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INTERLUDE II
“Two key concepts to success in our chosen method of war are Speed and Tempo. Speed is rapidity of action; tempo is speed over time, the ability to act quickly consistently. Both are genuine sources of combat power. Relative speed is always more important in war than absolute speed. One need only act faster than their opponent. Since relative speed is all that matters, it follows that all measures will be taken to improve our own speed and degrade The Enemy’s. Experience shows however that, while at times it may be advantageous to push troops and equipment to their limit at times, it is impossible to maintain a breakneck pace indefinitely. The same pattern always arises: fast, slow, then fast again. A competitive rhythm naturally develops where each combatant tries to generate speed when advantageous, and conserve energy when able.” -Colonel-General Sergei Petrova, CADP-1 Warfighting Ch. 2
Svertson and Rand took turns throwing pebble sized chunks of rockcrete at an exposed section of rebar while the leaders huddled in the room next door. That Lancer Lieutenant, Eichmann, had even come back. It was their third day of doing absolutely fuck all, and they were both past done with it. It seemed like some kind of elaborate experiment to see the depths of boredom that the human psyche could tolerate. This was the longest they’d sat idle since breaching The Warrens on the outside of the city.
They weren't really doing anything other than manning these positions, but they couldn’t exactly fully relax either. Feds had probed once or twice, but nothing on the scale of that push a few days ago. There was always the worry that something could happen at any moment. Regardless, nothing was happening. They were constantly edging tension with no climax. It felt stupid.
Lt. Petrova and SSgt. Karoff weren’t making it easy for him either. It was always ‘Rand, get Battalion on the hook’, or ‘Rand, go help Cpl. Dygalo’, or his least favorite ‘Rand, help the Pioneers light up the shit buckets’.
He hucked another rock, it bounced off the wall low.
Their living conditions weren’t exactly improving either. He couldn’t really smell it, but he knew their collective field-stink was reaching full maturity. It’d been a week and change since the last time he actually had a chance to properly bathe, even then in some trash field-fresher on the city's outskirts. Doc at least made sure he changed his socks and skivvies. Their sleeping situation hadn’t been optimal either. In the middle of his last rest cycle he’d been awoken by No-ak mortars doing their best to shake every last bit of insulation out of the ceiling. They then proceeded to fire maybe one shell every two or three minutes for the next three hours. Obviously just a way to wear them down, but it was working. He still hadn’t really recovered.
On top of that, it had dumped rain this morning. It was raining outside the dome so the city's atmospherics had automatically mirrored it. Normally it would have been welcome but all of the ash, fumes, and smoke in the rain turned it a milky gray-black color. No doubt it was loaded with heavy metals and acidic to boot.
The fire that gutted Pavlov’s house before they arrived made it a poor shelter from the artificial weather. Water leaked through every crack and crevice. Everything important they’d thrown onto tables and covered with their tarps, but few people had come expecting rain. Most, including him, were thoroughly soaked and freezing as the temperature hovered around the low teens. Water pooled everywhere and a portion of the park had flooded due to damaged and blocked drainage. The rest of it was plowed up by criss-crossing vehicle tracks and pockmarking craters. The rain degraded the once manicured acre into a loamy-black mud pit.
Some of the toilets, mercifully only other buildings, had backed up. They boiled over with the most stomach turning stench he’d experienced in his life. It was so bad 2nd had to vacate their primary battle position and move to their alternate next door. He was slightly worried that the stink had clung to him when he had been sent over to help move. He even preferred the odor of rotting corpses to whatever hell the shit-liquid had flown out of. Though, the thing he was most upset about was losing his lunch to it. They were being stingy about rations and he must’ve lost half a pack's worth of Tuorkay Tetrazzini on the cobblestone outside.
The basement was inundated with water. Restrepo and a few others kept themselves busy trying to pail it out. It hardly rained long enough to make anything clean, only just long enough for the filth to leech and spread around.
The malaise of sustained combat was getting to everyone, even his leadership. They both hid it better than everyone else but he picked up a few cues. SSgt. Karoff was bumming death-sticks off Cpl. Dygalo in the wee hours of the morning. Lt. Petrova was chewing the go-tabs Doc was handing out now, on top of snapping up every bit of recaf she could get. She was balanced on a knife's edge between deathly exhaustion and positively wired.
Every hour showed in the growing circles under their eyes. Senior and her both barely slept, hardly ever straying from the task at hand. It was work, work, work, from minute one of wake until they racked out twenty plus hours later. The only exception being the scarce moments they engaged in some tiny distraction, like when Senior gathered half the platoon to make the results of the Phobos-Deimos game known.
Lt. Petrova fiddled with a few sets of puzzle rings that Doc had brought along with him in fits and spats. She chewed through the first few with relative ease but the last one she couldn’t untangle and it seemed to drive her mad. She refused any attempt at help despite it frustrating her to no end whenever she spared a moment to work on them, even snapping at Doc when he offered a helpful suggestion.
Cpl. Dygalo had been quizzing his Machine Gunners on weapon knowledge incessantly while critiquing their fire plan sketches. Doc read over a pocket sized copy of Proverbs in between doing Sudoku puzzles that Lachenski made on the back of casualty cards.
For his own part, he tried not to look zoned out. Everytime he appeared too idle, someone invented a task for him. He was smart enough to know they weren’t being assholes just for the sake of it. Complacency killed.
A piece of ruble finally tinged off the rebar.Svertson looked oddly satisfied. Rand kept throwing, having yet to hit anything. He still couldn’t believe he owed Cpl. Lachenski 35 Shil after this was over.
