Days Gone By Chapter 10

…there are choices made in the heat of the moment that define the course of your life.  The ruins of Vasel were choking, the dust and debris clinging to our bodies like the ash of the dead, and for all that we called it victory, what was left of the city itself was a grim testament to the nature of our war.  As the filth tainted our clothes, our armor, and our skin, so did the blood and violence taint our souls.

-Ch. 2, The River of Vasel, Days Gone By: A Memoir of the Gallian Front

Chapter Ten

The fight wasn't finished yet, but it was losing its breath.

I could feel it in the way the gunfire now came sporadically instead of relentlessly. Each crack of rifle fire sounded isolated, hesitant, almost cautious. Even the Imperial tanks had started to move uncertainly, pausing too long at intersections, their turrets sweeping nervously across empty buildings. Their infantry stumbled backward, losing cohesion, no longer the well-drilled monsters we'd faced earlier. They were breaking, retreating toward their last stronghold: the bridge. It was their final lifeline, and they clung to it desperately.

We were the wedge forcing them apart.

I led the team down a shattered alley, blackened walls looming close, scorched by yesterday's fires. Broken glass and rubble crunched beneath our boots, and though we moved swiftly, each step was deliberate. Jane and Wendy advanced on my flanks, their weapons raised and steady, bodies low, eyes scanning. Marina ghosted silently behind, rifle at ready, watchful and calm, her breath measured. Juno carried the heavy radio gear without complaint, her face grim and determined, her fingers tight on her weapon.

We didn't speak; words would have been redundant.

Our first engagement was swift and vicious. Near a crumbling bodega, four Imperial soldiers huddled around a field map, arguing heatedly. Jane didn't pause, didn't hesitate. She swung around the corner, weapon blazing, the sudden chatter of her rifle filling the air. Two men crumpled instantly, bullets punching through their armor with deadly precision. I raised my rifle, my shot taking the officer square in the chest, dropping him like a stone. Wendy hurled a grenade with a casual toss; it detonated before the fourth man could even raise his rifle. The concussion rolled over us, sharp and heavy, leaving a grim silence behind.

No words exchanged, we moved on.

A frantic wave from a pinned Gallian scout team drew our attention near the tramline depot, the soldiers caught in the crosshairs of enemy snipers. Marina immediately veered off, climbing a rusted staircase like a shadow, positioning herself with practiced ease. Two precise shots cracked through the air moments later, and enemy silhouettes slumped limply, tumbling from their hidden nests.

Meanwhile, Jane and I maneuvered through debris to flank an entrenched machine gun position attempting to reclaim a street junction. Jane unleashed short, disciplined bursts, suppressing their return fire. I fired carefully, my rounds punching through sandbags and armor alike. The enemy position quickly crumbled, broken bodies left sprawled over shattered bricks. Behind us, Juno got their radioman patched into our network with crisp efficiency. We didn’t linger. They had what they needed.

We slipped away like ghosts.

The city had become a twisted maze of rubble and smoke, the sky heavy with gray, ash-laden clouds. The echoes of war persisted, but quieter now, distant and dulled by exhaustion. Our movements became a precise rhythm: flank, strike, fade, repeat. We weren't soldiers now. We were surgeons, cutting deeply into already wounded flesh, carving the enemy's cohesion apart.

When we encountered the enemy tank, a VK-39 prowling through a deserted street, its turret swung menacingly, scanning the road. Marina's voice crackled softly through the radio, her tone detached yet precise.

"On the rooftop. Target in sight."

"Confirmed," I replied steadily. "Jane, distract left. Wendy, charge ready."

Jane burst from cover, letting out a wild, primal yell that shattered the heavy silence. The tank immediately swung its cannon toward her, eager to claim an easy kill. Marina's bullet found the tank commander's head first, his body slumping lifelessly, helmet splattered with blood.

Wendy surged forward without hesitation, a satchel charge gripped tight. She weaved past ruined cars and debris effortlessly, sprinting low and fast. The charge slapped firmly onto the VK's radiator, glowing vividly blue with excess heat, a bright target in the gloom. She vaulted clear an instant before detonation. The explosion blossomed brilliantly, crumpling the vehicle inward. Metal groaned and buckled, the tank dying in silence, its steel corpse sagging amidst rising smoke.

We moved onward, leaving wreckage behind.

Minutes later, Juno’s radio hissed urgently. “Fireteam Three caught on the west flank. Heavy machine gun and sniper support. Requesting immediate assistance.”

“Coordinates?” I demanded, calm yet sharp.

She rattled them off, her voice tight but clear. We altered course without another word.

We found Fireteam Three pinned in a partially collapsed courtyard. They'd been torn apart by relentless fire. One soldier clutched a bloodied stump, his leg shattered by shrapnel. Another stared vacantly at his fallen comrades, weapon hanging limply in his hands. Jane and I struck from opposite flanks, bullets biting through enemy bodies in precise bursts. Wendy tossed one of her care packages, with a level of gleeful sadism I would have expected out of Jane, the detonation scattering and stunning the nest. Marina's rifle cracked once, twice, the sniper across the street tumbling lifeless from his perch.

As the smoke cleared, Juno rushed forward without hesitation, quickly securing the wounded soldier's tourniquet, speaking low and soothingly as she worked. Wendy stood nearby, covering them vigilantly. Jane was breathing hard, blood streaking her face and armor. I watched the streets, silent and wary.

We didn't stay to witness their retreat. Time wouldn't wait.

The bridge loomed ahead, the Empire's final line. We moved swiftly through ruins and narrow alleys, closing the gap. Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of armored footsteps echoed around us, close and heavy.

“Shock troopers incoming. Ambush positions,” I ordered, instinctive and sharp.

Eight Imperial shock troopers marched cautiously through the street, eyes narrowed, weapons sweeping in careful arcs. Their armor gleamed dully, splattered with dirt and blood. They were experienced, deadly, and prepared, but they weren’t ready for us.

