0400

Melodious waking chirps turned into terrified squawks. Brown and black feathers fell from the trees and roof like ashes of a burning city. The ringing of a discharged firearm had disturbed the tranquillity of the Northern Cliffside. 

Sights aligned. Trigger gnawed at my finger. Shock in my left wrist, arm and shoulder. Thunderous discharge splitting the wind. Click. Slide locked back. The hanging pan clanged for the third time. Turned over the Grach, replaced its mag. 

Dimas took a long drag on his cigarette. Ember burning rapidly towards the filter. The light stopped millimetres away from his thumb and finger. He flicked it away and said with mocking admiration, “You’ve actually managed to hit the target from ten meters. Impressive.” 

AK-15 thrust before me. “Give this one a try,” said Grigori, before drinking from his steel mug. “Have some kompot first!” Nagant counteroffered. She was carrying two more of the steel mugs. “You too, Dimas!”

Dimas wore a toothy grin as he received the drink. One sip and he spat and swore, “Oi! Cyka! This is too sweet!” Nagant smacked him in the arm. “No foul language, moshennik!” she chided.

“Ow! Babushka! That hurt!” 

Grigori emitted a hearty laugh. 

Chill between my lips. The sweetness of peach flooding down my parched throat. Handed the mug to Grigori. Retrieved the gun.

Hanging pan had fallen still. Safeties off. Pulled back the bolt. Buttstock pressed against my right shoulder. Sights aligned. Finger on the trigger. The false arm jolted back. Aching where flesh joined polymer, bones joined metal. Ringing in my right ear. The pan swung back and forth like a pendulum, holes punctured into its surface. Fragments of bark rained down on it.

“Recoil management still needs work,” Grigori commented, gesturing at nothing in particular with his right pinky. “Maybe ask your doc to install joint-lock into that prosthetic. Might ease the handling.”

Uttered no comments. Readjusted aim. Swaying pan in the sights. Pulled the trigger. 

The door of the hut creaked open. “Uuuuu…” Skorpion moaned. She was holding the side of her head with one hand and a mug of kompot in another. “What’s with the din?” With a squinted eye, she peered at the gun in my hand. She then looked at the punctured, swinging pan. She shambled towards an unoccupied steel chair and slumped on it. Still clutching her head, she returned to her drink.

Several more minutes. The pan disintegrated. “Oi, Babushka,” Dimas said suddenly. “Why not try cooking something more hearty, eh? Something like potato omelette?”

Nagant stopped swinging her leg and lowered her mug. “If you want omelette so much, I’ll make you an omelette.”

“Really?” Dimas grinned like a child. “Really!” Nagant nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll borrow Springfield’s kitchen and make some.” 

“Awwww…” Dimas sounded dejected. “Maybe next time we make omelette in the guard post?” he added hopefully. “Of course not!” Nagant replied forcefully. “You know how expensive eggs and potatoes can get. It’s going to cut further into the base budget!”

“Come on, make some omelette in guard post.” Dimas raised both his hands and kneaded the air. “I give shoulder massage.”

Nagant lowered her mug and stared over to the snowy peaks in silent consideration. After a while, she replied, “Nope! You eat in the mess hall like everyone else!”

“Come on, am I not your favourite?”

Nagant grinned impishly. With a snicker, she replied, “Not playing favourites, cheeky Dimas.” 

Returned the gun to Grigori. “Leaving already?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I replied with a nod. 

He took one last gulp of his kompot. “Need a ride back?” 

Shook my head. “No. I will walk.” 

“Ah. Alright.” Torso shoved forward. Grigori smiled. “Say hello to Springfield for me, yeah?”

“...Will do.”

“Oh!” The chair creaked as Nagant Revolver got on her feet. She raised her right hand and announced, “I’m coming too.”

“Babuuushkaaaa…” Dimas whined. 

Nagant Revolver, hands clasped behind her back, twirled towards him. She was grinning. “Don’t worry, little Dimas. I left some more kompot and shashlik in the hut. Kompot’s in the normal thermos. Shashlik’s in the one with the green cap.”

“Awww, thanks, Babushka.” 

“We’re leaving already?” Skorpion groaned. 

“Yes.”

“One sec…” she finished her drink, got up and half-jogged towards me. 

Fresh scent of dew rose in our wake. The crickets sang as the sun gently caressed the dirt road. Nagant Revolver walked ahead of us, her legs swinging up and down near-ninety degrees. Skorpion was lagging behind. She shambled and wobbled and almost tripped thrice. 

Stopped, turned back. Clutched her hand, steadied her gait. Still more road ahead. 

Nagant stopped to kneel by a patch of grass. She plucked a stalk and whipped it about. Swish-a-swish. She smiled with satisfaction before returning to the road. 

