Days Gone By Chapter 8

…the city was a shattered ruin as we made our way down the road to Vasel.  Pillars of smoke and fire reached into the sky, like tombstones marking the grave of a dying beast.  The Central Army had made a valiant stand, making the Empire forces under Jaeger bleed for every inch of the west side of the city, the bridge a steel artery spewing crimson into the last refuge of Gallia.  For our part, we were the reinforcements, the next wave as the shattered remnants of the Fourth, Fifth and Ninth Armored clawed their way out of the meat grinder, many of their friends left to die on the cobblestone roads below.

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

Chapter Eight

The city loomed ahead like a corpse that refused to lie still.

From my perch in the turret of our lumbering APC, I could see it now; not just the shattered skyline of Vasel, but the soul of the place, hemorrhaging smoke into the orange-glazed sky. The sun was setting low behind the hills, and from this distance the city looked like a creature in its death throes, with buildings slumped like snapped ribs, flames licking out from rooftops and shattered windows like fevered breath. It was hard to tell what was fire and what was sunlight anymore. Somewhere in that haze, machine guns chattered, distant and thin, like angry whispers through broken teeth. There were pops of rifle fire, cracks of artillery echoing off stone, and above it all the low, mournful groan of the wounded city as it burned.

I could hear it even from here. Not clearly, not sharply,but enough. Enough to know that the fight was still raging inside those ruins. The dull boom of a shell landing in a square. The thudding collapse of some forgotten tower. Screams, maybe. Or just tricks of the wind. That's what I told myself. The smoke swirled around the horizon like bruises under the skin of a corpse, thick and dark and wet-looking. Somewhere in that black sea, people were dying. Maybe losing. Maybe holding on by fingernails.

The air hit different here, too. Tasted like blood and scorched plaster. Beneath the cordite and oil, there was something raw. Something that made your gums ache and your stomach clench. The kind of smell that got under your skin and stayed there, like a parasite.

The Erma 7.92mm LMG beneath my hands rattled as we trundled over a cracked stretch of pitted earth, its frame singing with tension. I kept my grip loose, my eyes on the horizon, but the damn thing felt alive beneath my palms. Hungry. Waiting.

We passed a Gallian light tank heading back toward the capital. The front glacis was scorched black, one side riddled with shrapnel holes, a section of the turret caved in like someone had taken a hammer to it. Its gun was limp, dragging slightly to one side like it was ashamed. A mechanic rode on top, slumped low over the turret ring, clutching a wrench like a lifeline. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. His face was caked in grime, his eyes rimmed red from smoke or tears, or both. Blood stained his coveralls. Too much blood for one man.

Then came the ambulances.

Three of them, maybe four. Battered, limping on suspension meant for half the weight they now bore. Inside, the stretchers were stacked two deep. Some bodies writhed. Some didn't. One soldier- maybe a girl, maybe a boy, it was hard to tell beneath the blood, was missing everything from the knees down. Just bandages and torn cloth and the wide, wild eyes of someone who didn't know whether they were still alive. Another leaned out the back, dry-heaving onto the road, his chest barely rising. His uniform was soaked through with crimson.

God, they looked so young.

Barely more than kids. Some were younger than Wendy. Scabs and bandages where there should have been skin. Hollow cheeks. Eyes too old for their faces. I saw one with no arm, just a stump and a sling. Another had his jaw wired shut, half his face purple with swelling. The worst were the ones who didn't move at all. They just stared. Silent. Like they'd already died and just hadn't been told yet.

And for a moment, I thought I saw Marina in one of their faces.

Then Jane.

Then Juno.

The hallucinations hit like a punch to the gut, my brain filling in the blanks, pasting the wrong faces onto broken bodies. Wendy's eyes blinking at me from behind a blood-soaked bandage. Juno's hair plastered to a skull cracked open at the temple. I blinked hard, exhaled, shook my head. They vanished like ghosts in the haze, and I forced myself to focus on the road ahead, on the turret, on the next breath.

Goddamn it. Get it together.

Below me, in the sealed belly of the APC, I could hear them.

Jane was laughing again, loud and bold, but there was an edge to it, like a blade dulled by too many hits. "Told you we'd be rolling into hell first," she said, voice bouncing through the steel like she was trying to scare the tension out. "I just didn't think it'd smell this bad."

"You said it'd be fine," Wendy replied, her voice quieter, more careful. "You said it'd be over quick."

"It will be. For them," Jane barked back.

A pause.

Then Marina's voice, calm, quiet, a low counterpoint to Jane's bravado. "You'll be fine too, Wendy. You trained for this, and the Sergeant will get us through it."

That surprised me. Marina didn't speak often, and to hear that kind of… of confidence from her…

"I know," Wendy muttered. "Just… feels different now. Real."

Footsteps, a shuffle of gear. Then silence again.

Juno hadn't said a word the entire trip. I'd seen her before we loaded up, running down her checklist, adjusting straps, checking ammo boxes, rerouting canteen lines and tightening bandoliers. All quiet, all efficient. Now, nothing. Just silence. I could picture her sitting stiff-backed against the inner wall, eyes fixed on nothing, fingers still and folded. Whatever storm was brewing in her head, it was hers alone.

The vehicle rumbled forward, bearing us toward a warzone already deep in its third or fourth nightmare.

We weren't even inside the city yet.

But I could feel it.

It hadn't always been like this… this tension eating everyone up. Back at camp, the team always had some noise to offer. Even in the worst of times, someone was cracking a joke, or offering up some dry sarcasm, or asking if the next drill involved fewer opportunities to get kicked in the teeth. But now? It was like we'd all stepped onto the edge of a cliff together and nobody wanted to be the first one to fall off.

