+3 Days, 1810

​

Jasur clutched his rifle sling tightly as he watched the mech stomp through the shattered gate, unhindered by the jagged glass shards lining its frame. It was carrying a yellow metal container packed with Guard carcasses.

 

Symon nodded at a uniformed doll, then looked towards the false eyes. “Confirmed, one hundred five bodies. As requested, we have split the payment: Four hundred thousand rubles in cash, seven hundred thousand remitted into your account.” He held out a duffle bag, which bore the logo of 16Lab. “Confirm?”

 

Makarov received the bag as Kalina swiped her tablet’s screen. “We have received the seven hundred thousand,” said the logistics officer. “Four hundred thousand, confirmed,” the woolly-haired doll announced as she zipped up the bag.

 

Symon nodded and signalled at the present dolls, who started filling into the Mi-26 behind the mech. Seeing that the 16Lab personnel were departing the area, Jasur waved his hand, signalling his intent to rendezvous.

 

Returned the wave, picked up the bag. Jasur approached to intercept, consciously avoiding meeting Kalina or the dolls’ gaze. He held his rifle tight, his eyes narrowed with scepticism. 

 

The throat uttered as the false hand held the bag towards him. “Check the amount.”

 

Jasur snatched the bag and unzipped it so forcefully that he might as well have torn it open. He retrieved a bundle of notes, thumbed its edges, and tucked it back into the carrier. He repeated the process a dozen times, his brow knitted in silent calculation. After a while, he announced, “It is correct.”

 

“Then our covenant is concluded.”

 

The goats bleated, and the wagons creaked. The mech crouched within the Mi-26’s cabin as its hatch lifted shut. Its rotors whirred and conjured a storm. Buffeted by the sudden gale, the goats bleated again in panic as they quickened their pace. The Uzbek women, clutching their hijabs tight, hurried after them while Jasur and the shepherd sprinted to position themselves at their rear as though to shield them. 

 

The storm abated; the heavy helicopter had departed.

 

False thumb rubbed the false cheek; an errant twig had snapped against it.

 

The Uzbeks had diminished into minute silhouettes down the main street. The dolls and Kalina stripped away their head covering. The ground trembled; a vast rust-coloured object had emerged from that same road from over the horizon. Kalina squinted, then whistled. “Svarog Segmental Bridge Builder,” she announced as the gargantuan machine came close enough to reveal its features.

 

The behemoth lurching towards us consisted of a long extendable beam which occupied the width of the road. Hanging below its frontal end were swaying, extendable pillars that ended in spikes. The beams, and the machinery which operated it, were borne by three paired sets of wheels. There was a cockpit atop it, spanning its length. On its side was painted a white segmented four-pointed star. 

 

“Helian’s sent us a truly heavy gear.” Kalina made one last swipe at her tablet and stowed it into her pouch. “I hope we aren’t paying for it.”

 

The metallic beast lurched forward as it screeched to a gradual halt. Behind it, a convoy of trucks stopped one after the other. “Wow!” Sop II cried as she drifted towards us. “Wow! Cool!” she exclaimed while marvelling at the iron monster. 

 

The machine halted, and a feminine voice emitted from above. “Hey! You Grifon down there?” 

 

“Yes, we are!” Kalina shouted back. “Svarog, right?”

 

“You can see our logo from down there!” the cockpit woman shouted again. “I’m coming down! Easier to talk that way!”

 

The side hatch swung open, and a red-and-rust figure clambered down the metal rungs. Her leather boots scraped the pavement, and she adjusted her hard hat. She wore a warm yet timid grin at odds with her boisterous tone, “I’m Sasha, this crew’s forewoman and Sebastien’s operator...” she looked away from Kalina and gazed upon the false eyes. "...and you must be Kommandir Cetin Yilmaz."

​

“Oh?” Kalina arched her brow. She then grinned sardonically. “Getting admirers, eh, Commander?” 

 

“Oh, hush!” Sasha retorted. “I was given a Turkish name, and he looks Turkish.”

 

Makarov, wearing a slight frown, withheld her comments.

 

Held out the true palm. "...Cetin Yilmaz, Grifon Commander."

 

She gripped it and gave it a shake. Not too soft, yet not firm. Warmth attributed to the thick fibre encasing her hands.

 

“Didn’t expect to be greeted by a Grifon Taktichskiy Kommandir so soon. Usually, they just sit pretty in their command centres.”

 

Released the grip.

 

“He likes long drives along ruined streets,” Kalina interjected. Makarov glanced at her and gave her a dirty look, but she still withheld her comments. “Name’s Kalina, but call me Kalin.” 