A 3-0, really? He’d run the numbers and watched all the columns on the match the week before. Tslbitsie was habitually a poor player on a good team. Now that he was on a mediocre one he wasn’t supposed to rise to the occasion. His stats showed that. Maybe he was missing something? Grumbling about it didn’t really change it, but on the other hand it sort of made him feel better.
He was kind of surprised Lt. Petrova followed the game, let alone played. He made a mental note to review some of her archived games. Looking at it now, it didn’t really seem uncharacteristic, but she just never really mentioned anything about herself before that.
Their old platoon commander, Lt. Fassler, that guy never shut the fuck up about himself. Always struck him as arrogant. SSgt. and the other NCOs never liked him so it was no wonder he didn’t stick around long.
Now that he was really thinking about it, she certainly had the temperment of a striker. All the good ones were out for blood, constantly searching for that one opportunity or sign of weakness to capitalize on. It gave him a bit of a window into what kind of person she was beyond her present actions and the name embroidered on her killpatch. Petrova, what a name to have to carry around.
He glanced over his shoulder into the next room. All of his leadership was huddled around her map display, all of them looking different shades of exhausted and filthy.
The soft light caught on the pronounced cheekbones of Lt. Petrova’s diamond shaped face. Tall and athletically built, especially for a woman, with bronze skin and sandy hair; she would’ve been the picture of Cydonian nobility if such a thing ever had existed. Though not quite visible from here, small dark beauty marks were scattered over her face like flecks from a paintbrush. Most definitely attractive in his book, even through a terminal case of resting bitch face. Maybe that was part of the appeal for some? She wasn’t really his type, too aggressive. He was more admiring the majesty of an apex predator than really looking at a woman. Having seen what she was capable of, on top of her volcanic anger, he was more than a little afraid of her.
He liked Sgt. Weiss more, she was more jokey and friendly not to mention small enough to consider cute even if her attitude was on a hair trigger. One moment all dimpled smiles and the next the most brutal disciplinarian. Maude Weiss apparently took the ‘carrot and stick’ approach to mean alternating them as quickly as was required to get the results she wanted.
He turned his gaze and mind away when a memory bubbled up of an ‘incentive training’ session she’d led when he was in 2nd Squad so brutal that he vomited not once, not twice, but three times. To add insult to injury she made him clean it up with his hands. He could die a happy man so long as he never had to do another burpee.
He didn’t really think either of them matched his preference. He wanted to meet like, a Botanist. A Sirenese Botanist, maybe about 1.6 meters tall, who lived on some agriculture collective out in the boonies. She’d be all plants and smiles and nothing bad or even eventful happened there. He sort of felt like he had enough ‘adventure’ in his life already. Just him and a tiny little Sirenese Botanist and some other family-like workers out in the middle of nowhere. No gunfire or blood. Just a few fields, greenhouses, and good honest work.
Definitely no explosions.
The rock sailed past its target and out the building.
His mind wandered to that grenade. When that whole thing started everything seemed like it was happening too fast until it wasn’t. Quite frankly, he was terrified from the moment he laid eyes on the first piece of No-ak armor until the shooting stopped. He was sort of glad everyone was too polite to notice the wet spot under him when that Maddox lit them up with its autocannon.
He was even glad Lt. Petrova dragged him around the whole time. Sure, he was scared out of his mind, but he felt grounded standing next to someone who apparently hadn’t been afraid a day in their life. Even when they ran into those two Feds or that grenade, there was no hesitation. There was always a plan of action, something to do. She was never paralyzed. Even if in hindsight some of her choices weren’t exactly optimal, she exuded an air of confidence and mastery over the chaos. Based on that alone, where she went he’d follow. As long as there was someone leading the way his training would carry him through the rest. Passivity meant death for him or someone close. There were two pasted Feds to prove it.
“Rand!” Lt. Petrova shouted from the next room. He rose sluggishly.
“Duty calls,” he grumbled to Svertson who let him pass with a shrug.
They were now listening to something intently and simultaneously watching the message text scroll over Lt. Petrova’s projection.
“Set it to echo on the Platoon net. Everyone needs to hear this,” Karoff ordered. He rushed over and hit a few keys. The message crackled into his ear and its text crawled over his Sitaware.
“…say again. All stations this net, this is Steel Princess 3: Checkfire, Checkfire, Checkfire.
S.O.B.E., Time: Now.
-All weapons discharge is prohibited.
-All Targeting and Weaponeering Activities both lethal and non-lethal are prohibited.
-All mines and remote activated weapons are to be rendered Safe.
-All tactical vehicle movement with the exception of Medivac, and approved Third Country Observer escort is prohibited.
-All Aerospace craft with the exception of Medivac are grounded.
-All Intelligence Gathering and Information Warfare activities to include UAS and UGV operation are prohibited.
-Interference with the activities of Civilian Engagement Authorities or Third Country Observers is prohibited.
-Shot-Spotters and Counter-Battery Radar are authorized to continue radiating for SOBE enforcement purposes only.
-Force regeneration and retrograde activities are authorized.
-Maintenance activities are authorized.
-All sustainment activity with the exception of munitions sustainment is authorized.
-EPW, Prize and Bond processing activities are authorized.
-TCO Parties with appropriate WCA escort will be touring the battlefield and conducting spot checks.
Unless the SOBE is extended, Resumption of Battlefield Effects will occur at 2359 Local. All updates to SOBE restrictions and timelines for units operating under WCA command authority will be distributed via this link. Steel Princess 3, out.”
Rand glanced around. Everyone with some experience looked relieved, all stripping their kit off. “What’s going on?”