I leaned into the turret ring, letting the cold steel rest against my ribs, and closed my eyes for just a second. The wind tugged at my collar and sent the distant wail of artillery rolling across the hills like thunder on the wrong side of the world.

My mind drifted back to the morning, before the sun had fully risen. Before we'd left the camp, before the APC had even started its engines.

It was cold in Varrot's office. Cold, and wrong. The smell of stale coffee, old paper, and sweat hung in the air. The place looked like it had been turned inside out.  Maps hastily stacked on chairs, a rifle leaning against her desk, a dozen reports scattered haphazardly across every surface, and files open and half-read littered the table, scattered like afterthoughts. The clock on the wall had stopped ticking at some point. No one had bothered to wind it.

It was a shocking departure from what I remembered. The Captain's office had always been a model of military order; every pen in its place, every file aligned, everything squared away and polished to regulation sheen. But not now. Now it looked like a bunker. Like a storm shelter.

I stood at attention anyway, arms behind my back, spine straight, eyes locked forward. A habit drilled into me by an increasingly irate Juno what felt like years ago. Welkin was already there, posted up to one side like it was a faculty meeting, hands in his coat pockets, one boot toeing a scuff in the floorboards. But his posture told the truth; shoulders a little too high, neck a little too stiff. He was holding the mask, but the strain showed in the seams.

Captain Varrot stood by the window, back half-turned, the pre-dawn light outlining her in cold silver. Her uniform looked slept in. Her gloves were tucked into her belt, fingers worn to creases. She wasn't pacing. Just… standing. Breathing. Staring out into the dark.

"By now you're both aware of the situation," she said, not looking at either of us. "So I'll spare the preamble."

Her voice was clipped, taut. Not from anger. From fatigue. The kind that went beyond the body and deeper… bone-deep, soul-deep. The kind that didn't fade with rest. She turned, arms crossed tightly across her chest, jaw set like stone. Her eyes met mine first.

"Sergeant Finch. Is your unit ready?"

I knew what she was really asking. Not about logistics. Not about ammo counts or gear. She wanted to know if they'd hold. If we'd break. If I had enough steel in me to carry four others through the meat grinder. I should've said yes. Should've lied, maybe. But I gave her the truth.

"It doesn't matter," I said, flat. "We're deploying either way."

Her lips twitched into something like a smile, but it never reached her eyes. It was brittle. Shallow. Almost involuntary.

"Isn't that the Valkyrur-damned truth," she muttered, barely audible. And for that one second, the mask cracked. Just a little. Just enough to see the woman beneath the exhaustion.  I could see it in her face, the weight on her shoulders, the hopeless calculations behind her eyes. She wasn't just tired. She was worn through.

Then it was gone.

She turned to Welkin, shoulders back, voice sharpening to its usual edge. Orders would be given. Masks reaffixed.

"You're going to be going in as the vanguard, the point at which the remaining Militia units will follow.  You're to take back the west side of Vasel by any means necessary.  Do what you must, do what you can, and do it well, gentlemen.  There is no more room for retreat."

That line hit like a blade drawn in a quiet room. No clarification. No conditions. Just carte blanche permission wrapped in cold doctrine. Her gaze passed over both of us again, and for a breath, I wondered if she hated what we'd become. What we were about to be. But she didn't. Her eyes were tired, but not bitter.

"Do what you must.  Anything you must." she repeated, her eyes boring into me.  "Do you understand?"

We both saluted.

Outside, the dawn was creeping up the ridge line, painting the sky in bruised bands of cobalt and amber. Dew clung to the earth, turning the parade ground into a field of silver.

Welkin walked with me, hands finally out of his coat pockets. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, firm, but also a bit bracing. Welkin was scared, just as much as I was, of what was to come.  Still, he held himself admirably.  We both did.  We had to.

"Looks like we're at the tip of the spear," he said, voice low.

I gave him a look. "Just what I always wanted."

He let out a tired snort. "Tell me you've got everything squared away. Because logistics is a disaster right now. Army's too busy falling back to throw us more gear anytime soon."

"I'm ready," I said. And I was. Or at least, I had to be. "I had Juno prep us for a long deployment. We'll be good to go when you need us, where you need us.

"Good," he replied. "Because we're going to be kicking in the teeth of half the Empire by breakfast."

I nodded. "Here's hoping they brushed." I said with a confidence I didn't feel.

We didn't laugh. Not really. Just the ghost of it. The kind of sound you make when you want to pretend there's still room for some kind of joy.

The inside of the APC groaned as it jostled over the pitted roadway, each shudder running up through the armored hull like the grating of old bones. I shifted in the turret, gloved hands resting lightly on the Erma 7.92's receiver, its matte finish warm under the mid-morning sun. The wind pulled at my collar, dry and bitter, carrying with it the acrid stench of smoke and gunpowder. From up here, I had a clear view of the world beyond the steel skin of the transport, and I almost wished I didn't.

The sky was brilliant. A sharp, unyielding blue that stretched endlessly above us. Clear. Open. Blinding. It made the contrast all the more jarring. The smoke rising from Vasel in the distance looked like a wound in the sky, thick black pillars clawing upward from the broken skeleton of the city. Through the haze, I could see rooftops missing their teeth, factory stacks cracked and crumbling, skeletal girders twisted like fingers frozen in agony. Fires burned in spots- small ones, flickering hungrily in the ruin. I could hear the war even from here. The harsh crack of rifle fire, the punchy rhythm of autocannons, the dull, belly-deep echo of mortars. It came in waves, distant but constant, like thunder with teeth.

