Johann felt utterly dead as he rose from his sleep, ripping off the gas mask and taking a desperate gasp, only to immediately regret it, breaking down in a violent coughing fit at the horrific smell that continued to linger around him. He managed to put the mask back on with some effort, but he could feel the slimy, warm wetness of his own spittle on the mask’s mouthpiece. Not only that, but the area around his face was completely chafed and the entirety of his mouth area was maddeningly itchy. He couldn’t have gotten more than three or four hours of shut-eye either, so it wasn’t for very much.

In short, it was the best sleep he’d ever gotten.

Standing up, Johann neatly folded his bedroll and stuck it under his arm. Looking over at the pile, he shuddered at the realization that yes, he had just spent eight or so hours cleaning up the corpses of his countrymen. There would probably be more in the days to come; he’d heard that there were survivors coming down with malaria, typhus, dysentery, not even to mention the countless combat wounds and the infections those entailed. Johann couldn’t imagine that a lot of these survivors would have many natural limbs amongst them when the dust settled.

Johann wanted someone to help him forget the damn war for a moment. Where was Svetlana when you needed her?

With a sigh, he stumbled out of the store, blocking his sight of the pile with his hand. If he had the power to, he’d expunge any knowledge of it, but he didn’t, and he knew the sight of it would remain with him for the rest of his life. Hiedrich and Hersch were sitting next to each other on the curb, their uniforms all but indistinguishable from each other. Hiedrich had a sealed water bottle in his hands, which he gazed at sadly through the eyes of his gas mask. Hersch looked up at Johann, then gestured for him to sit.

“Why aren’t we in the tank? It should filter out the, uh…” Johann waved his hand vaguely, gesturing to the whole sky.

“The smell’s on our clothes,” Hersch replied with a bleak, resigned tone, “it comes in with us.”

“Well, it’ll at least take away the outside component. Besides, don’t you have changes of clothes in the tank?”

“In my backpack,” Hersch clarified, jabbing his thumb at his pack, “which is currently on my back, and not in the tank, and it’s not airtight.”

Johann facepalmed, but there wasn’t much passion behind it. “A reminder, Corporal, that I’m still your commanding officer.”

Hersch just looked away, silent.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Johann asked gently.

There was a long pause while Hersch thought of an answer.

“I just wanted to support my family,” he began, looking off into the distance. “I thought I could just do a few years and get out. Maybe it’d look good on a resumé. Instead, I’m here, burning women, children.”

He put his head in his hands. “God, I wanna go home.” he sighed.

“That makes two of us, Hersch,” Johann put his hand on Hersch’s shoulder, “but we can’t go home, not yet, not until we’re done. If we quit now, everyone who died up until now died in vain.”

“I’m not questioning that, Johann. I just… I’m a tank driver; I’m supposed to just drive us around, not have to handle all these Goddamned bodies! Nobody should have to…” Hersch trailed off, beginning to sob.

“Jesus Christ, there were kids in there…” he moaned like a wounded animal.

It was then that Johann saw Hiedrich stand up. He could see a hollow look in his eyes. “Next Pozzie I see,” he enunciated, a growl forming at the edges of his voice. “I’m gonna make him feel what it’s like to burn alive.”

Johann was utterly unprepared for Hiedrich to say such a thing. “Now, come on, we’re not animals…” Johann began, holding a hand out in a calming gesture.

“Jo, don’t pretend like you don’t want them to suffer for what they’ve done,” Hiedrich responded coldly.

Johann stood up, his hand still out. “That’s not up to us, Hiedrich. This is war, not a playground game; we can’t take things into our own hands.”

“Jo, ever hear about Unit 731?” Hiedrich said after a short pause.

“Who?” Johann asked.

“They were a bunch of Japanese doctors who experimented on captured Chinese during World War II. They cut people open, or infected them with diseases, or even just let them die of thirst so they could look at the results. Sometimes they weren’t even writing it down; they were playing with people’s lives. And do you know what happened to them after the war, Johann?”

“What?”

Hiedrich said the next few words with utter disgust. “The States took them in, full amnesty, just so they’d have someone who knew about bioweapons for the next war. Johann, nobody cares about what these people have done–nobody, you hear me? They don’t care because there’s always going to be a next war! If it’s not with the Pozzies again, it’ll be China, or India, or maybe we’ll just drop the whole alliance schtick and let CAST tear itself apart! If the government gets its greasy hands on those people, they’ll never face justice. Ever.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Hiedrich, they’re not going to get away with it. We’re making sure of that!”

Hiedrich just looked at him with disbelief. “They’re lying to you, Johann, and you know it. As long as there are wars, justice will never be coming from on high, so you’d better get working on it yourself. I’m planning on it. I’m counting on it.”

“Hiedrich, you’re talking about committing a war crime.” Johann said, his head cocked to the side. There was a warning tone in his voice.

Hiedrich balled his fists up for a moment, obviously holding back a fair bit of emotion. “You’re too far gone, Jo. They’ve got you in their pockets.”

With that, he stormed off in the direction of the tank, leaving Hersch and Johann alone. “He’ll come around eventually.” Johann said, half to himself and half to Hersch.

“No, Jo. You’ll come around eventually.” Hersch said, sniffing, the vitriol apparent in his speech.

With a huff, Johann sat back down, scooting a few feet away from Hersch. He wanted to go home as much as the next guy, but he didn’t want to be a monster. Surely his men weren’t monsters. They had to be reasonable people. Surely.

He wanted Svetlana.

