1900

​

The coffee puddle sloshed about at the bottom of the thermos cap. The tremors had grown. Sebastien’s arms had retracted, having laid down the last concrete segment. The radio beeped. “Bridge’s all rebuilt now. Just a final round of inspections, and it’s good to go.”

 

Another half-hour more before the convoy is cleared to cross.

 

“I see.”

 

“You see?” Sasha sounded infuriated. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say after all the shots Sebastien had taken? Don’t you have anything else to say? Like a simple ‘sorry’?”

 

A dull thunk from the truck’s entrance; Makarov had placed her refilled samovar on the truck bed before boarding the vehicle. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the casualties you’ve taken, Tovarisch Sasha?” she said as she lifted the container again and heaved it towards the crate in the far-left corner.

​

“The only casualty we have taken is Sebastien’s paint job.”

 

The truck shook again. Makarov pushed the samovar’s red switch before sitting on the chair between the improvised tea table and the command console. “Indeed. And I wonder why that is? Shouldn’t you be thanking Tovarisch Kommandir for that?”

​

“Fixing all these dents, scorch marks and that crack on my windshield is costlier than replacing doll mainframes.” Sebastien inched gradually from the cliff, his pace glacial. “Not to sound heartless, but our job being what it is, we stocked up at least two backup mainframes for each doll before every expedition.” A second of silence. “Shouldn’t we get some kind of compensation? We were shot at, you know. Sebastien’s hurt!”

 

The micro-drone hovered over the Segmental Bridge Builder. The northwestward-facing side of the behemoth was grievously scarred.

 

“Say something!”

 

“Hear her out, Kommandir,” Makarov stated as she placed a kettle atop her samovar. “You are the great diplomat, aren’t you?” She was smirking, clearly amused.

​

Sigh exhaled. “What do you have in mind, Sasha?”

 

Another second of silence. “...Kuro’s stream has been offline for the past two hours...”

 

“Oh,” Makarov exclaimed mockingly. “So you admit to slacking off in the middle of work.”

 

“W-what? H-how dare you! Just because Sebastien can plot out and execute workflows himself doesn’t mean…I…I-I have to evaluate survey data…Need I remind you that we were shot at?”

 

“Which stopped four hours ago,” said Makarov, her chair creaking.

 

“That still scared me off joining Kuro’s post-stream chat! Is Kuro there right now? What’s she doing?”

 

Makarov glanced at the cradle. MDR was frantically tapping away on her phone. Her eyes were wide, pupils narrowed, lips twisted into a fierce scowl. Her posture hasn’t changed since she disconnected from cyberspace two hours ago.

 

Inhaled. Exhaled. Drank up the last mouthful of coffee and screwed the cap onto the thermos. 

 

“She’s...currently ‘flaming’ on her phone.”

 

“Let me talk to her!”

 

“One moment,” Makarov interjected as she snatched the radio and tossed it at the e-war doll. “You lil!” MDR swore aloud. Yet, despite her surprise, she deftly bounced the radio about before catching the device firmly. She spoke, her tone changed entirely, “Hai hai! Kuro here! Wassup, Sasha?”

​

The clock ticked steadily, and the eastward-pointing shadow grew ever longer. The red clusters still remained on the hill behind the black wall. Kuro and Sasha’s inane chatter dragged on to David’s chagrin. Makarov had refilled her cup for the fifth time. Steam ceased to rise from the teacup beside the keyboard.

 

The texts on the notebook could not progress beyond ‘Dear Leopold’s family’. The ink blot multiplied, and the lines broke. Makarov caught her samovar before it tipped over. Sebastien and the rest of the Svarog convoy had passed us by. “Anyway, we’ve cleared the bridge now,” Sasha proclaimed. 

 

The watch read ‘19:42’.

 

“The Kommandir’s listening, right? Remember what I said earlier. Cross one at a time; the concrete hasn’t fully set yet. So, Kuro, when’s the next stream?” 

​

MDR announced her reply, “Aha, for that, you are going to have to tune into my stream schedule announcement next week!”

 

Makarov banged on the driver-side wall. The engines growled to life.

 

“Make sure to like, subscribe and follow my social media account! You can find the address at the end of my chat stream video! Ja ne!” She deactivated the radio and tossed it towards the command console.

​

The false hand caught the device. Makarov spoke, “You sure have a lot of stamina talking for so long like that.” After setting her samovar straight, she poured her sixth cup of tea. “And you are being too nice. I thought you market yourself with your utter rudeness to your audience.”

 

“Oi! Oi! I can be seiso!” MDR declared as she picked up her phone. “Besides, gotta build that exclusive parasocial relationship. She's gonna talk about how I’m actually a very nice gal off-stream. Build up that gap moe image.” There was a devious quality behind her smile. “Gap moe’s very trendy, y’know. The audience’s gonna love it. Lap it all up, even. Imagine my subscriber count once Sasha posted about it on her social media.”