We were closing in, far too much now to pretend otherwise.

And the briefing still clung to me like sweat.

The militia was to take the lead. That was the order. Squad Seven at the spearpoint, the rest flanking and folding in behind. The brass wanted a push, hard, fast, desperate. A line drawn not with ink but with bodies. We were to hold the west side of the river, clear the ruins, retake the bridge. No reinforcements from the regs. No armor support beyond what was scraped together at the last second. The Central Army was dug in too far back, still trying to regroup, is what they said.  Hiding, more like. That left us.

I understood the calculus. Use the ones with something to lose. Locals. People whose homes were still smoldering, whose families had fled or been buried in the rubble. That kind of grief forged a special kind of fire. The kind that kept you fighting when you were already half-dead. The kind that made you spit in the face of a tank with nothing but a rifle and a prayer. They were half trained, in Command's eyes.  A cheap loss for a vital win, and if they managed to grit their teeth and pull it off?  Great.

But grit didn't stop a bullet. And hopes didn't kill trained soldiers.

We were still just that. Militia. Farmhands. Mechanics. Dropouts. Good hearts, sure. Brave, some of them. Brave enough to run headlong into a meat grinder. But bravery didn't make you bulletproof. And the Empire wasn't sending in half-trained conscripts armed with rusty rifles and dull bayonets. They were sending forward veteran companies; armored, disciplined, brutal. Units trained by the best of the Empire, forged in conflict, and armed with the best weapons money could buy.  They were killers, one and all, wholly dedicated to war, and to bringing Gallia under the thumb of their blood-red master.

And now we were going to meet them face-to-face in the streets of a city already half dead.

The last of the wounded passed us minutes ago, limping in a procession that stretched for nearly a mile. What remained of the living were barely more than shadows, wrapped in field bandages and caked in the grime of retreat. Their eyes haunted me. Some were vacant, glassy. Others locked on us as we passed, filled with something worse than pain; recognition. They knew where we were going. They knew what we'd see.

Grit and loyalty might get us through a fight. Maybe even two. But this wasn't a scuffle over a ridge or a skirmish in a field.  It was a hill to die on.  A desperate last stand before the Empire swept through the last vestiges of Free Gallia and ended this war as quickly as it began.  This was either the end, or the beginning.

This was Vasel.

And this would cost us. In pain. In horror. In blood.

Gallons of it.

Paint the ground red, to keep the flag blue.  And us?  We would be right in the middle of it.

000

The tent was hot with breath and tension, a humid envelope of canvas and looming decisions. In the late afternoon light, rays of sun slashed through the open flaps, casting long, flickering bars across a war-stained table that served as our command center. It wasn't elegant, just an old field desk layered in topographic maps, coffee rings, spent grease pencils, and a smattering of scuffed mugs that no one had washed in days. Sandbags ringed the tent's base. A map case slumped open on the floor. The air smelled of canvas, dried sweat, and the powdery stink of old munitions.

Welkin stood at the center, one hand planted on the surface, the other pointing calmly at a chart marked with an angry red spiral. His face was steady, but I'd been around him long enough to see the subtle creases at the corners of his eyes, the slight tightness at his jaw. He was trying not to show it, but this was going to be a hell of an operation, and he knew it.

Across from him, Sergeant Brigitte "Rosie" Stark. stood with her arms crossed, lips pursed. Her shoulders were squared, her boots planted like she was daring the earth to shift beneath her. Next to her, Largo looked like someone had just fed him a fistful of sand. His arms were folded, tree-trunk biceps swelling against his sleeves, jaw tight. Alicia stood quiet, but not still, her fingers lightly traced the edge of the map, her brows drawn inward, eyes flicking over the markings. Like she was memorizing it all before it could be snatched away.

I stood off to the side, keeping to the shadows cast by the tent walls, hands clasped behind my back. Only the four of us were here, Welkin's sergeants, each handpicked, each responsible for a cornerstone of the team. The planning had been done, the details hammered out.  All that was left was the briefing. This was just the moment before the fall.

Welkin spoke evenly, calmly. His voice didn't rise or falter. He just laid it out.

"The Empire knows we're coming," he said. "They've had control of western Vasel for several days now, and they've fortified it as heavily as they could. We've confirmed that the Armored 4th, under General Jaeger, is stationed here," he tapped a red-lined square near the Vasel Rail Exchange, "and they're using the central district as a launchpoint for mobile strikes. That's why the Central Army couldn't hold the line." The words were frank, and I could see it. The VRE was like a beating heart, it;s arteries spreading out through the city. "Between them and the constant inflow of Imperial reinforcements the western half of Vasel is crawling with tanks and infantry. Straight engagement isn't an option; we'd be crushed in an hour."

He shifted his weight, then gestured to the map, outlining the plan with his finger.

"Our only chance is coordination and calculated force. Squads One, Three, Four, and Eight are making a direct approach from the southwest along the river. They'll draw the enemy's attention, pin as many of the Empire's units as they can. While they're engaged, Squad Seven, along with Squads Two, Five, Six, and Nine are going to infiltrate the city and secure key chokepoints like  apartment blocks,  rail lines and industrial bottlenecks. If we can take those fast and hold them, it'll strangle the Empire's ability to respond."

He tapped a circle around a cluster of buildings.

"Once we have control of those bottlenecks, we can isolate individual enemy groups and neutralize them piecemeal. It won't be a clean fight, not by a long shot, but it'll be one we can win."

He glanced at Alicia first, the girl firming up under Welkin's gaze. I could see the trust and faith in her eyes, the echo of confidence in her stance, as he spoke.

