It sounded very noble, very fancy at the time. I sighed, and checked in on the radio.

‘The Homeland Defense Sentry Corps! Guard the shield of Falantyri! Stand around, rain or shine, in this shitty flak vest with three kilograms of armor in the front! Bitch and moan to your fellow sentries because there’s fuck all else to do!’

“Control, Control, this is Northeast. All clear, over.” I let go of the transmission stud.

The dry voice of the Northern man in the box comes back. “Northeast, Northeast, this is Control. Readback clear, see you in an hour. Out.”

I sigh, and sit back down on the bench. “Tir save us all.”

It’s worse that I’m on the night shift. I actually came into this job to try and impress a boy, as dumb as that was. I’d be able to say I joined the Army without joining the Army! ‘Well. Then we had to up and go to war. So, now I’m stuck here until they can find someone more “reliable” to replace us, which is probably never since every able hand is going to the front to vaporize in an atomic fireball.’

===

I key my radio. “Nyani, I’ve got eyes on a couple sedans and one armored car.”

“Affirm. It’s the new shift, I think. Key Control just to be sure…”

I debate for a brief second, the merits of just putting an FMJ round into the armored car’s bulletproof glass, before grabbing my radio with a sigh. “Control, Control, this is Northeast. Requesting identification on times four black sedans, times one armored car. Nyani says they’re expected, over.”

“Northeast, Northeast, this is Control. It’s the new unit of missile defense operators they’re rotating in. Keyphrase is Yellow Star West. Over.”

“Northeast copies all, keyphrase Yellow Star West. Over”

“Control confirms readback correct. Stay cool out there. Out.” I glare at the radio for a moment, and sigh, shoving it back into the slot maybe a little harder than necessary.

That done, I key Nyani again. “Keyphrase is Yellow Star West, repeat Yellow Star West. Over.”

“Affirm. See em now, looks like they’re stopping at the outer border.” I watch the detachment exit our guardpost and greet the lead sedan. The window rolls down and there’s a mostly serious face. They exchange some words and then the detachment returns.

I hear a gate work open.

======

This place is utterly boring, which sounded way too appealing to the stupider me.

For some fucking reason only written in the book of Akivaya, it’s also never raining or colder than lukewarm, which translates to one Malna, rotisseries to perfection, served with sweat and stupid.

I watch the light shrubbery and mostly flatland through the bulletproof glass surrounding three sides of this watchtower, wiping away sweat sometimes and wondering how it’s this hot even at dusk because of course it is.

The back being of course protected by a heavy canvas layer to keep the weather out sometimes, because we might be protecting the thing that shields our country from being obliterated, but a door?

“Circle below man! What kind of outfit do you think we’re running here, a military?! Haa…” I sigh. Even complaining is becoming old.

‘Worst case, a notional Renkap special forces sniper shoots me between the eyes. Best case scenario, I die of boredom and I’m free from this crap.’ In retrospect the guy I was trying to get with wasn’t worth this, but.

I check the clock again, and I could’ve sworn the long arm was slow, because ten minutes feels way short.

Standing, I do some stretches, putting my helmet on the tiny desk mostly taken up by the radio set, and consider taking off my vest.

I’m sweating like I’m being steamed in this thing and I’ll absolutely need a shower when I get home like normal, but also if they do the surprise drill today like they’ve been promising to do for a month…

I curse and grab the handheld radio. “Nyani, it’s Malna. I’m gonna take five. You got cover?”

“Aiyana’s teeth, woman… You owe me twenty Lot, but fine.” I wince. That’s… Pretty much half my salary this week.

“Yeah, I know. Just… I’m about to fucking cook in here, y’know?” Being a Southerner used to a nice even summer that never broke ninety degrees in what feels like an oven, yippee.

There’s a sigh over the radio. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just fuckin with you. You still owe me the twenty but I’ll look the other way if you accidentally slip me a ten instead.”

“Thanks man, I owe you.” I put it back in it’s slot and quickly climb down the ladder, then make the hundred meter jog to our break room.

===

It’s only slightly bigger than a shed and has a bathroom that stinks like you wouldn’t believe, but it also has…

“Blessed air conditioning!” I will never live down having hugged the thing during a particularly hot day, but fuck…!

The fridge has bottles of water we keep in there. Technically there’s supposed to be a vending machine, but after it somehow got broken into, that thing was tossed, so now all four of us chip in to the Northeast Water Fund so we can collectively enjoy one minor comfort.

I grab one and chug half of it.

“Gulk-haah!”

I strip down to my uniform and consider for just a second going further, but I do have some shame left even in the face of what feels like heatstroke. “Circle below… Right, how long do I have in here left?”

I check the clock and curse, walking into the little acclimatization room. Basically, since if you go directly from this shed to the actual outside, you’ll feel like shit, we have this neat little in-between so we can slowly get back to it.

Closing the front flap of my vest and fidgeting around until my armor sits comfortably-

AARRH! AARRH!