“Suspension of Battlefield Effects. Feds called for a temp ceasefire,” SSgt. Karoff responded while setting his helmet down onto a table.
“Is it over?” He asked for clarification.
Lt. Petrova shook her head while setting her kit down and partially unzipping her CES. “Fat chance of that, but we did catch a lucky break while the politicians bicker.”
A great weight was lifted from Rand’s shoulders, and only some of it was his kit which he unceremoniously dumped into a corner. Finally, a fucking real break.
Though no one was shooting for the time being, there was a new laundry list of tasks to accomplish. Lt. Petrova quickly divvied up responsibilities. Every weapon needed to be made Condition 4 and verified by an NCO. The section leaders would handle that. The Pioneers put the mines on remote-safe and collapsed all the mem-wire barriers so TCO’s and Martian Humanitarian Society personnel could move around freely. Next order of business was 100% by serial number accountability of all property which she delegated to the squad leaders and SSgt. Karoff. Then, maintenance: from small arms all the way to the Lionesses, there was plenty to do. Most of the troops were happy to be turning wrenches or cleaning their weapons, as they had a chance to strip off their kit and chop it up a bit while they worked.
Eichmann and his Lancers were busy, since the Ocelot was a maintenance hog, though there were few complaints. The SOBE afforded an opportunity for the Lancers to get out of their vehicles and stretch. Most of them, including Lt. Eichmann, had been living out of their crew stations, on standby to move or fight at a moment's notice. With a movement freeze in full effect, they had a chance to wander around, lie down flat and, of course, barter with her Rifleman. The Lancers had just come back from the LSA the day prior and had returned with a bounty of ‘morale boosters’, which her Riflemen were doing their best to make them part with.
The most pressing tasks were accomplished in the first few hours, leaving the enlisted plenty of time to relax before the war got back on schedule. She and the senior leaders had other responsibilities.
She left her kit upstairs in the TOC, but took her rifle with her out of habit as she went to the rear access to Pavol’s House. Karoff and Lt. Eichmann along with his Platoon Sergeant were waiting on her. She made it outside just as they arrived. First was a Hesperian Type 32 Light Tactical Vehicle, a blocky and low-slung 4x4 affair, marked in several places with white triangular placards emblazoned with Hanzi characters and Anglish text. It was followed closely by one of their own Lynx LTV’s with the 1st Rifles Regimental flash stenciled on the door. They were both unwelcome sights as far as she was concerned. Brass close to the front was never good and she had few nice thoughts about Hesperians.
Though… There was sort of the off chance he was paying her a visit. It was a despicable, distracting fantasy. Did she even really want to be seen looking this disgusting?
The two vehicles rolled to a stop in front of them and three Hesperian People’s Alliance Army officers all wearing white ‘MLAC OBSERVER’ armbands over their field smocks stepped out. They looked pristine save for the ashy mud on their boots. She examined their freshly pressed uniforms and clean shaven faces from a distance. They were most certainly Hespos though, they all had that Party issued stoic expression and the distinct even if diluted features. By comparison she and her troops must’ve looked downright filthy. Their faces were marred by dust, CES’s smeared with mud and stained by sweat and blood. She did her best to clean up beforehand, but that basically consisted of scrubbing her face with a wet skivvy shirt. Her face left a gray-brown smudge on it like a terrible shroud of Turin. They must’ve smelled atrocious.
Behind the Hesperians, two Tharsis Army personnel and an Amazonian joined them from the Lynx. Captain Eckartt and Major Straus from Reg. Operations, some Signalman Corporal, evidently Maj. Straus’s driver, and an Amazonian Lieutenant she didn’t recognize. She didn’t even bother trying to parse the Granat on his name tape. His Otrera Spear patch told her all she needed to know. He was some kind of ‘Unconventional Warfare’ or Psychological Operations specialist and that alone was enough to draw her suspicion.
Her boss looked in as sorry shape as she was. The legs of Capt. Eckartt’s CES were soaked and absolutely splattered with filth. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years let alone days. Maj Strauss looked tired but clean, though not to the same degree as the Hespos. The Amazonian hung back, conversing with Maj. Strauss out of earshot. Capt. Eckartt approached her and SSgt. Karoff patting her on the shoulder with a friendly smile then leaned in close between them.
“You two look like shit.” he stated flatly and then drew back.
“Well shit Skipper, I was about to say the same to you.” SSgt. Karoff replied with a shit-eating, grin slapping him on the shoulder much more forcefully.
With the formal pleasantries concluded, business could get underway. Under normal circumstances she might’ve considered exchanging salutes, but they were still technically in a combat zone. She just approached and offered a handshake to the senior HPAA officer instead.
“Group-Captain Zhou, this is Rifle Lieutenant Petrova, 2nd Platoon Commander, her Platoon Sergeant, Senior Rifleman Sergeant Karoff. Lance Lieutenant Eichmann, CAAT-1 Platoon Commander, and his Platoon Sergeant, Senior Lancer Sergeant Quincey,” Capt. Eckartt introduced each of them.
“Good to be of acquaintance. I take it you were all present here during the action on 13 April?” Captain Zhou asked while making his way down the line shaking hands. His Thartic was rough to say the least, but her Hensho wasn’t any better. She sort of doubted anyone wanted to meet in the middle with Anglish. Despite its status as lingua-franca, as far as everyone here was concerned it was the legacy language of Earther occupation.
“Group-Captain if you’ll follow me, I can show you our prizes and bond audit trail,” she offered motioning towards the other side of Pavlov's house. They tramped around the building through a few puddles to Red 1 where she’d stowed most of her non-essential equipment during the deluge and retrieved the Bond terminal. Group-Captain Zhou gave it only cursory inspection before he certified the logs.