A streak of yellow brushed the false arm. Felt her weight against the appendage. She had fallen forward. Eyelid closed. Soft snores. Nagant pointed at the T-Doll and exclaimed, “Ah! Skorpion’s asleep!” 

Such absurdity. An android snoring away at her feet. 

“Help get her on my back,” I instructed with a half growl. 

She weighed heavier than her size might suggest. By ten kilos? Twenty? She shifted about but continued to snore. Nagant, close behind, had tickled her back with her grass stalk. 

Nagant then overtook me. Walking backwards, with her arms folded behind her head, she commented. “You are slouching too far forward, Commander. Do you need help?”

“No.”

“Come on, Commander.” She rolled up her right sleeve and flexed her arm. “This Babushka may be small, but she’s strong.” Muscle bulge indiscernible. 

“No.”

She frowned and dropped her arm. “Suit yourself, then, Shivyokov,” she said, before hurrying on further down the road. She stopped, looked back towards us, then darted away once I closed within three steps distance. 

Very fleet-footed, for someone who had complained about having short legs.

Passed the rows of shophouses. Dried out fountain came into view. A loud thud from my right. An Ingram had thrown a copy of herself onto the cobbles. HK416, arms folded, uttered sternly, “Three minutes. You are way behind your mark.” The defeated Ingram sat up, cross-legged. She rubbed the back of her head, cracked her neck twice and grumbled. Her dummy took up an upright posture, still as a statue. 

“Five minutes break, then we’ll continue.” 

Our eyes met. She straightened herself and saluted. “Commander,” she greeted. She peered towards the T-Doll who had rested her chin against my right shoulder and frowned deeply.

“How’s her progress?” I asked.

HK416 lowered her hand and replied, “A mere two-minute improvement since 0400 hours.” Scorn crept in her tone. “Give me a break!” Ingram complained aloud. “I’d only three hours of sleep!”

“You’d only four more minutes of rest,” HK416 replied with a sneer. “You would waste that on petty complaints?” Another grumble from Ingram as she rocked back and forth. 

“Commander!” Sturmgewehr jogged down the steps and across the Town Square. She threw a salute and said, “Skorpion didn’t give you trouble, did she?” 

Shook my head. Sturmgewehr gazed skeptically but said nothing. “I’ll help get her to bed,” she offered. With a nod, I turned my back towards her and released Skorpion into her arms. She nodded again before hiking back up the church’s steps.

“Commander,” said Nagant, as she threw away her grass stalk. “I’m going ahead to the kitchen. Don’t be late for breakfast.” Without waiting for my reply, she hurried after Sturmgewehr towards the church. 

“Hey, Fox!” Pierre, seated on the dry fountain, waved his left arm. He was clutching a steaming steel mug with his right. “C’mere! Have coffee with us.” Seated to his left, chewing on two slices of bread with a single piece of vegetable and false meat in between, was a boy of maybe fifteen or sixteen summers. He was dressed in a black hooded jacket with yellow stripes.

“Hey, Deele!” The boy rocked forward with a retching motion. “Greet the Commander.” The boy, Deele, nodded at me before returning to the task of devouring his meal. 

“Oh, come on,” Pierre said again, shaking his head. “It’s not like the sandwich’s running away.”

“He is not wearing IOP colours,” I commented as I unfolded a steel chair. Received a mug from Pierre and sat down. The boy swallowed his sandwich and replied, “That’s because I’m not IOP.” He then licked his fingers and smacked his lips. “I know, I know. ‘What’s this kid doing here? He’s a civilian, right?’ I get that alot.”

“He’s actually a technician,” Pierre said. “Really good at his job too, despite his appearance.”

“I’m not just ‘good at my job’,” Deele replied with a smirk. “I’m the best. A genius! Just ask Her Highness over there.”

He was pointing at HK416. She glanced at us with a frown before returning to Ingram. “Time’s up,” she said, her tapping foot emphasised her impatience. “Yeah, yeah,” Ingram mumbled as she got back onto her feet. Her dummy stirred. They both took up fighting stances, one foot forward, arms raised to the chin. The two Ingrams circled around each other, their movements mirrored. 

“Keep telling yourself that,” said Pierre, wearing a smirk as he lowered his mug.

Caffeine aroma. Citrus and cinnamon mingled with the sour-bitter taste. Springfield’s brew. Was she the only coffee-brewer in this company?

“You came here with HK416?”  

“And G11,” Deele replied while unwrapping another sandwich. “I’m their personal technician.” 

“...Personal?” 

“You didn’t know?” Pierre arched his brow. “I thought Kalin or Lev told you already. They are from a special unit. Handles specialist assignments.”

“And we were called in and dispatched to your company…” Deele bit into his sandwich. 

“Don’t talk while you are eating.”

Deele gave me an incredulous look. He chewed slowly, swallowed, then drank his coffee. He then continued, “...to do grunt work. Not really something we do. I’m surprised…” Deele leaned to his right and peered over my shoulder. “...Her Highness went along with it without a complaint.”

