"I got this covered," said Derrick to a fellow soldier.

"Are you sure?"

"There's only three of them. You do something else. Ain't the General calling for you too?"

"...You're right."

"If I need someone, I'll get the engineers up there at the yard to come here. I'll be fine."

"If you say so."

Derrick glanced at his comrade before he continued burying the dead family from before. His shovel dug into a mound of dug up soil, and then slowly, he lifted a chunk and threw the soft mass into a hole.

Ten times. Thirty.

Derrick's forearms ached after repeating the same action countless times but he sucked in air through his teeth and let out a long breath, ignoring it. His priority was to bury the family in the hole he and other soldiers had dug up outside the HQ. There was a small hill seven hundred meters away from it, and dotting the soil around the hill were trees like paper birch.

"Derrick."

The man who had his name called turned to look at Sergeant Campbell standing a few feet away from him.

"Sir. It's done," said Derrick, "I apologize if my request to bury the family came off as selfish, but this... I really want them to be buried, and not cremated like the others."

"...The General is calling for you. Come to his office now."

"I don't suppose I'm the last one left, is it?"

Derrick went to Campbell's side and they walked back to the military HQ, gentle wind brushed against them.

----------------------------------------

----------------------------------------

"General."

Campbell saluted at the General followed by Derrick after they entered his office. Their eyes then fell on the Canadian flag hung onto the wall behind the highest-ranking soldier, a sight too common for those who often came here.

Fifteen soldiers had gathered before the General and with the addition of Sergeant Regent Campbell and First Class Private Derrick Jones, the meeting could finally start.

"Just now, I'd received intel from the troops on the frontline. They're pushing hard through the island as it is, but those armed forces prove to be quite... how to say this... quite... annoying, per se. Because of them, our mission's progress is slower than expected. I don't like this. You can tell, can you? These people are very much an obstacle to us—pests—and they're not going away any time soon."

"How about our tanks, General? They're on the frontline right now, isn't it? Did they—" proposed a soldier.

"We've lost three light tanks as of today. Two, actually, managed to return back to this HQ, but in no way repairable. They're junk. Their main cannons can't be fixed."

The soldiers whispered among each other when the General further elaborated on their loss in the three days of their attack. Truly, this enemy the Great Corporate United fought against evinced what they thought impossible for mere islanders to do, which was pushing back the invaders themselves.

"W-Who are these people anyway?" said a soldier.

"A question of which no one has an answer to, currently," said the General.

"Sir." Campbell stepped forward towards the General. "With how things are proceeding, you don't think they have a base or something on the island, do they?"

"I had the same idea."

"It's only a thought I've in mind, but... The amount of resistance we'd received is largely contributed by how they're being supplied with all these firearms and whatnot, correct? If this is true, then these armed forces must've been getting them from somewhere. A place where they can resupply their depleted stocks and get back to the frontline with ease."

"To and fro the battlefield and their resting area," muttered Derrick.

The General nodded in agreement. As much as he relied on the Sergeant's suggestion from time to time, he too had thought the same. For the armed forces to continue giving pressure to his troops, a continuous flow of supply was much needed.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

And their numbers were not small as far as he could tell. The expertise on the rebels' side worried him more at least. Perhaps they had people from various fields and backgrounds to work with them, which would explain their efficiency in eliminating his troops at an alarming rate.

"I'd sent scouts all over the island. In due time, we will find their hideout and crush them all at once."

"The fifth and sixth troops you'd sent to the city called Cleectin should be done with the extermination right about now. Should we send them?" said Campbell.

"The city on the island's center? There's not much of importance going on there. No government officials whatsoever caught. I could send them, yes, but... there are people on our side that's better suited for destroying the rebels, isn't it?"

"The Sigurd?" asked another soldier.

The General stood up from his seat and turned around to face the Canadian flag. He lowered his head, running his gaze on the flag from bottom to top slowly.

"I'll ask the Sigurd commander to assemble her Officers. She'll launch an attack at the base, and hopefully, that'll be the end of these annoying pests."

"You don't have to seek the Sigrdrifa, General," said a hushed woman's voice.

"What the—"

"When did you...!?"