Marina fired first. Her bullet split the lead trooper's helmet neatly, and he crumpled instantly. Chaos erupted. Jane lunged from the shadows, driving her entrenching tool brutally into another trooper's head, bone cracking sharply beneath the blow. I pivoted, firing short, controlled bursts. Bullets sliced through body armor, leaving crimson trails. Wendy sprinted from her concealed position, pistol barking twice, two more soldiers toppling without a sound.

The remaining three scattered, panicked. One turned toward a narrow alley, fleeing directly into Juno’s path. Without hesitation, she met him head-on, slamming him bodily against a wall, knife thrusting upward beneath his armor. The blade sank deeply, and the trooper shuddered violently before collapsing. She stared at him, eyes hard and unflinching, pulling the knife free with cold precision.

We regrouped silently, exchanging brief, confirming glances. Another grim victory tallied.

The minutes stretched into hours, and exhaustion became a relentless enemy, weighing heavily on our limbs and minds. Eventually, Jane stumbled slightly, fatigue finally catching up. I halted us beside a ruined storefront, shadows offering fleeting shelter.

“Five minutes,” I said quietly.

No objections rose.

Jane sagged onto a crate, wiping blood and grime from her face with a tired hand. Wendy crouched against the opposite wall, eyes closed briefly. Juno meticulously rechecked her gear, fingers trembling slightly from exhaustion, and Marina took position silently by a window, her gaze never leaving the street.

Jane broke the weary silence first. “How many?”

I met her eyes, knowing what she was asking. “Today? At least thirty. Probably more.”

Wendy exhaled shakily, her voice quiet. “Valkyrur...”

Juno’s voice held quiet strength. “We’re not finished yet.”

I nodded grimly. “No. We’re not.”

The city was folding inward, the Empire buckling beneath relentless pressure. We had cut deeply, severing critical arteries. If we maintained our momentum, Vasel would hold. But the day wasn't done, and neither were we.

The five of us rose once more, wordlessly, rifles shouldered, bodies aching but determined. Outside, the war dragged onward, relentless but faltering.

We slipped into the fading daylight again, shadows moving purposefully through the dying echoes of battle, determined to finish what we had begun.

000

Two hours later, the war was quieter.

Not silent. Not finished. But quieter.

We had withdrawn to one of the old command posts, a hollowed-out bank whose once-grand interior was now reduced to sandbags, reinforced windows, and shattered counters. It was a makeshift sanctuary from the chaos outside, a stark reminder of the violent struggle we had just survived. The air inside carried the harsh scents of gunpowder, charred wood, and something metallic, maybe blood, maybe just the aftertaste of war.

We sat dispersed around the dim room, each locked into our own rituals of winding down. Juno had her notebook open, scribbling notes and thoughts, written with the military precision I’d come to know her for. Marina sat by the front door, long rifle ready, her eyes staring out into the streets beyond, keeping watch. Wendy sprawled across a broken counter, eyes half-lidded but fingers twitching occasionally, betraying her restless mind still wired for explosives. Jane reclined on a broken bench, her hands busy with a sharpening stone and her knife, the scraping a steady grinding rumble. As for me, I stood against a crumbling pillar, carving slow, deliberate strokes into a scrap of wood, each movement steady despite the tremor of exhaustion in my bones.

No one spoke. We didn't need to. The weight of the day's battles hung heavily in the silence, a shared language of fatigue and relief.

Sunlight began its gentle decline, casting amber patterns through the shattered windows. Dust motes floated lazily in the fading glow, touching our grime-streaked faces and bloodied gear with a softness we hadn't known for hours. Even amidst the soot, sweat, and dried blood, there was a strange peace; fragile but welcome.

The radio's sudden crackle broke the silence. Juno's voice carried softly but clearly. "Command just sent a general update. The bridge is holding firm. Imperial forces are pulling back across the river. The regulars are moving in to take positions on the west bank. Looks like the fight's winding down."

None of us cheered. We'd already heard the militia outside, their voices rising in jubilation as the last enemy tank turned and retreated. Their shouts echoed far louder than we could muster.

Not long after, a young runner arrived, breathless and flushed from exertion. "Lieutenant Gunther wants all Sergeants at the Edelweiss immediately," he panted.

I rose without speaking. Juno gave me a careful glance. "You want company?" she asked quietly, clearly aware of my recent tensions with Largo. They all knew about it.

"No," I said evenly, offering a small nod of appreciation. "Not this time."

The brief walk to the Edelweiss felt like a marathon. My body protested every step, muscles tight with fatigue and soreness. The square was scarred by battle, littered with burned debris, pocked by shell impacts. At its heart, the Edelweiss sat proudly, silent yet imposing, a battered sentinel amid the wreckage. Soldiers moved slowly around it, bandaged and bruised but resolutely alive.

Welkin stood inside a hastily erected command tent, clipboard in hand, finishing instructions to Rosie and Largo. Alicia stood close, attentive and composed despite her dirtied uniform and exhaustion evident in her eyes. Welkin raised his head as I approached, acknowledging me with a subtle nod.

"Jerry," he greeted simply, indicating I should join them.

I stepped into the loose circle, feeling Rosie's assessing glance and Largo's pointed avoidance.

Welkin addressed us collectively, voice firm and authoritative. "We held our ground today. The Empire's major offensive is broken. They've retreated across the bridge, and there aren't any fresh forces incoming. I have a general idea of what happened out there, but I need clear, concise reports from all of you. Alicia, you first."

Alicia stepped forward, calm and clear. "Scouts and snipers performed well. Several injuries from early engagements, but no fatalities. Med-tent is busy, but the wounded will recover. Morale is high. Everyone understands today's victory matters."

Welkin noted it with a nod of approval, then turned to Rosie. "Shock troopers?"

Rosie exhaled, arms crossed defensively. "We bore the brunt near the east tenements. Two troopers took a heavy mortar blast. They’ll live, but they're out for now. Ammo's low, but we're still operational."