That explained her serious demeanour.

“I take it she’s the leader of this special unit?”

Caught a glimpse of a smirk as he raised his mug towards his lips. 

One of the Ingrams threw her fist towards the other’s chin. The other Ingram blocked the strike and retaliated with a gut-punch. 

“I’m surprised Her Highness agreed to teach her how to do that,” Deele started. “That’s one of our trade secrets.” 

“Perhaps she decided the risk necessitates this revelation?”

Deele laughed. “That’s not really what I meant but sure, we can go with that.”

One of the Ingrams dodged a strike to her face and retaliated with a similar attack. The other Ingram deflected the blow. Her knee shot up towards her opponent’s abdomen. 

“So, what do you think of Her Highness?” Deele asked before sipping on his coffee. 

“She’s a good soldier.” 

“That’s all?” He looked sceptical. 

“She knows how to extract performance from problematic personalities.”

“That’s not what I meant, Commander.” He put down his mug. “She’s got these nice long legs and…” he made a curving gesture in front of his chest. “...these little monsters hidden beneath her sweater…”

A sheathed knife fell from the sky and struck him in the nose.

One of the Ingrams was swept off her feet. The other Ingram straddled her. A manic grin formed on her face as she struck her opponent in the forehead. She rose with both arms raised. “Yes!” She exclaimed. HK416 folded her arms and frowned. She was flushing. 

“You are still short by ten minutes.”

“Oh come on!” Ingram complained as she swiftly lowered her arms. 

Pierre laughed like a cawing crow.

“Mein Gott.” Deele clutched his bleeding nose. “I need to see the medic…”

“Next time, keep the snide remarks to yourself.” Pierre emitted another shrill laugh.

“I’ll take him there.”

Deele, still clutching his bleeding nose, turned left as soon as we crossed the double gate. He waved me off as I motioned to follow.

Springfield crossed the centre of the hall. She was carrying a basket of MRE packets. “Ah, Commander. Good morning,” Springfield greeted. 

“Morning. Grigori said ‘Hello’.” 

Springfield merely smiled in reply.

“Do you need help?” 

She nudged towards one of the steps just beside the catacomb entrance. “There are four baskets of peaches in the Vestry. Do kindly help bring one of them to the kitchen.”

Dim sunlight filtered through the cracked stained windows to illuminate the basket of packaged foodstuff lining the walls. One basket was filled with said peaches. Picked it up. Felt the pull of its weight on my arms. The false limb held. 

Pink, with a dash of yellow. Sweetness wafted from the basket. The question regarding their source remained.

Met Springfield at the exit. She picked up the nearest basket of MRE with ease. Her usual smile took on an amused quality after she beheld my expression. “My, still curious about the peaches?”

Images from the tactical map filled my mind. Large clusters of trees at the borders of S09, arranged in semi-geometrical shapes. Orchards?

“Kalin sent some technicians to help a settlement with their electrical problems yesterday afternoon,” Springfield replied without my prompting, as we descended the steps. “These peaches are gifts of appreciation. They came with last night’s helo.”

Our walking paces were synced all throughout our trek. 

“...I see. Does HQ know?”

“No, they don’t. These activities are off the record,” she replied.

“Compensations?”

“Not monetary.” Her footing remained sure despite the bobbing of her basket. “We are compensated with supplies and foodstuff, like these peaches.”

“I see. Does she always do this?”

Springfield’s smile became inscrutable. “For as long as I know her? Always. How did the Northern Cliffside do?”

“All quiet there. Grigori was very pleased to receive the peaches. Wondered from whence they came.”

A raised curl on the edge of her lips. “I imagine he was more than pleased. I’ve heard from Sturmgewehr and Nagant you’d carried Skorpion on your way back?”

Gave her a curt nod.

“You didn’t hurt your back, I hope?”

“My back holds.” 

She giggled briefly.

“Ah, Commander!” cried Nagant, dropping her batter and her bowl. She circled around the table and headed towards us. “You shouldn’t carry something so heavy,” she reprimanded. “Let me take it!” She snatched the basket from my grasp. “Now, go rest! Babushka will take care of the rest!”

Springfield giggled again. “We’ll take it from here,” she said.

Crossed the hall, avoided the filtering sunlight. Descended down into the abyss. Darkness interrupted by the eerie blue glows, silence disturbed by sporadic statics. Reports filled the tables. Pulled up a chair and sank onto it.

Red blips coasted the landscape in sweep formation at leisurely paces. No change in the situation. 

True fingers in my pocket, feeling for the plastic edge.

​

​

​

I’d been out all night. Stinging around my prosthetics, burning on my limbs, aching on my back.

The air, I have yet to get used to. Not quite arid, more alive. It’s a shame you aren’t around to see what I had seen. A creeping sea of fog under the plateau. 

