In the back of the truck, I wonder if I’m going to make it home.

There’s six of us in here, and a tactical nuclear bomb with a bridge’s name on it. We’re one of many tonight.

If all goes well, in theory our operations should choke the Renkaps from being able to push gear to the Emayans, and buy the Falntyri some time.

‘If. It’s a pretty big If, isn’t it?’ I take out my flip lighter, and tap Tyana’s shoulder. The cat-man perks up, and blinks before fishing around in a pocket. A middling complexion face, decorated by freckles, gives me a look.

“An open flame, out here? Really?”

“Schoolmother. I’ll shield it.” He snorts, passing me a packet of cigarettes. I go to light them before a voice stops me.

“Archer.” Johnathan doesn’t do much else than just say my name.

“…yessir.” The lighter goes back in my webbing, the cigarettes to their owner.

The rain quietly drums against the truck’s roof and walls, muffled by the layered canvas backing of the steel. Apparently this makes it almost bulletproof and mostly shellproof. ‘That way we end up mostly dead when we get shot instead of all dead.’

===

We pass beyond the old Falntyri territories. There’s a roadsign covered in graffiti and shot more than a few times.

“Right on over the Northern border. This feels… Off.” I can hear the skip in his voice. He’s trying to not jinx us, though arguably not very well.

“With the atom bombs being tossed around like candy, nobody’s gonna deploy alone. Easier to gather under mobile air defense umbrellas.” I shrug. It’s a half truth; there are border patrols, but nowhere near enough and we’re fairly deep in enemy territory.

Also, it’s on the edge of a radiation zone.

‘Some people call these suicide missions. They’re half right. Train three years for this shit, go on five missions and no more. Maybe die of cancer. God knows if we even get that far…’

I chuckle a little.

===

Twenty five kilometers in, we abandon the truck in a ditch. It’s leadlined, but the outside is smeared with dust… and therefore, radiation.

The grass, I notice is still green and healthy. I wonder how it will be in a few days?

In a nearby river that doesn’t crackle too much on our detector, we wash our suits and leave them in a hole that we cover. Another precaution. It leaves us less well protected later, but it makes us faster and less conspicuous too.

Two of us, Miki and Anderson, they stand watch. The rest of us unfold and bolt together the bicycles, carefully. If there is a problem with one, that means one of us are left behind.

It seems a bit ridiculous to observers. All the machinery of the world, all the high technology weapons and for a special forces team… Bicycles?

But they’re light, and much less noticeable than a truck. They need no fuel too, and can almost pass for civilians at a distance. A bundle of various items sits on the trunk mount of each bike.

With any luck, we’ll make five kilometers within the day.

===

‘It’s just like in the pictures. The feeling of unease, general paranoia…’ I spy an overwhelming majority of humans in the town as we pass through, for what few are still out in this weather, and one or two of the rabbit-eared minority.

‘The nation with no country. I remember them.’ I grew up with a Levendy family next to me. Four children, two parents, an uncle. They always had good stories… Though I wonder now if I saw them today, I’d find some sorrows in their cheer.

Levendy didn’t come apart too long ago, after all.

I spot a man in a poncho like ours stepping out from a large booth and into the road. “Heads up. Policeman, front.”

We slow as he blows a whistle. “[Just a second there gentlemen!]”

“[Of course, officer. What is it?]” I keep my voice pleasant, but just faux pleasant enough to be believable. We don’t need to stir trouble.

He sighs, and glances behind him. “[Nothing much. It’s dangerous out on these roads, especially in the evening with all this rain. What’re good Renkap folk like you all doing outside?]”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“[Our home is gone. The war. We’re going to our relatives.]”

The man sighs, and his voice is a little softer now. “[Damned cat bastards. I understand. The road a kilometer outside the town sign is under construction still, be careful. Godspeed.]”

The policeman steps aside, and we cycle off.

===

The countryside is marked by a few farms, and a few craters here and there. We pass some trucks, keeping a low profile from the soldiers… Though a collection of refugees, we share a fire with overnight. All of us know better than to ask too many questions, though Miki entertains one of the kids with his butterfly knife tricks, earning a few glances from the adults of the group. “[Your friend is nimble.]”

“[Pfft. Don’t let this fool you, he’s a buffoon doing anything else.]” I get a few chuckles and one tossed pebble from Miki.

In the morning, we go our separate ways.

Though at a lonely motel… Our encounter is much more brief, and far less pleasant. As we approach, I see someone step outside holding a pistol-

“Shit…!”

- but it’s not for us. It’s upturned under that one’s chin.

The report rolls across the open landscape.

I flinch, and slow a little…

The motel is covered in graffiti. A few windows are smashed too. It’s the usual for anyone that even looks like they might be Falntyri descended.

Surprisingly, when I look to Tyana, he hasn’t reacted-

“Archer, keep pace.”