"Alicia. You'll be coordinating the Scouts and Snipers. I need forward recon before anything moves. That means eyes on rooftops, windows, sewer exits, back alleys, and every blind corner we're going to fight through. I want to know where their machine guns are, where they're stockpiling munitions, and what routes their armor is patrolling."

Alicia nodded, her voice clear despite the tension in her shoulders. "I'll get it done, Welkin. You can count on me. I'll have teams out as soon as we hit the city's edge."

He gave her a nod, as he turned to Rosie next.  She was the sergeant I'd had the least interaction with, her hair done up in two fiery buns, the woman herself what some, including me, would call gorgeous.  Despite her lithe figure though, she wore the heavy armor of a shock trooper with a level of grace and ease that belied a real strength hidden in her frame.

"Rosie. You're handling the shock teams. Most of our firepower will be with you.  Make sure your troops grab extra ammo and grenades- you may not get a chance for a resupply. Once Alicia calls in the targets, you hit them hard and fast. Take ground and hold it."

She let out a short breath, then smirked, though it didn't reach her eyes. "If that's what you want, Lieutenant. I'll make sure my boys and girls are loaded down.  Just don't leave us hanging alright?  No girl likes it when their date is late to the party."

Welkin gave a snort at the woman's response, his face belaying that this isn't the first bit of prodding he'd gotten from the redhead.  Instead his eyes turned to Largo.

"Largo, you heard the lady. You're on flexible support. That means if Rosie's position is threatened, you bring your Lancers up and break their backs. If Alicia needs engineers to get her teams out of a jam or handle field repairs, you're the one who makes sure they get there."

Largo grunted, a low, gravelly thing. "I know what I'm supposed to be doing, don't you worry.  We'll be where we're needed."

Then Welkin's gaze settled on me.

"Jerry, I'm sorry to say that you're going to have the toughest job of all.  I hate to ask it, and I fought against it at the officer's meeting, but Command wants to see what you can do, now that you're here."  I could hear it in Welkin's voice, too, as Alicia shot us a worried look, and both Rosie and Largo became… something else.

I stepped forward slightly, hands still behind my back. "I'm listening."

He pointed again to the heart of the map, to a dense residential block between the municipal station and the inner ring of the market district.

"The Empire's using a secure radio relay system to coordinate their armor. Forward comm posts encode and transmit commands from central HQ to all armored elements. Those posts are the linchpin- take one out, and the tanks in the field go deaf. Take one intact… and we can speak through it."

I nodded slowly, already thinking through the variables. "Command wants to feed them false orders."

"We know roughly where the relay is, hidden in an apartment cluster near the tram hub. It's close to the front, but still behind enemy lines. You'll infiltrate, neutralize the outpost without raising alarms, and transmit a counterfeit order directing the Armored Fourth and as many other units as you can reach to a predetermined set of coordinates."

He tapped again, his finger moving to an empty, industrial yard outside the south tram depot.

When they move to reinforce what they think is a breach, our artillery will level the grid."

"I thought the regs were hoarding all their artillery.  What changed?" I asked.

"We've secured three batteries from the Capital Defense Corps, along with enough shells for a single major strike. Which is why it's vitally important that the post gets taken without having the chance to get word out.  If the Imperials catch wind of this too soon, they'll change frequencies, and we'll lose our window."  Welkin paused, looking me dead in the eye, his gaze almost asking me to tell him it was impossible, that we'd need to do something else. And god knows I wanted to tell him that, tell him that we'd need to try something else, but we both knew that Command wouldn't accept it.

I exhaled through my nose. "We'll be in and out. Quiet and clean."

"I know Command wouldn't ask this of you if they didn't believe your team was up to it," Welkin said, his voice heavy. "And I believe in you too. I know that you can do it, much as I hate to give you something like this."  He paused, chewing his words. "But I need to be clear. This will be behind enemy lines. If anything goes wrong… I don't know how we'll get to you."

I gave a single nod, as if I should have expected anything else. "Then we'll make sure nothing goes wrong."

Rosie shifted beside me. "That's a hell of a bet you're all placing, Lieutenant."

"I know," he said, softly. "But if we want to push the enemy back, the Armored Fourth has to be eliminated.  We don't have the tanks or the troops to stand up to that kind of force if it comes to it."

No one said anything more. There was no argument. No alternative plans. Just the map, the silence, and the coming storm.

Welkin dismissed us with a quiet, "Get your people ready."

Outside the tent, the air was cooler, but not by much. I'd barely taken ten steps toward my team's staging area when I heard boots crunching behind me.

"Finch."

I turned.

Largo stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt, posture loose but squared, like a man who knew exactly how much space he took up and expected the world to move around him. His broad shoulders were framed against the amber dusk, mutton chops bristling in the breeze, face unreadable.

"Walk with me a sec."

I fell in beside him as we moved toward a stack of supply crates near the edge of the staging ground. The camp noise thinned to a dull murmur. Largo scratched at his jaw, eyeing me sidelong.

"You buying into all that back there?" he asked finally, voice pitched low. "The plan, I mean."

"I said I was ready to do the job," I answered, keeping my tone neutral.

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled a shoulder, eyes scanning the camp lazily. "Doesn't mean you think it's sane."

I didn't reply, watching as the large man pulled a cigarette from a pack. He lit it, but not before offering me one. I waved it off, though, as he took a drag.

"The LT's sending you into a meat grinder with nothing but dreams and good wishes. You know that, right? Not even a solid target, just a guess and a hope. No reinforcements. Just straight through the teeth."

I kept my voice calm. "He knows what he's doing, and it wasn't his choice.  You heard him."

