s teacup clinked against its saucer. She got up to retrieve the pot sitting on the middle of the table. 

Springfield removed her palm from her cheek and grasped her elbow. “I’m sorry about what I did,” she said. She wasn’t smiling. “I know...what I did wasn’t helpful.” 

The teaware clinked again. Skorpion looked at the both of us warily as she lowered herself onto the bench. 

“I should have stayed on the roof, covered for Stefan while he retrieves Oleksiy. Instead, I…”

“This isn’t like you.”

She sighed. “I know.” 

She drank her tea. A frown formed on her lips as she set the ceramic container onto its saucer. 

“This isn’t the first time, is it?”

Skorpion had gotten up and refilled Springfield’s cup.

“Losing a comrade?”

“No.” She inhaled deeply, unaffected by the fresh peppermint scent. “No, it’s not.” 

“...I see.” 

Skorpion sat down and stared at her teacup. 

“It’s been almost a decade, hasn’t it? You being with Grifon?”

Springfield returned her gaze back towards the empty spot on the wall. Skorpion shifted her attention back at the elder T-Doll. With another weary sigh, Springfield replied, “I hadn’t been on the field for three years.”

Her fingers clawed at her teacup, turning it around. “It wears you down, you know.” A smile reformed on her lips, a smile without warmth. One of gentle melancholy, like a drizzle over the sun-soaked plains. “Orders barked through the Zenner, the ringing in the right ear…”

She lowered her gaze into her teacup. 

“The last cries of absent friends.” 

She raised her head, her jade green eyes met Skorpion’s. The younger T-Doll cocked her head, signalling her confusion. 

​

“...Human friends.” 

​

Skorpion’s eye widened. The peppermint scent faded. 

“...I understand.”

The rueful smile deepened. “I will be fine. I just need a night. You, however…” 

“...Give me time.”

She closed her eyes and nodded slightly. 

“As long as we are here, this isn’t going to end.” 

The lukewarm tea doused the throat in weak peppermint flavour. 

“For you, it will be harder.” 

She was looking at Skorpion. Skorpion, her brow knitted and her lips pursed, stared at her teacup.

“I know.” 

Springfield sighed again. “When the time comes…” Her eyes hardened as they bore into me. “...I hope you have the strength to give the order.” 

​

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​

+1 Day 0020

​

Altair, Deneb and Vega twinkled on the heavens above, unburdened by the tribulations on the earth below. The cold, dry wind carried with it the stench of battle, recently passed. Melted plastic, burned metal, ignited gunpowder. Footsteps trampled the dust-coated cobbles, one set lively, the other weary. 

The lively one drew close, its rhythm punctuated by a bump into the true arm. 

Turned around, looked into her single eye. It twinkled with starry light. 

The breeze picked up, the dry leaves rustled. 

“Cetin.” Skorpion knitted her brow. “I have been thinking about what Springfield said and…” Her voice lowered, her tone cautious, “Do you have absent friends too?” 

The odour of dusty ashes filled the nostrils, invaded the lungs. 

​

Suleiman, Demir, Hasan…

Captain.

​

“Yes, I do.”

“You are wearing that look again,” Skorpion said. “It’s that same look Springfield had, and the same one you had in the medical bay.”

“...What look?”

She lowered her eye. “It’s a sad look...no...it’s sadder than sad…but Cetin,” she raised her eyes again, “I have lost friends too. I cried, I felt sad too, especially when I thought of Sturmgewehr while she was gone and...of my former commander but...it didn’t feel like yours or Springfield’s.”

The knees bent, the stitching throbbed, the lungs filled with bitter ashes. 

“Skorpion…” Fingers both false and true grasped her little shoulders. 

“Sometimes, things happen, things so terrible they leave a mark. Burn into memories, scar the soul. Wounds so deep and grievous they will never heal. Such wounds, they will hurt without warning. Even the lightest brush may bring such searing pain, like flesh freshly flensed, despite the years.” 

Her eye widened.

“Are...are these the phantoms?” 

The neck creaked, the head bobbed. She lowered her eye, her cheek slightly puffed. “So...the pain haunts you like a ghost?” She raised her head and said, softly, “But I..I thought that time heals all wounds.”

“Not always.”

“I don’t understand…”

A strain on the true cheek. Burning in the false eyes. The nostrils burned, the lungs emptied of acrid dust.

“I pray you never do.” 

The strain eased, hands off her shoulder, straightened the knees. 

“It’s getting late. You should return to the barracks.” 

Skorpion cocked her head slightly to the right and blinked. “No, I’m not going back.”

“Isn’t Sturmgewehr waiting for you?”

“She’s asleep, Cetin,” Skorpion cracked a mischievous grin. “She sleeps at ten pm. I waited for her to turn in, then got up from bed again.” 

True palm planted on the forehead. The neck twisted, left to right. 

“I can handle another late-night shift just fine!” she declared with undeserved pride. 

“No. No, you can’t.” 

The palm lowered. 

“You were barely able to keep your back straight three days ago. You had to be carried back from the Northern Cliffside.” 

“It’s not too much trouble, is it?” Skorpion inquired insistently, with a light skip. 

“You weigh thirty kilograms more than you look.”

The torso flinched, the false toes dug into the dirt. Her kick’s impact reverberated up to the hips. Skorpion glared angrily, with a puffed cheek. 

“I’m not heavy!” she cried, then stomped away towards the rows of reoccupied houses. 

​

​

​

We took casualties yesterday.

One dead, one wounded.

Oleksiy and Stefan. 

Springfield and M14 were most affected by their loss.

Springfield held herself responsible for Oleksiy’s death. Spent the entire evening ruminating about it. What she should have done...

Reminiscing on her past failures. 

...

M14...she worries for Stefan. Fears he might not return again. I told her to embolden his spirit. Maybe that would aid in his recovery, I cannot say.

…

T-Dolls with heart. 

...

Quite unlike the cold machines which had cut us down so mercilessly.

…

416 and Ingram brought us victory. Brought Executioner low and recovered M4. 416 promised and delivered. Ingram’s confidence was vindicated. 

…

Didn’t feel like a victory. 

…

|Drinks|

The victory was soured the moment I saw Hassan. 

You remember Hassan.

…

Maybe you don’t. You were different then. 

…

|Drinks|

When Skorpion’s dummy fell, it was his ruptured countenance I saw. Flashed with the Jaeger’s discharge, like lightning from a cloudless sky.   

...

Demir, Kadir, Timur, Zoltan...I saw them too. 

…

|Drinks|

I have penned a letter to Oleksiy’s father and will have it delivered in the next supply delivery. Griga advised against it but… it is my responsibility.

Once we return to the FOB, I will look into organising his funerary wake, assuming neither Grigori nor Lev has made any plans for it. 

…

|Drinks|