​

David cleared his throat. “I’m still going to moderate your content, by the way.”

 

“You can’t moderate my channel’s growth, Davi-bro!”

 

David shook his head and resumed staring at his screen. 

 

The command truck lurched. The convoy reformed on the road. The front-most gun-truck began its creeping approach. Its front wheels crossed the abutment. The bridge held steady. The vehicle continued its creeping advance towards the midpoint.

 

Sangvis clusters streamed out of the gate on the northwestern hill.

 

“Command to All. Sangvis assault imminent."

 

Siskins 1 and 2 rapidly closed towards the cliff. They stopped over the river and turned. MG5, SVD and their dummies (one for each) took aim and fired upon the first half-dozen Dragoons to emerge.

 

The skirmishers stumbled, throwing off their passengers. More emerged and were gunned down just as swiftly. 

 

The hellcannons quietly awaited their quarries, yet none crossed no man’s land.

 

Two shots loosed onto the truck. Not enough to cripple the vehicle. The Jaegers who had fired upon it did not disembark from the Dragoons. They retreated north-east, their dots on the screen showing them making a turn for another pass.

 

Three more Jaegers discharged their weapons before they were neutralised. Again, the snipers did not disembark.

 

The red clusters were concentrated along the cliff’s edge. Hit and run tactics. She had the Jaegers hang onto the sprinting Dragoons, their task to interfere with the crossing.

 

Activated the radio, tuned to Lev’s frequency. “Command to Perseids, fire upon coordinates…” Stopped. The device was filling the command truck with statics.

 

“Shit!” David swore. He looked at his console and exclaimed again. “Shit! Our signal booster’s still tuned to Zenner!”

​

Pressed the headset’s button. “Command to Svet! Inform Lev of these firing coordinates!”

 

The northwestward-facing Deuce ceased firing and fell on the truck’s bed. Another Jaeger shot struck one of the front wheels, slowing the vehicle to a crawl.

 

Distant thunder followed by an explosion over the cliff. Alyona and Branka missed their targets while Viktoriya struck true. The impact decimated the first rank of Dragoons and cast the hitch-hiking Jaegers into the dammed river below. The Sangvis behind their destroyed comrades reared back, halted in their tracks. They swiftly fell prey to Team SVD’s fire. 

 

Another volley landed and wiped out one-third of the skirmishers. The survivors turned tail and fled for the Sangvis base. Intruder began the raid with at least a hundred Dragoons and Jaegers; she ended it with ten each remaining. Yet, her retreat was not in defeat but in triumph. 

 

The targeted truck was crippled; the front wheels shot off, the armoured windshield penetrated, smoke poured from its hood and grilles. It had stopped mere inches away from the cliffside road.

 

Half-a-minute. Merely half a minute of communications disruption. That was all she required for her scheme to succeed. 

 

Sigh exhaled. The tea wetting the tongue was chilly. Another hour before dusk. Perhaps she intended to launch a night raid before we could complete the relocation of our forward base. 

 

Dummy losses, readily replenished. Lost time, however, cannot be regained. Inhaled. Exhaled. Contacted Papasha and Sudaev; they would pilot the loader across the bridge to tow the crippled vehicle to the village below the cliff. Kept Siskins 1 and 2 airborne in the event of another Sangvis raid.

​

​

​

2030

​

Red star ignited over the dusk sky, bathing the battered land in its sanguine glow. Intruder’s soldiers bared on the main screen, but her schemes remained concealed. Red clusters behind black walls, dispersed rather than congealed, non-indication of an imminent night raid. 

 

Dormant Sangvis hidden within blasted craters dotting the land? No, they were too shallow. Moreover, the manoeuvre to conceal them there would have been noticed by the lookouts stationed on this plateau. Perhaps she deemed the falling night too inopportune for an attack? What was she waiting for? 

 

North-eastern pass…Sangvis reinforcements? 

 

Brief Team FAL: have them scout ahead once the flare has faded. For the moment, picked up the radio. “Makarov, wait another half-hour, then launch another flare.”

 

“Da, Toravisch Kommandir,” she replied, clear as the starlit sky. “In return, deliver us our meals. I know Gospozha Springfield brought a cooking pot and half the pantry along for this expedition.”

​

Closed the mouth and frowned. Inhaled and exhaled. Springfield had overestimated our capabilities; she had expected us to triumph by nightfall. 

 

“Only MREs tonight. We cannot afford to drop our guard. Stay alert.” 

 

“That so?” she replied, her tone sardonic. 