That got a snort from him, dry and almost amused as he dragged his coffin nail.

"Sure it wasn't. Kid grew up city-soft, college educated, just a baby when EW1 cracked off and raised high on his daddy's war stories. Probably thinks tactics are just chess with louder pieces. But out here?" Largo jabbed a thick finger in the direction of Vasel. "Out here, ideas don't stop bullets. They don't dig out wounded under fire or patch up a tank roadwheel with nothing but scrap and a prayer."

He gave me a look then, one I recognized. The kind old soldiers give young ones. Not unkind. But not respectful either.

"Look, I get it. New uniform, new stripe on your sleeve. Feels good, right? You want to prove you've earned it. Show the squad you're more than just some pretty nickname the radio boys love throwing around."

My jaw tensed, but I didn't respond.

Largo kept going, pacing like one of the DIs back at HQ.

"You probably think that kid sees something in you- some special quality, some spark. And maybe he does. But I've seen this story before. Officer with a point to prove gets ideas, gets clever, and then the body bags start piling up. That's what you're walking into."

"He's not looking for glory," I said quietly. "He's trying to win."

Largo stopped mid-step. His brow furrowed, and he turned toward me like he hadn't caught it right the first time.

"What was that?"

His tone wasn't angry, not yet. Just puzzled. Like he was trying to square what I'd said with the picture he had in his head. He searched my face for sarcasm, for irony, for anything that might tell him I was just being dry. But I wasn't.

I held his gaze. "I said I trust him. He knows what he's doing."

For a second, Largo just stared at me, the lines in his face stiffening. His jaw worked once, then twice, like he was chewing over the words and didn't like the taste.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, the disbelief curdling into something heavier. "You actually believe that?"

The shift came fast. His tone dropped, harder now, steel under gravel.

"You really think that flower-sniffing, soft-spoken academy boy has what it takes to pull this off?"

The idea seemed almost foreign to the large man, one of the few that could look me in the eye, as he chewed on that.  I could almost see the turning of gears and cogs in his brain, the moment when he really finally got what I was saying.  The look in his eyes, darkend, and his tone, once condescendingly friendly, turned outright derisive.

"Tch." He snorted, "I thought maybe you had a head on your shoulders. But you're just another glory hound. Should've figured. 'The Lion of Bruhl,'" he spat, the name like a bad taste in his mouth. "Hell of a title for someone who's about to get a whole bunch of people killed playing hero."

I met his glare with a cold, steady look. The two of us stood almost chest to chest, the large man worked up good and red as he burned up his cigarette, chewing what he'd said. Ignoring the poison coming out of his mouth wasn't easy. I'd had the same thoughts, the same fears, but I swallowed that. Instead I chose to answer his question, rhetorical as it was.

"I do."

That was all I said. That was all I needed to say.

Something in me hardened then. Not just at his words, but the way he said them, like he knew better, like no one else had a right to the truth of this war but him. But Largo didn't know what we'd fought through. What we'd bled through. What we'd lost together.

He didn't know, and I wasn't about to explain.

I didn't say another word. Just turned and walked away, leaving him behind in the fading light.

Largo stood there for a beat longer, watching my back with an expression somewhere between anger and disappointment. Then he muttered something under his breath and stalked off in the opposite direction.

Let him stew.

I had a mission to prepare for. And a war to survive.

000

The inside of the APC was tight with tension, quieter than usual, like the moment just before a fuse hits the charge. The engine droned beneath us, a constant, low vibration through the floor plates. The sharp smell of oil, scorched metal, and ragnite-charged ozone hung in the stale air, clinging to our gear, our clothes, our skin.

Jane and Juno were seated across from one another. Normally, Jane would be lobbing verbal grenades, trying to poke at Juno until she snapped back with that dry, clipped wit of hers. This time, the banter was there, but thinner, more forced. Jane's tone had its usual bark, but the rhythm was off, just a touch too practiced. Juno smirked once, half-hearted, then went quiet again, fingers brushing the lid of her pack like her mind was someplace else entirely.

Wendy sat near the back corner, knees tucked in slightly, hands resting on the edge of her plate carrier like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her eyes were downcast. Her silence wasn't the usual kind, the focused, calculating stillness she fell into before getting the chance to set off a new bomb. This was heavier. Closed off. Worry trying not to show its face.

Marina sat in her usual place, spine straight, eyes lowered over her GSR-2. She worked the bolt and checked the scope with that same quiet precision she always had, but there was a softness to her gaze when it flicked once toward Wendy. It wasn't sympathy. Not exactly. Just...awareness. Something unspoken, but not unkind.

They all looked up when I climbed in from the front compartment, and the shift in the air was instant. The murmur died. The jabs stopped. Tension doubled.

"Boss," Jane said, her voice steady, chin lifting a hair. Juno nodded once, eyes on mine. Wendy straightened but said nothing. Marina didn't speak, she just met my gaze and waited.

My thoughts, stormy from the "chat" with Largo, still roiled in my mind. Angry, yes, but also pained, knowing the massive prick had dug into one of my own constant worries, now at the forefront of my mind. I had to chew it up, swallow it, though, because now wasn't the time for that. Bullshit introspection could wait, now that we had a mission.

"We're on."  The two words fell like a powder charge into a bunker. A force of nature made whole, grabbing each of the girls as I ordered my thoughts.

I pulled the folded map from my vest, given to me by Welkin at the start of the meeting.  I set it between us, the compact guide to the city of Vasel, a mess of lines and notes about what we'd need and where we'd need it. Packed in its leather and plastic sleeve to keep the mess and the gunk off, it shined in the stark, sterile light of the APC's overhead.