Welkin met her gaze steadily. "Understood. Ammo resupply is now a priority. Good job."

His gaze moved to Largo, whose posture was rigid with barely restrained frustration.

"Lancers stood firm, and the engineers are still clearing mines, but no injuries worth mentioning" Largo reported tersely. "Six tanks down. But those damned lances aren’t packing enough punch. Feels like we’re firing blanks half the time."

Welkin nodded thoughtfully. "I'll have R&D take a look at them. They've been jammed up getting Regulars’ armor operational."

Rosie scoffed quietly. "Think they'll actually listen?"

"They will," Welkin replied firmly. "Leon and Kreis know the score."

Then he faced me, expression carefully neutral yet expectant. "Your unit, Jerry?"

I squared my shoulders slightly, meeting his gaze. "Combat effective. No injuries. No losses. Tired, but intact."

Welkin's jaw tightened subtly, satisfaction evident behind his controlled expression. "Excellent work, all of you. We made them bleed today, and we’ll be back at it tomorrow.  For now, get some rest, get some food, rearm and resupply if you need it and rest up. You've earned your downtime."

The others dispersed slowly, movements weary yet relieved. As I moved to follow, Welkin gently caught my sleeve. "Jerry, wait a moment."

Once alone, his voice lowered seriously. "That relay operation… Command's altering the official report. They're marking it unsanctioned, an independent action without oversight."

I stared incredulously. "You serious? We put our lives on the line for that shitshow."

Welkin sighed bitterly. "Officially, they're claiming ethics concerns, saying it isn't how proper warfare's conducted. Unofficially, General Damon’s embarrassed. Militia did what the regulars couldn't. It's a slap in his face." Welkin grabbed a mug of coffee from the table, shaking his head slightly. "Captain Varrot fought it, but the word came down. It's all politics, Jerry. I'm sorry."

I snorted, shaking my head in disgust. "Politics. Figures."

He gave a weary smile. "That's the way it is, especially when it's bullshit. No medals, but Command isn't pushing any citations either. They're pretending it's the actions of an 'overenthusiastic' unit and leaving it to us."

I clasped his shoulder briefly, mutual understanding passing silently between us. "Such is life, Welkin. We both knew this wasn't going to be about the glory." I sighed, looking out the flap of the tent. "It never was."

Welkin nodded, giving a wan smile. "I know what you did. So does the Seventh. Command can't erase that."

Those were his parting words as I stepped out into the ruined city.

Outside, Largo and Rosie lingered, clearly waiting. Largo shifted awkwardly, clearing his throat. "Heard your unit pulled a lot of our boys out of the fire today. Didn't have to, but you did."

I stopped, meeting his hesitant gaze evenly. "Wasn't about having to. Job just wasn't finished."

He nodded grudgingly, respect evident though unspoken. Rosie stepped forward, eyes sharp yet appreciative. "Didn’t think you’d make much difference. Glad you proved me wrong." She paused, awkwardly. "You proved both of us wrong."

I inclined my head slightly. "Happens sometimes."

"Listen," Largo started, awkwardly, stumbling, before Rosie elbowed him in the gut. "Listen, I was... outta line, back there. Some of my boys and girls got ta have one more day, because of you and your team. I'm a stubborn ass, but I know when I'm wrong.  I owe you for that." He said, finally.  I stared at him long, and hard, pondering what to say. I had nothing, though, so in the end, I just nodded to him, before heading back to our little bank bungalow.

I wasn't too far when I heard Rosie say, in a half amused, half leery tone, "Cold bastard." Not to me, but to Largo, who had watched me go.

Largo grunted softly in agreement. "Yeah, but reliable."

I turned away, the voices and movements of tired, living soldiers filling the square behind me, echoing the day's harsh lessons.

Peace was a long road coming, but for today, the fight was over. But not the war, even as the troops around me sang their songs of victory and hardened their defenses, I could feel the static in the air, like a great beast, inhaling before it's next roar. I knew we wouldn't be done, not with the fighting, or the killing, not until the bridge fell truly silent.

000

I sat alone on an ammunition crate, hands trembling subtly. It wasn't fatigue alone, though exhaustion had certainly wrapped itself around every muscle and nerve. My fingers, however, held stubbornly steady out of sheer determination. The knife scraped rhythmically against the scrap of wood, shaving thin ribbons away, slowly revealing the figure hidden beneath. A dog. Probably a dog. I liked dogs; they were honest creatures. Loyal without question. They understood duty instinctively, no matter how heavy the burden. Right now, something simple and honest was exactly what I needed.

The ruins around me whispered the echoes of a dying battle. Vasel belonged to us, for the moment anyway, but it wore the victory like a shroud. Smoke twisted lazily from shattered windows and charred piles of debris, drifting through the streets as silent reminders of today's cost. Soldiers passed by, murmuring quietly to each other, their faces streaked with dirt and blood, eyes hollow with weariness. Many of them glanced toward me as they walked past, their gazes tinged with awe, fear, or curiosity… sometimes all three at once.

Stories had already begun to circulate through the ranks. Tales of the Lion and his Pride had grown wilder with each retelling. Rumors claimed we'd annihilated entire battalions, that I'd personally dismantled the Armored Fourth single-handedly. One particularly imaginative young corporal had sworn I'd thrown a lance straight through the armor plating of a heavy tank. All nonsense, all fantasies born of desperation and hope. But those rumors persisted, and now soldiers stepped carefully around me, whispering quietly in my shadow, unsure of whether to revere or fear me.

I kept silent, eyes focused on the task at hand, blade meticulously carving the small figure in my palm. It kept my mind anchored in reality, a tiny, tangible barrier against the intrusive memories that pressed constantly at the edges.

Nearby, my unit had settled into a loose semicircle, their voices drifting toward me. Wendy’s animated tone cut clearly through the quieting air. "And then- boom! The satchel charge detonated and blew the radiator sky-high! You should’ve seen it!"

