A broad, wide yawn was unleashed upon the world. It escaped from Dylus, a mighty gust of stench from unbrushed teeth and downed mushroom tea. The bacteria in the air, no doubt patriots of the Coalition, screamed silently as the mercenary germs attacked them all.
After that, he let out a small chuckle.
“What am I even thinking?”
Dylus waited for Wally to say something witty in response to his murmurs. Only then did the mercenary realise he had neither his headset, his radio pack or even his skull cap. He had worn those items for so long and so consistently that they felt like part of his skin. There was a wardrobe full of other things that could be worn, yet there was some kind of primal comfort found in just wearing the same thing every day.
Now he wore something else entirely; a ‘formal’ uniform that was stiff to the bones topped by a small patrol cap. There were no stars or medals pinned to it- befitting a mercenary with no real formal military background. It left the shirt barren with only a silvery green hue all over. The sole standout exception to this was the spaulder on his right shoulder, forged in shades of dark blue and hard white. At its very peak was the emblem of his company, the Pursuit Specials, a snarling front-facing skull of a sabre-toothed tiger criss-crossed by axes through its eye sockets.
The spaulder was unpleasant to wear for long, Dylus knew, and he had worn it every time he had professional business at the Mercenary’s Guild or some king’s court if he had done something exceptional. The only thing that made it tolerable was the emblem itself.
It belonged to Headmaster Junshi, a veritable living legend in the Guild and his father. Knowing this alone gave him another source of comfort. Dylus preferred to have this comfort with him at all times. Especially since he was on his way to meet some of the Merah’s high-ranking officials in their makeshift command tent.
The idea of meeting some incredibly formal military men in a tent should’ve sounded laughable to him had he not been one of those men. Taking into account that he had to be much younger than them, what possible humour he could’ve taken from the idea turned into a very quiet, slow-building dread. The world ahead of him narrowed and his uniform seemingly tightened, constricting his breathing.
On instinct, he began to observe his surroundings, taking in the sound of the rapidly rebuilding airbase and the smell of raised asphalt into his nose. They weren’t exactly pleasant- some of the sounds were too loud for him and there was something foul somewhere close to him- but It helped a little, alongside clenching his fleshy hand and clicking his civilian prosthetic’s fingers.
The aftermath of the assault was, as Dylus predicted, a quiet affair. There was joy amidst the Merah grunts, yes, and officers allowing their men to retrieve anything of value in the ruins. Outside of that, the hours before the engineering teams came to repair critical base infrastructure for their own use was spent toiling away in the sun. Ammo was restocked, rations were consumed, mercenaries were buried and prayers were spoken.
He distinctly remembered five minutes that he could spare to sit down and stare at the smoking ruins after his burst of unrestrained power Five long minutes in the sun, burning away at his skin, aching from his still-repairing body and his constant sweltering. All these prevented him from ever thinking about what Wally said to him or his apathetic words to Yumiko, who shortly disappeared into the crowds. Only the mention of casualties had managed to stir him up so slightly- about twelve dead and six more wounded. Now that evening rolled around, he still had no time to spare for thinking.
In that time, the base had quickly come back alive. The nuclear power plant his men had shut down was restarted, somehow operating even better than it originally did according to one of his own mercenaries overseeing the restart. What lights were there shone brightly into the evening sky and darkened forest. The spared ammo dumps and whatever intact combat vehicles were quickly sacked and sent off via helicopters to parts unknown. Dylus hazarded a guess that his employers liked to know how to adopt these designs for their own. Those that weren’t spirited away were kept behind vigilant gazes; most likely used against their original owners soon. With a loaded plane up north on an almost spotless repaired runway, there would be a lot more traffic around here soon. All of this was quickly accomplished by the evening sun thanks to the efforts of one Colonel Desjarnes.
He was a ravishingly handsome man much taller than Dylus, whose moustache could probably deflect bullets, wearing an impressive regal uniform that had to be armoured. Dylus had seen that uniform around the base several times, watching over his own soldiers, directing supplies here and there alongside helping out where he could. Not once did either of them acknowledge each other.