 

They shook hands in greeting. After the logistics officer withdrew her palm, she added, “Anyway, you didn’t run into any Sangvis along the way, I hope?”

 

“Didn’t run into any?” Sasha scowled. “The briefing lied! I saw many of them on the way here, though they kept away from us, thankfully.”

 

“That’s because they are scared of us!” Sop II declared. “I’m M4 Sopmod II!” She struck her left chest. “Don’t be scared, I will pop their legs off if they get too close!”

 

“Ah…I see…” Sasha looked the black-garbed doll up and down. Her gaze lingered on her right hand for a moment, then she leaned towards the true shoulder and inquired hushedly, “She has Sangvis parts on her. Is she…”

 

“She’s one of ours. The arm’s her war trophy.”

 

“Ah…” she leaned away. “I see. Of-of course!” she beamed suddenly as she rapped her knuckles against her hard hat. “Silly of me to ask. I’m among Grifon! There’s nothing for me to fear!”

 

“Yep, yep!” Sop II puffed out her chest. “Sangvis’ scared of us, so don't be scared! We will destroy them if they come close!” she proclaimed while brandishing her Sangvis arm. “Rip and tear!”

 

Sasha’s smile grew timider upon witnessing this exuberant display.

 

“Anyway!” Sop II’s eyes sparkled as she bounced closer towards Sasha, who reflexively backed away. “Anyway! Sebastien’s so cool!”

 

“Oh?” Sasha regarded her sceptically. Her timid retreat ceased, her footing firmed. “How is he cool?” She was then taken aback as Sop II threw apart her arms and flailed them excitedly. 

 

“He’s so big and tall! You can see everything from up there, I bet! Also, also, he’s so loud too! I could feel the ground shake when he came to us! So!” the black-garbed T-Doll drew closer to the forewoman, her forearms rubbing against each other, her eyes sparkling ever more iridescently like freshly-cut rubies. “Can I get on him? Please? Pretty please?”

 

Sasha blinked, then righted herself. She held her fist against her heart, then inhaled and exhaled deeply. After calming herself, she raised both her hands, showing her palms. “Absolutely…”

 

Sop II shone with great anticipation.

 

“...NOT!” Sasha had crossed her arms in front of her. 

 

The light snuffed, the pale doll blinked, her mouth a frozen grin. “Eh? Ehhh?” Revelation dawned upon her, and she cried out insistently in bafflement. “Why not? Why not?”

 

“You are a shallow tupitsa who wouldn’t understand the true greatness of Sebastien!” Sasha chastised. “Big! Tall! Loud!? You made him sound like an uncouth brute! Like a destroyer!” She slapped her gloved palm against its wheel plating. “Sebastien is a gentleman! A builder! One of his brothers has even reconnected the two Istanbuls!”

 

“Cetin! Captain! All of you! You wouldn’t believe this! The Europeans are rebuilding the Bosphorus Bridge! Come and see!” 

​

“You who can only describe him as ‘Big, tall and loud’ do not deserve to board him! Besides!” She pointed her thumb towards her nose. “He only has room for one woman, and I am his woman!” 

 

“Ehhhhhh?”

 

Sigh exhaled. “Cease your bickering, lest you see our tower lights after dusk.”

 

Sasha folded her arms huffily. Sop II, pouting, slinked dejectedly towards the BTR. 

 

Retrieved the radio, handed it to the forewoman. She blinked, then stared at it incredulously.

 

“We will escort you to our base camp. We are departing on my word.”

 

The ladders rang. Boots scraped the asphalt. Thirteen waved from the ringmount. Sop II gave the Bridge Builder one last look before boarding the BTR after AR-15. Ingram then followed suit. Seeing her teammates having boarded the vehicle, M4 leaned away from its carapace and turned towards the hatch.

 

“M4, you are coming with us.”

 

She blinked, then looked into the BTR, at AR-15 undoubtedly. After a brief discussion, she hurried after us as Kalina and Makarov boarded the jeep.

 

“So the Princess is joining us after all,” Deuce commented before swivelling her gun towards the road ahead.

 

The jeep rocked, the doors snapped shut. Makarov had turned on the radio.

 

“The Ministry of Agriculture is proud to announce that this season’s corn harvest is projected to increase by fifty percent compared to last year. All this is made possible by the research efforts of...”

 

“You had a flashback, didn’t you?” 

 

Makarov had gazed at the false eyes. Kalina peeked over her tablet. M4 kept looking out of the window.