Jane laughed roughly, a low, tired sound with genuine pride mixed in. "I did, remember? After I baited it for you. Nearly lost my head to that turret trying to distract it. Thought I'd bought it for sure."

Wendy waved dismissively, though her grin was warm. "Details, details. Point is, it went up like a firecracker."

From beside them, Juno’s voice added smoothly, controlled but tinged with subtle amusement. "If by firecracker you mean a high-yield demolition charge rigged to blow out a VK-39’s entire radiator housing, then yes, firecracker indeed."

Wendy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Thank you, Private Technicality."

Marina spoke up quietly, her voice calm and even, eyes distant as she methodically cleaned her sniper rifle. "Juno's right. It was a good kill, Wendy. Precise and well executed."

"See?" Wendy grinned triumphantly. "Even Marina agrees with me. That settles it."

Jane shook her head, chuckling softly as she stretched, muscles clearly sore. "Alright, alright. Don't let it go to your head. Next thing you'll be taking credit for the whole battle."

Their conversation faded into a comforting background hum as I carved, though I didn’t truly listen. Their camaraderie was reassuring, but I felt strangely separated from them, like watching a warm room through a cold, fogged-up window. It wasn’t their fault. They deserved this brief moment of ease. But my thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in memories that wouldn't leave me alone.

Again and again, my mind replayed the faces of those three Imperial radio operators, the ones who'd knelt in front of me, defenseless. Unarmed. Waiting silently for a mercy I couldn’t give. I'd acted quickly, decisively, without hesitation. Operational security demanded it; one cry for help could have turned the entire operation. But still, their faces lingered. And with them came others, innocent civilians I’d seen executed by Imperials in exactly the same manner. Men, women, children, with one to the back of the head, lined up on the sidewalk.

My blade bit too deeply into the wood. The knife stopped abruptly, gouging a harsh scar into the small figure. I closed my eyes, took a careful breath, and steadied my trembling hand, forcing myself back into the present.

A sudden, blinding flash snapped me from my thoughts. Instinct sent adrenaline surging, my hand dropping automatically to the pistol at my hip. My eyes narrowed sharply toward the source, expecting danger, but found instead a young woman standing boldly before me, camera in hand. She smiled brightly, completely unfazed by my fierce glare.

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" she declared, sounding delighted. "Exactly the image I needed! Gritty, victorious, exhausted heroism in one shot!"

I stared at her, speechless, heart still racing. She wore a tidy journalist’s outfit beneath a green and red pageboy cap perched jauntily atop bright blonde hair. Her intelligent eyes gleamed eagerly from behind round spectacles, pencil poised against a notepad already half-filled with rapid, scribbled notes.

Without pausing, she launched immediately into a breathless introduction, her eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. "Sergeant Finch, isn't it? Sergeant Jericho Finch? Irene Ellet, Gallian Broadcasting Service. I’m here covering Lieutenant Gunther’s Squad Seven, but honestly, your unit- the Lion's Pride, isn't it?- has become the talk of the entire front. Remarkable work today, Sergeant. People say your unit played a critical role near the bridge, with word spreading that you were responsible for dealing with one of Jaeger’s personal hunter-killer units."

She took a quick breath, adjusting her glasses eagerly. "Tell me, Sergeant Finch, when you started skirmishing up the imperial front as it collapsed, were you scared?  How many enemy units do you think your team took down? And the nickname 'Lion's Pride', was that something you came up with, or perhaps inspired by your legendary braver at Bruhl? Could you share a little about what motivated you to join the militia?"

Her questions, though energetic, weren't accusatory or condescending, yet each word pressed in uncomfortably close. I opened my mouth slightly to respond, but my throat tightened involuntarily. The probing for personal details was worse than any exaggerated battlefield glory; it peeled back layers I wasn't prepared to show.

Jane stepped forward aggressively, her hand shooting out to grab the enthusiastic woman by the collar, her voice cutting sharply through Irene’s stream of inquiries. "Hey! What's your problem, grilling the Boss like that?"

Irene pivoted smoothly, her enthusiasm undimmed, though now touched by caution as she eyed Jane's clenched fist. "Ah, Private Turner! I've heard quite a bit about your exploits today, too! They say you were instrumental in several intense engagements. Is it true you've developed a particular reputation among Imperial soldiers? Some even seem afraid of you- care to comment on that?"

Jane hesitated, momentarily caught off-guard. Irene had deftly sidestepped outright violence, yet still tapped into something raw and personal. Jane’s eyes flashed dangerously, fist rising as she struggled visibly to contain her temper.

Seeing the tension spike sharply, I cleared my throat quietly but firmly. "Turner. Stand down. She's harmless, just loud."

Jane looked at me incredulously, clearly skeptical, but slowly relaxed her stance. Irene, seemingly undaunted by the confrontation, immediately returned her bright gaze and pen to me, scribbling quickly in her notebook.

I could see her inhale for another tirade of questions, and braced myself for it as Jane snorted and stalked back to her perch.

I opened my mouth again, desperate to interject, when another familiar voice interrupted. "Jerry! There you are."

Welkin strode toward us from down the street, moving with a calm, reassuring ease that immediately relieved some tension from my shoulders. Irene, however, pivoted instantly toward him, her face lighting up with renewed enthusiasm. She surged forward eagerly, practically bowling past Jane and me.

"Lieutenant Gunther! Exactly the person I wanted to see! Irene Ellet, Gallia Broadcasting Service. You've led your squad spectacularly today! Can you comment on today's victory? What are your thoughts on the militia’s growing capabilities under your leadership? Also, did you hear that word has it that General Damon is praising the regulars for, and I quote, ‘softening up the Imps for the militia’?"

Welkin shot me a weary, resigned glance as Irene's barrage intensified. His shoulders sagged just slightly, already resigned to absorbing her relentless energy. I managed a faint, apologetic smile back. Better you than me, my friend. He gave a small, accepting nod in reply, already skillfully deflecting her questions with polite charm.