This meeting with him, alongside a representative of General Harmeng and one Major Lu Kemp, would be the first time he actually spoke to the man. Dylus was not looking forward to it. His fears immediately heightened when he arrived at the command tent, blocked from entering by a pair of honour guards in coral-stained heavy armour.
“Halt. You cannot pass without identification.”
Dylus adjusted his hat and awkwardly smiled.
“I wasn’t given one.”
The guards looked at each other. One answered back.
“Then entry is not permitted. Apologies.”
I knew I should’ve brought the skull.
“Sorry, I was informed that General Harmeng would like me to be part of tonight’s debrief. He did not provide me with identification, licence, or whatever you guys use.”
Again, they looked at each other. The one on the left stepped up and straightened.
“Then there is no entry. Identification is required. You are not a member of the Regalia Merah’s military, therefore you are not allowed until there is formal appraisal from an CO.”
His life wasn’t a show. It was hard showing frustration to them outside of staring blankly, crossing his arms and tapping his feet rapidly. His tone had to stay the same.
“And that I did. I can’t show you anything else. Harmeng did not assign me anything. Do you hear me? Your boss didn’t give me a ticket, only a request.”
“Please refer to the General properly, mercenary. This is Merah territory you are working in.”
Dylus sorely wanted to facepalm. He couldn’t even if he wanted to, as the honour guard had intruded into his space and looked down. It was funny to think that the guard could intimidate him behind his obscuring getup. He had plenty of worse things staring him down. A little man like this isn’t much intimidating, a haughty sack of flesh and brittle bones.
The staredown lasted only for three seconds more before someone’s voice got raised.
“The hell? What are you two doing?”
The honour guards stepped backwards slowly. They knew who that was and that they had fucked up.
“The Chancellor recruited you lot to screw around, is that it?”
The one that stood up to Dylus stuttered very audibly, “N-no, Colonel Desjarnes. We were just checking for this mercenary’s identification for safety purposes.”
“You take a good look at his face.”
The guard hesitated. Desjarnes, arms crossed, only needed to furrow his eyebrow to get the guard to look at Dylus normally. The mercenary smiled, mentally shrinking away from the conversation.
“You see that scar?”
Why’d you have to bring up the electro-scar, Colonel?
“Yes or no? The answer’s simple.”
The man answered quickly, “Yes! I see the scar.”
“Then you know it's the hero who slew the Blastfang, and the man whose forces gave their lives to help us take this base. Or do you still need more proof?”
The smile weakened when Desjarnes mentioned ‘lives’. He kept it up nonetheless.
“No, sir. None needed.”
Desjarnes hummed, “So let him through.”
They stared at each other, nodded and separated. The colonel nodded and gestured for Dylus to enter the tent. His voice never changed all the while.
“Come in, son. We’re running a little late without you, and in no thanks to these buffoons.”
As Dylus entered the tent, he heard Desjarnes issuing a punishment for their misconduct. Three hundred pushups the next day seemed utterly harsh, even by his standards. All of that melted away when he impulsively looked around the command tent. There was a lavish table at the centre of it all, long enough to accommodate the varied cast of characters that surrounded it and an extremely large map. There were drinks as well, poured into elegant little glasses that had to be custom-made. Surrounding the table was a bevy of radios, enigma devices and cartography tools, boxes upon boxes of unknown contents filling up the spaces in between. Even this tent seemed not fully set up as of the moment. The mercenary was content with it; utter fanciness ruined many places for him.
Desjarnes coughed. He could tell that the young captain was somewhat entranced with the setup.
“Don’t worry too much, captain, you’ll be seeing the inside of this tent frequently.”
Dylus held on to a groan. It would’ve made him look bad in front of the others.
“Alright, gentlemen, I assume we are all present and accounted for?”
The bulky man across the table, clad in a suit that looked eerily similar to the one that nearly killed him earlier, put his hands behind him after rubbing a cigar clean in an ashtray. He seemed quite comfortable in it, as though he came out of the womb wearing it all the while. Appropriately enough, the voice that emerged was boisterous and low.
