The rifle was steady in its wielder’s hands as its four barrels pointed in the direction of a figure. Unmoving and lacking reaction, it then bounced as it was riddled with Reserve beams from the lethal weapon. Pulling his face away from the gun’s sight, the man smiled as he saw the holes he made in his defenseless target.
“The real ones won’t be standing so still.” he told himself as the dummy 30 yards in front of him slowly regenerated via the shards of Utrium embedded in it, appearing as if it hadn’t even been touched.
The small shooting range in the Military Headquarters as well as many considerably larger ones situated in hundreds of Titanian bases across the Empire were the closest to true gunfights the vast majority of Titanian soldiers had seen—apart from a handful of very old warriors who saw a real battle or two during the end of Emperor Henrik’s reign and the beginning of Emperor Halsten’s. That was excluding the numerous riots that happened each year on Mars and the rare raids on Terra, targeting old sites that were once of value to the Empire, which still happened. However Henrik had died two decades earlier, so imagining scenarios that would potentially be manifested on the battlefield had been on the top of every Titanian fighter’s mind. And even though Waldomar Brose was too high of a position to actually be deployed to the battlefield, it didn’t hurt to visualise himself in the shoes of his subordinates who would.
“Astounding marksmanship, Major General.” a man remarked warmly behind him. Brose pressed on a knob adjacent to the trigger of his rifle, activating his safety before lowering it and turning to face him.
“Thank you, Major General Sjogren,” he offered his salute at about the same time as the other, aware that they were now equal in rank. “I hadn’t expected you to come around.”
“Oh, I practically scoured the entire Headquarters looking for you,” Sjogren chuckled. “And you can call me Goban here.”
A smile flashed across Brose’s face, being acknowledged so quickly by his new counterpart.
“Right then, Goban. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Sjogren’s smile faded, causing Waldomar to worry. It couldn’t be good.
“Many months ago when we confirmed the Red Devil’s survival on Terra, General Karesti had the Martial Advisory Council draw up a contingency for if he were to return to Titan.”
“You’re being serious now, aren’t you?” Brose tilted his head slightly.
“Yes. Our General is a very careful woman… she knew what her brother was capable of. Now, we know he didn’t quite come back as many thought he would’ve, but the fact remains that it was genuine preparation for war. We’ve used this contingency as a guide for how to deal with this new Terran dilemma. The relatively few soldiers we’ve deployed to scout northwards to the Mountains are there in primarily a scouting and surveying capacity.”
Sjogren paused to catch his breath, but Brose took the opportunity to chime in.
“And I’m guessing the 50,000 soldiers required for the ground invasion are incompetent in head-to-head combat.” Brose surmised with confidence, using intuition he’d gained in his three years as Minister of Martial Education.
“Correct,” Goban nodded. “The Advisory Council has identified the need for 2,500 instructors on the ground on Mars to offer a crash course on war strategy. Salomon has sent you a confidential, encrypted email with the instructions to send them, but it is your task to develop this course with the Advisory Council’s cooperation and to send the instructors emails with Salomon’s instructions. He wants those instructors sent to Mars in three days. Don’t worry about staffing shortages at Heimat—classes will be suspended indefinitely.”
Brose seemed to understand his directives right away, although he was annoyed at having to notify the school directors of the suspension. But then again, the burden would be on them to pass the news along to the instructors and students.
“Understood, Goban. You can count on me.”
“Thank you, Waldomar. I’ll let Salomon know you’ll start your work as soon as possible.”
--
Waldomar dropped onto a sofa in the living room of a penthouse suite in the centre of Xanadu City’s vibrant, colorful business district, sighing as the relief of the soft cushions comforted his sore backside after hours of sitting on hard Civil Administration Building seats. He kicked the boots off his feet, resting them on the coffee table a yard in front of the sofa. He set his communicator on his lap and hovered his finger over the holographic screen, stopping on the button that featured the symbol of a golden envelope. There, he began to draft an email to the secretaries and directors within the Ministry of Martial Education—there was no way he would personally communicate orders to thousands of individuals when he could send the message through the addresses of a couple hundred mid-level employees. He made sure to type out the information Salomon had diligently sent him in his own words, before dispatching the message in the form of a mass-email. At least that would give an appearance of credibility.