Jane crossed her arms, glaring at Irene with barely restrained frustration. Wendy covered her mouth, trying and failing to stifle laughter at the situation.

"Poor Lieutenant," Juno chuckled softly. "Think we should rescue him?"

Jane raised an eyebrow skeptically, her mouth curling into a faint smile. "And risk getting caught in that crossfire ourselves? I'd rather face another tank."

Marina nodded slightly, continuing her rifle maintenance calmly. "He's managing fine. She'll tire herself out eventually."

As their quiet laughter and chatter returned, I settled back onto the ammo crate, slowly resuming the careful carving. The wooden dog took clearer shape now beneath the patient strokes of my blade. You know what else I liked about dogs? They knew when it was time to be quiet. That was the thought that held me as I watched the reporter yap-yap-yap.

Irene’s bright voice continued to echo energetically from nearby, with Welkin's calm, measured responses interspersed with her rapid-fire questions. The steady banter of my unit drifted warmly around me, reassuring even if I couldn't fully join them. The weight inside my chest hadn't eased, not entirely. But the tremble in my hands had finally stopped.

In the ruins of Vasel, the slow quiet of evening finally began to settle over us, gently cooling the heat of the day's battles.

000

The city was quiet, finally. Not peaceful. Not calm. Just quiet.

I crouched in the shadow of a crumbled wall that overlooked the river, half-shielded from the dying light. The edge of the bluff had a decent vantage on the bridge and the Imperial side beyond it. The binoculars were warm against my face, hands steady despite the ache behind them. Through the lenses, the world narrowed to movement and silhouettes- soldiers dragging crates, voices too far away to hear, Imperial medics tending to the wounded. They looked like us. Same slumped shoulders, same bruised faces, same bone-deep fatigue in the way they moved.

I adjusted the focus slightly. The bridge was still lit, but dim now. Lanterns strung at uneven intervals. The enemy was falling back, slow and deliberate. No panic. No counterattack coming. Just soldiers retreating with discipline and caution. I found myself admiring that. Briefly.

Beneath the bridge, the water churned slowly. Not violent, but constant. Bits of debris floated downriver; burned fragments of paper, a shredded tarp, once maybe part of a field tent. The current took everything. Maybe that was fitting. A long-dead street sign bobbed in the current before vanishing under a tangle of blackened tree limbs. Even now, nature tried to reclaim what the war had ruined.

Then I lowered the binoculars and rubbed the edge of my thumb across my brow. The air was cooler here by the river, touched by the evening breeze. Smoke still hung over parts of Vasel, but it had thinned. Even the city had started to exhale. Far off, someone hammered a new support beam into place. Somewhere else, a generator hummed weakly to life. A cart creaked in the distance, its wheels crunching over broken stone as someone hauled salvaged supplies toward a provisional checkpoint. The battle was over, but its echo still lived in every motion.

I didn’t move when I heard footsteps behind me. Soft. Measured. No weapon drawn.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Alicia said, voice quiet, almost cautious.

She approached slowly, holding two dented tin mugs. Steam curled from one. She handed it out. I accepted it without speaking, took a sip. Bitter, a little burned, but warm.

The taste lingered too long on my tongue. My throat felt dry even after the sip, but it was something. The warmth helped. It gave the illusion of comfort, even if the rest of me stayed locked in a cold coil of exhaustion.

She stood beside me but left some space. The silence stretched.

“You watching them?” she asked.

I lifted the binoculars again, passed them wordlessly.

She looked through them, adjusting the focus with practiced ease.

“They look just as tired as we are.” I said, tonelessly.

The light was starting to fade into deeper shadow, washing the ruins across the river in cold gray. Somewhere in that sea of dim shapes, the Imperials moved with the same weary discipline we'd learned to adopt. Alicia lowered the binoculars slowly, then handed them back.

I let them hang from my neck. My hands had started to ache. Fingers stiff from too many hours gripping a rifle, a knife, a radio cable. It didn’t matter. The ache was normal now. Just part of the uniform.

“What about you?” she said softly. “How are you holding up?”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched the river, dark and steady, flowing past the broken city like it hadn’t noticed the war. The water whispered to itself against the stonework banks, and a pair of gulls drifted overhead, their cries muffled by distance.

“We’re alive,” I said eventually. “The mission succeeded.”

She let out a breath. Not annoyed. Just disappointed.

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked at her, then back at the water. She didn’t push again, just waited.

“I don’t know how I am right now,” I said.

There wasn’t judgment in her face. Only concern. I didn’t deserve it.

My chest felt tight, like a weight sat just behind the ribs and wouldn’t let go. The kind of pressure that didn’t come from injury but from something deeper, harder to name.

“We did everything right,” I continued. “The infiltration, the capture, the timing. Every step executed to the letter. Every goal accomplished. And still...”

Still I saw their faces. Kneeling. Hands behind their heads. Waiting.

I blinked slowly. The memory didn’t fade. It never did.

“They gave us a job,” I said. “And they fucked us for it, Alicia. Unofficial action, because some stick-up-the-ass general got egg on his face." I sighed, sipping my coffee. "Thing is, I don't care about what it means for me, but those girls in there did a hell of a job on shoestring training, grit and guts. They didn't quit, and they didn't stop, even as I dragged them up and down the lines. They deserve a medal for what they did." I growled, ice in my voice.

I realized I was gripping the mug too tightly. My knuckles pale. I forced my hand to relax.

Alicia didn’t interrupt. She didn’t fill the silence with comfort or platitudes. She just listened.

"A lot of us down here agree, Jerry." Alicia's tone was soft. "It's a bad call, and sets a bad precedent. But it's-"

"Politics, I know," I said, finally. "I still see them, Alicia. The shocked faces, the crying eyes, the light that fades. I feel their breath when I cover their mouths, in that slow, empty rattle. That's what the job is. It's a painful, personal, ugly death. But... I stopped feeling it. Stopped caring. Had to, because there were so many."

