1140

​

“Commander, hey~ Commander. Are you listening? You are listening, right?”

 

The watch read 1141. Blue blips had yet to emerge on the main screen. ETA fifteen minutes.

 

Sigh exhaled. Best get this over and done with before the operation begins. “What is it?”

 

MDR furrowed her brow. “You aren’t listening at all! As I was saying, don’t you think livestreaming would be a good way to showcase our stuff? Show people how awesome we are at our job. Boost the company’s recruitment drive! The big ‘C’ Company!” Her chest had swelled, and her grin had stretched to its widest extent. 

 

“You mean how awesome you are, MDR.” David, seated sideways on his swivel chair and resting his forearm on his keyboard, sighed and turned his gaze towards the false eyes. “She wants your permission to livestream our operation.”

​

“Please don’t,” Makarov rejected between sips on her teacup. 

 

“Oh, come on you guys! Don’t sabotage me! Davi-bro! I already promised I’ll let you tinker with my neural cloud however you want!”

 

David sighed again. “I never agreed to that promise. And by live streaming, she meant she will be broadcasting our engagements live as they happen, to who knows how many ‘fans’ she has.”

 

MDR was already pressing her index finger against her lips, waving desperately at the Signals specialist to stop. He, in response, had elected to ignore her.

 

“Suggestion denied. That is an OpSec violation.”

 

“To hell with that!” MDR threw her arms overhead. “I already promised Sasha! I thought you are big on keeping promises!” 

 

Pursed the lips, furrowed the brow. Promises must be kept, but not at the expense of OpSec. “You may broadcast the video after the operation...”

 

“After I edit everything important out of it.” David paused for a moment. “Thinking about it, you aren’t fighting out there. What’s even there to livestream?”

 

“Drone hovering over the AO, broadcasting the combat as it happens...” MDR’s face grew increasingly pallid with every word over the absurdity of her suggestion, interjected by Makarov. “Giving away intel on our force composition, our maneuvers and plans….”

 

“S-S-So!” the heterochromatic doll flailed her arms fitfully. “How about I livestream my cyberspace combat? That’s totes okay, right?”

 

David frowned. “...You can do that?” 

 

“Sure I can!” MDR attested, jabbing her thumb at her temple. “I had software installed in my neural cloud that lets me do that. Got it for years now, figured that I could air my adventures in a cyberspace project I signed up for.” She sighed, her eyes glazed, “Never get to use it, though. I remember there being that NDA….”

 

“And time contraction.” Makarov drained her cup and returned it to its tray.

 

“No problemo!” MDR shot her a thumbs-up. “I will only look cooler fighting in contracted time! I will move super-speed! Zoom-zoom like a shonen anime protagonist!” Beaming, she asked again, “How about it, Commander? A cyberwarfare livestream! No discernable landmarks! Had several layers of firewalls installed and updated just yesterday! Perfect isolation from Intruder’s shenanigans!”

 

“I’ve checked on those firewalls.” David drummed his fingers impatiently. “Definitely up to date, but that Hacker still breached them like they don’t exist. If they can do that, imagine what Intruder can do.”

 

“I swear! It’s always Hacker this and Hacker that!” MDR threw up her arms. “You said so yourself; you’ve never seen anyone do something like this! Whoever did that needed to have intimate knowledge of how our system works! And I don’t think Intruder even has that knowledge!”

 

“I still think...”

 

“Besides!” the doll turned her pointer finger towards the nose. “You are big on keeping promises, right? How could you make me let Sasha down like that!?” She immediately whipped out a card from her pouch and shoved it towards the false eyes; a photograph of a blissfully beaming Sasha, with MDR’s left arm around her shoulders and her right hand flashing a ‘V’ sign. She started jabbing her fingers at the Svarog forewoman. “Look at her smile! She’s totes looking forward to my re-debut livestream, you know?!” MDR affirmed with her pouting cheeks.

 

“If Intruder’s cyberattack leaks out of our network’s confines and endangers Sasha, her retinue and Svarog property, you will be held responsible. Do you understand this?”