 

Inhaled and exhaled again. Not the time to confront Springfield. Team FAL required briefing, and M4 required debriefing. Picked up the command tablet, let the chilly breeze into the truck. David glanced aside while MDR made a face. Both silently consumed their MRE.

 

Boots crunched brass into snow. Skorpion and Sop II smiled brilliantly in the twilight.

 

“Cetin/Commander!” they giddily greeted. “Took you long enough!”

 

Sop II’s right claw was missing its usual scratches. Pointed at it, inquired, “New?” 

 

“Yeah!” Sop II affirmed while brandishing her new arm. She then pointed at the Sangvis carcasses, piled up and reduced to parts. “It’s a Guard’s shield arm! Stronger than a Ripper’s! So!” Her ruby eyes twinkled. “You saw it right! You saw how I beat Scarecrow, right?”

 

“Yes, I have witnessed it.”

 

“So?” She grinned expectantly. “What do you think? Did I do good?”

 

She had flung shells and wrecks at the ringleader, crushed her mask with her rifle stock, decapitated her, and detached her head from her lower jaw. 

 

Savage. Bestial.

 

“...You did good.”

 

“Fistbump?” Sop II trembled giddily as she showed her clenched Sangvis fist. After receiving her desired reward, she vociferated, “Anyway! That was awesome!”

 

“...What was?”

 

“That boom boom you made when I fought Scarecrow!” She waved her arms excitedly. “Bam! Dragoons gone! That’s so cool! What did you do? How did you do it?”

 

“...That was P7.”

 

“Really?” She turned her gaze towards P7, who froze up while clambering aboard the command truck. “Really?!” Sop II hollered as she pounced at P7, who leapt atop the vehicle with a single bound. “Commander, you jerk!” the cat nun cried as the feral doll hopped about trying to reach her.

 

“Oi!” Skorpion pouted, her brow furrowed. “What about the rest of us, huh? We worked hard keeping the Sangvis away from our new forward base, y’know.” 

 

“...Good work keeping the area clear.”

 

“That doesn’t sound sincere.”

 

“What else am I to say?” 

 

She puffed her cheeks and showed her fist. We knocked our knuckles together.

 

“Hey, Pops,” Ingram approached us, hands in her pockets. She was in a fully zipped tracksuit, dirtied but otherwise in one piece. Not a single scar on her face. 

 

“You hadn’t been reckless.”

 

“Yeah…” she scratched the back of her head. “Are we getting anything warm to eat tonight? I’m famished.”

 

“No. We are still in full combat alertness.”

 

“...Awwww.” Skorpion’s pigtails seemed to have drooped.

 

“It’s not good to dash their hopes.” 

 

The hair stood, the heart skipped a beat. Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled.

 

“We are still in full combat alertness, Springfield.”

 

“I’m sure we don’t all need to be at full alert,” the matriarchal doll waved at the two BTRs and the two gun-trucks parked by the road. Gaps between dummy containers opposite them lit up by headlights, machine guns overlapping their fields of fire. “Our lookouts will keep any attacks at bay long enough for us to respond.” She adjusted her rifleʼs sling, wearing her usual smile. “Moreover, we are keeping our arms by our side. Besides, warm meals and coffee will help keep spirits high and eyes sharp.”

 

“The Sangvis could raid us at any time.”

 

“I disagree,” interjected AR-15, who had joined us, her footsteps silent. “We have depleted Intruder’s supply of Dragoons, Dinergates, Scouts and Prowlers.” She glanced aside at Sop II, who had now circled the front of the command truck in her bid to reach the hissing P7. “All she has left are the infantry and the Jaguars. She wouldn’t risk losing them in no man’s land.”

 

“We still have to account for the possibility of Sangvis reinforcements arriving from the pass to the north-east.”

 

She opened her mouth, closed them and frowned. “I will reconnoiter the pass.”

 

“Team M4A1 has done enough taking this plateau. Team FAL will handle it."

 

“I’m sure they will appreciate filling their bioreactors with warm meals first before they set out,” Springfield pointed out. “Makarov is keeping an eye out in case anything happens.”

 

The aforementioned blue doll, perched beside a Deuce dummy aboard the closest gun-truck, waved. 

 

Sigh exhaled. “I’ll make my preparations.”

 

“No need,” said Springfield. “I’m sure you are still engaged with your duties.”

 

“...I intend to brief Team FAL on their reconnaissance mission…”

 

“During supper,” Springfield asserted; her gentle smile dissuaded arguments

 

“...during supper.” 

 

She beamed again before striding away, towards Sten and the Nagant sisters who had unloaded a large pot from their transport.

 

Sigh exhaled again. “Where is M4?”

 

“I’m here.” 

 

AR-15 blinked, frowned and stepped aside for M4. The command doll’s brow was furrowed, her expression ashened, her gaze hard. She was intent on dissent. Yet she did not follow up, did not speak for a moment. 