“…aye.”

I give her one last glance, and kick off, leaving the body there.

===

Just under a kilometer away from the bridge, Jonathan gestures for us to slow. He points to an old rusting gas station. “Here’s far enough. Stow the bikes inside, we’ll get in on foot as planned. Miki, security. Archer, Anderson, take point.”

It’s really old, I realize. ‘Holy shit, is that a World War One draft notice?’

I glance it over. It’s twenty six years old, still with the old Renkap Federal seal! “…What in blazes is this doing here?”

Anderson looks over, that vaguely amused look playing across her features. “Huh?”

“It’s-well, by the looks of it, this place’s operators were caught up in the post-civil war times. World War One draft notice on the door, and then you’ve got…” I give the door a gentle push to confirm my suspicions… The door squawks a little but swings in fairly easily.

“…a lock busted long ago.” I catch a glimpse of something, blink, shine a flashlight at it-

“…thought I saw something. Gone now.” Anderson sigh, lowering her gun as she heads outside.

As we wheel the bikes into the station, a thought appears to me. “Split?”

Jonathan considers it for a second, but shakes his head. “We’d be more and less suspicious like that with this damned thing. Worst comes to worst, we’d have to kill a patrol or two before we can deploy it, and end up having to die with the bridge.”

“…” I sigh, and glance around, finding a seat.

“…So, any last confessions?” Tyana quirks an eyebrow, fiddling with his removed helmet’s suspension.

“…wish I married Cynyai and settled down instead of joining the army, yeah.” A few chuckles.

Jonathan tilts his head. “I have a bottle of good vintage back home that I do wish I’d gotten to try.”

“Y’ve also got a snack stash a’ candy bars in your drawer that I stole from once.” Miki grins at the SL and he briefly gives him a Look. In return, he maintains eye contact and slowly draws out a battered wrapper, handing it to it’s former owner.

We all look to Anderson, and she sighs. “…”

It takes a moment for her to put things together. “I left off on a bad note with my father and sister. I’ve regretted it ever since, but it hurts too much to try and talk with them. Now, at the end of the line…”

Jonathan picks it up. “…you only wish you could talk with them one more time.”

We have a minute of silence, before Miki sighs. “So what, last man alive, tie up th’ threads?”

“… certainly. Someone needs to know of our valorous deeds.” Jonathan affects a little more posh to his tone, but drops it after a moment and sighs.

“If there’s nothing else? Bathroom, food, equipment? We go, then.”

===

Towards the bridge is a paved road bordered by a small forest, probably for decoration or muffling sound. We use the forest for cover, pausing every time we hear a car approach.

Eventually, Jonathan calls a stop. “Here’s good.”

Through binoculars, me and Anderson look out on a fairly large suspension bridge, covered with cars and…

“Guards. A lot of them.” There’s soldiers on patrol at both ends, and a small sniper post has been set up above the bridge.

“I’ll bet you there’s guards on the river bank too.” The bridge is one over a massive ravine with a fast moving river running through it.

According to the intel, said river feeds a lake that in turn serves as the water supply for a solid chunk of the nation, making it unfeasible to simply fill in the ravine.

Of course the damn thing is nice and straight in this section, so if there are guards, we’ll need to creep in under stealth with our sidearms. It’s a black moon tonight and we have NODs, so that’s a silver lining, but I can’t help but worry if they’ll still hear the shots.

“Hold on… Shit!” I don’t have to ask what sparked her outburst, because I see it a second later.

An armored car’s coming up the road, heavy machine gun and all. This would be easy for infantry to kill with a quick RL shot or something… But we’re a forward assault detachment, and the biggest gun we have is our pair of GLs and HEAT grenades.

In other words, sink anything less than a perfect shot in these mild winds at unknown range, and the HMG turns us inside out.

“Maybe it’s just passing through.”

I slightly shake my head. “A lone car? Doubt it.”

Even as I say that, a long squad of soldiers disembark from the doors. “Vets? No, they move together but they’re not…”

“Internal sec, maybe?” Anderson nods slightly.

“Some jumped up suit with medals sent them, probably.”

I think it over.

On one hand, Renkap Internal Security is a pretty mixed bag. You’ve got the 60%, the guys who’ll go into one gunfight a year with some random partisan group of four and crow about it. They’re trained, but it’s usually political appointments and showponies than actual fighters.

Then there’s another 35% or so, who do have background in being shot at and shooting others. They’re probably not the equal of actual seasoned soldiers, but they’re trained and geared respectably.

On the other hand, you have the 5%. They’re recruited from combat soldiers or do all the dirty work that the RISA needs doing, and are tough as they come. They’re still people, but they’re experienced, they won’t panic like the first category, they’re lead well, and they’ll usually pack the good gear that RISA actually tries hard to procure.

“We need to talk to Jonathan.”

===