 

“So the answer is ‘yes’?” MDR beamed brilliantly again, the photograph tucked behind her back.

 

“Are you even listening?” Makarov clinked her chinaware and scowled.

 

“Hey! Command! Team Skorpion to Command!” the headset buzzed. “We are approaching the AO!”

 

Swiveled the chair back towards the command console. Blue blips had lit up at the bottom of the main screen.

 

Pressed the headset button. “Command to all, commence operation.”

 

The truck lurched, the trailer’s connector groaned and creaked. The chopping wind abated. The blue blips continued their ascend like an upslope-flowing river. A shuffle, a clink, a dull thunk; Makarov had shifted closer to her samovar as MDR swung her legs onto the cradle. The blue doll placed her chinaware on the small table, rose and holstered her pistol as the black-garbed doll lifted her hair from her nape, plugged a cable into the neck-port and laid prone on the metal bed.

 

Machines whirled, and buttons clicked. Makarov hopped off the truck and trudged away from view.

 

The blue line continued to climb towards the bridge, then slowed to a gradual halt just before the crossing.

 

Deuces scanned their sectors, dolls engaged their charging handles. Micro-drones departed from their carriers and dispersed into the surrounding woods, clearing the fog of war on the main screen.

 

Blue clusters advancing on the Map, not a sign of red. The dolls peeked over their covers, guns held tightly in their grips, tense like tightly-wound springs.

 

The screen blurred, and static crept into the headset. “MDR!” David shouted into his mic. He frantically tapped a series of commands on his console. “Breach in Sector B! Port Twenty-Five Forty-Seven!”

 

Ears peaked; a husky voice had slithered through the earpiece. “What rude guests I am receiving, stopping just short of crossing my drawbridge.” The voice’s inflections suggested affront. 

 

On the static-filled screen, the dolls looked about in confusion.

 

The husky voice continued, “Regardless, I, Intruder, shall play the gracious host. Welcome, Grifon, to my Sanguine Theatre.” 

 

The dolls regained their focus and trained their guns towards the surrounding forest.

 

“Though not all guests are present, I shall tarry no longer. Let the curtains rise...” 

 

Red clusters erupted like rampant blisters on the monitor, enveloping the blue line. 

 

“...to the ovation of tolling bells!”

 

Muzzle flashes lit up the feeds. Dinergates flitted among the roots; scores gunned down, and scores more evaded destruction. Dragoons charged after them, firing and fired upon with every relentless stride. M14s and Simonovas discharged their rifles over their covers, not at the advancing Sangvis but at the Jaegers entrenched deeper in the woods.

 

In the second truck, P7 fretted fitfully as she wailed into her handheld radios. Although her call-outs seemingly fell on deaf ears, the dolls nonetheless turned their weapons and fired upon any targets of opportunity in response to her every cry.

 

Red dots winking out. Crimson tendrils pierced the shrinking gap. For each one struck down, three more advanced towards the blue line.

 

Pressed the headset’s button. The speakers spat statics. 

 

“MDR!” David yelled. “The communications node’s still red! What are you doing?!” 

 

“Ru- of you to int--vene while the prol-gue still unfolds-” Intruder’s voice slinked among the statics. “Be a good audi-nce and patiently await the heroines’ entrance.”

 

The static intensified. Skorpion, ducking behind her cover, frantically tapped her temple, shouting. Beside her, a fallen M14, her head a punctured mess of molten metal and silicon. Her dummies laid still, picked off by intensifying Jaeger volleys. 

 

That was the mainframe.

​

“They got Suleiman!”

​

Nails scraped against the console’s surface. 

 

“Damn smoke! Greyhair’s got us pinned!”

​

Simonova dummies struck down, one after the other. Dolls hunkered down under overwhelming fire, retaliating sporadically. 

 

Explosion. Statics. “Grenade’s got Muhammed!”

​

Gun shield spalled; debris struck Deuce.