The T-Dolls are heavier than they look. I shouldn’t be surprised. They are beings of metal and polymer. Sturdier than us creatures of flesh and bone. 

…

The meeting didn’t really go well. M14 showed signs of resentment. When Skorpion put herself between us. When I kept avoiding her gaze. 

Sooner or later I will have to look her in the eyes. I just hope I will not behave poorly when the time comes.

…

HK416 is certain she can bring us victory. Her confidence was unaffected by FAL’s incessant questioning and doubts. I can’t fault her. Did you know it was her idea to train Ingram to micromanage her dummy? Give Executioner an additional target to worry about?

...

Should I envy her certainty and lack of doubt?

…

Perhaps.

…

I have a confession to make. Every piece of information I acquired fills me with uncertainty. Is there an angle I am missing? Was there something I had failed to notice? These questions swirled in my mind every time I look through every scrap of new Intel. Truth be told, I wasn't even confident with the strategy against the Grifon counterattack. 

…

Well, you know what happened. 

…

I wonder if you were beset by these same doubts when you bore the mantle of Command yourself. 

...

Sturmgewehr. She was very thorough in her observation of the mountain pass. Her report stated every single encounter with the Sangvis reinforcements. Their numbers had trickled down to the minuscule. Some, she had bombarded with what few grenades she still had on her person. They did not respond to her ambush. The Sangvis did not respond when I had their reinforcements cut off.

This apathy must mean Executioner and Hunter had brought more than enough troops into this subsector. The observation of their movement on the tactical map supports my impression. Their patrol units are no more than an hour away from one another. Some as close as fifteen minutes away from each other.

Finding M4A1 will be one thing. Surviving the inevitable Sangvis onslaught is another. The key to surviving this ordeal lies in the termination of the Ringleaders.

Executioner, she will come and HK416’s team will eliminate her. The issue now lies with Hunter. We have yet to see her. She is not behaving the way Intel suggested. If she does not show...

…

I need to devise an extraction plan.

0716

​

Clattering pen, rattling spoon. splashing soup. Omelette dislodged from hanging fork. Sight tore from the dim screen towards silver eyes. Total silence reigned in the Mess Hall. Silver-Eyes smiled, smug and confident. A smile that knew no defeat. “So you are the lucky one.” She straightened herself, removed her loosely bound boot from the bench and extended her hand. “Sniper SVD. Pleased to meet you.” 

A slap on my right shoulder. Lev nudged his head towards the silver-eyed T-Doll. Our hands mirrored. SVD smirked. 

“Fox! Your right!” Lev whispered urgently. Switched arm from true to false. A strain, a dull ache where flesh met polymer and metal. Her grip was tight as a vice and her handshake was as vigorous as her spirit.

Another Doll behind her, she of red eyes and sandy hair. Wearing an embarrassed smile, she pressed her hands together as though in prayer and winked.  

“Hey, SV-98!” SVD released the false arm and shoved the aforementioned T-Doll forward. “Don’t be shy. He doesn’t bite.” SV-98 frowned at her comrade as she took another step forward. With a friendly smile, she saluted. “SV-98, reporting for duty.” She lowered her arm. “We are here to assist in the hunt for M4.”

“Huh?” A crack of blue behind Skorpion’s single eyelid. Her mouth closed shut, cutting the stream of drool dripping off her chin. “M4? Where?” she asked groggily. Sturmgewehr frowned as she straightened the mono-eyed T-Doll's head and resumed brushing her hair. 

“Specifically,” SVD interjected loudly, left arm on her hip, right fist brought to her puffed out chest, “we are here for Hunter!”

Murmurs erupted in the chamber. 

“SVD!” SV-98 snapped at her. “You promised you won’t mention that!” 

“So! I see HQ finally took notice of our activities,” FAL’s voice echoed through the chamber. She stood up from the table directly opposite of HK416’s, just before what Grigori called the Templon, strutted down the middle of the chamber towards us and stopped right in front of SVD. As she folded her arms, she threw a glance at the sniper’s sticker-encrusted rifle case. Fel, standing tensed on her right shoulder, snarled at the sniper. 

“You are not some morveuse, I see,” she said. 

SVD met her withering gaze with a confident smile. “So, the Fox Hunter deems it fit to grace us with her presence. I am honoured.” 

“Ah. So, you do know of me.” FAL narrowed her eyes. “Then it should come to no surprise I will end Hunter’s banditry.” 

SVD snorted. “You? A Fox Hunter hunting a wolf?” She cracked a smug grin. “An amusing jest, FAL. Very amusing.”

"The hunter mistakes a hawk for a wolf?" FAL arched her brow. "How amusing. Are you truly a hunter, or simply a prétendante pâle?"

SVD's brow twitched. "Such sass from a city girl. Why don’t you just...go along home to wallow in your soft glitzy existence? Leave this endeavour to a true woodswoman?"