It was obvious to her from their temperament they were here more to get the measure of Tharsis than to fulfill any legal obligation. Under MLAC they were entitled to inspect anything ‘in plain view’. Knowing this they’d sanitized nearly everything in advance. They even went so far as to disguise some of their alternate fighting positions. While the Hesperians passing intelligence to the Feds was unlikely, it was none-the-less a possibility which they took into consideration.
Lt. Eichmann took charge of guiding the inspection party for the next portion. The inspectors were particularly interested in both the Ocelots and their effects on the Maddox corpses scattered around. She had some other business to attend to with Capt. Eckartt while they were occupied.
“Fritz,” she motioned with her head towards the vehicles and out of ear shot. Capt. Eckartt briefly exchanged words with Maj. Straus then went to join her as the Observers moved into their collateral damage assessment. “Did you bring the stuff I asked for?” She queried.
“You really think I’d forget, Lucy? I didn’t get these bars without learning a thing or two about troop welfare.” He replied playfully as they moved back over to the Lynx. The driver had already started bartering with a few of the Lancers parked nearby. Evidently, this was the first time he’d been near the front as he was pestering them if they’d picked up any ‘memorabilia’ they were willing to part with.
Capt. Eckartt lifted the hatchback of the Lynx and pulled out everything she’d asked for and more. He handed her two cartons of Zone-Viktor cigarettes and a flat of half-sized Voltzade energy drinks. She was ecstatic, but did her best to keep her bearing.
“I know it's not exactly everything you asked for, but First Sergeant and Master Sergeant Knute did their best,” he explained.
“Frankly sir, I wasn’t really expecting you to come up here with anything. Troops ‘ll have a field day.” she replied while inspecting one of the cartons.
“I’m not gonna put you out in the wet-cold to get shot at without doing whatever’s in my power to improve the situation. Besides, they’re my Riflemen too.” Capt. Eckartt replied, placing a serious note at the end.
“Well you’ve top-blocked your Fitrep in my eyes. How is it over there?” She asked while carrying her loot inside.
“About the same as it is here. We co-located with Halverson’s platoon yesterday, mortars were getting a little close for comfort at the old spot. First Sergeant and I are currently working out of the back of White 1. Our indoor setup is about 20 centimeters deep in shit-water at the moment. ‘S funny I went up to Division with Major Straus earlier today and you’d hardly notice a real war was going on. They have the D-TOC setup in the ballroom of the Light-Strasse Grand. Not a wet soul or dirty boot in sight,” he relayed, shaking his head.
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“Figures they’d move in somewhere cush,” she responded
Captain Eckartt motioned towards her bandage. “Say, how's the leg?”
She gave it a few test bends. “Eh, 60% I’d say. Doc Restrepo did a good job. The fact I’m walking around right now is a testament to that, but I’m not about to be maxing deadlift anytime soon either… Dygalo!” she shouted. Cpl. Dygalo appeared from the stairs with the top half of his CES rolled up and tied around his waist. His Skivvy shirt probably had enough holes worn in it to classify as fashionable back home.
“Damn ma’am, that for us?” He asked giddily. She nodded and passed the flat and cartons off to him.
“Got your big-boss to thank for that,” she motioned to Capt. Eckartt.
“Thanks skipper!” He grinned at Capt. Eckartt and turned rushing up the stairs.
“Hey! Save me one of those fucking Voltzade’s or you’ll never make Sergeant!” She shouted as Dygalo disappeared around the corner.
“Rodge ma’am!” Came in reply echoing down the stairs.
“They’re going feral” she sighed; Capt. Eckartt chuckled. They moved back outside to the Lynx.
“On a more serious note Lucy. Make sure your platoon’s ready to rock when this SOBE ends. Negotiations aren’t going anywhere and Feds are gonna be on the gas from minute one.” he advised.
“Figures.” she responded.
“One more thing, it’ll go out over the Bat. net later but might as well tell you now, everyone needs to be ready for Zero-O: so masks staged and ready to go. There’s a rumor going around that the Feds are gonna crack the dome if they get backed into a corner. I think everyone would rather it not, but we wouldn’t be doing our due diligence if we didn't do everything in our power to prepare” Capt. Eckartt instructed, pausing briefly to look towards the group of Observers fast approaching their vehicle, as he finished.
“Check rodge, sir.” she replied.
“Stay sharp” he cautioned as he climbed back inside the Lynx alongside Maj. Straus.
“Like a Cutlass.” She bid him goodbye with a wave as he shut the door. They peeled out and down the road towards 1st Platoon’s position, another K down the line.
They were barely fifty meters up the road when Lt. Eichmann trotted over waving a bundle of papers. He stopped to flip off the TCO vehicle once they were out of line of sight.
“Those fuckin’ Hespos fined us half our prize for blowing up that stupid maintenance annex. Fuckin’ Yakubian apes, every last one.” Eichmann spit.
“You’re kidding.” she replied, raising an incredulous eyebrow. He handed her the citation writ and she paused to glance it over, quickly flipping past the cover and inspector’s sheets.
“Destruction greater than reasonable mission necessity, inconsistent with Article 26 of the Martian Law of Armed Conflict.” he quoted off the page, directing her to the appropriate section with a finger.
“You tell them there was a Maddox behind it shooting at us?” she asked while reading the full text.
