“Djinn 1.” Captain’s voice crackled clearly on the radio. “The flock’s returning to roost. Quite the catch they got there. Enough to fill all the colony’s nests. Roes practically spilling like golden rain. Spotted One at the rear.”

 

Grifon convoy entering visual range of Djinn 1’s vantage point. Ten trucks filled with aid supplies, just as previous. Twenty-five dolls, only five true ones and twenty copies in reality. Overstretched, again, just as previous. The Grifon expedition hadn’t received any reinforcements. Command APC at the rear. Not enough for him to hide behind his Iron Seytan; he had to hide behind the convoy as well? Abhorrent cowardice. 

 

“Won’t be long now. Two minutes out.”

 

I pressed the button on the headset. My jaw ached, and my lungs wheezed as I spoke, another lucid reminder of this husk’s dire state. 

 

Banish these thoughts. I will tend to my dread phantasms later. We still have the coward tyrant and his Iron Seytan to contend with. 

 

“I see...Sultan…to all Djinn, amendment to…the plan. Wait for the Spotted One…to glide over Shadow-Under-Tide. Then… spear it to ground…clip its wings and…wring its shriek from its throat. Compel the flock to break away and…attend to the Spotted One….”

 

“Hey! Command! We are at the fork! Hello?”

​

​

​

1000

​

Blinked. Headset emitted Skorpion’s voice. Blue blips, loosely clustered and numbering twenty-two, stopped at the fork; outpost just ahead, waystation to the right, up the dirt road. 

 

“Are you listening?” She sounded impatient. “We are going ahead now.”

 

“Command to Team Skorpion,” Makarov barked into her headset. “We hear you. Is there anything important to report, or are you getting cold feet?”

 

“What? Me? Us? Cold feet? You’re joking!” Skorpion sounded offended. “I’m just giving our regularly scheduled sitrep. Don’t you know what a sitrep is?”

 

China-clatter; Makarov had swung towards the Tactical Map, spilling lukewarm tea onto its glossy surface. “Who do you think I am? Of course, I know what a sitrep is!” She shot the false eyes a furious glare. 

 

Sigh exhaled. Unclenched the fists, pressed the button on the headset. “I will take it from here. Anything else to report?” 

 

“Noooooo. Just thought you ought to know. Anyway! Resuming our patrol now!” 

 

The headset beeped. Wooden creak; Makarov, muttering under her breath, had sunk back in her seat. She emptied her cup with a single gulp, then refilled it with fresh tea.

 

The blue blips drifted up the dirt road, flanked by forests. Two hundred metres ahead, seventy metres into the eastern woods, minute red blips faded in and out of P7’s micro-drone sensor radius’ edge. Dormant Sangvis minions faintly pulsing ‘okay’ signals. 

 

Paper map spread under the holographic projection. Crosses, circles, crosses-in-circles, twenty to fifty metres away from the east side of the dirt road. Two concentrations of dormant Sangvis minions spaced one hundred metres apart, the distance taken up by sniper positions. Incomplete recon intel. They correlated with the signals’ location. Team Skorpion will be upon them in two minutes. 

 

Makarov’s teacup hung stiffly upon her petrified fingers; her ruby gaze fixed upon the Tactical Map’s projection, unblinking despite the wafting steam.

 

False eyes whined; false finger on the button. The blue blips had trudged past the first Sangvis cluster.

​

​

​

-1 Day, 1445

​

“In my opinion, this is a bit much.”

 

Red marks around the outpost, blue around the woods flanking the dirt road, black on the waystation. 

 

Red. Executioner. Blue. Hunter. Black. Scarecrow, Intruder, or both.

 

“How so?” the throat uttered.

 

Nivy furrowed his brow as he elaborated, “While I agree it is fair to assume that the Sangvis waystation is guarded, I do not agree there will be more than one ringleader dummy managing the guards. It can’t be important enough to warrant such a defence.”

 

Kalina’s intel files lying haphazardly by the false hand; obstructions that scarcely interrupted the azure projection above.