A breeze stirred the tall grass near the bluff, and the river caught the light from a lantern behind us, shimmering gently. The world felt still, but not safe. Never safe. A dog barked faintly in the distance. Not dangerous, just life, returning in cautious steps.

A crow landed on the broken remnants of a nearby wall, staring at us with unblinking eyes before cawing once and flapping away into the dark. I followed its path for a second. It didn’t matter. It just stood out.

"They're the enemy, Jerry. You know what they did in Bruhl, what they did here. I can see it in you, in Juno, in Jane, even in Wendy and Marina. If we don't stop them, that'll be all of Gallia. Just like Fhirald. Crushed under the Imperial boot and ground to nothing." Her words were supposed to make it easier, I thought, but they didn't. They just left a sick feeling in my chest that I decided to call the truth. I left it to hang, though.

The distant clang of metal echoed once from somewhere near the edge of the riverbank, then faded. Probably someone salvaging plating. The little sounds of a wounded city trying to rebuild.

“You’ve changed,” she said finally. “Since Bruhl. You’re colder. Even with us. You don’t even realize it.”

She wasn’t accusing me. But the words landed like a stone dropped in still water.

“Maybe I had something to lose then,” I said. "Innocence. Or I just had the time to think of it as something other than necessary and desperate. Time to choke it down and digest it."

She looked away. Her jaw was set, but her shoulders slumped slightly. A gust of wind picked up, ruffling her bangs across her cheek. She didn’t brush them aside.

“It’s not you,” I added, quieter. “It never was. You're trying to save your country, your people. I can't hate someone for that, and even if I could, I wouldn't hate you.”

I shook my head. “I’m tired. Not from fighting. From what it takes to win. There’s no end to it. Just more lines to cross, and fewer reasons to care when I do. When this is over, I wonder if there'll be any lines left.”

She placed a hand lightly on my arm. Her grip wasn’t forceful. Just present.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” she said. “Not with us. Not with me. I know it's not easy. You aren't Gallian, not by blood or loyalty, but Welkin, Isara, me, even your unit, and a hundred militia beside, we call you brother. You earned that. And we take care of our family.”

I stared out at the moving lamps in the distance. Like ants, they crossed back and forth, men with guns and tanks and cannons, readying for a renewed fight come the dawn. For a moment, I glanced at her, as she watched me.

“Maybe.”

We stood there in silence. The river whispered below. On the far side, the Imperials moved like shadows.

Alicia didn’t leave. She didn’t press. She just stayed.

The water between us and the enemy glimmered with lantern light.

And somewhere in that reflection, maybe, there was something else. A flicker. A memory. A good man with clean hands, that died in a sunny field what felt like years ago, and in it, the shattered mirror that showed what was left.

000

The lamps burned low in our corner of the ruined bank, where Unit 991 had pitched camp away from the rest of the militia. We didn’t have tents so much as lean-tos and salvaged beams arranged over tarps. There was a fire pit we'd made in a bomb crater between two ruined support pillars, ringed by scrap metal and shattered bricks. A low flame flickered in the coals, and above it a kettle hung, slowly boiling the worst coffee in Gallia.

We’d kept to ourselves since the debrief. The squad wasn’t exactly gloomy, but there was a heavy edge to everything, like no one wanted to be the first to bring up the obvious. Still, people weren’t just sulking. Wendy and Marina were hunched together over a scuffed ammo crate, playing some half-invented card game with scavenged pieces of old ration labels and makeshift rules. Wendy cheated often. Marina never called her on it.

Jane had claimed a rusted oil drum as her throne, swapping exaggerated horror stories with Juno about something or other. Juno kept a straight face while she spoke, but her eyes held a faint glint. Jane, animated and loud, waved her arms in mock outrage every time Juno calmly contradicted her. It was a far cry from their usual warfront silence.

The air smelled like burnt wood and old canvas. Someone had managed to boil water earlier, and a weak brew of tea, bitter and slightly metallic, sat cooling in mismatched mugs nearby. It wasn’t festive, not really, but it was the closest thing to comfort we’d allowed ourselves. Things were still tense at the line.

I walked in without a word. They looked up, barely.

"They're holding on the far bank," I said, dropping my rifle and sliding down onto a supply crate. "But they’re not pushing. Not yet."

Juno nodded. "Saw movement before sundown. They're settling in."

Jane looked over. "How's Alicia?"

"She’s holding up," I replied. "Worried, like always. Sorry about how things went, as if she had any say in it. Too rough on herself."

No one asked about the talk. They didn’t need to. They’d all been around long enough to know how it went.

"You know," Jane said, quietly, "I thought this whole thing, all this..." Her arm swung around, motioning to all of us, "Would mean they stopped fucking us over. Don't get me wrong, I was always up on something, I own that, but this?  There was no good reason at all."

"Rarely is war fair, Jane." Juno said, leaning back. Even she was looking rougher than normal. "And that goes double for politics. We knew going in this wouldn't be easy."

"That's crap! Tell me it's not, Wendy, Marina? They gave the boss this job, tossed us into the deep end, and we nailed it.  We kicked ass." Jane huffed. Wendy put a hand on her shoulder, and Jane didn't brush it off.

"We did. And I couldn't be more impressed with it, but this came from above Welkin. Even above Varrot. No sense crying about it now." I said, settling in. The tea was biting, but it was hot, and for all that April in Gallia was warm and humid, the nights were downright chilly.

"Still not okay." Marina's quiet voice came from the side, as she slipped over to grab another tin of the leaf juice pretending to be a beverage. I just shrugged.  What else could I say, as silence fell over the little camp.

Then something strange happened.

"Hey!" came a voice from the door.

We all turned as one, hands briefly shifting toward weapons, but froze just as quickly.