“Assume nothing, old friend. We’re ready.”
He looked at Dylus, all prim and proper.
“The boy looks like he’s about to burst out of his uniform with a face like that! You aren’t fond of formalwear, are you?”
In wanting to remain professional, Dylus told a white lie.
“It’s tolerable, sir. You must be Major Lu Kemp?”
“That I am,” the major said. He waved the boy away and went around the table to greet him personally, “but dismiss the formalities with me. Major or simply Luke works with me.”
Desjarnes watched as the both of them shook hands. The captain looked even more anxious taking the handshake. His arm looked so loose that, had Luke shook it too hard, it might’ve come off. He smirked, wondering if the young man much preferred a different session for debriefing. The thoughts were interrupted, however, when the other person in the room offered a reminder.
“General Harmeng’s message cannot wait for you both to become acquainted. I request that you do so outside of the command tent at your own hours.”
Luke shook his head, “Vinetar, will some part of your metal brain fizzle if you try to be nice to anyone outside of the General’s entourage?”
The Vinetar, whose name Dylus didn’t know, consciously flickered his cybernetic eye between purple and red. It took up half his head and was embedded in his skull, if the surgically insert screws and nails meant anything to Dylus. All of it was connected to a backpack-like contraption that made him slouch behind an oversized uniform- more of a robe than anything else. Desjarnes and Luke were already intimidating through their own merits, but the Vinetar was someone else entirely in this ballgame.
“Niceties come when there is spare time, Major. Now, there isn’t. Shall we begin, Colonel?”
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The Colonel nodded.
“Operation Flagpost was a resounding success, gentlemen. This captured airbase will provide us an ideal staging point into the Sunset Coalition’s territory, not to mention a vital transition point for the transportation of high-value Coalition technology back to the homeland via transport planes or helicopter extraction. However, casualties were much higher than previously projected during the assault.”
Desjarnes looked at Dylus. He was meeting the Colonel’s gaze, but the soft tapping of boots betrayed his attention-span.
“This does not include the losses of the mercenary company’s forces, which I believe are minimal. Captain?”
Suddenly called into the spotlight, Dylus froze up for a second. The Vinetar’s gaze fell upon him immediately with the same annoyance the dead commissar from earlier once showed him. He quickly regained composure after a deep breath and responded with a strong voice.
“Out of forty deployed, twelve have been marked killed-in-action. No missing-in-action mercenaries. Reinforcements from our base of operations in the Empty Coast will be arriving in two days’ time at maximum. Eighty-four mercenaries, including non-combat personnel, are accounted for the transfer.”
The Major bowed his head forwards slightly, “May they find their way into the Great Beyond. They fought like savage warriors, I heard.”
“You find sympathy from such small numbers, Major?” spoke the Vinetar, “Colonel, what are our losses?”
“They are estimated to be around sixty-seven, with about twenty missing-in-action and an uncounted amount of losses,” Desjarnes added to that thought a defence for Dylus’ performance, “we are not here to stack numbers against each other, Vinetar, not when we share the common goal of conquest over the Sunset Coalition. I ask you to refrain from unnecessarily antagonising the mercenaries.”
“They are but sellswords, Colonel,” the Vinetar said, flashing his eye with a series of creaks from his back, “we can always supplement their numbers with another company’s, though I would rather we use our brave soldiers instead.”
“And who personally selected these sellswords?”
The Vinetar raised his hand as if to protest. He stopped halfway when the answer came to him. He retreated back to where he stood, somewhat grouchy. Desjarnes turned to Dylus and made his tone considerably lower than usual.
“I am truly sorry for the comments, captain. Despite the Chancellor’s decision, most of the army still views the Mercenary’s Guild in deep contempt for a past you’re not a part of.”
Major Luke responded to Desjarnes’ explanation with gusto.
“Even after thirty years, our small, scary cabal of soothsayers are still angry about the Silverfall War. No amount of dead Blastfangs, Cold Ones or raiders can heal a fragile ego, not one the likes of the Vinetar and all his kin, kid-
“You speak of such sedition here, Major? Curb your tongue! Or I shall do it for you.”