 

Picked up the radio.

 

Spotlight shattered, machine gun silenced.

​

Red grinding against blue. Dinergates gnawing at the wheels. Dragoons crossing the northern bridge. Grifon signatures winking out.

 

Suleiman…Amir…Ahmed…Muhammed….

​

Pressed the button. Throat tight, constricted. Mouth felt dry.

​

“Cetin…Cetin...we are on our last legs. They did a number on us.”

​

“Makarov! Flare!” 

 

Overhead, a muffled pop. Chopping in the wind. 

 

Familiar voice crackled on the headset. “Y--- kept us waiting, ---mandant bâclé!” FAL fumed. She had answered the call, followed it up with a series of explosions. The detonations trimmed the red’s flanks. Then, blue dots appeared behind the red lines, five east and five west. 

 

“Team -AL! Still ha-- lots to do!” 

 

“Te-- SVD! H-nting!”

​

They plunged into the dust fog. Siskins 1 and 2 appeared from the south, joined them, then departed. Five became twenty-five. They scythed through the Sangvis’ flanks.

 

“Cut her access!” David shouted. “Now!” 

 

The static cleared. 

 

Gagged. Coughed. Heartache. Quivering throat. Spat into the mic. “Command to All! Hawk, strafe the bridge, mind the cliff. Rest, counterattack as planned.”

 

“What took you so long?!” Skorpion shouted, angered and relieved.

 

Smoke engulfed the trucks. Submachine-gunners leaped off the trucks, mowing down the Dinergates below. Riflewomen shot at Dragoons from their covers, P7 directing their fire. Dolls fully disembarked, charged from tree to tree. Simonovas, Fleurs and Deuces covered their advance. Red crushed between blue; northern Dragoons retreated across the bridge. 

 

Sigh exhaled. Shaking hands, aching heart. Groaning lungs, shallow breaths. Cold sweat on the brow. Retrieved the ampoule from the tin box.

 

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. 

 

Jabbed the needle into the arm.

​

​

​

1305

​

Blinding sparks melted steel over steel. Battle damage scabbed over, rubber sloughed off their warped rims as their nuts untightened. The guards fastened fresh wheels in place, retracted the jack and carried away the ladder. They signalled at the Deuce dummy perched atop the vehicle. The engine coughed, the wounded truck lurched, then cruised towards the bridge’s mouth.  

 

Just beyond the bridge loomed the wind-hewn cliff, ridged by a winding road. Pin-prick red glittered among the snow-capped rocks like blood stars piercing the battlefield smog. To the right, southwards, a narrow mesa cast its grim shadow.

 

A natural battlement. A natural tower. Crashing river below a natural moat.

 

The tides ebbed and flowed. Sea salt in the air. 

​

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. 

 

No muzzle flares from distant rifles, no booms of howitzers, no whistling of mortars, no roars of machine-gun turrets. What are they waiting for?

​

Not the Channel, not the Bosphorus. 

 

Final exhale. Looked away. Biting chill gnawed at the bones and stump connecting steel with flesh. Circled the truck, stepped on the trailer’s link, and climbed onto the bed. Slumped on the chair. Rubbed the hands together, picked up the flask, and drank the coffee. 

 

Gun trucks formed a bowl-shaped barricade before the bridge. The one on the road was staggered behind, a recess in the bowl, ready to clear Sebastien’s path upon his approach.

A single blue blip by the cliff’s edge on Grifon’s side of the river, northeast of the forward base. Svet rangefinding for the hellcannons. 

 

The flask cap clinked beside the command tablet. M14’s name greyed out, plucked from Team Skorpion’s roster. In her place, FN-49’s name glowed a dull green.

 

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

​

“Why is it so gloomy here? It’s like we didn’t win the last battle.” Skorpion peeking in from outside. “C’mon, guys. Cheer up!” she said as she hopped into the vehicle. 

 

David grunted. He ceased typing, leaned against his chair and rested his palms against his eyes. Sighing, he replied, “MDR could barely take Intruder on. We are trying to fix that.”