“I did, let ‘em look over the battletrak archive too. You know how those fucking vampires are. All TCO’s are scum. Put on a white armband and pretend like you wouldn’t have made the same call in our shoes. Half the city’s burned out frames or mortar’d to pieces, but ‘oh no’ you level one building and, boom, 2.7 million Shil down the drain.” Eichmann recountedwhile throwing up his arms, animated with frustration.
She rubbed her temple while flipping to the next page, pausing to stare at the total fine of 202,547 Marks, 9 Shil, 4 and one-half Penn. She only made about 1,700 Libra a year, in napkin math she’d need 80 years to pay it off that fine, at present rate at least. “At least it’s out of the Army’s cut,”she sighed.
“We’re gonna get the trickle down when they slash our bonuses. Maj. Straus didn’t look too happy either.” Eichmann replied.
“Eh, fuck that dotard. I’m not about to get caught up in the minutia of regulation instead of keeping our troops in one piece and most importantly: winning,” she dismissed. All this bureaucracy was really starting to irritate her.
“You putting that in your fine summary report?” He asked while raising an eyebrow and sharpening the waxed point of his mustache.
“God damn right I am. I’ve half a mind to write a fucking rebuttal too,” she spat back.
Eichmann let a small smile tug at his lips, satisfied now that he'd successfully worked her up to his level.
“Spoken like a true Petrova,” he nodded as he walked back towards Whisky-Sour.
She considered just throwing the writ into one of the rubble-silt puddles, but it wouldn’t have accomplished much. This was just their formal notification, not the actual citation itself.
Her mind ran to the inevitable mound of paperwork this was going to incite in the rear. Fine reports, commander’s inquiries, review panels, supplementary reviews and appeals, the list went on. A fine crock of shit brewed up by a bunch of political ingrates trying to civilize an inherently uncivilized activity, in a financially punitive way to boot. It was the perfect intersection of Money, Law, and Inter-Martian politics to make someone's life miserable for a few weeks.
She understood why it existed, no one wanted a repeat of the Civil War, but no one wanted to renounce war as the sovereign right of a nation either. It hadn’t been much of an issue under the Imperial System, but it was getting its first real test as everyone jockeyed for position in the aftermath of its collapse. Besides the minutia she had other problems. It was a system which fundamentally valued ‘Collective Martian Infrastructure’ over human life. Not so much a system to ease mortal suffering, as it was one to make it easier to divide the spoils and pick up the pieces afterwards. She folded up the paper and shoved it into one of her cargo pockets for the time being while heading back inside.
Despite the draft inside the air stunk of smoke. She thought for a moment something important was on fire but with how thoroughly soaked everything was she quickly dismissed it. Moving up the stairs to the second floor quickly solved the mystery.
Everyone was smoking. Everyone. Even people whom she’d never see light up before were puffing (and coughing) away. Dygalo had evidently done his duty and passed out the ZV’s. With no security set up for the time being and tasks waning the entire platoon had rallied in the second floor and was doing their best to replicate the effects of an HC smoke shell. She coughed involuntarily and looked around for one of her leaders to explain this.
“Ah, ma’am, care for a deathstick?” Krieger offered with a massive grin, a burning ZV wedged between his fingers.
“Where’s Senior?” She coughed, ignoring his offer.
“In the smoking lounge playing spades,” his grin broke momentarily to sip at his can of Voltzade.
“The smoking lounge? You mean this isn’t it?” She questioned while Rand and Balachenko wandered by puffing idly.
“This is actually the Smoking Conference” he gestured towards the large table they’d stacked ammunition underneath for effect. “Smoking lounge is over there.” he jerked his thumb towards the TOC. She pushed past him, the thought arose that this was some sort of elaborate practical joke. Entering the room revealed Karoff, Wiess, Rybeck and Restrepo all sitting in a circle on top of ration boxes playing spades, all cheefing away.
“Ah, ma’am. Smoke?” Doc greeted offering her one from his pack.
“You're all ruining my favorite restaurant right now, I hope you know.” she announced while leaning her rifle up against a desk.
“Eh, was in a shitty part of town, ma'am. Wrong crowd was bound to wander in sometime.” Sgt. Wiess replied while tossing down a spade and collecting the book.
“Not gonna partake ma’am?” Sgt. Rybeck questioned.
“What, am I missing out on something special?” she asked while moving over to her chair. Dygalo had at least done what she asked, a single can of Voltzade rested on it under a note reading: ‘Reserved for Her Grace, Princess Petrova, Sovereign of Battle, Bringer of Provisions and Supplier of Smokes.’
“You meet Lt. Fassler, ma’am?” Rybeck asked.
“Yeah for a little bit when he did turnover. Kind of a moron if you ask me, but I don’t really see the relevance.” She replied while stuffing the can into her mainpack for later enjoyment.
“Well, we’re in agreement there. One thing he used to do was repeat all those dumb idioms, “smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” was his favorite crutch, became sorta a running joke to light up whenever he said it.” Rybeck threw out a low club.
“You’re losing your touch Dan.” Restrepo chided him as he tossed out the Jack of Clubs and moved to collect the book.
“Yeah and you an’ Maude just fuckin’ reneg’d.” he snapped back, tapping on the face down book in question. “You gonna fess up or am I gonna have to check?”
“Ain’t cheating you ain’t trying,” Weiss shrugged. Rybeck flipped the book over revealing that Restrepo had in fact thrown a spade out on a previous club suited book. Karoff smirked and made a note of the point deduction in his notebook.
“Anyways, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted.” Rybeck shot a light-hearted glare over to Restrepo while throwing down another card. “Tradition that if we get smokes, everyone’s gotta partake, at least one.” He tapped his ash into an empty Voltzade can.