Isara Gunther stood at the edge of the camp, balancing a basket on one hip and wearing that cautious, hopeful smile I remembered from Bruhl. The lantern light caught the edges of her scarf, her boots still dusty from the road.

"I brought something."

There was a long pause. None of us moved. Then, out of nowhere, Jane stood up like she'd been kicked.

"Isara?! What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I came to see you," Isara said simply. "And I thought you all could use some bread. Fresh from the mess hall. Well, mostly fresh. Still warm at least."

"You... walked all the way from base to bring us bread?"

"I had time," she said. "And you looked like you needed something good today."

I watched in stunned silence as Jane jogged up to her and took the basket.

"You’re insane. You know that, right? What if you’d gotten lost or-"

"I asked Welks before I left," Isara replied patiently. "And I stayed on the main road."

Jane turned back to us and gave a helpless shrug.

"She’s too damn nice to yell at."

Wendy laughed quietly. Juno had stood now too, brushing her hands off and stepping forward.

"It’s good to see you, Isara. You’ve grown."

"You’re just taller," Isara said with a small grin. "But thank you."

They hugged briefly, and for a moment it felt like something light pierced the camp gloom. I 

hadn’t seen Juno smile that way in a while.

Isara looked around. "May I join you?"

Jane blinked. "Of course. Yeah. Come on, sit by the fire."

Marina shifted to make room on the crate beside her. Isara sat gracefully, unbothered by the dirt or ash. She pulled the cloth from the basket, revealing half a dozen small loaves.

"As promised," she said.

Wendy reached first, pausing only to mutter a grateful "Thanks," before biting in with an audible crunch. Juno took one carefully. Even Marina accepted hers with a silent nod.

Jane hesitated, then took two. She handed me one with an embarrassed huff.

"Don’t make anything of it."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," I said, eyeing her. "Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be the one jumping up like a schoolgirl."

Her face went red instantly.

"Shut up, Boss. She used to come by my flower shop back in Bruhl, alright?"

"Really? Somehow I struggle to see you having the patience for botany." I said, with a raised eyebrow. She gave me the stink-eye as she slugged me in the shoulder, harder than usual.

"Yeah, well-" Jane muttered, grumpily, as she struggled to redirect the topic. "Isara here bought bluebells for her brother. Every damn week."

Isara smiled. "You always picked the freshest ones."

"Damn right I did," Jane said, trying and failing to sound tough. "Had a reputation."

"She did," Juno confirmed, sipping from her canteen. "She ran one of the most popular flower shops in town. She'd even put on this cute little apron with smiling daisies on it when she was behind the counter."

Jane groaned and pulled her hat further down.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. And once I did, the others followed. Even Marina cracked a smile. The tension broke like a shell around us, just for a moment.

Isara didn’t hold back once she settled in. She passed out the bread like a hostess at a family table, offering little comments with each piece; about how the mess staff was grumbling again about flour rations, how Welkin had taken to sketching birds on the backs of requisition forms, how she swore she saw a Gallian fox pup hiding near the motor pool.

Juno responded with quiet amusement, clearly content to let Isara take the lead. Jane, for her part, surprised everyone by being downright sociable, nudging Isara with her elbow, smirking at her stories, even teasing her about some boy back in the village. Isara gave back as good as she got, needling Jane about her flustered act and hinting at some long-forgotten prank back in Bruhl that had involved flower dye and a very embarrassed postman.

Wendy jumped into the fray, asking rapid-fire questions about Isara’s work on the tank team, what the mechanics were like, whether the Edelweiss had a name before Welkin started sketching birds on it. Isara fielded each one with easy, sincere energy, like she was grateful to just be around people who she could relax with.

Even Marina seemed a little more animated. She didn’t speak much, but she leaned in when Isara described a faulty track repair they had to jury-rig using little more than wire, patience, and a brick. Marina offered a rare chuckle at that, and Isara caught it with a bright smile but didn’t comment, as if she knew not to press her luck.

The basket gradually emptied as the fire shrank to coals. I leaned back and watched them, my team, my unit, the women who’d bled and endured beside me, and something in my chest ached, but not in a bad way. It was strange, hearing them laugh. Strange, but good.

Above us, stars crept into view, speckled behind beams and broken stone. The fire crackled. Someone coughed. Someone else snorted at a joke half-finished. And Isara, smiling softly now, didn’t seem like a guest anymore. She seemed like she’d always belonged.

It wasn't till late when she excused herself, needing to head back to get some sleep, but thanks to her, the dark mood had been lifted, and the cold didn't feel quite so chilling.  For that, among many other things, I was thankful for.

000

The air had turned cold just before dawn. One of those Vasel spring nights that dipped down into your bones when the wind cut through the cracks in your shelter. I’d pulled the canvas tighter over the lean-to and curled beneath my jacket, but it hadn't helped much. I kept my boots on, half out of habit, half out of unease. Even in sleep, I didn’t trust the quiet.

The dream didn’t creep up. It hit like a rifle shot.

We were back at the radio post, only it wasn’t real. Not truly. The shapes were wrong. The walls stretched up forever, twisted like wet wood, bending toward a sky smeared with smoke and ink. Everything pulsed, the colors too rich, shadows too deep. I stood over them… the operators- no, not quite. Not yet. They knelt, backs to me, motionless like puppets waiting for their strings. Their hands were bound with wire, and the cords disappeared into the floor, vanishing into blood-slick cracks.

I didn’t remember raising the pistol. I didn’t remember aiming. But it was there, heavy and humming with heat. My arms shook as I pulled the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

They fell forward, boneless, scattering like puppets with their strings cut. But the silence that followed wasn’t right. It rang with something hollow, like a bell underwater. And then they moved. Slowly. Turning back, not with surprise, but with inevitability.

Welkin. Alicia. Isara.

Their faces were pale, too still. Eyes empty as blown-out windows. They stared through me, not at me.

I took a step back.

The pistol was gone.