 

“Yet the old records showed the ringleaders do not operate alone. The failed operation to tighten the perimeter in S07, the counter-raid against the Sangvis weapons cache in S05, the evacuation of the rear line FOB in S03…the reports showed the presence of Executioner and Hunter in the same AO. Scarecrow herself was sighted in all these AOs hours before their arrival, and additional intel suggested Intruder’s involvement as a field commander in all these operations.”

 

Nivy sup on his tea then set it on his china tray. “This time’s different, Cetin.”

 

“The aforementioned ringleaders being encountered separately in S09 is an anomalous incident, Nivy. They were dispersed to cover more ground in their search for M4. We cannot assume the Sangvis have changed their doctrine since. They have most likely reverted, seeing that their search was concluded.”

 

He shook his head. “Not what I meant. Cetin, the skirmishes you mentioned are either Sangvis expeditions or repulsion ops. This is just a stranded waystation meant to connect the Sangvis heartlands to their periphery, which they had lost.”

 

“Were it that simple, the client would not have hired us for this job.”

 

“That I agree. However, three to four dummy ringleaders? How do we even know they would use the same tactics employed by the mainframes?”

 

“The dummy Executioner in Subsector Two employed the same tactic as the mainframe.” 

 

“She used simple brute force tactics, Cetin. We haven’t seen anything suggesting sophistication yet.”

“‘Yet’, Nivy. No confirmation.” Glanced at the paper map. “The terrain surrounding the waystation lends well to the predicted Sangvis strategy. Best that I formulate a plan by this prediction.”

​

“And spend the munitions meant for Subsector Four? Especially the hellcannon shells?” Nivy frowned.

 

“Better than the unintended expenditure of lives, Nivy. You witnessed the events in Novum Sambir. Should I risk unpreparedness for anticipated dangers?”

 

“That is the absolute worst case and the most improbable one at that. We cannot afford to exhaust our limited supplies in this op when there is a greater need for them later.” He looked towards the projection over the Tactical Map and pursed his lips. He then exhaled. “I won’t argue with you on this, but I advise rationing the munitions. I’m positive Kalin can help you with this.”

 

“That’s not the main issue, Tovarisch Kommandirs.” Makarov pinched the bridge of her nose as she laid papers onto the Tactical Map. “Why are you focusing on munitions expenditures when the most glaring problem with Kommandir Yilmaz’s strategies is staring right at our faces?”

​

Nivy shrugged as he twirled his teacup with his fingers. “I have nothing against his strategies. I think they are all sound enough.”

 

“Sound enough?!” Makarov exclaimed, incredulous. “His first option has a vanguard echelon walk right into the predicted enemy ambush, and his last option is shelling their known positions to force them into attacking our firebase! I think the order is switched! We should be pursuing the least risky strategy first and leave the riskiest ones for later as contingency plans!”

 

Nivy sighed. “The defensive strategy poses the least risk only on paper. In practice, it poses the most risk.”

 

Makarov’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t expect you, of all people, to blab that baloney.” 

 

“The defensive strategy allows the Sangvis to fight on their own terms. Withdraw beyond our hellcannons’ range, mass their forces, consolidate their efforts, forge a keen spearhead and finally thrust into our fortifications with the ringleaders leading the charge. They will surely rupture our defence and overrun our firebase.”

 

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Lines wriggled about on her brow and lips. She then sipped her tea.

 

“We cannot be on the defensive for this operation, Makarov. At least not initially. Instead, we must seize and maintain the initiative. Spring their trap, expose their forces, scatter and dismantle them piecemeal before they can bring their plans to fruition. And in the ensuing chaos, locate or draw out the ringleaders and assassinate them. By being on the offensive, we dictate the battle’s flow.”

 

She lowered her cup, pursed her lips, and then replied, “The other issue with this strategy is having Skorpion lead this vanguard echelon. The timing required is too precise, yet you made her and her team of misfits the lynchpin of this operation. Is this wise, Kommandir?”