“Is that so Senior?” She asked while fastening her pack up.
“Well he’s not completely talking out of his ass for once, if that’s what you’re asking ma’am.” Karoff responded, studying his hand for a moment before tossing out a throw away card.
She motioned with her finger to Restrepo who passed her a cigarette. She dug around her cargo pocket for a pack of matches and lit up. It wasn’t her first, but there was always a chance it’d be her last and that was at least part of the reason she’d caved. She glanced at her chrono while taking a drag. It was sort of obvious to her how someone could get addicted to this.
“ROBE’s still on schedule for 2359. We’ve got a few hours. Make sure the troops get some rest before then. I want everyone back in defensive posture, weapons condition 1 and kitted by 2300. Oh and masks on standby, ready to use.”
“Check rodge ma’am” Karoff acknowledged.
Even if she was smoking now, it was still too much in here. She dug her personal comm out and headed up to the roof. They were still in a SOBE, this would probably be the one time she’d have to check it in good conscience before the war was over. Signals Intelligence collection was prohibited for both sides so she felt safe. Cpl. Verac was the only other person up here, but he was occupied reloading the dismounted APS. A cigarette dangled out his mouth while he worked.
She took a pull of hers and shook her head. Maybe they weren’t lying and were all just lunatics. The breeze cut in and she zipped her CES back up while approaching the railing. If the city looked like shit before, now it was just wet shit.
Even the difference between a week ago and now was evident. Libertalia Station Memorial Park was now littered with burned out wrecks and cratered by mortars. The Park Maintenance Annex was a mound of rubble, and one of the tree stands had been reduced to charred kindling. The only indication there’d been trees there at all were blackened limbless trunks. The newly formed pond, a flooded section of low ground, had a LIV-26 sticking out of it. The rest of the park was criss-crossed by currently collapsed mem-wire spools. The monument at the Park’s center had been shot to pieces by autocannons and small arms. The only portion of the statue remaining upright were a pair of stone legs from which a limbless torso hung off on sections of twisted rebar. She sort of felt bad for whomever ended up responsible for the clean up. It’d be a while before this place was close to normal.
Every place on Mars had its battle damage, some wore it better than others but no place was untouched. Even in Ridge City, the Diet’s sandstone facade was pockmarked by bullet holes from the White and Red revolution. Petrograd in Cydonia had been leveled in the second independence war. The new city was erected right next to the crater mostly from recycled materials recovered from the ruins. She could think of an endless list of other places in various stages of transition from scabbed over to scared.
She snapped the battery back into her comm and powered it on, flicking her cigarette butt onto the ground below. Her comm blinked as it finished booting and she immediately scrolled to her messages. One new message from Puppy.
Puppy 🐶: ‘Are you safe?’
Sent 1557. Less than half an hour ago, if she was lucky he’d still have his on. Play it cool.
Lucy 💎: ‘Yeah, new scar in the works but I’m okay. You?’
She stared at the message for a moment then fired. She hated this feeling of tension. She sort of wished a Fed was shooting at her, at least then she knew what to do. She tried to occupy herself by scrolling through the news. It was inundated with stuff about the war. ‘Special reports’ and ‘exclusive interviews with soldiers at the frontline’. Disinterested would have been putting it lightly. She swiped to the sports section hoping that watching a few highlights from the Phobos-Deimos game would dispel the apprehension.
Her comm buzzed and she tried to read as much of the message as she could without actually opening it. She felt stupid giving into these games but her ‘situationship’ was difficult to categorize let alone manage mentally. Maybe not thinking about it at all like she had been (for the most part) was for the best? She relented and opened the message.
Puppy 🐶: ‘What happened, how bad is it?’
He was typing.
She chewed on her thumbnail trying to think of how to explain her situation without sounding too… she couldn’t even find the words to describe her endstate. He saw it that she’d seen it, she HAD to reply now.
Puppy 🐶: ‘And I’m fine, the only thing vaguely threatening here is the field grades trying to eat me alive and occasional mortars’
Lucy 💎: ‘Fed nade, took some light shrapnel. Doc patched it up no problem’
She was lying but at the same time she didn’t exactly want to worry him too much either.
Puppy 🐶: ‘Glad ur ok’
He was still typing.
Puppy 🐶:‘Hope you let the feds know I'm the only one allowed to tear that ass up.’
She smirked.
Lucy 💎: ‘They answered for their crimes and so will you.’ she drafted and searched for an appropriately suggestive emoji, 😈, would do and fired back. She set the comm face down, sort of hoping he didn’t intend to escalate and almost unwilling to think about the results of her flirtation. It was always in the back of her mind how exactly she’d explain this if the wrong person caught her. She didn’t want to test how well the “horny defense” held up at Courts Martial.
It buzzed, and then buzzed again, nearly sending it off the railing before she slapped her hand down to prevent it from falling. She lifted it up. He replied and Dalia also surprisingly sent her a message. She put Puppy on the back burner for a moment.
Dalia 🔥: ‘You’re not supposed to be using your personal comm right now 💅 ’
Lucy 💎: ‘Neither are you 💀’
Dalia 🔥: ‘Sovereign thinks you’re slaying dragons, how is it down there?’
Lucy 💎: ‘Wet and fucking cold 🥶. TCO’s just fined me for half my prize too 🤢’ she dug the paper out of her cargo pocket and swiped her comm over it and sent it to Dalia who quickly sent back a stream of replies
Dalia 🔥: ‘L’
Dalia 🔥: ‘Massive L 🤣’
Dalia 🔥: ‘At least that was all they did’
Dalia 🔥: ‘They tried to confiscate this’
A picture of a Rift Republic Federal Army guidon flag for 3/26th Light Infantry populated. She was kind of shocked at seeing it. Capturing someone’s colors was always a major score. Often Guidons or better yet Battalion and Regimental Colors fetched huge Prizes because of their history and importance.
