A chill wind blows, driving away the heat that had settled throughout the morning. Above, dark clouds begin to gather, the air heavy with that faint scent that comes whenever rain is just about to fall. I march alongside my unit on to the tarmac of the airfield, each of us carrying a duffel bag holding some personal items and important gear over our shoulders. In the background is a hulking VTOL aircraft, resembling a large rectangular box with wings bolted to the side than a proper plane. The pair of VTOL thrusters, each mounted on a separate wing swing about on their motorized hinges under the pilot's direction as the crew begin pre-flight checks.

The Commander of our unit signals us to stop and Nomi very nearly bumps into me as she brings up the rear. A jeep hauling a wheeled metal container filled to the brim with boxes and haversacks drives past our unit and stops right beside the aircraft. The plane's boarding ramp opens with a mechanical groan and the crew begin transferring the assorted cargo into the aircraft's belly.

"Unbelievable." Nomi whispers to me, "They tell us that our unit is going to be sent on a last minute deployment outside the Citadel. Then when we rush to the airfield, the plane is not even ready yet. Doesn't that just piss you off, Hiro?"

"We wouldn't have been able to board the plane anyway." I reply, "We are probably waiting for another unit to show."

"Huh?" Nomi exclaims in surprise, "How do you know that?"

I point to the crew loading the plane, "Check out the number of haversacks. Far too many for us to use."

"Well, point taken." Nomi pouts, "So what is all this about then? You have any sort of clue?"

"I saw the markings on some of the boxes when that jeep was driving past." I shrug, "Its preserved food and water. No idea what we will be doing, but we won't be back for a long time."

"No way. No way." Nomi groans, "We just won a victory for the Citadel and now its off to the concrete desert. Its not fair."

"You were the one telling me to chin up a few days ago." I laugh.

"That's a lot of supplies." Nomi mutters worriedly, "You don't think they are sending us north, towards the Coalition?"

Now this comment from Nomi gets me worried. Valkyries are occasionally sent into Coalition territory to perform strikes against the usurping regime that set itself up there. The Citadel has an army of Militia and Auxilia holding the line up north, but they spend most of their time being battered by Coalition raiders. Since those guys are not in any shape to take the offensive, the Citadel sends Valkyries out whenever its time to do some damage.

Unfortunately, in the conflict against the Coalition, the tyranny of distance is in full effect. Crossing the concrete desert which separates both sides is a huge undertaking. There may be villages and small settlements that dot the intervening space, but those populations can't provide an advancing army with the quantity of fuel their tanks and machines require. A similar problem afflicts the Valkyries and Auxilia as well. Transmission stations do exist in the concrete desert, but they are rare and independently run. With no guarantee as to the reliability of the equipment or the skill of the operator, an army of bulwarks would inevitably end up stranded high and dry.

The Citadel had nevertheless worked out how to send Valkyrie units up north using the VTOL transports. The transport uses a hybrid engine which combines conventional fuel with divine energy, making it far more efficient. Even then, it doesn't have the endurance to make the whole journey. What happens is that the transport drops off the Valkyries somewhere around three quarters of the way to the front line. The Valkyries then load up the cargo and fly under their own power to a prearranged meeting spot with the local garrison. The garrison will be waiting with trucks to carry the Valkyries and cargo back to base.

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Its simple, more or less. The real problems start when the Valkyries actually start tangling with the Coalition. Its a very tightly held secret, but Nomi and I have heard things through the grapevine. Every Valkyrie unit sent against the Coalition gets smashed completely, without fail. Command can't be bothered to go through with the expense of bringing the routed Valkyries back to the Citadel, so they are ordered to merge with the Auxilia stationed at the garrison. Another unit of Valkyries is sent, and the cycle continues.

Heading north is at best exile from the Citadel by any other name. At worst, its a death sentence. I don't blame Nomi for feeling apprehensive. Now that I start thinking about it, sending us to the airfield on short notice might just be a scheme by Command to shuffle the unit away without us causing a scene.

"Hiro!" Nomi suddenly hisses, "Look there. Coming out of the airport right now."

A fresh line of Valkyries led by their commander files out of the building, walking towards our location. Like most Valkyries, these young women had freely modified their uniforms to fit their personal taste. The unit wears an ensemble of slacks, skirts, cut sleeve jackets, jeans, blouses and even tank tops. But there is one common factor that marks out this unit as special. No matter what the individual members wear, it is always colored black with red highlights.

"Red Roses." I whisper. The dreaded hand of the Leader.

"I don't like this." Nomi moans, "Red Roses are all bad people. Nothing good comes from associating with them."

One of the Red Roses, a woman who has had her hair done up in extravagant blonde ringlets catches my eye and gives me a playful wink. As I am debating internally how to respond, the Red Rose begins licking her lips suggestively. Her comrades begin stifling their laughter and giving me knowing looks. Nomi scowls and hooks her arm around mine possessively, sending the Red Roses a warning glare.

"Don't pay attention to them Hiro." Nomi says, "That one's not a natural blonde anyway. Her hair will be falling out in a couple of years time thanks to all the chemicals in the dye."

"Really?" I reply incredulously, "The first thing that comes to your mind when a death squad is standing in front of you is hair dye?"

"I tell it the way I see it." Nomi scoffs and tightens her grip on my arm, showering the Red Roses with the sweetest smile she can muster.

Before I can come up with an appropriate retort, a navy blue limousine escorted by a van in the same color drives through the airfield and stops right before us. The doors of the van open, and several Valkyries step out each of them with the bearing and comportment of veterans. They take up positions around the limousine, protecting in all sides, their all white uniforms a stark contrast to the background. The cold wind picks up again, sending loose ends the belts of rainbow colored cloth worn by the veterans at their waists flying into the air.

"Who are those guys?" I ask Nomi, but she releases her hold on me and stands at attention while unhappily pursing her lips. The only response I get from her is a warning glance. I quickly take the hint and quieten down. The newcomers have had the same effect on the Red Roses as well. They all shift to parade stance with respectful expressions on their faces.

The driver of the limousine disembarks and jogs over to the passenger side of the vehicle before deferentially opening it with a bow. A gloved hand reaches expectantly out of the car. In response, the leader of the newcomers, a statuesque chocolate skinned woman that towers over the crowd sternly marches towards the limousine. She then bends over like a courtier and takes the proffered hand, assisting the passenger in exiting the vehicle.

"No way. It can't be." I murmur. I didn't recognize the commander of the newcomers at first, since I never expected to meet her here. But now that I have collected my wits, there's no doubt about it.

That woman is big sis.

A figure dressed completely in robes begins to exit from the car. Like the robes worn by the chorus, it completely obscures the passenger's face and figure. But from the gait and difficulty whomever is underneath all that cloth has in moving about, the odds are that person is old. Very old. The passenger's gloved hands sink into big sis's arm like claws but my sister shows no sign of discontent or annoyance. If anything, big sis redoubles her efforts in helping whomever it is disembark from the car. It looks vaguely ridiculous, but no one dares say a word about what is happening in front of us.

After what feels like an age, the passenger manages an odd hobble, stumbling out of the limousine. Under the light of day, I can see what differentiates this person's robes from those worn by the chorus. The set worn by the dignitary in front of me carries all the seven colors of the rainbow. Those robes are literally the most colorful thing on the airfield right now. And there's only one person in the entire Citadel who wears robes like this.

The only one who had the honor of being seven times blessed.

The Leader.