"I won't miss the chance to witness a le péquenaud make a fool of herself with such antiquated tools," FAL retorted, pointing at the sniper's rifle case.

Another twitch. "I see the city girl has no respect for the tried-and-true. I shall remedy this." 

Before she could continue antagonising FAL, SV-98 pinched her cheek and pulled her towards herself. 

“SVD!” SV-98 admonished. “You promised not to antagonise anyone!” 

“Bhut SV-98!” SVD protested. “Shee stade...Owww!” 

SV-98 had twisted her cheek. 

“We are sorry for causing trouble.” She said to FAL “Really. Forgive us for our rudeness.” She then shot a glare at SVD. “Say sorry!” she hissed. 

“...sowwy…” SVD uttered reluctantly. She had averted her gaze from the elite T-Doll. SV-98 released her cheek, though she continued to glare at her partner. The silver-haired T-Doll rubbed her cheek as she glanced around grumpily.

FAL opened her mouth, ready to deliver another pointed comment. 

“FAL leads our dedicated anti-Hunter team.”

Silver eyes wide. SVD gawked for a split second. “Oh,” she started slowly, her confident smile reformed. “So, she does know to trap Hunter…”

“...in a wide open area with nowhere to hide...” 

“...exposed to…”

“...concentrated fire by rapid firing snipers and machine gunners.”

SVD glared at FAL. 

FAL cocked her head slightly and smirked triumphantly. “Any more unsolicited advice, le péquenaud?”

A smile crept onto SVD’s lips. “So, you do know you need rapid firing snipers.” 

“Alas,” said FAL, still with that smirk, “that position is already filled.” 

“Ah,” SVD’s palms faced upwards as she shrugged her shoulders, “but how good is this sniper, really?”

A twitch on FAL’s brow. “Ah, she is most excellent.” She glared sidewards towards me. “Isn’t she, Commander?” 

A sigh and a reply, “M14 has excellent reflexes and precision.”

Ingram, sipping on her coffee, appeared to be fuming at the stoic, watchful HK416. “She took out every Sangvis taking aim at Ingram before they could fire a shot at her.” 

IDW’s tongue was hanging out. She was wearing a pained expression as she put down her mug. “She covered IDW’s charge upwards a slope yesterday, in a town to our southeast. Allowed her and two of her dummies to reach and breach the enemy’s position within a stone house.” 

Hevhj was clearly displayed on the command tablet. “After we had taken the town square there, she covered both eastern approaches into said town. Did an excellent job covering for her teammates. Kept the enemy from overrunning the blockade and reaching the town square, bought time for the search for M4.”

“I have a great eye for talent,” FAL smirked smugly.

SVD, still smiling, shrugged. “It seems you have that covered. In that case, I will put together another team. You wouldn’t object to that now, would you, Fox Hunter?”

“Alas, we neither have enough helos to quick-drop three echelons nor do we have enough manpower to make such a team without jeopardising our defences,” FAL replied. Clicking her tongue, she continued, “Unfortunate. Very unfortunate. You are out of luck.”

“Is that right? Well," SVD sighed, "if you feel your sniper inadequate, I’ll be around." Still smiling she turned towards Springfield. 

“M14 is most excellent.” Fel’s snarl accompanied FAL’s retort. “Too bad. You’ve wasted your time coming here.”

SV-98 placed a disk on the table, nodded apologetically, then hurried after her partner. 

​

​

​

0900

​

The boss-lady stared down at me. The ghastly blue of the projection failed to dampen the sternness of her gaze. The image was imperfect; her pupils blurred into her irises and the monocle seemed to have melted into her visage. The shimmering lines were perfectly horizontal. They did not follow the movement of her lips. 

“What have you to say for yourself?” 

“I’ve responded to the Sangvis threat.”

“You’ve moved without authorisation.”

“Do I need your permission to counter the enemy’s flanking manoeuvre and to secure a valuable source of intel?”

“We are aware of M4A1’s presence in subsector 2.”

“Yet you have made no attempts to secure her.”

“We are still working on the means to locate and retrieve her.” 

“You would allow the Sangvis to entrench themselves in the meantime?”

I could barely discern the narrowing of her pupils. Skorpion’s faint snores interfered with the settling silence. 

The boss-lady removed her monocle, pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head thrice. “Commander Yilmaz,” she started, “We...had a plan. A three-part plan." She produced a cloth out of her coat pocket. "The first part, lull the Sangvis into complacency." She started polishing her monocle. "The second part, launch a surprise attack with four echelons, six days from today. The third part, covertly insert a helo and retrieve M4A1 while the Sangvis are distracted.”  

She returned the monocle onto its perch. “Your actions had put the Sangvis on guard. The plan had to be reworked to accommodate this parameter change.”

“This reworked plan being?”