I stiffen, a hand going to my slung rifle automatically and finding naught but air because I’m a fucking idiot-

I settle for my sidearm instead as I push open the door to the sound of the alarm and a rocket swooshing overhead to explode somewhere behind me-

“Shit shit shit-” I make a quick jog to the outer perimeter, fumbling my helmet back on, even as the roar of mixed small arms rises in greeting-

“THIS IS NOT A DRILL! SECURITY TO ASSUME BATTLE POSTURE! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!”

Something hits one of our bunkers, because suddenly it bursts apart-

Pak!

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

I stumble, vision blurring momentarily, the side of my head vaguely aching as I… Get up from the ground? ‘When did that happen?’

I put a hand to my helmet and feel along the side, finding a deep trench cut along it, before I remember that people are SHOOTING AT US-

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck please be okay-” For a second it’s if I can fly. The ground leaves as my own two feet shove me towards the battered collection that is Northeast’s bunkers and watchtower, the latter of which is already cut down.

“Malna! GET IN!” I see someone leaning out of the bunker’s back door, and then suddenly they’re a silhouette and the thing glows orange, the body flying out-

BANG!

“Shit!” I drop to the floor as shrapnel cuts at my skin and beats against my armor, but I’m still alive-

I see something, and it sets me off for some reason. My sidearm comes out and up, suddenly I’m in a kneeling position and my gun barks at moving figures-

BKAM! BKAM! BKAM! Apparently those months of pistol drills have paid off, because I swear that I’ve drilled the target center mass. Still, they only stagger and do not fall. I apply more of my pistol’s clip to his chest and on the eighth try, he finally falls over.

And yet there are more.

Thankfully, the other guardposts are keeping them busy, and as I watch someone stumbles out of the smoking husk of one of our bunkers.

“Oh shit…! Rkyni!” I break into a run and just about manage to catch her. She smiles up at me, faintly, and I notice that her arm is missing.

“Shit-” A hand pats at the back of my helmet.

“…Fight…” An expression I don’t have a word for.

And then, she is gone, the arm slackening and the body going limp. The smile stays along her face like she’s about to tell another awful joke.

THOOM! I dive for the floor and when no more come, I get back up, glancing around warily.

‘What the fuck?! Are they firing mortars at us?!’

Another flash behind me answers that. ‘They-they’ve got to be shooting at the launchers. And the guard posts!’

I need a gun. I need my gun. Without much effort I find myself running for the tower, pistol in hand, sights already settling on someone leveling a gun at me-

BKAM! The body drops with half its head missing as I spy a strap on the floor and go-

I notice a flash and turn slightly, which might’ve saved my life. BLAM!

“Hkhhh-” The wind comes out of my lungs with a sudden pain blooming in my chest.

I fall over into the floor and I squeeze off bullets into the shot’s direction until the slide locks back and I manage to catch my breath, rolling over onto my front, feeling my left breast complain about how a pro boxer just smashed it-

“The gun. Load the gun…!” I fumble with my pistol, all coordination gone, a bullet ricocheting overhead slipping one of the clips out of my hands as I ducked.

‘They should take better care of the grass… It’s kinda patchy over here.’ With that thought and a bout of barely suppressed hysterics, I slam it home and then scoop up my bolt action.

‘Sling, check scope, the crack doesn’t look too bad for being tossed out of a tower, blow off the dirt… Fuck.’

“…this is what you signed up for, huh? Fucking great.” Cycling the bolt, I pick a bit of the rubble to try and use for shooting…

‘There’s good. Come on girl, you’ve seen worse shit…!’ I lie down, letting my rifle rest on a bit of wood, and do the thing a pair of veterans taught me back home to still my jittering hands.

Through the scope are over two dozen armed men and women backed up by a couple technicals. The way they shrug off bullets makes me suspect the cars are armored, though I don’t see any mortars in the group. ‘Maybe hidden further out, or in a hole we haven’t seen out there?’

The crosshair comes to rest on a man’s torso, he’s holding a rifle and I can see glinting flecks falling from the gun.

BANG!

He falls down, trailing blood.

I don’t let my movements go too quick, but they’re getting closer than comfortable, clad in a motley assortment of flaks and hunting jackets. Making me pause for a second though is how more than one of them have a rocket launcher at the ready.

I settle my crosshair, wait for a burst of gunfire, and then put it through his… Her, heart.

As the rifle jolts though, I see a sharp burst of sparks as the woman wearing a beanie refuses to fall. For a heartstopping moment she levels the rocket launcher, sweeping it across the area and I swear our eyes meet, but the moment passes.

I carefully cycle the bolt, then aim up for her throat. Another burst of machine gun fire and my rifle claps, praying that the flash hider prevents me from being seen.

‘T-two down. Okay. Okay. I can do this. I-I need to listen to my training. My shitty fucking cut rate training.’

The crosshair tracks onto someone carrying a machine gun, laying down fire from a sling, the muzzle flash illuminating a visored helmet and… “Body armor…?”

