My good mood to see base again vanishes when I notice a jarring difference in the hill where our base is at. Besides our banner, another flies in the wind — the Smoking Snake of the 1rst Regiment.

“Ah, hell no! Not these assholes!” I complain to Diego over the cheering of our passengers, pointing it out to him. We’re back on our preferred place, on the mounted gun atop the truck’s cab.

“Well, we did suffer nearly 20% casualties, what did you expect? They must think the 1rst Regiment would be the one to cause less friction with us.”

“I’m pretty sure there was very little thinking involved. Fucking idiots!”

As I’ve said before, 1rst Regiment is a more elite unit, bearing the Smoking Snake insignia that hails from our fighting men on the Second World War Two. We’re so bad at remembering our own historical contributions that I’d bet more of the rock-band Sabaton fans knew about it than our own population. Smoking Snakes is a fine song, by the way, and represents the stubborn heroics our people can do. You’d think that WW2 had something to do with the mythics, but I’m afraid that one was all on one evil human’s genocidal delusions of grandeur. Many mythics were dragged into the humans’ insane, lethal fight, and suffered like much of the human population.

You might wonder how a smoking snake of all things become the Brazilian Expeditionary Force’s symbol back then, and the 1rst Regiment’s nowadays. It was a jocose comment made by journalists that Brazil would only go to war when a snake smoked, and it was taken in with the usual military humor when it did come true after all. A comment just like that one motivated the 2nd Regiment’s banner: “Brazil will go to space when pigs fly” they said. Well, here we are, suckers. The Flying Pigs of the 2nd Regiment.

The two brother regiments have come into contact three times. And they behaved in every single one of these times like siblings do — particularly angry and stupid siblings.

Drones and magical constructs zap by us, checking out the trucks by conventional and arcane ways as we start our way up the hill; as far as I know, we don’t have any summoner to call the arcane Floating Eyes forth. It probably means that the 1rst Regiment is in charge of camp defense. And even if they might be a bit better, I groan at the thought of the cunts strutting around ordering our people about. The quartermasters and the doctors always have to deal with the resulting mess.

As the trucks are parked, our people starting bounding out of them, anxious to rejoin the camp. Since I’m already standing on a high spot, I take advantage of that to bellow. “Hey, people! Don’t forget to report to your officers!” They nod and wave at my reminder and enter the base en masse.

I jump down from my perch and I’m joined by my two escorts for the mission, Corporal Diego and Private Jones. I give the drivers orders where to park before I follow behind the group, ploddingly. It’s been a hell of a day, and I can’t quite get LC Valente’s terror from my mind. But when I see a trio waiting for me, I know it’s far from done. The ill-tempered, barrel-chested Trasgo waiting for me with his arms crossed is none other than Major Delavega, one of the Snakes’ leaders, and he is ringed by the indifferent Captain Castanho and Geni, scowling something fierce.

“Oh, this will be bad, won’t it?” whisper-asks Jones.

“Definitely,” says Diego.

I’m inclined to ask if they’re talking about just this reaming, or if the 1rst Regiment being with us, but I let it go. We’ll learn about it soon enough. “Just get Tom and some people to unload the supplies and stash them as soon as you get free,” I tell them, “Hide them in the stables, if you must. Let me handle the prick,” I reply, covering my mouth under the flimsy, transparent pretext of scratching over my ear.

“Lieutenant Barrro!” shouts the Trasgo as if my name was a curse. “What is the meaning of this? Why didn’t you pass this information through the proper channels?!”

“Firstly, good night, sir! Reporting to base!” I try to throw him off by being unusually formal, saluting and everything. “I did report my outing to Captain Castanho. He was in agreement that I needed to fill my newly-opened slots as soon as I could, sir!”

“That’s exactly true, Major. In the absence of Lieutenant Colonel Valente, I judged it was better to send the lieutenant to the base quickly so he could be better prepared for the next fight,” Castanho lies through his shiny teeth — I wish I was half the liar that he is. I just gave him an out, and he took it smoothly, never mind that he had no idea what I was doing.

“And did you also authorize him to take vital supplies like two heavily needed laser carbines away from the base?” Major Delavega presses my boss, who is completely unruffled.

“Of course. Lieutenant Barro is one of the most accomplished quartermasters when it comes to the Market. If he took something, I’m sure he brought something equal or greater in worth,” Castanho says, giving me a pointed stare.