Desjarnes sought to stop the trifle before it got out of hand with a harsh tone. Dylus took his time slowly slinking away from it, hoping he could just disappear and get his nerves back.
“Enough. Harmeng approved of the Chancellor’s decision and so did the rest. What does this speak of for you, who represents the great General with zeal?”
The Vinetar hissed, unwilling to back down.
“Harmeng approves, but he does not enjoy such a decision, I assure you. Sellswords nearly destroyed half of our kindling nation, and it is only by Tuah’s will that we were blessed with crushing victory over the Silver Wings!”
Major Luke waved his hands dismissively and pointed to Dylus, forcing the mercenary to return to the table. His jitters had gotten much worse; his mechanical hand was trembling uncontrollably with a pounding in his heart that kept on going harder.
“This boy has helped us gain a foothold, a feat we’ve not been able to accomplish for decades, and you’re going on with your insane rants right in front of him. I’ll call for a technician once we’re done-
“Major!”
Luke stopped halfway. His suit did nothing to hide his sudden submissiveness at Desjarnes’ authoritarian bark.
“You cease your bickering with the Vinetar as well. You do well to remember that your skills can only save you so many times from going against everyone else. Am I clear?”
The Major nodded slowly. Desjarnes shuffled his feet and winced. When he looked back at the mercenary captain, there was a horrible pang of sympathy that struck him. The boy, going by his own age, was so completely out of place between the three of them. The way he trembled, held his arm trying to keep himself steady, and pursed his lips repeatedly made him want to end the discussion quickly. It was already fated to fail the moment the Chancellor brought mercenaries into the play, yet there was some glimmer of hope that his subordinates could put aside their petty grievances to work together.
“I will continue from where we left off. Vinetar, we will get to the General’s orders in a bit. There’s still several details from Operation Flagpost that I want to note plus potential fronts we can pursue in the coming weeks.”
He pulled out black and white pictures depicting scenes of battle from earlier.
“As I said before, casualties were higher than expected. We have long understood the combat capabilities of the Sunset Coalition’s general military to be greater than ours statistically. What we have in numbers and production capabilities are still being outmatched by their Old World factories and elite regiments scattered all around their capital city, Ghincheng. This isn’t even mentioning their numerous strategic holdouts, supply lines and ports, but we’ll focus on these.”
Dylus peered over, a little too short to see some of the pictures. He immediately recognized the walker that Wally, his mercenaries and him killed with difficulty.
“Their armoury has seen a significant increase in lethality and toughness since our last skirmishes with their forces several years ago. Individual units such as these walkers, reporting name Chura, have never been seen this far away from the Sheyet Gulf, while an increased amount of exoskeletons have given our forces a significant disadvantage in terms of manpower. We have yet to begin significant engagements at the moment, but it is imperative we find a way to diminish the presence of their advanced technology as quickly as possible.”
“Chura,” Luke mused, “an interesting name. My men have said there were a few scattered around the base. Armoured to hell and back. Even dead, they're menacing bastards.”
“We’ve sent two intact units back to Mahratil Industries for disassembly and reverse-engineering,” said Desjarnes, “hopefully, we can gleam on their weaknesses and any walker of its size category in the future. RISIKO hasn’t been experiencing recent successes in identifying weaknesses of the Coalition’s armoury, thanks to the Agency of Truth’s crackdowns.”
Dylus thought it was time to bring up his experience with the Chura.
“I had a few men with me fighting one of these things. They shrugged off multiple rockets, grenades and autocannon fire, killed two of your fighting vehicles without blinking. Safe to assume there’s more advanced and dangerous ‘mechs out there than these ones. That they have factories pumping these out by the dozen means we’ll be meeting some very unfriendly contacts pushing in.”
“Then it is of great imperative that we find a way to move ahead of the Coalition outside of regular military operations. RISIKO will still do what they can to obtain intel, undermine the current regime and sabotage their more dangerous military assets, but I must ask of you, captain, to work on this aspect if possible.”