"This is it. Command has decided that it's time to show them what they paid for when they decided to put this little project of mine into motion. A test for us. To see if we're worth the time and the money."

No one flinched. No one looked away. I was pleased to see the confidence in them that I didn't feel.

"The city's a hornet's nest. The Empire's got it locked down hard. But they're still relying on a forward communications relay to coordinate their armor movements. It's the lynchpin. If we can cut that connection, even for a short time, we can throw them into confusion. Delay their reaction. Give the others a real shot."

I tapped the map, a marked section near the heart of the city. A cluster of four buildings sat boxed in by side streets and alleys.  They were built around an open central plaza, from the looks of it, with wide roads between each building. A lot of open ground to cover, there, and good sight lines from all the buildings.

"Intel points to this block here. Four apartment buildings; Three stories each, built tough, and probably full of Imperials. One of them's our target, but we don't know which. We'll need to recon the area, find the post, and secure it."  The job sounded so simple on paper, but I didn't need to look around to feel the frowns on their faces.

"We take it quietly, hold it long enough to hijack their relay, push false orders, and then we disappear before they know we were ever there." I said, pausing as that sunk in. "We have to take it without letting them get word of an attack out. If they do, the mission is over. If we get bogged down, or caught unawares, there's little chance of a rescue reaching us in time. So stealth and discretion are the words of the day. Use your knives, and your suppressors, but remember that they aren't perfect."

I turned to look at Marina, her long rifle in her lap. "When you're on overwatch, fire only when necessary. Don't let them get a lock on you. If you have to reposition, do so. Don't wait for me to give the order."

The woman in question nodded as I turned back to the map.

Juno leaned in, her brow furrowed as she studied the image. Her finger moved slowly before resting on one building set further back from the others, partially shaded by an old office tower.

"This one," she said. "It's recessed, and the height gives us clean angles on the whole plaza. It's a good vantage point. If I were to set up an overwatch, somewhere that won't grab attention, I'd pick that."

I nodded. "Then that's where I want you and Marina. And Marina, that's non-negotiable. Nobody operates alone." I cut off the protest before it began. "Juno, you're going to be on the Big Boy today.  You have scout training, and you know how to operate a field relay radio. We'll be counting on you to keep eyes on us. Especially once things get in close. You're our voice upstairs."

Juno gave a brisk nod, already reaching down to check said Big Boy. The heavy ragnite-powered radio unit was a modern marvel that was straight out of a sci-fi novel.  The unit was half the size of what you'd expect, not needing the bulky lead-acid batteries that were everywhere back during our own second World War.  Wonders of ragnite, I supposed. Thanks to that we all had something akin to personal comms equipment, so long as someone carried the booster unit. Granted they weren't anything on modern radio tech from back home, but having up to three miles of clear back-and-forth communication in a package barely larger than a walkie-talkie was a gift.

Juno's fingers were steady as she ran them over a bevy of dials and latches. "Batteries are full. Encryption's tight. Signal strength should hold across the block- no bleed, no noise. That should keep us all on comms without any issues.  We shouldn't have any issues keeping in touch with the Lieutenant either.  Big Boy can broadcast clear across the city if we need to."

Marina gave a small hum, not looking up from her rifle. She was checking the chamber, adjusting the sling tension with careful, practiced movements. When she spoke, her voice was soft and unhurried.

"The city's wrecked. Buildings are going to be dangerous to traverse, and rubble is going to be everywhere. Sightlines might not hold once we're up there."

She was right. The terrain was doubtlessly chaotic, but there was little we could do about that.

"We'll improvise," I said. "If it's necessary. For now we'll run with this plan as is, but don't get too attached to it. If we need to find another way around, or through, we will."

I gestured toward the buildings on the map, each marked with rough resistance estimates.

"We're going to be in close quarters. Tight corners, small rooms, plaster and wood walls and doors. Be mindful of where you're shooting, because bullets will go through those like they aren't there."

Wendy shifted beside Jane. "They'll have to be using their own booster towers, right? Civilian radio broadcasters don't have the bandwidth for military traffic. They'll be using something they brought in themselves."  Her voice was quavering, but she was getting more volume back into her tone, now that she had some way to contribute

I turned to her. "You've seen one before?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I signed up to be an Engineer originally.  During the training they had us learn all the different bits of enemy tech we might run into. The towers have thick, reinforced bases and sectioned construction, shaped for quick deployment. You can tell which ones they are by the black shielding rings at the top of the broadcaster. They use them to reduce interference."

Wendy's face took on a sour note, her forefingers pressing into one another as she muttered angrily, "That was before I got kicked out." Jane, behind her, looked at us and made an exploding motion with her hands, mimicking a detonation. Somehow, I wasn't surprised.

Shaking my head, I let my gaze rest on Wendy again, who had bounced back remarkably quickly..

"You'll be with me and Jane, in that case" I told her. "Keep your eyes up. If you spot one of those towers, you call it out." Wendy gave me a curt nod, her hands tightening briefly on the edge of her seat.

Jane leaned back with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. It reminded me of a big cat as it got ready to go on the hunt, which, all things given, was appropriate. Her teeth shined like fangs, and her eyes were vicious.  "About damn time," she said. "Been itching to stick the knife into a few of those Imp bastards since we got here."

I folded the map again, tucking it into my jacket. My voice was even, but I let the weight of it land.

"You'll get your chance. All of us will."