 

“Hey!” Skorpion spilt her tea. “What’s your problem?!” 

 

“You have been zoning out this entire time!” 

​

​

​

1007

​

“Now!”

 

Smoke bloomed. Incendiaries ignited the western forest. Tracer rounds perforated the Sangvis emerging from the north and south. Muzzle flashes trailed eastwards into the woods. 

 

Delay in the enemy response; Ringleader caught off-guard.

 

Explosion rocked Team Skorpion’s micro-drone feed; XM8’s grenade had detonated at her echelon’s rear. Smoke shrouded their position. Light flashes; M14 and her dummies had fired. The team rushed southwards under smoke cover, passing by several Jaeger carcasses. M14 had struck true, despite the obscured visibility. MDR swung her rifle to her left and slew another Jaeger.

 

Red blips on the dirt road massed into a cluster and began pursuit. Red cluster erupted from the outpost, moving to intercept.

 

“Command to Hawk. Targets in sequence; Sangvis clusters three hundred forty-five degrees from fork, one hundred fifty metres, two hundred eighty-five degrees from fork, two hundred metres, forest three hundred thirty degrees from fork, one hundred metres. Command to Siskin 1 and Team 416. Approach fork and intercept Sangvis from outpost.”

 

The command truck quaked; the hellcannons had fired. Makarov swore; she had split her tea onto the Tactical Map. 

 

The cannons thundered again just as the first volley landed. One shell struck true, wiping out one-third of the Sangvis’ numbers. The other missed, uprooting some of the western trees instead.

 

Team Skorpion swung out of the forest. They quickly formed up and fired upon their pursuers. The hellcannons roared for the third time.

 

Siskin 1’s blip arrived at the fork just as the second volley struck the tide pouring from the outpost. Fleur’s bullets scythed through the reeling Sangvis Guards and Rippers as her transport landed and disembarked its passengers. 

 

Conflagration on the dirt road, Skorpion had flung her incendiary grenade, catching her pursuer’s front formation in the blaze. She, Vityaz and their dummies had swung around, rushed into the western forest. They fell suddenly on their bellies. The micro-drone feed shook, vision obscured by thrown dirt and pulped splinters. Trees felled, many too far into the woods; a shell had landed off-target. 

 

The shaking stopped, and the submachine-gunners leapt onto their feet and descended upon the disoriented Sangvis snipers.  

 

“Team 416 to Command. Executioner sighted.” The ringleader emerged from the dust cloud on the echelon’s feed. She appeared to be limping. She swerved to her left, almost stumbling as debris pelted her. 416’s grenade had missed her, striking the minions emerging from her rear instead.

 

Scouts and Dinergates rushed out of the smoke; the explosion did not make a significant dent in their numbers. G11s and Fleurs shot at them, then redirected their fire at the emerging Rippers and Vespids.

 

Another detonation. Executioner’s silhouette obscured by thrown dust. Chunks of obsidian plates rained upon MP40s and MP41s as they sprinted towards her. An MP40 leapt aside just as a wave of cutting energy grazed past her. Springboarding off a limping Dinergate, she lobbed her incendiary at her foe. 

 

The incendiary ignited prematurely; another wave had sliced through it and bisected the airborne MP40. Fiery gouts scorched Executioner’s raised obsidian blade. She shuddered; another MP40 had slashed at her kidney. The ringleader brought her pistol down. She whiffed; her opponent had leapt back while returning fire. She swung her sword and embedded it into the asphalt. She had missed, having stumbled as flames erupted from her back.

 

“Team SVD to Command.” Red blips emerged in the waystation’s vicinity. “Hunter sighted at the waystation with Ripper, Jaeger, Vespid and Dinergate escort. Movement direction one hundred fifty degrees.” The red cluster moved, as Snow indicated, towards the firebase. The pace of their movement suggested arrival within ten minutes. 

 

Waystation. Ten minutes to arrival. Preliminary planning expected Hunterʼs arrival in five minutes. 