“Yes, sir! I’m now the record-holder of Market visits. I’ve brought 5 Elemental Manarifles and 2 True Thunder Shards — though I’m not certain if we’ll be able to make use of them.”

“Perfect,” Castanho says before the major can switch to another avenue of attack. “I’ve always had perfect confidence on your abilities, lieutenant. Is this all, Major Delavega? I have things to do,” he says, unperturbed and unimpressed by the whole scene. At least that’s what his amazing poker-face makes it look like.

Delavega’s stare would certainly kill if it was a weapon, but he has to grudgingly grant my boss leave. “Very well, Castanho. Thanks for your presence.” He lets out the last bit with clearly forced cordiality.

Let me tell you a secret about Captain Castanho: he doesn’t give a shit. And I don’t think that the person who will hold him accountable to his many failings has been born yet. The man’s a weasel when it comes to skipping work and avoiding responsibility. Much of the man’s works falls into his poor secretary’s arms or mine, but I can’t help but to admire such a skill. And as I said, he does have a flip side, like letting me do whatever the fuck I want to mostly.

The silent Geni has mastered her distaste and is standing rigidly with a neutral face when Delavega shifts to see both of us and throw his accusations. “And what is this I’ve heard about. A celebration? What do you two have to say for yourselves?”

“I’ve just talked with Colonel, major. He had no objections to it, and I did manage to secure the needed supplies at bargain prices,” I say calmly. Technically, not one single lie there. Geni just nods.

“Lieutenant Colonel Valente isn’t commanding this base — I am. And I’m not enjoying my off-time because you people couldn’t deal with a little Barker attack. There will be no partying, this is an active front and we can’t be caught by surprise again.”

“Major, it’s my duty to inform you this will affect morale,” the burly sergeant says. “It’ll get worse than it already is. And I must protest that the assault squads are not military police to break off all these scuffles, major.”

“Very well. I’m informed and not moved by your complaints. You’ll continue to act in that capacity until command has deigned to send adequate replacements.”

Geni and I share a rebellious glance and he takes notice of it. “Do not try to challenge my authority, you’ll regret it. You’ll be held to 1rst Regiment standards while I’m here.

“Of course, sir. We’d never do something like that,” I lie, saluting.

“Yes, sir,” Geni says, her distaste clear on her voice as she follows suit.

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“I’ll make sure to check the truck’s inventory and confiscate the illegal cargo. You are dismissed,” he says threateningly.

Me and Geni walk away from the Major and only stop when we’re on a safe distance.

“Fucking prick,” I swear, casting an evil eye to where we went.

“Yeah. Real piece of work these Snake boys. Can you do something to avoid him getting his hands on the supplies?”

I scoff. “Already done it, I knew he would pull a stunt like this when I saw the reception committee. I’ve sent the boys over to do it while we talked.”

“Good. Is LC Valente all right? How was his rebrain? I’m sure you weren’t stupid to lie about something like that, I’m sure the asshole will check it.”

I grimace and she does too when she sees my face. “It’s not good, sergeant. He’ll live, but he lost his recent memory. He’s not okay.”

“Shit, how bad?”

“Pretty bad,” I say, shaking my head.

“You mean he forgot about… all this crazy shit? And about all of us?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder. She was close with the major.

“Hells… Now I definitely need a drink.”

“About that… How are we going to escape the Major’s ire while we do it?” I ask, certain that it will happen one way or another.

“I don’t know. So there’s only one thing we can do….”

“Crisis Committee?”

“Crisis Committee,” she agrees.

***

It’s already getting late, so we have to act fast, reaching out to every sector’s representative without drawing attention. Weary of the Major watching us, we approach some trustworthy soldiers to deliver the messages in person. In half an hour, we’ve got all the representatives of the base’s most important sectors and units. Understand that there would be a lot more different sector chiefs if we were an experienced, fully-equipped unit to Unity’s standard — intelligence operators, digital combat experts, psych warfare agents, mech pilots… But this is what we’ve got so far.