 

Skorpion looked at us with a darting gaze. Ingram, usually so opinionated, kept her silence. Even Sop II and P7 had stopped their play-fight to gawk. M4 kept her silence, still glaring at the false eyes. She held her discontent close to her heart, allowing it to fester like a gangrenous wound. 

 

Inhaled. Spoke. “Vent it out.” She blinked but still held her tongue. “Do you intend your echelon smothered by your vexations?” 

 

M4 sighed. Her soft voice simmered. Roiling bubbles of scalding steam, yet to surface. “You ordered us to retreat.” 

 

“I instructed you to withdraw, lure the Sangvis into the killing field. They were sheltered from the hellcannons’ wrath where they were gathered.” 

 

She blinked again, then looked aside. “Commander,” AR-15 spoke out. “She could only hear ‘withdraw’. Intruder...” 

 

“I am aware and do not hold it against her.” Sigh exhaled. “Regardless, she made the right call. Your echelon was halfway past the threshold when Scarecrow revealed herself.” 

 

“That was a dummy Ringleader, Commander.” 

 

“The distinction did not matter; she still posed a dire threat.” Inhaled. Exhaled. “I should have anticipated the presence of another Ringleader, dummy or otherwise.” 

 

“Commander,” AR-15 spoke again. “With respect, you couldn’t have anticipated that. It’s uncommon for the Sangvis to concentrate this many Ringleaders or dummy Ringleaders in a single sector.” 

 

“We have seen Executioner and Hunter dummies...” 

 

“Those two always operate in pairs,” AR-15 smirked wryly. “It’s more unusual that they split up to pursue us.” 

 

“To widen the net.” 

 

“As M16 anticipated when she suggested that we split up.” 

 

"M16-sis..." M4 started speaking again. “She’s here, in this subsector. Intruder, she…..” 

 

AR-15 rolled her eyes. “M16 told you not to worry, didn’t she? She’s fine.” 

 

“She’s planning something!” Sop II exclaimed, throwing her arms overhead; she had abandoned her attempt to reach P7. “She’s definitely planning something! When we finally fight Intruder, she’s gonna jump out with a big bang!” Her arms flailed exuberantly, narrowly missing both Ingram and Skorpion. 

 

M4 wore a slight yet anxious grin. She then lowered her head and spoke, “...Commander. I’m sorry about Leopold...” 

 

Leopold. His body still remained inside that BTR wreckage on the plains below. “...We cannot plan for everything, foresee everything.” Sigh exhaled. “We will recover his body after this operation, return him to his family.” 

 

She pursed her lips, still averting her gaze. 

 

Sigh exhaled. Lifted the true hand, finger coiled, tightly wound against the thumb. M4 flinched. The clamours ceased. The command doll rubbed her struck forehead, and regarded the false eyes with bafflement. 

 

“Do not put yourself down, M4, not after your success. This is unbecoming of a leader.” Inhaled, exhaled. “Bring us victory, lest Leopold remains restless.” 

 

She blinked, averted her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, Commander.”

 

Murmurs, her tone still too soft.

 

“Spirit!” Skorpion goaded, brandishing her fists fitfully. “You gotta have more spirit!”

 

“Yes! Commander!” M4 asserted with exertion.

​

​

​

First siege. Difficult terrain and technological disparity. We were trained for such circumstances so long ago. Hadn’t expected to be tested, then…after the premature end of our European incursion.

 

…

 

This campaign had already wrought its toll. Material losses; dummies, vehicles…

 

M14. Leopold. 

 

…

 

Intruder’s communications jamming had cost us dearly. David and MDR managed to bulwark against the worst of her electronic attacks. Yet, we are still a step her behind despite all our preparations and improvisations. We are making do. We cannot be content with merely making do. The gulf between our capabilities will widen if no attempts to bridge it are made.  

 

Perhaps David’s and MDR’s efforts will pay off, and tomorrow, they will close the gap.

 

Still, Intruder had devised new tactics against us. Jaegers hanging onto the Dragoons' flanks; improvised outriders. What other surprises may she have to array against us? 

 

...It’s been three hours. Intruder’s forces still brood on the hill. No signs of Agent in the vicinity. If there are Sangvis reinforcements in the next subsector...Team FAL's runner hasn't come to report. 

 

…

 

Perhaps the weather may be fair, from dawn to dusk. Or at least, a gale rather than a tempest.

 

…

 

The stumps burn, and the thigh wound aches again. Springfield still refuses me drink. 

 

... 

 

M4 performed excellently, despite everything unforeseen. Made all the right calls. Righted the ship, stopped the leaks, mended the sails. May they be reunited with M16 after the operation. Would be unfair otherwise.

 

…

 

Nothing on the screen. The Hacker remains silent, still.