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Epilogue
Just the beginning
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I barely remember the last two and a half weeks. We escaped somehow, the explosives we laid went off, massive damage was dealt to the enemy base, and away we went with all the data we could ask for.
Birgit’s Type-C and the Crusade hung onto the side of the bashed-up Caravel for dear life as we fled the moon's orbit as fast as possible.
We would never have made it home on our own; we had simply taken too much damage. So the fact the Vice-Admiral of the defence fleet had sent a small force after us once he realised we'd gone against his and the Colonel’s orders, was a godsend. The small five-ship flotilla met us barely a day after escaping the moon.
Eighty percent of the Caravel’s crew was gradually sent over to the biggest ship in the rescue fleet to be treated in its vastly superior medical facility. I was one of the last sent over, my injuries relatively minor to the point I hadn't even noticed them myself during all the adrenaline of the day.
It took slightly over two weeks to get back home, back to the Isles of Remembrance, to our largest military headquarters. Most of us, still recovering from blood loss and exhaustion, were immediately transferred to the hospital. The ward I find myself in now has thirty of us in it, a big, long corridor of beds.
Mine is next to the window which is nice, I can look out and, well, honestly, it's just the dusty grey landscape of this sudo-continent. There are no other settlements except for this base and some mining facilities. There are no awe-inspiring mountain ranges or deep gorges. All the water is far underground, and the sun barely graces this place for more than a couple of hours a day.
Perhaps TSU think we are mad to put our lives on the line to protect such a dismal place? And yet it is our home, the place our parents fought for, the place we were born. How could we not protect this dreary planet we call our own?
Across from me is Birgit who broke his leg and sprained both arms, but is otherwise miraculously fine (the Type-C, by contrast, is almost unrecognisable as a mech these days I hear).
Behind a curtain to my right is Chief Gros's bed. They say he'll need physical therapy for some time and that his right hand may never work again. That is an injury for life that he gained protecting me.
Johnny required some serious blood transfusions and nearly didn't make it, but she sits alive just about, in the bed one up from Gros and across is Shane. The sniper bullet shattered his collarbone of all things, not lethal, but he'll need some time to recover and had to undergo a couple operations. The whole room is filled with such stories.
Almost everyone I know properly made it, but many didn't. We took fourteen deaths in all. They were people I hadn't talked with much, who worked alongside me, had their own stories to tell, and fought alongside us that day, giving their lives so we could get home.
We were able to bring back all the corpses, bar one, the member of the assault team who fell inside the base, ‘Rayne Fomoire’. I didn't know them personally, but I want to try and remember at least that name if I can. Just because I didn’t know someone does not mean I can just discount their death.
Only a few hours after landing and being transferred here, we had one heck of a visit: Her Ladyship Omaes Agagite, Remembrance’s Supreme Commander and the first ranked of The 5 Great Aces. There was an awful lot of significantly injured people trying to get up and salute.
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She personally handed out medals to every single member of the crew, dead or alive. I never even thought I'd get to meet her, but getting a medal from her too is insane! I look over to my side table where it sits, pinned to a little plaque. It has my name, the ship's motto and a date on it: 'The Order of the Brave Heart', it’s called. Given particularly to young people who act with courage during their first campaign.
It is a rare and extreme honour. Birgit got one too, as well as a second medal for killing a Casnel – well deserved, I'd say – and we both, along with others, got rank promotions as well.
Whether such things make up for all we went through, I haven’t quite settled on yet, but the recognition is nice. Not just for us either, the bulletins all speak of The Knight Templar going up against ten Casnels and slaying seven. The specifics of our adventure don't seem as widespread but it's apparently acting as a monumental moral boost. Rumour even has it, past medals and promotions, Templar is to be awarded a new ship and mech, or so the pundits all say.
The long room suddenly goes quiet. The chatting and grumbling of thirty from just a moment ago ceases, replaced by firm booted steps coming down the hallway. I take my eyes off the scenery outside the window and turn with a faint smile.
I don't entirely know how to feel yet. Two weeks isn't nearly long enough to process all that happened. I know I killed at least four people and probably quite a few more. I honestly don't know how I feel about that.
I also don't quite know how to feel about Templar or Gros either, or about my life as a soldier mechanic of the Caravel 2, of the final Knight Brigade and all the history that title entails. Really, everything is just getting started right?
We wrecked the manufacturing facility, but Goibhnui is not so readily destroyed. Those seventy in-progress Casnels will be dug out of the wreckage and bought elsewhere to be completed. This phase of the war between Remembrance and TSU is getting more serious than ever.
An over seven-foot tall man comes into my line of sight. He takes an altogether too-small stool and sits at my bedside, smiling kindly.
Templar somehow came out uninjured, bar a few sprains. His long white hair and red eyes nod to me, as though trying to say something without words.
Looking back, for all I thought I was just a bit-player in this man’s story, I didn’t ever get to spend that much time with him. I guess that seemed natural for a cog in the machine, but that was wrong. We are here because everyone fought with all they had, because someone like me was able to stand up and do their job with the trust of all those around me. So I want to speak more with him, Gros, and everyone on the Caravel. I want to get to know these people and their stories, the good and the horrific, the truth wherever that may lead me.
I want to find out for sure if the war we’re fighting, that my father and mother fought, is really for the best or not.
I nod to Templar in understanding and appreciation of the visit. I've realised one thing for sure, foolish as it might be to have taken me this long:
This is his story, the story of the Knight Templar. But it is more than that; we aren't just the support, nor just the observers of this great and equal parts terrible man. It is also ours, the story of everyone aboard the Caravel, everyone in Remembrance, and everyone fighting for freedom and what they believe in throughout their day-to-day lives.
My name is Kris Umanu, and this is only the very beginning of my story.
The End – Thank you for Reading
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