There’s Lieutenant Pará, the Trasgo head of Engineering, scowling and polishing her many tools as usual. There’s sergeant Kaio, the stern Chibamba head cook — of course there are a lot more efficient food dispensers, but experience shows morale takes a hit if there’s not at least a meal a day made by usual means. Sergeant Aiowara stands for the Caipora’s peccary-cavalry and is sporting a swollen jaw and bruised knuckles — soldiers who get into brawls have their nanite-boosted healing deactivated as a punishment. Lieutenant Bumba, an ancient, black-furred Angolan Kishi, has decided to come himself to serve as the spellcasters’ representatives. Black fur is maybe too generous, let’s say salt and pepper. Fridy — Lieutenant Friedsch — is the doctor’s leaders and representative.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned the Kishi before — we only have two on the 2nd Regiment — or the Chibamba. The Chibambas are black-skinned mythics of African ancestry who have leaves growing out on their skins — they plant seeds according to the region where they’re from. Sergeant Kaio, like many Brazilian Chibambas, prefers banana tree leaves. Luckily, they are not strict vegetarians and have no problem cooking meat. The Kishi are were-hyena mythics of Angolan origin, somewhat skilled in magic. We have very few non-Brazilians in the unit overall. The Portuguese-speaking African soldiers have mostly joined the 1rst Luso-African Regiment — they’re mostly from Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea-Bissau.

I stand for the quartermasters. Geni stands for the assault squads. That makes seven of us, high non-commissioned officers and the lowest ranking officers. We’re the counterpart to the top officer’s cabinet that LC Valente used to get together to decide on important matters. We’re the ones that make sure certain problems never reach the commander’s ears and are dealt with internally, and quietly. Well, Lieutenant Bumba was a part of the Colonel’s go-to people, but he’s a nosy bastard and decided to come instead of Lieutenant Bumba Jr. — his shy niece and apprentice.

“What are you monandengues up to?” the wily Kish asks as he taps his spell-cane — yeah, that’s what he calls it — on the floor, casting a simple but effective Divert spell on the small, damaged assault squad’s barracks we’re meeting on. It has taken a Meteor spell in the bombardment, and so is free of a ceiling, allowing a pleasant breeze to come in. The Divert spell is good to avoid people from barging into the room, subtly diverting them away by causing a hard-to-detect feeling of unease if they move towards the building.

**Divert Spell**

Subtly repels people walking by spell’s target and confounds people searching for it.

Damn, I should probably warn Lieutenant Santos about the shady spellcaster’s skill. It could save us from spending on Anti Spying Wards or from buying the Scroll if he can teach Divert to some of the intelligence operatives. Even in the Army, spellcasters still hold back on divulging all their spells. According to the Unity’s protocol - they have done this before with many similar species - it’s best to let the spellcasters reveal them when they feel comfortable. They even reward with extra rations and Market’s credits the ones who reveal new, helpful spells to add to the unit’s repertoire.

“Thanks for coming,” I begin, nodding to the assembled group. “We have need of your ideas and help to make something good Sergeant Geni was planning to come to fore. The Snakes are getting into our way.”

“Their mage-captain thinks she’s so smart, wasting our energy and resources by messing with our patrol schedule. And the nosy bastard is always snooping about my tent,” grumbles old Bumba. “Like this would have been enough to pierce the major concealment working the Barkers used to attack us.”

“Tell me about it,” grumbles Aiowara, cracking his knuckles. “A couple of the fools came by the stables to made unwise comments and we had to teach them a lesson. Two weeks without extra-rations for our trouble.”

“Nosy bastards are always getting on my way too, trying to teach a priest how to say Mass,” agrees Pará, disgruntled. She’s not one to be pushed — no one in this room is to tell you the truth. “Fucking Snakes.”

“Yeah, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth,” agrees Geni, stepping forward to refocus the proceedings. “I’ve asked Lieutenant Barro and he generously came through in gathering supplies for a celebration of our victory and our dead. You know we deserve it— we need it,” she half asks, half states, and there are nods and grunts of agreement. “But now the Snakes are in the way — Captain Delavega is on to us. We’ve managed to avoid the seizure of the supplies, but I’d like to have it tomorrow or soon. It’s been already a few days, and we shouldn’t dally or moral will plummet.”

“I don’t know what this captain is thinking — it’s like they’ve never had a bad fight like this. It was fucking close! Morale is important,” states sergeant Kaio, a former forest guardian of the northeastern state of Maranhão, a veteran of bloody conflicts with encroaching illegal loggers, farmers and hunters. And yeah, I’m not shitting you — our cook is probably the most battle-hardened veteran in the 2nd Regiment. A bad-ass.

The group breaks into many simultaneous, sometimes overlapping conversations until they all make a decision.

“We agree. Tomorrow then,” I say, getting nods and thumbs up. And so, we begin plotting. Flying Pigs versus Smoking Snakes. It’s on.