The Troika wasn’t prepared for a stand-up fight in space. They’d assumed they’d face a minor skirmish at worst, and their arrogance cost them dearly. But as their casualties mounted, as suicide runs from pilots desperate to save the planet from extinction thwarted their bombardment campaign, the three races did something unheard of since their formation, so many millennia ago.
They retreated in defeat.
Alliance shuttles descended to the planet’s surface as Rescue operations got underway. Valkyrie Commandant Gerel Zakiyya herself came in with the first wave and went to work supervising the recovery efforts, directing resources to where they were most needed. The wounded were evacuated to the St. Jean Baptiste and other vessels and given the highest priority, while those vessels lacking dedicated medical facilities assisted in other ways. Some took watch in high orbit against the Troika’s return, while others began working to undo the ecological damage of the Kinetic strike. Thankfully, the first drop had been meant as a warning shot, impacting far enough from the precious sea beds to limit the devastation.
The Alliance defenders had not been so lucky.
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It was just her now. They had evacuated Arthur with the rest of the wounded, while Doc had been tapped to aid their efforts… though she suspected they’d take one look at his drawn and haggard features and find a quiet corner for him to rest instead. God knows he’d earned it.
As for her, there was still one last duty to attend to.
Rúna had cleaned them off as best she could, making them as presentable as possible. She owed them that. As the supplies started rolling in from the endless stream of shuttles now filling the skies, the Valkyries had focused on their immediate needs: food, medicine, fresh water…
… body bags.
She brushed Rivka’s hair before sealing the zipper and affixing her dog tags and then turned her attention to Kai. She gazed at him, before taking his hand in hers, his flesh already so very cold.
There was so much she wanted to say to him. She tried, but her words just disappeared into the wind. And honestly, what would even be the point? Saying that she loved him? That she wanted him back? None of that mattered now. Sniffling tears, she bent down and gently kissed his forehead, before zipping up his remains as well. Kneeling between them, she read their tags one last time.
Private First Class Rivka Zupan
Sergeant Agilmar Kai
She rose to her feet, brushing off the dust as best she could, before bracing to attention and rendering them both a final salute. She owed them that, too. Her hand dropped to her side as she heard vehicles coming up behind her; trucks filled with provisions and personnel. Fresh troops, taking over their old positions. They piled out and formed up, their NCO’s taking charge before marching them to the trench line.
Jesus. They looked like fucking children.
They came to a halt in front of her; the sergeant removing her helmet and tucking it under her arm, giving the twin body bags a long, quiet look, before turning her attention to Rúna, taking her in. She could feel her nervousness, her sense of quiet horror as she stared at the battered, disheveled woman before her, “Sergeant Astrid Lam, Kilo Company of the 3/1,” she swallowed, introducing herself. “We’re here to relieve you.”
“Aukes. 2/2,” she answered dully, her eyes not quite focused. The troops behind the too-young and too-clean sergeant averted their gaze, suddenly unable to make eye contact with her, focusing instead on the blasted landscape and the piles of corpses surrounding them, as if that were easier to look at than her vacant, thousand-meter stare.
Maybe it was.
Lam tried again. “Graves registration is right behind us,” she told her, “to retrieve the bodies.”
Rúna snorted. “Have fun with that,” she told her, shaking her head, “half of ‘em are in chunks.” Some troops suddenly looked nauseous, as she bent down and picked up a dust-covered hand with too many fingers. “Here,” she told her, shoving it at the shocked sergeant, “make yourself useful.” Lam dropped it back onto the dirt like it was radioactive.
Gamely, she gave it one last shot. “The trucks are waiting to take you and the others back to the rear,” she explained. “Supposed to be hot chow, and showers.” Rúna stared at her, not comprehending her words. “Go on,” she urged, “we’ve got this. You stand relieved.”
She looked at the idling truck and slowly nodded. It beat walking. Without a word she started making her way to the vehicle, much to the relief of the newbies, hauling herself up and taking a seat on the fold-down bench, removing the sword from her waist and laying it across her lap. A handful of others eventually joined her, one by one, each as filthy and broken and distant as she was. No one spoke. Someone slammed the gate shut before they pulled out, the transport bouncing on the uneven terrain as it carried her away.