 

MP40s and MP41s nipping at Executioner, wearing her down. G11s and MG4s peeled the Vespids and Rippers off them with ceaseless fire. 416 still awaited an opening to cripple the ringleader. 

 

Skorpions and Vityazes withdrew from the northern forest, their retreat obscured by smoke and fire. One of the M14s shot into the smoke, her aim guided by MDR’s micro-drone screen. The others shot at the Vespids huddling behind the Guards whenever a gap was opened up with high-velocity rounds and anti-personnel grenades. 

 

“Permission to engage?” 

 

Loss of Hunter will not result in Sangvis withdrawal; command over them will be transferred to Executioner. Team Snow may be able to eliminate Hunter, but they will struggle with the escorts. 

 

Deviation from predicted scenario off by five minutes. Well within tolerance. Current situation still stable; amendment to the plan unnecessary. 

 

“Hold fire. Command to Hawk, Hummingbird, Team Springfield and Team FAL, Hunter approaching firebase. Escorts: Rippers, Vespids, Jaegers, Dinergates. ETA ten minutes.”

 

Lev, David, Springfield and FAL voiced their acknowledgements. Hunter’s echelon disappeared beneath the canopies southeast of the waystation. 

 

Red blips blinked within Skorpions’ and Vityazes’ vicinity; MDR’s drones had cleared their fog of war. One M14 and two XM8s’ joined the submachine-gunners for another push for the northern Sangvis’ rearline.

 

G11s and MG4s began directing their fire towards Executioner; the ringleader had scarcely any escorts left. Yet, Executioner still struggled with the harrying MP40s and MP41s, either obstinate or oblivious to her predicament.

 

Explosion rocked Team Skorpion’s feed. Muzzle flashes within the smokescreen; they have begun their advance. 

 

Red blips appeared within P7’s micro-drones radii, one hundred metres away from the firebase. 

 

“Hummingbird to Command,” David’s voice crackled on the radio, P7’s frantic exclamations faintly heard in the background. “Hunter’s echelon has entered P7’s sensor radii.”

 

“Command to Hummingbird. Acknowledged. Grant me access to the feeds.”

 

Deuce’s machine-gun barrage erupted outside the command tent. Ten windows popped up on the hologram, each with micro-drone signifiers at their bottom-right corners. Rippers cut down, Vespids huddled behind bullet-gouged trees, and Jaegers at their rear furtively leaned out to take aim. More gunshots, reports of Springfields’ rifles; Jaegers thrown out of cover, their head components splattered onto the carpet of dried leaves. 

 

Hunter darted into Hummingbird Three’s feed. Disappeared, reappeared in Hummingbird Two’s feed. She was heading east, aiming to reach the firebase’s rear. She drifted into Hummingbird Five’s vision, which hovered at the centre of the fifty metres times four hundred metres strip north of the firebase.

 

“Command to Hawk, detonate the charges.”

 

The command truck quaked again. Makarov caught her toppling samovar in the nick of time. The crashing of trees reverberated through the firebase. Statics on the micro-drone feeds, none recovered visuals; they were knocked out by the explosion. 

 

“Team FAL to Command, Hunter in sight.” Team FAL’s feed winked on the Tactical Map. Hunter, prone on the ruptured ground, quivered as she dug her fingers into the dirt. “Mosin’s taking the shot.” Rifle crack; half of Hunter’s skull exploded into chunks.

 

Rocking on Team 416’s feed. Executioner thrown back, shrapnel embedded in her melted skin and charred flesh. She planted her sword into the ground, using it as a crutch to steady her trembling legs. She faltered and fell to her knees, her ruined arm falling limp by her side. Yet she hobbled towards Team 416, her pistol raised in defiance. Another explosion. Executioner’s pistol soared off-screen, with her arm still holding its grip. The ringleader crashed and crumpled onto the cratered asphalt, her left shoulder reduced to a stump, her left cheek and skull dented inwards, her left eye pulverised. Coolant pooled underneath her.

 

416 slid another grenade into her launcher. Fleur glanced at her and lowered her smoking barrel.