The APC was sitting ready to move out as soon as word came down. The engine rumbled beneath the floor like a beast pacing in its cage, impatient but restrained. Inside, the tension was suffocating. The girls were checking gear, double-tying laces, snapping buckles, running their fingers along blades and barrels with silent precision. Everything was ready. Everything was set. I nodded to each of them, heading towards the hatch.  I wanted some air.

I stepped out the side hatch, letting the door clunk shut behind me with a dull mechanical sigh. The sun hit me like a slap, bright, high, and unrelenting. The sky was that perfect Gallian blue, unmarred except for the thick, black smoke curling up from Vasel's broken skeleton. It hadn't changed since I first laid eyes on it. Same ruin. Same haze. Same hell.

I didn't want to stare at it anymore. I already knew what waited.

Footsteps crunched behind me. Not rushed. Measured. I could recognize Juno's controlled gait from a mile away by this point.

"Are you… alright, sir?" Her voice was unsure, like she was trying something out for the first time, and she may as well have been.  In all the time I'd known her she seemed content to let me stew.

I glanced over my shoulder. She stood, missing that same confidence that I'd always known her to have, arms folded loosely across her chest.  Her expression was a mix of concern and uncertainty, like she wasn't sure which she was supposed to be feeling. She looked tired, but not in the way you'd think. It was emotional fatigue, the kind that came from having your own deep thoughts digging at you.  I could recognize it.  Like knows like, after all.

"You were… tense, when you got into the APC.  More than usual." She added, quieter now.

"I'm fine."  The response came back almost rote, but Juno didn't accept it.

"It doesn't- you don't-"  She tried, before pausing.  "Sir- Jerry.  I know that we aren't close, at least not as much as you are with Alicia or Welkin, or even Isara.  But… we've been through a fair bit. Not just fighting, not just the road to Dillburg, but also through training.  Learning next to one another, fighting and crying and bleeding, remember?  You don't have to swallow everything up around me- around us."

I turned away, eyes drifting back to the horizon. "Maybe I'm just tired. The briefing was a lot. The mission they gave us is literally tossing us into the fire. Stress is all it is."

"Maybe, but… I don't think so.  We've all seen you, Jerry. When it's late, and your eyes are somewhere else while you clean your rifle or sharpen your knife.  We've all felt it, like something dark is hanging over you, like you're falling into yourself, seeing things that only exist in your head."  Juno pushed, and I turned to her fully.  She almost shrank under my gaze, even though it wasn't my intention.

I let out a dry breath. "It's nothing.  Just me thinking about things.  I have a lot on my plate, you know?" I tried for a smile, but it didn't quite manage to make its way onto my face.

She stepped up beside me, not pushing close, just… near. Like she was afraid she'd spook me if she made it feel too much like comfort. It was stiff and awkward and so very Juno, but she was trying. "Jerry, I… I don't like seeing it.  None of us do.  I know that what happened in Bruhl still bothers you, with Noce, with Juliette, with the ambush, with all of it.  I know that's why you pushed us so hard, why you pushed yourself so hard.  I appreciate it, we all do."

I didn't say anything. I didn't have to.

"But when it's all said and done and the day is over, you fold in on yourself," she said. "When things are quiet. When there's no one asking anything from you, that's when it starts. You get that look like you're somewhere else. Somewhere you don't want anyone following."

Still nothing from me. I watched the way the wind whipped the smoke, bending firelight like reflections on broken glass.

"I'm not trying to pry. I swear," She hesitated. "But… I don't know how to help when you get like this. When you close everything off. And it bothers me. Because I want to.  We want to.  But I don't know what's behind that wall you've built, or how thick it is."

I shifted my stance slightly, hands resting on my hips. The air was awkward, and I wasn't sure what to say, really.  I trusted Juno. Liked her, even, but… this wasn't her weight to shoulder. Besides, I'd gotten better. Been trying that whole whittling thing that Jane suggested. It did… help.

"I appreciate it. I do. But this isn't something that needs fixing. It's just... part of the job."

"That's not comforting." She almost whispered, and I shrugged.

"It's not meant to be." The words slipped out, and I knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as I said it.

She frowned at that. There was hurt there, yes, and something else besides. Like she just wanted to grab me and shake me until I opened up to her, or something. But it was the truth.

"You bottle everything up like you're afraid to waste breath on it," she said finally. "And when it finally cracks... I've seen how far down that fall goes. I don't want to see you go down that hole. You swallowed up so much, kept it down, and it's just making you sick over and over again. It gets into you and turns your eyes dark and your face stormy.  You don't… you don't have to.  You don't have to the the Lion in front of us all the time.  You can cry, you can grieve, you can let it go.  Because all that rage and all that guilt and all that doubt?  It's going to burn you out."

I looked at her then. Really looked. And for a moment, I wanted to tell her more. Not the whole truth, not the dark corners, but enough. Enough to let her know I wasn't just brushing her off. That I heard what she was saying. Now, on the eve of battle, right before the first major operation as a unit, I wanted to let it all go. But I couldn't. Couldn't forget it.  Couldn't let it go.  For as much as it was it burned me up, it also kept me warm.

So instead I just said, "I'll be fine."

She didn't believe me. I could see that clear as day. The frustration at the response, the raw worry, the quiet hurt at my distance and distrust, for all my big words about living and breathing and bleeding and all of that, I still kept myself apart from them. Even Juno, who had seen more than a bit of me at my worst as she tried to drill proper decorum and military order into me during our time at HQ.

"Right," she murmured. "Fine."

Juno stood there a moment longer, the silence thick between us. Then she turned and walked back toward the APC. She didn't slam the hatch behind her. Didn't raise her voice. But I could feel her disappointment linger in the air like cordite after a shot fired.