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Rúna felt a nudge on her shoulder. “Go away,” she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket tight around her.
Another nudge, harder this time. “I’m sorry, corporal,” the voice apologized, “but you have to wake up. Colonel’s orders.”
Snarling, she reached down and threw a boot at him. “Fuck off.”
A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, corporal, but they ordered me to do this,” the voice said again, mere moments before a cup of water was dumped on her. She came up sputtering, unsheathing her sword as she sought the guilty party. Some newbie private was backing away, his hands waving frantically.
“You,” she hissed, raising the sword high as she advanced on him with murderous intent.
The kid panicked and hauled ass, the only sign of his passage the swinging door he’d disappeared through. Wiping her face, she looked around the room, eyeing other victims of the private’s attentions, most of them now slowly getting dressed. “What the fuck?” she demanded, as she sheathed her blade.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“They want us in formation,” one of the other survivors grumbled. “Some sort of Mickey Mouse crap.”
“Commandant’s supposed to be there,” another one chimed in.
“The Commandant can kiss my ass,” Rúna growled, “They want me on the parade ground, they’ll have to do it at gunpoint.”
“... I can arrange that,” another voice answered, entering the room. Gunny Satou stood there, hands on her hips, though one was casually draped on the butt of her sidearm.
“This is bullshit, Gunny,” she snapped. “A fucking parade?”
“Bullshit or not, you’re still doing it,” the senior NCO fired back. “And it’s not ‘Gunny’ anymore,” she continued, pointing to her sleeve. The Gunnery Sergeant stripes were gone, replaced by First Sergeant stripes.
Rúna blinked. “What happened to Top Berger?” she asked, a split second before wincing as she realized the likely answer.
“She bought the farm,” Satou answered, confirming her suspicions. “You all have ten minutes to get dressed and form up outside. We’re doing this, and I am not asking.” Her message now delivered, she spun on her heel and marched back out.
Sullenly, she began pulling on her uniform. All the shit they’d gone through, her squad all but wiped out, and now this? It sorely tempted Rúna to ignore the Gunny’s… Top’s… orders and let the chips fall where they may. If they wanted to arrest her for that, fine. She’d happily sleep in the stockade. It couldn’t be any worse than what she’d already been through.
Her shoulders sagged as she realized just how stupid that was. So it was bullshit. Whatever. She’d go out there and stand in formation while the fucking Commandant got her jollies pinning on medals, and then it would be over. It didn’t matter.
Nothing did.
They were more or less ready by time Top returned, though they were hardly presentable. The survivors were a ragged, scruffy lot, sullen and withdrawn and teetering on the edge of exhaustion. They shambled over to the same piece of dirt they’d held negotiations and started forming up in a single group, instead of by platoon and company. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Colonel Holme appeared a couple minutes later, with Captain Inaba by his side, though they seemed to be the only officers in attendance.
This time she didn’t ask about the others.
At least they weren’t kept waiting. The Commandant showed up just a few minutes later, as the colonel called out, “Battalion, atten-shun!” Instead of snapping their heels together, they mostly just stood a little straighter… those that bothered, anyway. The old bitch eyed the sparse formation dispassionately, before approaching the colonel, stumping along on her artificial leg. “I was under the impression that the battalion would be present,” she snapped.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Ma’am… this is the battalion,” Holme said softly.
Her jaw dropped and then snapped back shut, before abruptly turning away. “... goddamn it all to hell,” she said under her breath, as her hand covered her face. They stood there, suddenly embarrassed, as she fought to compose herself. When she finally turned back around, her expression was unreadable.