My hands were empty, trembling, dripping. Blood ran down my fingers in thick rivulets, hot and syrupy. I looked down. It coated my sleeves, soaked my pants. It sloshed around my ankles, a black-red tide stretching out in every direction.

They stared still. Their lips parted. No breath came. Just the low, endless sound of my name.

"Jerry..."

It echoed. Warped. Distant and close at once. The bodies didn’t move, but the blood rippled beneath them, stretching fingers toward my boots.

"Jerry."

The world twisted sideways. The sky collapsed into itself. My breath stopped.

I felt the earth tilt.

Someone was shaking me.

Hard.

The world snapped back like a hammer blow. My eyes shot open.

Darkness. The lean-to. Dim coals from the fire.

My hand was wrapped around a throat.

Juno.

Her eyes were wide with alarm, face pale in the half-light. Her fingers clawed at my wrist, her mouth open but no words coming.

I let go instantly, jerking backward like I’d touched fire.

She stumbled away, coughing, dropping to her knees and gasping for air. My hands stayed frozen midair, trembling.

"Shit. Juno, I-"

She looked up at me. Not afraid. Just stunned.

I stood too fast. My boots scraped the dirt. My breath rattled. I couldn’t stop shaking.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know."

Her voice came out hoarse. "It’s okay. You were dreaming. It’s over."

But it wasn’t. Not really.

I turned and stepped out of the lean-to, out past the low firepit and the stacked gear. The others were still asleep, dozing in their rucks. I passed between the tarps and crates, boots crunching softly in the dust.

The air hit like ice.

I walked until the camp fell behind me. Not far, just to the shattered front of the old bank building where the ceiling had collapsed, letting the morning air creep in through the broken archways. Dust clung to the columns, and scattered bits of broken tile glinted faintly in the early light. I found a corner where the fresh morning dew from the night before had pooled in a bent section of sheet metal. I crouched beside it, dipped my hands into the collected water, and splashed it across my face. Cold. Sharp. Real.

I stared at my hands again.

They were clean now. Just skin, worn and dry.

But the feeling didn’t leave.

Blood. I could still feel it. Still smell it. Still hear the way the pistol cracked three times and everything changed.

I sank down beside the riverbank, head low, elbows on my knees. The sky above was shifting slowly to dawn, the clouds thin and tinged with gray.

Behind my eyes, I still saw them.

Not the real Welkin, Alicia, or Isara. But the ones my brain had painted in blood.

Juno’s throat under my hand. Her eyes wide. I could see it in her eyes, the fear, the visceral moment where she thought I would break her neck on sheer strength alone.

I didn’t know how long I sat there. The river kept moving. The world, thankfully, kept turning.

But for me, time stalled out.

And the silence in my chest had never been louder.

A hand settled on my shoulder.

I stiffened, ready to pull away, but the touch was gentle. Familiar.

I turned.

Juno stood beside me, her eyes tired but steady. The early light brushed over her face, catching in the curve of her jaw and the quiet crease in her brow. I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize, to say something that might undo the last hour.

She beat me to it.

"You don't have to explain," she said, voice still a little raw but calm. "I’ve seen it before."

She eased herself down to sit beside me, drawing her knees up and folding her arms across them.

"My uncle fought in the First War," she continued. "Not all of him came back when he did. Used to wake up screaming, crying, hands shaking. He never talked about it, but he didn't have to. He was always drained when he came to. But sometimes, if you didn't wake him up right, he would get up swinging. Hit my aunt a few times. Not intentionally, of course, he would cry, begging her for forgiveness. He was a gentle soul, like that."

I said nothing. The words jammed in my throat.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. "You weren’t really awake, Jerry. I knew that. If I thought you meant to hurt me, I wouldn’t have come looking for you."

I swallowed hard. The morning was so still it made everything louder, the distant calls of birds, the hiss of wind through the ruined walls, the dripping water from the sheet metal behind us.

"I could’ve killed you," I said. It came out rough.

"But you didn’t," she answered.

I shook my head. "I could’ve. That doesn’t go away."

She looked back at the broken sky. "Then I'll be more careful, next time." The unspoken, ‘but there will be a next time’, rang quietly true.

We sat like that for a while. Two silhouettes against the ruin, shoulder to shoulder but worlds apart. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. How do you apologize for dragging someone into your nightmares?

Juno saved me from trying.

"You carry a lot, Jerry. You always have. No one walks the path you do without bleeding somewhere inside. But you're not the only one bleeding. We all carry it, just in different ways."

I rubbed my face with one hand, the cold sting of water still clinging to my skin.

"Doesn’t make what I did okay."

"No," she said. "But it makes it understandable."

I looked at her, trying to read between the lines, trying to see if there was fear behind her eyes. But there wasn’t. Only a kind of quiet understanding. An old pain that matched my own.

She smiled a little. "You don't choke that hard anyway. One of my ex's back in college did it better."

That startled a breath of laughter out of me. "The hell, Juno!"

"I'm just saying." She said with a sly smirk that was so unlike her I wondered when she was replaced with a pod person. "So don't be sorry. That said, I think I'll stick to Boss, if you don't mind.  You aren't much of a Daddy."

I huffed, almost choking and shaking my head. "Damnit Juno, I can't believe you just said that."

Juno gave a quiet chuckle. "And neither will any of the others, so this'll be our little secret, alright?"

The weight in my chest didn’t go away, but it shifted. A little.

She nudged my arm lightly with hers. "We’re your unit. But more than that, we’re your friends. I don’t care what you’ve done. What matters is who you are to us. And we’re still here. I’m still here."

I nodded slowly. "Thanks."

She stood and offered a hand. I hesitated, then took it.

We walked back toward camp in silence, the morning growing brighter with every step. The fire pit was still cold, but the others were stirring. Somewhere behind us, the water glinted in the light of a new day.

The nightmares would return. I knew that.

But maybe next time, I wouldn't need to face them alone.