​

​

​

1100

​

“It’s Alyona.” Lev referred to the hellcannon closest to the line of gun-trucks facing the now-uprooted northern forest. “Something’s wrong with Alyona.”

 

“How can you tell?”

 

“The two shells which landed off-mark were both Alyona’s.”

 

Sour-bitter fluids wet the tongue and washed away the grime caking the throat. Balmy humidity collected under the true palm. “How many times was Alyona fired yesterday? How many of her shells landed off-mark?”

 

Lev put down his thermos cap and rubbed his chin. “That’s the thing. Alyona’s shot about a hundred shells yesterday, but her hit rate is no different from Mischa’s.”

 

“Do you think…” 

 

Lev raised his index finger, placing it where Svet’s lips would be if she was seated closer to him. “I’m not hearing it. There’s nothing wrong with your calculation. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have any hits at all.” 

 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say!” Svet exasperated. “What I’m trying to say is, do you think the problem is the shells themselves?”

 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Lev sipped on his coffee again. “Maybe it’s all a coincidence that Alyona fired two improperly built shells in quick succession. Maybe Alyona’s developed a fault just today.”

 

“You cannot determine if this is the case at this time, I take it?” 

 

He shook his head. “Even with Papasha here, we won’t find out without the proper equipment.” He took a sip off his flask and then added. “I will get us a diagnosis by the end of the day. Else, Griga will get it for us by next morning. Either way, we will fix it before Subsector Four.”  

 

Gulped down the last of the coffee, twisted the cap back on its container. “See to it. Team AR’s survival depends on the cannons’ reliability.” 

 

Deuce hollered from the second gun-truck. Still leaning against her mounted machine gun, she followed the just arriving Team FAL. She appeared to be consciously avoiding meeting BAR’s gaze. 

 

“A perfectly executed mission today,” said FAL as she stopped by us. She was smirking. “Not a single straggler; we’ve made sure of that, but honestly…” dust fell off her flicked-back sidetail, landing on the resting Fel, “...those shells-turned-IEDs, are they really necessary? We could have nailed Hunter without them.” 

 

Fel’s nostrils wriggled. It sneezed, bumping against the doll’s neck.

 

“Your team will still have to fight through a horde to get to her, and such actions would have alerted her of your presence.”

 

“And they will shoot at you as well.” Lev pointed at FAL, or rather the grimy brown caking her black jacket. “Better to spend ten shells and an hour in the laundromat than to be shot at, don’t you think, vashe siyatelstvo? Shouldn’t you show us some appreciation?” 

​

FAL folded her arms and harrumphed. “Well, I suppose I can appreciate the consideration shown to us.”

​

The false leg whined, the spine straightened, the pressure lifted from the bum. False hand tucked away the thermos and retrieved the AK-15. “Make sure to reward Papasha amply and watch over the firebase for me. I am heading over to the waystation.”

 

“Let! Me! Go!” P7 cried just behind. She swung her legs back and forth, flailing her arms. David, his right arm around the diminutive doll’s shoulders, was struck numerous times in his cheeks, both by her arms and the two buzzing micro-drones surrounding them.

 

“Hold! Still!” the aux guard growled. With one effortful twist-and-pull, he unplugged a device from P7’s nape. The drones fell to the ground, and the doll wailed in dismay.

 

“David!” 

 

The aforementioned guardsman looked up, and P7 ceased struggling in his grasp. 

 

“You are coming with us.” 

 

The impish grin creeping up P7’s lips scurried away the moment the aux guard looked at her. He frowned. “Oh no you don’t. You are coming with us.”

​

P7 resumed her struggles as David steered her towards the closest jeep. Springfield gently pushed the vehicle’s boot shut. Her emerald gaze met the false eyes, and she, wearing her usual gentle smile, instructed, “Kindly distribute the brunch to Team 416, Team Skorpion and Team Snow for me, would you?” 

 

“...Yes,” the throat uttered dryly.

