"The reward for hardwork done, is usally more hardwork."

Intstitial Number Three.

Astania, Capital of the Republic of Kazan.

Kantian District, Regional Medical Center.

(Forward operational area “No Man’s land.”)

05:00 AM of the second day of the ORM Offensive.

“Priya.” Miti said as she frowned looking down at the small portable monitor she used to up-link HNN feeds to Hashtur. “Priya, come here.” She growled out, as she looked up to see what her newswoman was doing. It flashed a message 'See text messages.'

Priya Desai was busy watching an Explosive Ordnance Disposal team diffuse a series of IMMs that had been rigged to blow up a hospital parking lot. She had one of their two portable cameras and was filming the procedure behind the 'relative' safety of a large mound of rubble across the street. Miti, noticed Priya was not paying her attention, Leopard crawled over to her and tapped her on her foot.

“Priya. Damn it girl! Pay attention to me!”

Rapidly shifting her head around, Priya looked everywhere around her she could. Muscles straining in her neck with a throbbing vein pounding along her throat. “What? Are their ORM sneaking up on us?”

“No. We have to go back to our hotel if we can. We have to get our equipment up-link.” Putting action to words, Miti, former Hegemonic Army Platoon Sergeant grabbed her young reporter and began dragging her backwards down the rubble pile.

“Durga be damned! I can move on my own. Quit dragging me like a three year old.”

Once they were down and sitting in a depression, on the other side of the mound, Miti looked at the reporter, and said breathlessly, “Look kid. I worked out a series of safe words and phrases with our producers before I ever left Hashtur. One of which was 'Grandma's Candy Box.' Which means, communications compromised report over the secure text channel. The other phrase was 'Daddy's Nan.' Which means seek military or police assistance.”

Flipping open the protective cover of her military style forearm slate, Miti showed the text message sent by HNN producers. “Daddy's Nan-Grandma's Candy Box-Daddy's Nan.”

I don't know what that means but we need to haul our asses back to the hotel and grab as many rifles along the way. Oh shit! Look!”

Another text message appeared on her screen, “Tigers in Kitchen.” Oh shit this is not good.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Kid, it means our life is in danger. They know something we don't and we need to get our asses back where we can talk to them. Shitshithshitshit... it keeps repeating.”

“Great. We interviewed Risaldar-Major from the 40th. I wonder if we can track him down.”

“Actually a few minutes back while you were filming the Mech Infantry girls, I saw one of his tracks drive by. I think they are just a street or two over from us.”

About that time one of the local tricycle motorized yellow pedicabs came screaming around the corner with a terrified driver and four Aastani Metropolitan Police officers hanging on the sides for dear life while trying to return fire from a technical truck full of Ourtai rebels shooting at them. Next to where Priya and Miti were hunkering down reviewing their messages the cab slid to a stop and all the occupants ran into a bakery who’s doors had been blown off in the fighting.

Miti looked at Priya and screamed, “Follow those guys!”

A literal hail of Atlantean burp gun fire, and one 12.5mm heavy machine gun opened up on everyone inside the bakery. Broken shards of glass and wood from the display cabinets turned into a fog of destruction. Miti dragged Priya behind her, and then made a run for the back door, only to find it blocked by a large refrigerated cooler laying on its side.

“Shitshitshitshit.” Miti began muttering to herself as her mind went a million miles a second trying to figure how she was going to get them both out of this trap. Panic was beginning to edge her eyes into big ovals.

Priya meanwhile sank down on the floor as the massive rounds began punching holes through the walls and ceilings. Pots and cooking equipment rang like a tinsmith’s shop as fragments flew all around them both.

Then a voice not her own came whispering to her, “If you are to die, then die like a woman. Take the biggest cur in the pack and die with his throat in your teeth.”

The Army had given both her and Miti assault rifles. Granted they were the heavy type for the Shikari Infantry, chambered in 7.62mm . She hadn’t yet fired more than a couple of clips. She ejected the partial clip and loaded a fresh one.

“Miti! Follow Me!” Priya yelled to her camerawoman, and without seeing if she followed her, charged back through the kitchen doors into the face of hell.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

*****

Red Fort Hegemonic Military Command.

Communications Command Center. (The War Room.)

09:45 AM second day of Ourtai Offensive.

“Holy Shit! Someone message General Hoysala! We have communications up from Kazan!” One of the Senior Technicians shouted out as her imagery screen lit up with the grim visage of a lantern jawed, hawk nosed Risaldar-Major with the crossed sabers of a Cavalry regiment on his lapels.

Less than five minutes later, General Hoysala with her trademark cigar fuming like an old fashioned steam ship came thundering into the War Room. Pointing to a Tech she snapped her fingers and pointed to the 2 meter by 2 meter monitor along the front wall. She uttered one tense word, “Report!”

“Camerawoman Miti and Reporter Priya Desai convinced us to retake this position ma'am. Apologies for the delay. They had over a hundred Ourtai in here who just didn't want to give this place up.” Risaldar-Major Hakka phlegmatic voice growled out. “We are setting up our Battalion Communication section here in the next forty minutes or so. We should have direct laser communication established with KMA Command at Maratha Base shortly thereafter General.”