Lucy 💎: ‘What!? That’s a war spoil fair and square’
Dalia 🔥: ‘Illegitimate appropriation of property of specific cultural value, Art. 32 Para. 15 MLAC 🤓’
Dalia 🔥: ‘I said they could take it over my dead body.’
Dalia 🔥: ‘We had a korean standoff and I thought my plt sgt was gonna shoot this poor ensign 😬’
Lucy 💎: ‘😳’
Dalia 🔥: ‘They pussed out and said we could keep it, it’s going in my office when we get back 😝’
Lucy 💎: ‘Who were they with?’
Dalia 🔥: ‘Tyrrhenian Marines, 2 scared 2 stand up to me.’
Lucy 💎: ‘To be fair 🤔 could this guy even see eye to eye with you?’
Dalia 🔥: ‘I had like 7cm on their senior manlet 🤭’
Dalia 🔥: ’Who were u tlkng 2 b4?’
She paused for a moment. She already knew what was gonna happen the moment she told her.
Lucy 💎: ‘Sam’
Dalia 🔥: ’LVERGIRLLOVERGIRLLVVERGILR’
Dalia 🔥: 💋💓💓💋💓💋💓
Dalia 🔥: ’I thght u said u2 weren’t a thing 🤣🤣’
Dalia 🔥: ’LYSSA RIZZOVA’
Lucy 💎: ’we’re not 😑’
Dalia 🔥: ’but we go into SOBE and hes th 1 u turn on ur comm for not me?’
Dalia 🔥: ’dnt tel em u still have him saved as puppy 😂’
She’d caught her red handed again. She pouted, this sort of felt unfair because Dalia’d set them up in the first place. She always had to get her licks in when she got the chance. This was par for the course. She felt like changing the subject. Sam was still waiting on a reply but she didn’t feel like opening it just yet.
Lucy 💎: ’how is your battle-boo?’
Dalia 🔥: ’Mark’s ok.’
It always struck her as odd he could tell her exact tone of voice and how serious she was via text.
Dalia 🔥: ‘He got blown up the other day but he's fine. They’re putting his foot back on at Ridge City Central today. Should be up and walking by the end of the week. Full duty in 3.’
Dalia 🔥: ’We tlkd b4 I msgd u.’
This was news to her, but she was glad to hear their mutual friend was mostly alright. Medical technology had advanced to the point that if they could get you off the X with a pulse and brainwave they could put you back together for the most part. Growing new parts and putting liberated ones back on was mostly a non-issue. People died because they couldn’t make it off the field, not because there was nothing modern medicine could do for them. Casualties were almost always disproportionate towards the losing side of an engagement for that reason. No CASEVAC, no help.
Lucy 💎: ’glad he’s ok, if you’ll excuse me I have a POG to rizz up’
Dalia 🔥: ’ttyl, try not to die before this stupid war no one cares about is over’
Lucy 💎: ’Same to you, good luck’
Dalia 🔥: ’GL’
Dalia 🔥: ’Rizzanova’
Dalia 🔥: ’eRizzabeth Bathory‘
Dalia 🔥: ‘Rizzard of Oz’
She closed the chat window but her notification buzzed a few more times as Dalia piled on a few more. There was still a new notification from Puppy. She felt obligated to open it now at the very least.
Puppy 🐶: ‘I’m looking forward to it’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Battletrak at Reg. says TCO’s fined you and Eichmann. What happened?’
Lucy 💎: ‘They took offense to the fact I leveled a stupid maintenance building. There was a Maddox behind it.’
Puppy 🐶: ‘if it makes you feel any better Sovereign 6 just looked at it and announced aloud he “doesn’t give a fuck” ☠️’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Battletrak also says it’s been dicey in your sector. Wish I could do something more to help. I’m suffocating in this stupid TOC. No Arty, hardly anything for me to do’
Lucy 💎: ‘its nothing I can’t handle. So don’t worry your big stupid head about me cannon cocker’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Rude’
Lucy 💎: ‘Would it make you feel better if I said I like them stupid?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Maybe, you’ll just have to make it through and come see me to find out for sure’
She didn’t feel like playing into his hand at the moment, even if his specific brand of dumbassery was somewhat endearing.
Lucy 💎: ‘If it catches my fancy’
Puppy 🐶: ‘But seriously, stay safe out there. There’s no glory in death, especially in this shithole’
Lucy 💎: ‘You worry too much, you do your job and I’ll do mine. Wish you’d talk to me about something else right now’
Puppy 🐶: ‘What, new hobby you didn’t tell me about?
She frowned, he was kind of actually pissing her off now, or maybe she was irritating herself. This was maybe the last breath of fresh air she’d have for a while. To pollute it with stupid reminders that she was some fragile flesh puppet kind of defeated the purpose. Yeah, he did care obviously, but did he care about how she was actually feeling or… Was it more concern that a favorite plaything might be broken? Her stomach turned at the thought. She supposed there was a reason they’d kept each other at arms length when they weren’t occupying the same bed. Though conversely she could’ve just attributed malice to ignorance.
Lucy 💎: ‘Just rather think of something other than what will consume my every waking moment for the foreseeable future’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Sorry, sometimes I forget what it’s like being out there. It’s been a while’
Puppy 🐶: ‘I was actually looking at some Amazonian vic the other day and like their CP track has a big horse stenciled on the side of it. I think their callsign is Mustang or something’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Got me thinking: have I actually ever seen a horse before?’