 

The driver’s door slammed shut, the key turned, and the engine rumbled. The jeep shook; Makarov, David, and P7 had slid into the passenger’s seats. Adjusted the mirror, stepped on the clutch, changed the gear and depressed the brake. The vehicle passed the sandbag and the displaced barbed wire.

 

Makarov turned the radioʼs knob. The speakers crackled and announced, “Due to surpluses in sugar production, the Ministry of Commerce announced that sugar prices are now fixed at five kopeek per gram….”

 

In the mirror, David looked out of the windows. The aux guard glanced at P7, concealed behind the driver’s seat, every so often with suspicious eyes.

 

“What are you disputing over, David? P7?” 

 

“He wonʼt give me one of his drones,” P7 spoke first.

 

“You are only going to use it for mischief,” David accused.

 

“But you promised!”

 

“Has P7 done as she had committed?”

 

The commotion ceased. Makarov looked over her shoulders, curious over the sudden silence. David seemingly mulled over the question. Discontent can still be felt radiating from P7. 

 

“She did operate the micro-drones as instructed….”

 

“I did, didn’t I?” P7 verbalised her silent discontent. “I did as I promised, didn’t I? So, why won’t you give me a drone? You promised!”

 

“The last time I saw you with my drone, you were stealing it! God knows what kind of mischief you planned to do with it. I can’t just let you take a drone for simply doing a task any doll can do!”

 

“But! You! Promised!”

 

“Render to P7 what was promised, David.”

 

“What!” 

 

P7 whooped in response to the aux guard’s shock.

 

“You know what P7 is like, Commander. If I let her have my drone, who knows what she might do with it!”

 

“Yet, knowing this, you made her that promise. A word, once given, cannot be rescinded. Give her the drone….”

 

Shaking behind the jeep. P7’s right fist rose and sank vigorously in the mirror. 

 

“...but supervise her. You are now responsible for her conduct with the drone.”

 

The jeep stopped shaking; P7 had stopped pumping her fist. “Commander, why?” she cried. “Don’t you trust me?”

 

Makarov scoffed. “We’ll sooner trust Beria than trust you, tovarisch P7. Your reputation for mischief precedes you.”

​

A low growl emitted from behind the driver’s seat. 

 

“Commander,” David started. “You know I cannot supervise MDR’s training and watch over P7 simultaneously, right?”

​

“You promised you would give her the drone, but you didn’t promise you wouldn’t tamper with it to limit her use of it, did you?”

 

“I…uh…huh…”

 

Thumping at the backrest, P7 must have kicked it. 

 

Rising smoke ahead. Skorpion, at the centre of the lane, waved her arms over her head. Released the gas pedal, switched gear to neutral and stepped on the brake. Makarov lurched forward and gave a dirty look. “Kommandir!” she protested, “Step on the brake earlier and gentler next time!”

​

Nostrils assailed by the stinging stench of burned iron the moment the door closed shut. “Cetin!” Skorpion sprung forward, her motion assisted by her exoskeleton. Grinning, she showed her left fist. “Give me a fist bump!”

 

Knuckles knocked together.

 

“Help us distribute the foodstuff in the boot.”

 

“Okay!” Skorpion replied enthusiastically. She then spun around, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at the top of her false lungs, “Hey! Everyone! The food’s here!” 

 

“URA!!!”

 

The boot swung open, and Sudaev, XM8, MP41 and MDR converged upon the vehicle like sharks in blood-tinged tides. 

 

“It’s a BLT!” MDR exclaimed as she urgently unwrapped her sandwich. She then took two steps to the right, turned around, lifted her unwrapped foodstuff to her cheek’s level and flashed a drone a peace sign. She did not seem to mind the clicking and flashing of MP41’s camera. 

 

“Eating Springfield’s piping hot BLT after a hard fight with Executioner. Snap! Those chatterboxes back in HQ will be soooooo jealous once I publish this vlog.”

​

“Hey!” P7 snapped at David while pointing at MDR. “Why does she get to keep the drones?”