A fire seemingly blazed within her illusionary blue eyes. 

“Pending approval. Complete your training exercise and cease hostilities until further notice. Do not agitate the Sangvis further. Do I make myself clear?”

​

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. Skorpion continued to snore. 

“Helianthus, out.”

The abyssal tendrils closed the moment the projection winked out. Its advance was checked by the tactical map’s light. The image of Hevhj replaced with that of Subsector 1 - T03 the moment the disk slid into its port. Mission...eliminate Scarecrow. Roster...all dolls currently posted in this company, with the addition of SVD and SV-98. Sturmgewehr was curiously absent. 

“Commander!” 

Skorpion’s right knee jolted up. SV-98 snapped into a salute. SVD looked about. “Quite the peculiar place to lair in,” she commented. SV-98 elbowed her ‘ribs’. “Hush!” she hissed. “I’m trying to help you here!”

Once again smiling, she bowed again. SVD remained upright. “SVD! Bow!” the sandy-haired sniper urged. The silver-eyed one reluctantly followed suit. SV-98 then cried, “We are sorry about earlier!” She then elbowed SVD again.  

“...Sorry about earlier,” the white-haired T-Doll mumbled. 

“SVD!” 

“Sorry about earlier!” 

“Ehhh…?” Skorpion stirred groggily. “What’s going on?”

“...They are apologising for breakfast-time.”

“...Oh.” Skorpion stretched her limbs before getting up from her seat. “Didn’t they already apologise? I think the blue one pulled the white one’s cheek?”

SVD grumbled audibly.

“You stop that!” SV-98 urged. She smiled as she circled around the tactical map and showed her hand. “Reintroducing ourselves. Sniper SV-98 and sniper SVD.” 

“...Why did you reintroduce yourselves?”

“Eheh…” SV-98 drew back her hand and scratched her chin. Her left fingers were trembling. Her smile was nervous. “I thought it appropriate considering the circumstances. Really, we are sorry for what happened with FAL. SVD’s very passionate about her work.”

“You mean 'passionate about The Hunt?’”

Skorpion's cheeky grin dissipated. She was suddenly interested in her shoe tips. SV-98's smile barely concealed her anxiety. 

 “...Don’t be," I replied. 

“You should apologise to FAL,” Skorpion interjected suddenly. “You really insulted her there.”

“See what I told you!” SV-98 snapped at SVD, who poutily averted her eyes. 

“...You apologised to FAL already.”

Skorpion cocked her head slightly and gave me an incredulous look. “Cetin, you know FAL’s the proud type, right?”

“...Yes.”

“You think she’s going to accept that kind of half-hearted apology?”

She had a point. 

“She wouldn’t accept anything less than a kowtow.”

The flesh on my right shoulder pulled against metal anchors. “A kowtow?”

“A specific way of prostrating,” replied SV-98.

“Like this!” Skorpion scribbled a kneeling stick figure. Its head was bowed low enough to kiss the floor. Its arms were almost parallel to the ground, with its ‘palms’ pressed against the surface. A show of complete submission. 

“...Isn’t that too extreme?”

SVD grumbled.

“Yeah, figured Snow wouldn’t like that.”

“Snow?” SVD gaped.

“Oh!” Skorpion brought her fist to her palm as though she had received revelation. “Oh! Maybe you can get her team to back you up!”

“...Explain.”

“FAL’s pretty proud and particular about her image. If Snow can get the support of FAL’s team, FAL would look like a villain for not accepting her apology.”

“Oh! That’s a great idea!” SV-98 beamed. She grasped the shorter T-Dolls’ hands and shook it exuberantly. “You are a life-saver, Skorpion!” 

“Heh heh!” Skorpion grinned. “I’m pretty clever, aren’t I? Okay! I’m going to get you their postings. We are getting FAL’s forgiveness by the end of the day. Swear!”

SVD glanced at them, then folded her arms and studied the padded wall. 

Returned to the tactical map. Boss-lady had increased the number of enemies significantly. Approximately two hundred foes, not counting Scarecrow. Concentrated at the Southern Village and the forest. Sparse concentration of Scout and Prowler Echelons scattered across the field between the captured command post and Southern Village and Cliffside Forest. 

Need two Echelons. First Echelon...Team FAL. FAL, M14, BAR, Papasha, MP40. Second Echelon...Team HK416. 416, G11, FNC, Skorpion and Ingram. Siskin 1 will drop Team FAL at the Airport Terminals southeast of the Command Post. Intercept enemy advance, draw them away from Scarecrow’s position. Deploy Team HK416 at the eastern edge of the Southern Village or the Farmlands to the east of the Cliffside Forest. 

No, enemies concentrated at the Farmlands. Judging by their facing, this must be the source of enemy reinforcements.

Deploy Team HK416 at the very southernmost edge of the Southern Village? 