 

“Drop me a ‘like’ already, Davi-bro,” the aforementioned doll broke her silence. Looking up from her phone, she added, “I did manage to beat Intruder….” 

 

“Took you too long to beat one Intruder and her ICEbreakers.” David sighed again, then resumed typing. “You need to do better.”

 

Skorpion pulled up Makarov’s stool and retrieved a ration pack from her pouch. She inquired as she uncapped it, “So, whatcha doing now?”

 

MDR emptied her glass of water and then resumed tapping on her phone. “For now, flaming the commenters. Can you believe what they said about my stream? Video game! Paid actors! Staged scenes! The nerve of them!” Her tapping intensified; she was fuming. “They have no respect at all! I’m giving them a piece of my mind! Then, I’m going back to rehearsal! Prep for my next stream!” She pointed at the cable dangling from her nape. 

 

“She’s been going through the sims I prepared based on our server logs,” David interjected. “With time contraction. She had accumulated about half a day’s worth of practice.” 

 

Skorpion kicked her feet up and down as she suckled on her meal. “David, what’s with all that clickity-clack? I can hear it from outside, y’know.” 

 

“Improving our ICE. Namely, optimising Tripwire subroutines to detect and identify port breaches in one millisecond. Cyberspace time, I mean. Then, there’s identifying and patching firewall vulnerabilities, modifying attack programs’ algorithms. And there is still that issue with the ‘second’ Intruder...”

 

“There is a second Intruder, Davi-bro!” 

​

“I know! Stop calling me that!”

 

“And Cetin, don’t say you are ‘doing fine’,” Skorpion narrowed her gaze at the false eyes. “I saw you outside wearing that look again! How are you really doing?”

 

Inhaled. Exhaled. “Still processing the last battle.”

 

She opened and closed her mouth, then furrowed her brow. “...M14?” 

 

Nodded slowly.

 

Skorpion pursed her lips and drank her meal. There was a sealed wound on her left rib. Grievous. Though she had tucked her elbow over it, it was still too large to be hidden. “Her core’s fine. So she’s going to remember being shot,” she said. “Pierre shipped it back to Nivy’s place along with the resupply helicopters.”

 

“...I see.” Inhaled. Exhaled. “How was she overcome so quickly?”

 

Skorpion knitted her brow and nictated. “She tried to shoot at Dinergates. Had to look over our cover to do it.” 

 

“Ahah! Funny face!” MDRʼs phone camera flashed at Skorpion. “Thumbnail material!”

 

“Hey!” the yellow doll reached out for the device, and the heterochromatic doll leaned it out of her reach. “Delete that!”

 

“Noh! It’s funny! ‘Doll Ration Taste Test!’ Getto!” 

 

Cleared the throat loudly. Yet, Skorpion and MDR continued their scuffle. “M14 is supposed to clear her sector of Jaegers.”

 

“She said she already cleared it.” Skorpion had climbed over MDR while swiping at the waving phone. “Must have been shot by Jaegers from another! Sector! Or! Reinforcements!” She had planted her palm against MDR’s right cheek to lengthen her reach. Yet she swatted at empty air, her opponent having swept her phone downwards to foil her. “You are squishing my cheeks!” the black-garbed doll complained as she whipped her device away from Skorpion’s snatching grasp. “Gedoff!”

 

“Delete that photo! You could have taken a selfie! Eat the rations and take a selfie!”

 

“Nada! I ain’t eating rations and living in pods! I’m gucci with generator juice!”

 

“Oi!” David snapped. “Don’t waste our power!” 

 

“Makarov to Command!” the radio crackled suddenly. “Flare! Southeast!”

 

MDR immediately fell limp. Skorpion rolled off the cradle and sprang out of the truck. David flipped a switch and started typing frantically. 

 

Blue blips at the indicated corner of the main screen; Team M4A1 had entered the AO. 

 

“Command to All! Battle stations!"

​