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Then, there was the second mass-email he would have to make in which he would inform the directors of the Heimat Academy as well as numerous satellite schools throughout the Empire that trained the young, future protectors of the Empire that their education was to be put on hold. Unlike most councillors and indeed ministers, Brose was genuinely interested in the field he oversaw. Having first become an instructor at age 20 at a school on Mars after six years of being an enlisted soldier like most other Titanian defenders, it was his eye for talent and his desires to see it flourish that brought him to where he was 10 years later. Titanian martial education was required for every Titanian child from ages 10 to 14, and if they chose to remain in the Military—which 25% did, their advanced learning would continue to the age of 19 where they would become full-fledged soldiers.
“Dear respected directors,” he spoke the words allowed, enabling to be typed automatically onto the communicator screen. “It is with great humility and difficulty that I announce that..”
He stopped for a second.
The remainder of the school year will cease indefinitely, or the school year will be postponed until further notice?
As his gaze was fixed on the screen of his communicator, deliberating on how to complete the sentence, he saw a shape move under his chin with great speed.
“Pizna Almighty…” he stammered. He slowly shifted his stare downwards where he saw a knife being wielded in the hand of someone unknown who stood behind him, inches away from his throat.
“You know better than to deactivate your Detection so soon.” the stranger said, and Waldomar could only imagine a smirk on their face. In reaction, he produced a smirk on his own, returning his gaze back to his screen.
“A lot of people like to type with their fingers, but I prefer using my voice,” he said. “Where are my hands?”
The would-be assailant hadn’t noticed that Waldomar’s hands had remained on his lap the entire time he was writing his second email, and by the time they realized, Waldomar had already spun around and pointed his pistol at their head.
They took a step back and sheathed their knife in their utility belt. They frowned as they put their hands up beside their head.
“You can’t dispatch someone who taught you pretty much everything you know,” Waldomar howled with laughter. “Come on, Tove. Be better.”
“I just wanted to surprise you.” the instructor of the Frei Squad spoke, letting her arms fall to her sides as she let out a disappointed sigh.
“Some surprise that was,” Waldomar rolled his eyes, replacing his pistol in its holster. “You haven’t been to the city in a while. What makes you think you can sneak into my home and point a knife at my throat?”
“Living in that palace for months on end will make anyone go mad,” Instructor Gerlachus snapped at her supervisor. “And you forget I have your access code. I didn’t really sneak in. The knife… it just made it more fun.”
“It’s alright, Tove, I was just teasing you.” he grinned before reaching over the sofa and wrapping his arms around her hips, still clad in her military attire as was the rest of her body, lifting her over the sofa and spinning her around twice as she cupped his face in her hands, before he dropped her gently on it. She shrieked with laughter as she felt Waldomar’s touch for the first time in close to a year.
“So, how was the inauguration?” she asked as cozied up beside him.
“It would’ve been a lot more special if this stupid war wasn’t going on,” he sighed. “But I saw a lot of interesting faces there.”
The greedy Moen, the inseparable Asjes and Eld, his eccentric colleague Vang, the little-known heiress of the Calvo family and the equally reclusive last remaining male member of the Karesti family were some of the few characters he had become acquainted with and indulged Tove about. He spoke about their speeches and their manners and behaviour.
“Ah, could you believe it? That dunce Salomon couldn’t say his own name right if his life depended on it!” Waldomar erupted in laughter as he described the moment his very name was called.
“I wonder how a man like that ever wound up becoming the righthand to the General.” Tove giggled along with him. “Certainly there are more intelligent and capable men out there.”
“And who might you be referring to?” Waldomar asked rhetorically while both knew the answer.
“A very beautiful man.” Tove said in a singsong tone, running her fingertips through Waldomar’s brown-blonde scalp, whose length ended just above his shoulders.
“You’d be correct.” Brose smiled.
And then a pang of sudden gloom erupted in Waldomar’s chest. He knew that the instructors would receive and respond to their orders by the next afternoon. Tove seemed to see the mood change in his eyes and promptly pulled her hand away from his head.
“Is something the matter?” she asked, a slight frown appearing on her lips.
“Tove,” he sighed. “You would be finding out about this very soon anyway, but it’s best that I tell you now. You’ve been given orders.”