No, that was outside the bounds of the AO. The simulation would not register that as a valid LZ.

“Hey, Cetin!” Skorpion, by the iron gate between SVD and SV-98, waved vigorously. “I’m going to guide Snow and Svet around." 

SV-98 bore an uncomfortable smile.

Skorpion continued, "See you at lunch.”

After they disappeared up the steps, I returned to the simulation. My false arm was not on the edge of the tactical map. It was raised, palm out, waving slightly. 

Two blinks. Three. Lowered the arm. Returned to planning. 

​

​

​

1035

The red blips in the Southern Village evaporated, only to be replaced by more from the Church. Enemy reinforcements from the Northern Farmlands attempted to bypass the Airport Terminals to reach the Command Post. 

“Team FAL, BAR, M14, two dummies, North Airport Terminals. Intercept.” 

BAR, M14 and all their dummies moved to the indicated position. It seemed the simulation still registered mainframe and dummies as one unit. Aggravating, but harmless, at least. Their complete withdrawal did not harm FAL and the submachine-gunners ability to stave off the Sangvis advance from the Cliffside Forest.

Returned my attention to the Southern Village. The submachine-gunners darted in a zig-zag trajectory, firing at the enemy Vespids and Rippers as they went, with no consideration for ammo conservation.

“Team HK416, cut through the houses.”

The Echelon proceeded as previous. No indication they even registered the order. Ingram lost a dummy, intercepting fire which would have hit FNC otherwise. A second loss which could have been avoided. 

“Team HK416, Ingram, smoke grenade.”

The enemy fire veered wildly off-target. The riflewomen hung back, took cover behind the hedges and fences and covered the submachine-gunners advance. Their accuracy was unimpeded by the curtain smoke.

Chill on my lips, burning in my throat. Hollow splash as I screwed on the flask’s cap.

“Team HK416, Church entrance. Skorpion, Church, incendiary. Rest, cover fire.”

Church in flames. Village cleared of any red blips. 

“Team HK416, north, Cliffside Forest.”

Scarecrow’s drone fire, all three of them, caught Skorpion’s dummy as the Echelon advanced up the slope. Again, none of the T-Dolls used the houses for cover. 

“Team FAL, MP40, Papasha, FAL, southeast, Cliffside Forest.”

The aforementioned dolls and their dummies left their posts and charged up the slope facing them, the submachine-gunners at the front, as usual. Two minutes, they arrived at the indicated waypoint ahead of Team HK416, took cover behind the trees and foliage and fired upon Scarecrow. The ringleader ignored them and continued firing at Skorpion.

“Team HK416, HK416, Team FAL, MP40, Papasha, FAL, grenade and incendiaries, Scarecrow.”

The drones shrugged off the grenades. Skorpion lost her second dummy. Scarecrow switched all drone fire to the third dummy, ignoring all other dolls even when they moved out of cover to reposition. 

“All teams, Scarecrow’s drones, target of opportunity.”

The drones remained untouched. No attempts were made to neutralise them. It seemed the simulation did not register the drones as valid targets. The order was ignored.

“Team HK416, Skorpion, withdraw the fired-upon dummy behind Ingram. Ingram, smoke grenade, advance forward.”

All the Skorpions withdrew, leaving a gap Scarecrow won’t exploit. The ringleader switched her target to Ingram’s mainframe, yet the simulation registered damage taken as being inflicted on her closest dummy.

Scarecrow eliminated. Simulation run-time, one hour and fifteen minutes. 

Ingram, one dummy left, despite the mainframe being the target. 

Skorpion, two dummies.

Papasha, MP40, three dummies.

FNC and M14, four dummies. 

The radio beeped. Skorpion’s urgent voice drowned out SV-98’s background shouts. “Cetin! I’d been trying to raise you for the past forty-five minutes! It’s Snow! She’s missing! She disappeared on us while we were helping Papasha out with Northern Checkpoint’s radio problem!”

“Understood.”

Raised Southern Checkpoint. “Sup, Fox?” 

“Seen SVD?” 

“The sniper from this morning?”

“It’s still morning.”

A hollow laugh. “You know what I meant.” A brief silence. “Let me check.”

Radio silent for two minutes. “Southern Checkpoint to Command. Nobody’s seen SVD. She did something?”

“Command to Southern Checkpoint. She left Skorpion’s tour while they were helping Papasha with Northern Checkpoint’s radio problem.”

“Must’ve gotten bored and wandered off.” A hoarse chuckle. “Never thought I hear of a day Skorpion actually bores someone. Alright, I’ll keep an eye out.”

Raised Northern Cliffside. SVD wasn’t there. Gave instructions via the PA system. Submitted the simulation result, took a gulp off the flask, returned to the agenda of the day.

​

 

1130

Turbine hums interrupted by frantic beeps. Stinging flashes dazzled from beyond the corner of the dark screen. Abyss' tendrils writhed and peeled away from the holo-communicator’s light. 