A steel dagger with a curved tip touched Derrick Jones's throat. He tried to look over his shoulders when a woman in black clasped his mouth from behind.

"Your men are weak, General," said the woman, "I don't even have to use any Iliads to sneak behind them. This guy, in particular, would've lost his life if this is a real fight."

This woman in her twenties—short dark hair with her fringe clipped to the side—ignored the handguns aimed at her. She cast momentary sidelong glances at a few before she walked up to the General's office table.

"Officer Milloula Friegeaux..."

"That's me, General. Thank you for remembering my name," said Milloula with a wide grin. Her pupils shrunk as she stared at the standing General.

"Everyone, stand down. There's no need to be alarmed. Friegeaux, I would've preferred if you'd left Private Jones alone in your seemingly harmless prank."

"Seemingly harmless prank? Hahahaha. I was just teasing him."

"Right..."

Friegeaux gazed at Derrick when she referred to him, his gun was already sheathed.

Milloula Friegeaux wore the standard 'battle outfit' like the rest of her fellow Officers. A tight black one-piece made up completely from highly durable synthetic materials. Two silver straps ran down from each clavicle before it connected through an 'X' patterned chain below her chest. The two metal pauldrons fitted to her shoulders were lightweight—incongruously light if compared to old-fashioned ones. Though, unlike Officer Senosha Vreneall, Milloula did not have an Iliad that took the form of a metal box.

Instead, she had titanium bracers wrapping her forearms and dark, flowy ankle-length skirt with an intricate design in silver embroidered along the hemline. Looking at her belt, the teal swirl-like pattern on it moved along the black surface as if it was an LED screen, shimmering ever so often once it caught the fluorescent light.

"You don't have to seek the Sigrdrifa if you just want a few Officers to crash the rebels' base. I can get them for you, in exchange that I'm also participating in this raid," said Milloula.

"Hm. Will that work? I'm sure your commander needs to know what you're doing."

"Hey, she's not here, okay? Besides, she's a busy woman. Don't bother her with this small stuff alright? Sigurd also has other things to do besides joining you lot in this sudden attack."

"I can see that," nodded the General.

"I'm just a rank below the second-highest, so you can count on me if you want someone to order the Officers. And...!"

Milloula sauntered towards Derrick with a leer and pressed her index finger onto the soldier's chest.

"I might need some of your men to come with me. They could be of some use in the raid. But don't count on it."

"Sure. If you can get approval from the higher-ups, then I'll lend my men to you, how many you need."

"Great."

Milloula's mouth curved into a grin when Derrick scowled at her. She did not feel intimidated by him, so instead of backing off, she brought her face close to his, her eyes focused on the soldier's somewhat captivating eyes.

"Just so you know, General, I'm sure the A.U would allow it anyway. They're above those higher-ups of yours, so if I can get in touch with one of them, I'll get what I want easily."

The Officer then distanced herself from Derrick and faced the General, who'd watched her with a stern expression. Toying with his men as the woman pleased had seemed to stir the General's emotions. Campbell lowered his head when he realized this fact, and so did a few others.

"We from Brunhilde serve only to follow orders. Everything they asked of us, we will do it unconditionally," said the General.

Even if it meant taking the lives of those we were supposed to save? Derrick had this thought when he heard the General—his superior—uttered those words smoothly.

He, like how everyone was, had been enlisted as a soldier belonging to Brunhilde, a part of a mysterious Canadian organization called Great Corporate United. Brunhilde acted as a place for military convicts punished by law. But in Derrick's case, he knew, agonized over the fact that he was forced into Brunhilde due to a false accusation. Simply put, he was framed.

A former Second Class Private from the Canadian military force consigned to carry out inhumane duties—was his story, like many others in Brunhilde. While this did not strike anyone strange, for the framed individual, it changed his life forever.

The man's wife and daughter left behind back at Nunavut, Canada supported him when the case was brought up in court. However, their testimony was never enough to save him.

Framed. Dishonored. Brought down from grace. Derrick had no choice but to serve the Great Corporate United, for that was the only way for him to keep his family safe.

"...I'll clear my name someday. And then, I'll get back to my family," whispered Derrick to none but himself.