I see gray steel plates covering his chest, stomach, and shoulders, painted orange by muzzle blast. The gunfire draws closer to me.

‘They’ve… probably noticed their missing fireteam. Shit!’

I hold my cross hair over the machinegunner’s visor, and get ready to move. I’ve been here too long anyways.

BANG!

I think he died but I don’t bother checking, I just pull my rifle and quickly crawl away, rolling while prone into another bit of cover just as a grenade or something explodes on the other side of the wall, dust and bits of debris raining down onto me as I lie there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Gunfire both gently crackles distantly and hammers nearby, interspersed with explosions and the everpresent alarm. I hear shouts, nearby.

My aunt’s voice of all things echo in my ears. ‘GET UP GIRL! DO YOU DIE HERE?!’

Her shouts hang, I think, in the air for just a second. There, then, something sweeps across me and my resolve hardens. “…no. N-no, not here…!”

I turn myself over, checking my pistol. Full clip and chambered, about as ready as I’ll ever be.

I glance to one of the other hardpoints, and spot only intermittent bursts of fire coming from the remaining defenders within. Smoke billows from one bunker’s roof, a light orange glow implying flames… Somehow. ‘They can’t have figured out how to make concrete burn, right?’

More shouting from around the corner. A burst of tracers ones from the next hardpoint and disappears behind the burnt out wrecks of our bunkers.

‘Kill the first one, grab his rifle. All you have to do.’ I raise my sidearm, feeling my heart speed up, the sights jittering slightly. Someone comes around the corner.

BKAM BKAM BKAM-

I just shoot, firing in a tight little group. At this range, even I can’t miss, we’re a few strides away from each other and I have the drop on the other guy. He jerks a couple times and then collapses, rifle clattering from lifeless hands.

I hear shouting from close by as I hurry to scoop up the gun. “Na de heyai fa!”

What arrives around the corner next is another grenade.

“Oh you cocksucking BASTARDS-” I scramble to dash behind a piece of concrete rubble-

THUMP!

Dust settles around me. I can’t hear anything, but… I feel fine? It doesn’t feel like I’ve been torn to shreds by a grenade. ‘Okay. Alive, still got that rifle. Chamber, chamber, how do I check the chamber?’

I grab the handle and tug slightly, the shine of brass glinting out. Gritting my teeth, I roll over, ignore the sudden spiking pain on my front, and stand up, firing on the first one I see. “Eat shit!”

I see some other muzzle flashes bloom. The one I have in my sights jerks and twists a few times before his head suddenly sort of bursts, and then I’m yanking the gun across the rest of the group, holding the trigger, praying the clip doesn’t empty-

“Uhf-” A red hot iron burns in my side, another lights up across my shoulder, joined by several more lesser flashes, but it’s drowned out in a haze as my vision tunnels and-

The flashes stop. I’m empty.

I still can’t hear, which is… Not a great sign. If it turns out I’m deaf now, well… ‘Fuck me sideways then. One thing at a time though…’

One handing the rifle, I draw my sidearm, glance over the bodies, and before I can doubt myself I shoot one of the movers in the forehead.

Then another.

I take in a shuddering breath and start scavenging ammo from their bodies, stuffing my pockets with extra clips. Out of habit, I grab my rifle too, and sling it over my shoulder.

‘Now reload and bandage your new holes.’ It takes me a moment to find the release lever, but I manage to slap in a new one after about thirty seconds. The first aid part though, runs into a minor issue of my medical pouch being gone.

“Fuck…!” I hiss out, staggering and collapsing into a bit of bunker wreckage. Boiling oil blooms from the wound in my side, darkening my vision for a moment, leaving me gasping and shaking.

I bite down on a bit of fabric, trying to make as little sound as I can as the world shudders in my vision. For a very very brief moment, I contemplate my pistol.

And then I feel the explosions shake the ground, see the flash of bombs and see a pair of jets swoop overhead. ‘Our backup’s here.’

I reach up towards the sky, the world swims a little, and then-

===

I blink, and pinch the bridge of my nose, sitting up-

‘It feels like someone beat my body with a pipe wrench!’ Something wet and hot runs down my face, the pain leaving me panting and gasping in my bed as I fall back down-

…

‘O-o-okay. Don’t, do that again. Got it…’ I think I passed out again from just… falling back into bed.

‘What happened? Did I go out on the town and pick a fight with some punk, get my shit stomped? It feels like it! Oh Tir my chest…’

Slowly, I turn my head to check the time, and then realize there’s something wrapped around my ears atop my head. With some effort, the arm that only kind of hurt to move came up and felt at them.

‘…why’s it so quiet, anyways?’ I feel at them a little further, wincing as one of them shifts unpleasantly. Giving it up for now, I turn to look at… The time…

‘Oh shit!’ My eyes widen as I realize it’s 10:45 and I almost make the mistake of getting up again, before I blink and it finally touches my mind that this isn’t my room, or my alarm clock.

===