Lucy 💎: ‘in person?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘Yeah’
Puppy 🐶: ‘couldn’t honestly say I have. Even on the blue wet one’
Puppy 🐶: ‘you?’
Lucy 💎: ‘me neither’
Lucy 💎: ‘are there any horses on mars?’
Puppy 🐶: ‘🤷’
She let the thought stew for a while, sort of idly staring into the distance while the gears turned aimlessly. Sure she knew what a horse was, what it looked like, its historical significance and so on. But had she ever actually seen one? Touched it? She couldn’t recall an instance.
Lucy 💎: ‘I gotta go Sam, ttyl’
Puppy 🐶: ‘later beautiful’
The roof door creaked open behind her. She’d heard them coming before they’d even got to the door. It was getting very hard to switch off.
“Ma’am? What’re you doing up here” It was Santiago. The bristly unkempt handlebar was a dead giveaway. She held up her Comm. “Ah, I’ll leave you to it.”
“I was actually about done Sergeant, besides you look like you’ve got your hands full. Lemmie help,” she replied. It was obvious that he could use a hand. The reloads for the dismounted APS weren’t light and he had two stuffed under each arm.
“If you insist ma’am,” he replied while passing two of the octagonal tubes off. She tossed them on her shoulders and moved across the roof. Cpl Verac was working on the previous trips worth so she just dropped them off and headed back downstairs. The air had cleared in here quite a bit, but it still sort of stunk of cigarettes.
She sniffed her fingers, the scent of wet burned tobacco already clung to them. Unappealing to say the least. She glanced at her chrono, they still had a few hours and getting some actual sleep uninterrupted by mortars or gunfire sounded heavenly. She’d tried to get more the previous few nights, but her leg was aching so bad the most she managed was a few hours in fits and starts when she was too exhausted to continue. Doc hadn’t been stingy about handing out no-gos, but she couldn’t really afford to be chemically out of action.
It was that same dilemma every soldier faced. Something might happen at any minute, but nothing would happen for hours and hours at a time. They were still playing spades when she walked back in, catching them in the middle of bidding. She leaned down and glanced at Restrepo’s hand.
“Ehh, I got 2 and a P, Maude,” Restrepo declared. Surveying his hand he really had 3 and a Possible. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. He always underbid, frowned upon, but effective.
“Hmm, I have 3,” Weiss replied
“So 6?” Karoff asked, holding his pen at the ready.
“We’ll go 6,” Weiss confirmed.
Rybeck grumbled wordlessly for a moment as he rearranged the cards in his hand. “Where’d you duck off to ma’am?” Rybeck asked, clearly trying to stall while he pondered.
“Had some personal business to take care of. What’d I miss, something important?” She replied intentionally keeping it as vague as possible.
“Just this shitter getting his ass beat. Look at how long he’s taking to bid, he’s positively shaken,” Restrepo smirked. Weiss suppressed a giggle. She really wished they would make it less obvious. Karoff just rolled his eyes.
“Rybeck, look, I got 4.” Karoff announced trying to bring him back.
“1 and 2 P’s, we’ll lock it up at 7, Senior,” Rybeck answered with a sigh.
Karoff scribbled it down.
“Gonna play ma’am? I think we’ll be done with this joker in a hand or two. Senior needs a better partner.” Restrepo gloated while dumping an Ace on the board.
“Yeah Tony, and you need to stop reneging and underbidding you scummy fuck.” Rybeck snapped while tossing out a worthless card.
“Actually I was planning on racking out for a few hours. Got any no-gos handy?” she replied.
Restrepo dug around his cargo pocket, fishing out a mostly empty blister pack and flinging it at her. “Just take one.”
“No promises,” she replied while digging her as of yet unused sleeping system out of her mainpack. “Oh and Senior, don't let Rybeck lose too hard, can’t let the Hospitalman discredit our illustrious Rifle Corps too much.”
“Check rodge ma’am.” Karoff acknowledged as she moved into the next, mostly darkened, room.
She remembered there was a good spot in here. It’d been some interior office section but the cubicles provided some extra defense against the light. Unfortunately Rand was already occupying the one she’d been thinking of. He was wrapped up nice and tight in his sleeping system on top of a desk with a watch cap pulled over his eyes. The only reason she even knew it was him was the mole on his chin.
She’d just find another spot, they all needed sleep equally badly and kicking him out was just bad mannered; Conduct unbecoming an Officer and a Lady or some such. She searched around for another dry spot in the same room. Finding a mostly acceptable spot on the floor a cubicle over, she unrolled her sleeping system. She examined the blister Doc flung at her.
Thymopterin, the good stuff, and there were still three tabs left. Having more than a bit of experience with it she knew that, despite Doc’s recommendations, she’d need at least two. The vice implant in her liver worked maybe a bit too well.
Her chrono flashed as she set an alarm for 2230. Six uninterrupted hours of sleep; the thought alone was heavenly. She took off her boots and popped all three tabs promptly, tossing them back and chewing. Disgusting and chalky but with the way her leg ached this was probably the only way she was gonna get any real rest. If her chrono didn’t rouse her, someone would come find her. She slid into her sleeping system and zipped up. Real warmth slowly returned for the first time in what seemed like ages and she drifted off into a sedative induced slumber.
Green. Endless green-brown fields stretching off into the horizon. The pale blue sky unsullied by cloud above. Endless in its expanse. Horses running free. Everything here was untouched.