Dylus found himself at a pause. He began stammering and loosening his sense of formality where he stood.
“Eh? What do you mean by that?”
Desjarnes pointed out several regions outside of Sapland on the map. Dylus stared at them, recognizing them as entryways to the deeper part of the Shielded Region.
“While we work on pushing through enemy territory, my proposition for you, outside of our agreed terms, is to have you work on covert operations ahead of our schedule, influencing local populaces and states. We’ve been monitoring Coalition transmissions and so far, they haven’t a clue that we’ve hired your company. Our symbol in these woods will spread fear, possibly hatred, for a nation that sees us as devils. Yours, however? It might open up new routes through enemy territories, right into their heart if you play your cards correctly. ”
Luke spread his arms wide open with a big grin stretching end to end.
“In layman’s terms, he wants you guys to go make some friends outside our army. A little mercenary magic might make them tip their hats your way, while ours might just make them more pissed. As I’m just an old fellow with a penchant for madness, I can’t say I can be of service here, but if you do go through with this idea, kid, Desjarnes should be able to cajole RISIKO into working with you hand-in-hand. Sounds good?”
Dylus was sweating from being put on the spot. A light sweat, but one that felt more intense than usual.
“Colonel, Major, I understand the objective you’re giving, but I have to speak my mind before going any further. We’re contractually binded to your army as a spearhead force and additional military supply. This tasking is completely out of our agreement, not to mention incredibly risky even if we have intel.”
“I know, I know,” Luke said while looking at the map, “I’m just being a little creative with my thoughts. I’ve seen the reports about your contracts, got a little teary thinking about how to get the great Pursuit Specials to do something more like their reputation.”
The Major turned to Desjarnes, clicking his fingers.
“Colonel, the rebellion up north is still being supplied by us, am I correct?”
“Yes, you are,” Desjarnes said. He saw the Vinetar impatiently waiting. He desperately wanted to give Harmeng’s word and leave. Unfortunately for him, he was there to give and receive. A smirk emerged on the left of his lips in response, “but seeing your eyes, I’ll only tell you that they won’t be willing to work with us, or even them.”
“Of course, old friend,” Luke crossed his arms, “who could give a hand to one that wants more than that? An invader to their lands is no different to an oppressor, even if it's a hand that allows them to bite back at the real enemy”
“Or one that promises freedom under a different flag.”
Both sighed. Harmeng’s representative rolled his eyes, staring at the map instead. Luke turned to Desjarnes and spoke freely.
“You know, all these series of events still confuse me. The old Coalition we butted heads with a few years ago was infinitely more coordinated than this, more dangerous, more cunning. Hours of reading reports and seeing this map again keeps making me wonder what the hell happened to that old enemy of ours? What did Chayapon’s new regime do to cause such chaos?”
The Colonel looked down, staring where RISIKO agents had identified key rebel cells around the capital’s surrounding regions as well as places closer to the airfield.
“Complacency and ignorance, I’d say.”
“Really?” Luke was incredulous. His expressions told Dylus that he had been holding onto this for quite some time, “Maybe, but I personally don’t buy that for a second. I traded knives, lead and men with them too many times. Those two words aren’t the things I would describe the Coalition with, even at their lowest.”
Desjarnes cleaned up one of the wooden pieces on the board with a small knife as Luke spoke. He watched the Vinetar check his cybernetics carefully, then responded after some thinking.
“There must be something else RISIKO hasn’t discovered causing all this. That, or something that they’re so desperate to keep under wraps that not even our own spies can get through their defences. No weakness like this springs from a void.”
“Any guesses, Desjarnes?”
“None that hasn’t already been discussed,” said Desjarnes, “but as this war goes on, we’ll find out the answers one way or another.”
Both of them sighed. The Vinetar, already impatient with their dawdling, spoke tersely with a cough.
“Are you two done reminiscing about an inconsequential past? We still have much to cover, the mercenary has not said his piece yet and I am due for a flight out of here in an hour.”