—

Captain Stauber instinctively rolled forward on his feet as the USS Thule dropped out of warp. Sure, spacecraft didn’t really jerk as they arrived at their destinations, but a few centuries of science fiction depicting such left a few expectations in the human psyche that had proven quite hard to break as humanity actually reached for the stars.

Omen was a pretty world, though not an economically-important one; its primary exports were base metals and fissile material, both of which CAST had in spades, while its completely un-automated industrial sectors ran at appalling efficiency. However, the Combine obviously valued it; the radar returns showing an enormous fleet over the horizon ahead proved as much.

“Verne and Nobel are converging on targets from opposite directions, sir; we’re perpendicular to them.” the comms officer loudly reported.

“How long ‘till they’re in range?” Captain Stauber asked.

“They’re already there; they’re awaiting your orders to fire, sir.”

“Hold!” the radar officer’s hand shot up. “Verne reports a very large craft in the Combine fleet. They think it’s some sort of flagship.”

“Verne’s requesting permission to fire.” the comms officer yelled.

“Weapons, are the warheads armed?” Stauber asked.

“Yes, sir!” the weapons officer barked.

Stauber nodded. “Comms, inform Verne and Nobel that time-on-target is five minutes. Instruct Nobel to reserve two shots for their flagship.”

The comms officer began typing frantically.

Stauber took a deep breath, calming himself while he looked at his wristwatch. He needed a clear head for what he was about to do. With a level voice, he ordered, “Weapons, fire on my mark.”

—

“...it’s unfortunate, yes, but we’ll need the extra barges for our Knights’ fuel and munitions.” Macuahuitl said sheepishly, her holographic form flickering.

“The issue at hand is that we thus have a terrible choice to make,” Dao explained, “if we were to divert some logistical capacity for you, we would have to take that supply from somewhere else. So, is it medicine for the sickbays, slugs for our mass drivers, food for the men? We simply can’t afford to keep everything fully stocked with the resources we have.”

“Overbattlematron, y-you dishonor the Knights in this way,” Macuahuitl stammered, “it has alway been that we have shared the first picks of the supplies.”

“The times are changing, Macuahuitl,” Dao said, “this isn’t the conquest of Omen anymore. We’re fighting our first real war in almost a century, and if we can’t adapt to our surroundings, the humans will overrun us, and then all we’ve ever worked for will be–”

“Torpedoes in the air! Torpedoes in the air! They’re coming from over the horizon!” the radar officer cried, sending Dao’s heart leaping into her throat carrying thoughts of what had happened the last time the humans unleashed their missiles. Instantly, she turned to Macuahuitl. “Scramble the Knights! Ready the defense guns!”

“What’s happening?” Macuahuitl asked.

“We’re under attack. If we’re lucky, we won’t lose much; now, go!” Dao commanded. Macuahuitl jumped into action, running out of the bounds of the projector and promptly disappearing.

“Weapons, get all hands to combat positions! Radar, how long do we have?”

“Intercept in two minutes!” the radar officer’s hand shot up.

“Weapons, how long until full defense functionality?”

“Thirty seconds!” the officer called, as a low, haunting alarm began to play across the halls of the High Judge Sabre.

“Start firing the moment you get solutions. Comms, relay our orders to the fleet.”

A few moments later, Communications reported, “Knights launch in one minute!”

“Weapons manned!” Weapons called.

“Fire at will!” Dao called back. A few seconds later, she could feel the faint vibrations of the ship’s guns unloading through the floor.

“Reading first Knight launches!” Radar said. “One minute!”

“Defense batteries report contact! Two birds down!” Weapons yelled.

“Keep up the pace!” Dao said, clicking her hands together for emphasis.

“Thirty seconds!”

“More birds are coming into range!” Weapons yelled, a growing panic slowly becoming evident in his voice. Dao suddenly noticed that the room smelled like fear.

“Fifteen seconds! They’re separating into smaller contacts!”

“Intercept them!” Dao screamed.

“We’re trying, dammit!” Weapons retorted.

“Seven!”

“There are too many of them!” Weapons said, his antennae folding back in terror.

“Brace, brace!” Dao commanded, unsure if it would be her last words.

“Five, four…”

“Ancestor protect me,” Communications muttered, holding down his head.

Then, all the consoles and screens in the bridge flickered for a heart-stopping moment, but came back on still. Three of the display screens had gone completely white, and when the light faded, all could see strange, burning lights where there once were spacecraft.

“Stars!” Weapons cried in jubilation, “they got the last one!”

Knowing that she and her crew were spared, Dao sighed with relief, despite the death that was still there. “Comms,” she said, all but breathless, “put Macuahuitl on.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Communications stuttered, typing something onto his console. Some ten seconds later, the ethereal form of the Battlematron returned to the bridge. She had her hands clasped in front of her chest, almost defensively.

“Battlematron,” Dao regarded her.

Macuahuitl took a few seconds to respond. “What,” she said, “was that?”

“Those are human torpedoes. They’re powerful enough to destroy a battleship in one shot, but…” she looked pensively at one of the displays, at the cooling, dimming remains of a craft. “It shouldn’t look so beautiful. It isn’t the nature of dead things to be pretty.”

Macuahuitl’s voice was grim. “What are your orders, ma’am.”

“Take the Knights and find the culprits. Let none live.” Dao ordered, her voice flat. Macuahuitl saluted, her shape fading. Far away, the Knights fanned out, their craft skimming all across Omen, frantically scanning the orbits for any trace of the attackers.

But the Thule and its compatriots were gone the moment their payloads were let off, vanished back into the blackness from whence they came.