I stayed out there a few more seconds, watching the same ruined skyline.

Same city.

Same fire.

Same hell.

And then I followed her back inside.

000

The city loomed nearby, grey and hateful in the afternoon light. Smoke still clung to the skyline, curled up against a blue sky that was too bright for what waited ahead. The scent of war was already in the air. Burning oil, sweat, churned earth, and blood that hadn't even been spilled yet.

All around me, the militia moved like a tide, armed and geared, every man and woman bracing for what was coming. There was no idle chatter anymore, no laughter. Just the clink of webbing and the rattle of magazines being checked for the fifth time. Boots on dirt. Eyes ahead. The kind of quiet that settled in just before the hammer dropped.

I didn't hear Alicia walk up. I just noticed her beside me, two tin cups in her hands. She didn't say anything as she handed one over. It was hot, dark, and smelled like burnt beans, but it was coffee. I nodded my thanks.

We stood in silence for a while, watching the columns form up in the distance. Then she spoke, quiet and even.

"Welkin really did try, you know. He pushed hard to get them to reconsider your mission. Said it was too much too fast. He fought for you."

She said it quietly, like she was easing the words into the space between us, unsure if they would help or just weigh me down more. Her fingers were curled tight around her cup, knuckles faintly pale, and she kept her eyes on the city rather than on me.

I took a sip, staring out over the grey ruins. "I know."

"Command didn't listen." Her voice was laced with resignation. She exhaled, slow and shallow, then drew one arm across her chest and gripped her sleeve, the fabric bunching in her fingers. "I was outside the tent. They said they had high hopes. That you were showing results they couldn't ignore."

I didn't answer. There wasn't a point. The coffee sat bitter on my tongue, the heat fading fast in the tin cup.

She glanced at me again, side-on, as if trying to read what I wasn't saying.

"He was frustrated. Genuinely. I don't think I've ever seen him that angry in front of the Brass. I think he hates this part of it. Hates having to send you out like this."

"I don't blame him," I said. "He's doing what he has to."

Alicia shifted her weight, her boots crunching in the dirt. Her expression flickered, conflicted, before she finally said what had clearly been sitting on her chest for a while.

"I heard about Largo."

Of course she had.

She frowned faintly, gaze dropping to the cup in her hands.

"He's been wary of Welkin ever since he took command. Not exactly mean, just... critical. Too much so, maybe. He's not wrong to worry, but he doesn't know how to say it the right way. Largo's heart is good, it's just..." she hesitated, lips tightening as she searched for the right phrase, "he doesn't know how to make it come across like it should."

I could see it in her shoulders, the way she hunched slightly inward, like she was caught between two loyalties. She wanted to defend him. Wanted me to understand. I didn't.

I took another long sip of coffee, slower this time. "Doesn't matter how he phrases it. He doesn't get to pull Welkin down like that. Not around me. I owe Welkin. I owe you. I owe Isara. I'm not going to listen to that kind of talk." I said, my voice firm.

"Everyone gets one. He had his." I turned and met her eyes. "Next time, we'll have a problem."

The words hit harder than I expected. Alicia blinked once, then looked away, jaw tightening as she nodded. Her fingers drummed a small rhythm on her tin cup before she stilled them.

"I get it. I just..." she tried again, the words faltering, "...I worry. About the Squad. About Welkin. About Isara. There's so much on all of us."

I didn't trust my voice enough to answer. Instead, I stepped a little closer and gave her shoulder a light pat. My hand lingered a moment longer than I intended. She looked up, and I let her see the small smile I managed to find, something genuine through the fog. It was all I could give, but it was enough to soften the crease in her brow, just a little.

It helped, I think.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but a voice broke the quiet before she could.

"Sergeant!" Juno's voice cut through the low murmur of the waking camp, crisp and direct. Her figure emerged from the smoke-hazed light, her silhouette framed by the flicker of nearby lanterns and the pale blush of early dawn. She moved with purpose, boots steady, expression sharper than usual.

Alicia turned toward her, offering a small, tired smile. "Hey, Juno."

"Alicia." Juno's nod was stiff, her tone clipped and professional. One arm balanced the bulk of her encryption pack, the other loosely gripped her helmet, fingers white at the knuckles. There was tension in her posture, like a wire pulled taut- not panic, not quite, but something bracing. She stood just outside the reach of Alicia's warmth, polite and distant.

She didn't look at her for long.

I stepped forward, pulled instinctively into the space Juno carved open.

"Report."

She met my eyes squarely, nothing uncertain in her voice. There was a stiffness there that wasn't there this morning. "The unit's ready. Weapons checked. Packs sealed. Everyone's in position and waiting on your word."

The switch flipped. The warmth of shared coffee and quiet company drained from my limbs in a blink, receding like tidewater pulled under by something deeper. The part of me that could feel things; the exhaustion, the worry, the gratitude, had stepped away without protest. What remained was solid, measured, precise. Cold in the ways that mattered. It was the part that kept us alive.

I felt Alicia glance sideways, her breath catching ever so slightly as she saw the change. She didn't speak. Just held the cup a little tighter.

"Understood."

I drained the rest of the coffee. It was lukewarm now, but bitter enough to anchor me. The tin clicked softly as I handed it back to Alicia.

"Stay safe." The words were heavy on my tongue.

She took it with both hands, her expression pinched but composed. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but the moment had already shifted.

Juno lingered at the edge of the silence, her gaze flicking once more to Alicia. There was something in it- not disdain, not rivalry, but a recognition of closeness not hers. It passed too quickly for Alicia to notice.

She nodded to her, wordless, then turned to fall in beside me.

It was time to go to war.