Stress made General Hoysala's dark complexion seem even darker, “Tell me of the situation you and the Hegemonic Forces are dealing with.”

“Fairly large scale offensive. From the central part of the countryside to the west, almost every single garrison or outpost has been under attack. When we lost Satellite Communication, we were forced to rely on what laser direct LOS equipment we had in the country. However the ORM failed to take down the antiquated telephone network. We have been making phone calls to coordinate fire missions. Don't know where they have their jamming equipment but it is cursed good.”

A feeling of intense dread crept up General Hoysala's throat, as she asked the one question she dreaded the most, “Did Camp Maratha fall?”

“Came close. But no. We will be a full week dragging dead ORM out of the base.”

A palpable sense of relief flooded the General's body. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The watery weak feeling in her limbs began to lessen. “Nothing worse than knowing you can help and can't do a damn thing to do so.”

“ORM penetrated on the West side where our Attack and Support Squadrons are based. They didn't eliminate all of our aircraft. Luckily my Battalion had made a temporary Logistics refueling and rearming point on that end of the airfield. We managed to kill most of the insurgents who got through the wire. However KMA Headquarters and the Combat Engineering Battalion HQ both were hit with multiple heavy haulers filled with tons, and tons of high explosives.”

Pausing for a minute to spit off camera, the Risaldar-Major Hakka had a quizzical expression on his face. “For some reason they targeted the 1/221 Combat Engineers HQ with three Monster Truck Bombs. It's gone. I think for some reason those damned Ourtai were under the impression the 1/221st was the actual command and control section of the base, as they were relentless in pounding it to rubble.”

“What then Risaldar-Major Hakka tipped the battle our way?”

“Ma'am it was some suicidally brave Logistic Wallahs who found themselves pushed up against their depots, who kept the ORM from breaking through. Then we had a flight of three VC-45's inbound with fuel, rockets and small arms ammunition. The first two planes made it safe, as we were clearing the ORM out of the perimeter on the South West side of the airfield. But the third bird caught at least three RPG rounds. The pilots and their crew didn't stand a chance.”

Sighing, the Cavalry NCO scrubbed his dirty soot stained face and continued on, “Yes ma'am it was the damn Logistics flight which tipped it our way. One of the reasons we were at the airfield in the first place was needing to top off the Battalion stores. Those Air Force supply jets circled Maratha Air Field, watching the fire fight. Someone was able to get them on the emergency air channel and their aircrew volunteered to attempt the landing anyways. But the last bird got hit multiple times. The pilot gunned her engines, pulled it back up and then her bird started to come apart and sort of rolled over on its back and cartwheeled over and over into the ORM forces assaulting our perimeter by the KMA command bunker complex. It scattered burning fuel and exploding ammunition better than any air strike could have ever done deliberately. Shaking his head in a dazed recollection. “Ma'am I don't know if there were any who survived being shot down. But it was one of the bravest sacrifices these old eyes have ever seen. My Battalion by then had crossed from the South West side of the airfield to the North East side and we rolled up what was left of the ORM which hadn't been turned into Chicken Tandoori.”

General Hoysala who had moved into a chair by this time, visibly sagged. “Durga Bless them and preserve them! I shall not forget their sacrifice nor of the women and men fighting now. Did our intrepid reporter and her camerawoman survive Risaldar-Major Hakka?”

“Scowling slightly, yes ma'am they did. Don't tell em I said this, but for a retired NCO and a former company clerk, they make competent Mechanized Infantry Troops.”

Nodding her head in agreement with a ghost of a smile gracing her lips “So noted. Don't want them getting a set of big heads. Please bring them to the camera. I need to talk to them.”

The camera shook and its attached microphone made scratching noises as it was turned around where Miti and Desai were seen talking to an Armour Lieutenant with a blood stained bandage on his head instead of a helmet. A sharp whistle split the air and the two women in their battered and bloody borrowed armour walked over to where the camera could record their faces.

“General Hoysala. Morning ma'am. Sorry we are late in getting here. We didn't realize the rest of the KM....” Reporter Priya Desai was cut off by a harrumphing noise made by the General and a brown hand being held up holding a lit cigar.

“Stop right there Lieutenant. You and Sergeant Major Miti did outstanding work. Per section 302 of the Hegemonic Military Code of Justice, I am activating you at your current ranks. With your commissioning date being yesterday at midnight local standard time. You and the Sergeant Major will be attached to the Office of Civil Affairs, and your mission will be to continue your duties with HNN. However this way we can get you official bodyguards and recognition if you are captured by enemy forces as a POW. Good job!”

“Holy shit!” Was all Priya could think of as her mind blanked and eyes went googly.

"Don't worry girls, I have plans for you both. You're going to be my back channel eyes and ears. I need the unfiltered feeds. I don't need some flattering fan dancer telling me what he thinks I want to hear. To that end I have a special set of orders I am going to send to your slates. I highly suggest that you print a hard copy as well."

*****