“I’m not here to make long speeches,” she told them, “I just want to say this. Every Terran Clan owes you a great debt for what you did here. Because of you we now have a real Alliance, one able to stand up to the Troika. Maybe we can’t defeat them just yet,” she admitted grimly, “but that will change as others flock to our cause.” Her gaze traveled across the ragged ranks as something softened in her features. “We’ll never be able to reward you, nor those that aren’t with us, for their sacrifice… except to say this.” A hint of a smile appeared. Briefly. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “The Children of Terra will never forget what took place here, here on Sonoitii Prime.” She took a single step back as her hand snapped to her brow, saluting them. She held it for a moment, before bringing it back down. “Battalion, dis-missed!” she barked.
The survivors looked at one another in confusion. This wasn’t protocol at all, but she had dismissed them. With a collective shrug, the formation broke apart, with most of the group stumbling back for more shut eye. Rúna trailed along behind them until someone touched her arm.
“The Commandant would like a word,” Captain Inaba told her.
“Tell her I’m busy,” she snapped, pulling away.
“Rúna,” the captain said gently, “... I get it. Believe me,” she sighed. “But this is important. Please.”
Officers never said ‘Please’. Reluctantly she let herself be led to the CP and was ushered inside, surprised to discover the colonel was nowhere in sight. The Commandant turned to face her, holding a pair of drinks. “Here,” she told her, pressing it into her hand, “I figure you can use it.” That done, she took a seat, lighting a cigarillo and puffing away as she sipped from her glass.
She threw back the glass, letting the alcohol burn as it rolled down her throat. “What do you want?” she challenged her.
“I figure you got questions,” she explained. “I’m here to answer them.”
Rúna glared at her. “No… no questions,” she growled. “I figured it out.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Zakiyya prodded her.
“You could have reinforced us any time you wanted,” she said coldly, “but instead you let them bleed us, just to build up sympathy for the cause. You staked us out like a fucking goat and left us to die. Didn’t you?” she accused her.
The older woman took a long puff. “Yes… I did,” she agreed.
“You fucking bitch,” Rúna snarled, her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her sword. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t just kill you.”’
“Because you’re not fast enough,” the commandant said affably, yanking out her sidearm from her shoulder holster and setting it on the table beside her. “I regret the necessity of it, but it was necessary. Without the sacrifices made by the 2/2, this Alliance would have never been born, and that same Alliance is the only thing that will save us from extinction.”
“No, not the only thing,” she shot back.
“What, New Terra?” Zakiyya sighed, shaking her head. “I’m a clan leader, corporal. I can’t make plans for our future based on a pipe dream and a prayer. This, on the other hand… this is real.”
“So is New Terra,” Rúna snapped. “You know it is.”
“Maybe,” she admitted despite herself, “but even if it is, there’s no guarantee we’ll ever find it, or secure it before the Troika does. If I’m wrong, no one will be happier than I will, but my responsibility is too fucking important to put all our eggs in one flimsy basket.” She took another puff. “So I gambled the lives of every man and woman in the 2/2, for a way to save our race. And if I had to, I’d do it again.”
“Just like that?” she asked caustically. “Our lives meant that little to you?”
“Spare me,” the older woman sneered. “You think you’ve got the market cornered on pain and suffering? Maybe you should spare a stray thought for your colonel. Do you have any idea what he’s going through?” Rúna just stared at her, confused. “No, I thought not,” she snorted. “I’ll probably have to reassign him, take away his command and stick him in some quiet corner of the galaxy… and pray he doesn’t stick a gun in his mouth. Take a wild guess, corporal, who he blames for all of this. I’ll give you a hint; it’s not me.” Her nostrils flared as she glared at her, her eyes dark and dangerous.
Rúna drew close, her hand still on her sword. “You should have been here,” she hissed, “you should have had to suffer everything we did.”
“... I wish I had,” she answered softly, staring into her glass, before returning her gaze. “You stay alive long enough, make enough rank, someday you’ll learn the same lesson I have.” The CP seemed to drop twenty degrees, as there was a sudden chill in the air. “The only thing worse than going through hell yourself, is sending others to do it.”’
“That must be so easy to say,” Rúna mocked her.
“Trust me… it isn’t.” She drained her glass and set it aside. “You’re dismissed, corporal,” she said with a wave of her hand.
Downing the rest of her own drink, she let the tumbler fall to the floor, turning and storming out without another word.