“Commander Yilmaz,” Helian said coolly as she emerged over the projector. “I have assessed your simulation result. You’d be pleased to hear you are the only commander in your batch to complete the fourth simulation successfully.”

“Save the empty praises. The simulation’s scenario is a rehash of our operation against Scarecrow.”

A subtle amused curl crept up her lips. “This does not take away from your accomplishment. You'd responded swiftly and adapted your strategy accordingly in the face of the unexpected. The rest of your peers had failed to do the same.”

So, the Church was a rookie trap.

"However, as successful as you were, there are rooms for improvements. Your casualty rates, for example, can be lowered…"

A window appeared at the ill-defined corner of the projection. Within it shimmered Kalina’s groggy visage. “Good morning, Helian," she greeted while rubbing her right eye.

Helianthus’ eyes narrowed, her azure gaze turned icy. “Good morning, Kalin," she greeted frigidly.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Kalina pinched the bridge of her nose, then lifted up her mug and gave it a sip. “Let me off this time?” she said as the mug sank away from view. “I had to write that base activity report you’d requested while surveilling our corner of S09 and processing SVD and SV-98’s assignment papers. Not to mention the usual mountain of requisition forms and…”

"We appreciate your contributions to the company,” Helianthus said sharply. Kalina snapped her mouth shut, frowned briefly, then returned to her coffee. 

“We will discuss your performance in the simulation at a later date, Commander Yilmaz. I called both of you at this hour to requisition your company doll roster and the most current map of the HVQQJ base camp.”

“...Is this for High Command’s battle plan?” 

Helianthus opened her mouth, closed it, then frowned deeply. The radio had beeped aloud. 

“Hey, Fox!” Lev barked from the earpiece. “I mean Southern Checkpoint to Command. Reporting sighting of SVD, coming from the Town Square.”

“Understood, out.” 

Twisted the dial, pushed the button, lifted the earpiece away, just in the nick of time. “Cetin! Found Snow already?” shouted Skorpion. “SVD’s at the Southern Checkpoint.”

“Alright! We are on our...Svet! Hey! Wait!”

The radio fell silent. 

Helianthus’ nostrils flared. “I’d appreciate no further interruptions, Commander Yilmaz.” She then sighed, removed her monocle and started wiping it. “Do you have a problem with the snipers I’d dispatched?” 

“SVD had a quarrel with FAL.” 

“Oh?” Helianthus’s monocle returned to its perch. 

“She is displeased with FAL’s taking charge of our anti-Hunter task force.”

Helianthus blinked. “You have an anti-Hunter task force,” she uttered slowly, deliberately.

“We have countermeasures in place for dealing with Hunter and Executioner.” 

Helianthus bit her upper lip. “I see. I advise you to incorporate SVD and SV-98 into your plans.” 

“I’ll pass that along to FAL.”

Helianthus raised her left brow. “How involved is she in your planning?”

“The plan was formulated using her expertise and field experience. She had also assisted HK416 and I in the formulation of an anti-Executioner countermeasure.” 

“This took you two days?”

“An evening.”

“Oho.” Kalina grinned mischievously. “So, who approached whom first? The Dolls, right?”

“...Springfield.”

“Hehe,” she snickered. “Of course it’s her.” A triumphant smile emerged from behind her mug. “Real nice, isn’t it?” she lowered the mug. “Formulating and finalising counter-measures against not one, but two Ringleaders in a single evening.”

“You will submit these battle plans, plus any further plans you are formulating, for our assessment and approval,” Helianthus interjected sternly. 

“Oh, displeased a subordinate got ahead of you?” Kalina smirked. “Maybe you shouldn’t have taken yesterday off.”

Helianthus twitched. Kalina snickered, then drank her coffee. “I’d heard about it. A failed mixer, huh?”

“...Mixer?”

“A meeting between potential couples.”

“Like a marriage meeting?”

“Which generation are you from?” Kalina’s tone was cheeky. A tongue-flick on her upper lip. She continued, “No. Close but no cigar. You know what ‘dating’ is, right?”

“You have your orders!” announced Helianthus suddenly. “I expect the submissions to be in by 1800!” 

Her projection winked out. Her expression, as she dissipated, was of a darker shade. 

The turbines rattled. Radio sporadically spat statics. Kalina spoke, “I meant a rendezvous between romantic couples.” 

“...So, Helianthus took a day off to find someone to romantically rendezvous with?”

“Yep.” 

“While the rest of High Command agonised over plans to extract M4A1?”

“Yep.” 

Kalina took another sip from her mug. She appeared less tense, as though Helianthus’ departure lifted a great weight over her. 

Fire washed down the throat. Metallic clinks rang in the command room. The flask clasped onto the nylon belt. The words I uttered felt arid like wind-blown sand. 

“...I see.”

​