Again, put in the spotlight. The shoulder underneath his spaulder suddenly felt sore. He really wanted the meeting to end, yet it felt wrong to not point out the difficulties of such a major change in terms. Obliging the Vinetar, however, was an arduous task put on his mind.
“Respectfully, we do combat very well. Very, very well. What you’re asking us to do is accomplishable, but also out of our job description. Mister Vinetar, might I ask if General Harmeng has said anything else of such change to us?”
His light flickered again.
“That is a negative. His words do not regard you or your company in particular. I cannot personally find rationality within these arguments, though I admittedly have no evidence of them being baseless ideas.”
“I was expecting that,” Desjarnes said, hanging his head low, before turning to Dylus, “I will say this to you, Captain. What the Chancellor said to ensure your company’s cooperation isn’t entirely something this army agrees with. This is our war, our invasion, our road to glory. To most of my peers, you’re just our little mercenary helpers. I’ve made it a point to continue having your forces as spearheads in the long run, but the pressure you don’t see outside this place will put you on guard duty for sure.”
“Why the trust in me then for this suggestion, Colonel?” said Dylus, confusion in his voice, “The contract said we were to lead the charge and we did that to our best effort. For what you’re asking with the subterfuge, you’ll have to pay us extra. It’s not what we do normally. Hasn’t RISIKO done enough?”
The Vinetar seemed pleasantly surprised with Dylus’ logic. The words of a man who knew his place in such grand conquest instead of one that sought glory through risky measures was reassuring for a mercenary. A long life had taught him that the Guild’s members kept chasing the stars in the sky even if they had one in their pocket. Desejarnes saw this and relented. He did have his reasons, but saying it here felt like a dangerous move right in front of General Harmeng’s representative.
For Major Luke, he wasn’t completely disappointed. There was a contract after all. Contract terms had to end at some point.
“A valid viewpoint, Captain,” Desjarnes said. “Then I won’t pursue the matter for now. If anything does come up that requires special attention from your company, I will let you know. For now, we have these to discuss…”
There was nothing of interest in the Colonel’s debriefing for now. Dylus stood at attention, but it did not mean he was registering anything at the table. Having overtaxed his social energy managing the conversations at the table, the mercenary found that his still-pounding pulse had begun to drain him significantly. Thankfully, the drinks provided was a kind of tea he had grown familiar with. It helped in keeping him awake, but also made his discomfort even more unpleasant. He tried to distract himself with looking elsewhere.
For the most part, his distraction was in the form of the wooden pieces being shuffled around on top of the map. Each represented a Merah regiment of specific purpose, going where the officers had planned for them to either hold or invade. For now, most of these pieces were coming out from behind the wall that separated the two nations, slowly expanding. Any noise in the tent was a blur to him, going through one ear and out the other end without stopping.
Finally, the signs of the end of the meeting came. The Vinetar was now the one dominating the conversation.
“General Harmeng sends his words on the following matters. Artillery will be…”
Again, he didn’t pay attention and distracted himself by fidgeting. By the time the Vinetar was done speaking his worth, the mercenary had chewed off some of his nails in a startlingly precise fashion. Similarly, Major Luke was yawning and tinkering with a bit of metal that had come loose from somewhere. The Colonel, ever so perceptive, stopped the Vinetar in the middle of a rant based solely on their antics before.
“Alright, then we can conclude this meeting. All current agendas have been accounted for, and preparations for future operations are currently on its way. Vinetar, I will inform your transport helicopter of your return back to the capital. Major Luke, I will leave you to conduct any activities you see fit with your regiments.”
He looked at Dylus, who was perked up and almost ready to sprint out of the room.
“As for the Pursuit Specials’ captain, you may leave to do the same. I will see you soon.”
To Desjarnes’ surprise, Dylus broke formalities and sprinted out of the room. Major Luke exchanged looks with him as the Vinetar followed suit with a brisk pace. While the boy certainly was a savage warrior from eyewitness reports, the colonel couldn’t help but ponder one question.
How exactly would the boy survive being captain out here?