 

“I didn’t let her keep the drones; she’s still on duty. Oi, MDR!” 

 

MDR froze, her shoulders tensed up as she slowly lowered her extended fingers and looked behind herself. “Eh? Hackagod? What are you doing here?”

 

“I was here the whole time, and I should be asking what are you doing there,” David huffed. “I thought I told you the drones are not for personal use.” 

 

“But you see….” MDR averted her gaze. “The drones’ resolution is so good, you know. Fully 8K HDR-capable. So I figured….” 

 

Sigh exhaled. “Save this bickering for later. We still have tasks to complete.” 

 

Dummies guarding the perimeter. Vityaz watched from the sidelines. G11 nodding off by the roadside curb. MP40 paced about, accompanied by Fleur, her gun still gripped in her hands. They faced west, towards the crumbling outpost where Executioner’s smoking carcass laid. 

 

A tug against the right sleeve. XM8, cheeks bloated and drenched in mayonnaise and tomato juice, spoke gibberish. 

 

“Eat, then speak. And clean your cheeks.”

 

She gulped heftily, dirtied her sleeve and started. “You are a liar, Commander. You said you don’t know chess.” Her brow was furrowed.

 

“I do not know chess.”

 

“Liar!” she accused scathingly. “Liar, liar, pants on fire! You lured out the enemy Pawns and Rook, baited their Queen out, then proceeded to crush them all and checkmated their King with only three pieces! This is clearly a chess move! How dare you claim you don’t know chess after doing all of these?”

 

“Yet, this is still unlike chess. In chess, the match-up is symmetrical, and the board and all its occupants are always bared. The battlefield is different. It is intrinsically asymmetrical, its boundaries vague, and manoeuvres oftentimes concealed.”

 

“Also, a game of chess starts when you move a piece on the board,” Makarov interjected, in-between the chewing of her sandwich. “While in a battle….”

 

“Shut up, Macky! You are a brainless novice!” XM8 retorted.

 

“...What?”

 

“You can play chess before you even sit at the table; just study your opponent’s moves from previous games before taking him on!”

​

Makarov opened her mouth, closed it, then ground her sandwich between her teeth. Colour on her pale cheeks, her hair had seemingly expanded.

 

“Perhaps so, but the rules of a board game are still rigid. The pieces will always do as the rules dictate. They do not deviate.”

 

“But you can pull off complex moves and strategies in chess with these rules, Commander.”

 

“Only because the rules are simple enough to allow versatility, tovarisch,” Makarov swallowed and voiced her dispute. “No such thing here. The rules are fluid, more like suggestions.” 

​

“Rules modifiable by variables such as weather, terrain, visibility, supplies and logistics, equipment….” Like the exoskeleton XM8 wore and the high-velocity rounds chambered in her gun. “...and morale.”

 

Skorpion, carrying Springfield’s sandwiches, skipped towards Fleur, MP40 and G11, shouting while waving her right arm. MP41 followed her closely, chewing on her sandwich, her camera slung around her neck.

 

“Morale, you say.” Makarov took another bite off her sandwich, her ruby gaze directed at the yellow doll, who had begun distributing the brunch she carried. “This must be why you chose Skorpion to lead the vanguard echelon. However, are you sure you didn’t take too enormous a risk? She has a penchant for recklessness.”

 

The aforementioned doll tried to shake G11 awake. Twice. Thrice. She straightened herself, folded her arms and tapped her feet in irate puzzlement.

 

“She is bold, and she inspires boldness. That quality is a prerequisite to a successful breakout.”

 

“So, she’s a useful idiot,” Makarov smirked smugly.

 

“Idiot! Idiot!” XM8 chanted.

 

The throat grunted. “No, she is not. And XM8, respect your team leader. Skorpion!” 

 

The yellow doll halted. She had already tucked the sandwich between G11’s arm and torso. 

 

“Where’s 416, M14 and the rest of Team Snow?”

 

“Sarge, Snow and the others are sweeping the waystation!” Skorpion shouted her reply.

​