 

“Back when Tovarisch Sasha mentioned the reconnecting of the two Istanbuls.”

​

“Brief ghost whispers. Old memories. Nothing of concern.”

 

Turned the key; the engine grumbled. Picked up the radio, pressed the button. “What is the maximum velocity of your machine?”

 

“Thirty kilometres per hour,” Sasha replied.

 

“I see. There is a bridge along the way. Can your machine cross it?”

 

“It depends on the bridge, Tovarisch Kommandir. I will only know if I see it. Also, stop calling Sebastien a ‘machine’! You kham!” 

​

“...Copy. We are departing now.”

 

Hooked the radio by the door, stepped on the pedal. Dial’s arrow inched clockwise. 

 

One...three...five kilometres per hour. M4 in the mirror silently stared out the window; the BTR behind us was slow to follow. 

 

The radio crackled again. “So, those goat herders who crossed our paths, do you know them?”

 

“Uzbek settlers.”

 

“Uzbeks, huh? They are a long way from the Volgograd Oblast. Why would they settle here, with the Sangvis and all?”

 

“Pass me that radio,” blurted Kalina as she laid down her tablet.

 

Gave her the device. She fiddled with its button. The radio crackled and kept crackling even after she depressed it. Makarov glanced behind herself, then dialled down the broadcast.

 

“The Ministry of Agriculture’s land reclamation project along the Trans-Siberian Railway is now thirty percent complete, with re-fertilisation efforts well underway...”

 

The jeep had neared the junction.

 

“Hello, hello, Kalin here.”

 

Took the right turn. Bridge at the far end.

 

“Kalin?” Sasha replied. “What happened to your Kommandir?” 

​

“I’m taking over the answering.” The logistics officer raised her fist, striking the vehicle’s roof. She grimaced, but continued chirpily, “Kalin! Your one stop for all the happenings in S09 and the other sectors under Grifon protection, and I won’t drone on and on until you fall asleep while at it! Anyway…” she cleared her throat. “The Uzbeks aren’t the only outcasts who settled here. Last year, we had people from the DDR, rural Russians and Ukrainians, Koryo-saram, the Balkans and Baltics, and strange cult-ish types moving in as well.”

 

“Outcasts?” Sasha sounded alarmed. “Are they dangerous? Have they caused any trouble?”

 

Kalina emitted a soft laugh. “It’s fine. No trouble at all. It’s not like they will steal or smash our dolls to bits while we aren’t looking. Just ask M4 right beside me. Her fireteam camped outside the Uzbek settlement for the past four days, and they are still with us all fine.”

 

“I like to remind you that they camped inside the BTR,” Makarov said suddenly. Her chair rocked; Deuce had kicked it. “Hey! That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t try to sneak up on the BTR. Thirteen’s no automated turret; she needs to sleep too!”

 

“Hush, both of you!” Kalina’s scowl swiftly morphed into a friendly smile. “Don’t mind what they are saying. They are an okay sort.”

 

M4 continued to stare out the window; her eyes rested upon the passing City Hall, but her unfocused gaze pierced through its brickwork. In the mirror, Sebastien emerged from around the corner.

 

The concrete slope across the bridge had become visible. Depressed the pedal gradually and brought the jeep to a stop.

 

Cleared the throat, spoke aloud. “Vanguard One to Svarog, we have arrived at the bridge.”

 

“Gee, that Kommandir of yours is uptight. Is he always like this?”

​

“Oh, don’t mind him.” Kalina giggled. “He doesn’t smile. Not even at MP41, MDR or P7’s antics. You will meet them soon enough. Just watch your back, check your bags and don’t do anything scandalous, and you will be fine.”

 

“Sounds like you have real troublemakers, huh?” the radio crackled. “The worst I got is this engineer doll who coops up inside her quarters to watch old Japanese anime most of the day. She even turned the volume all the way up. Very sure she did that so she can’t hear me shouting. Wouldn’t work for more than two hours in a single stretch! Anyway, Sebastien’s stopping now. Sending someone over to evaluate the bridge.”

 

As she concluded her statement, the tremors softened, and Sebastien halted.

 

“So, about those Uzbeks, you said your M4 and her team camped outside their settlement? And they didn’t do anything to them?”

 

Spoke aloud. “Nothing beyond displays of obstinacy, Sasha. M4.”

 

M4 blinked, then looked away from the window and towards the mirror.

 

“Recount to Sasha your experience.”

 

She blinked again, then mechanically stared at the radio held out by Kalina. She then glanced at the mirror, then retrieved the radio and spoke. “The Uzbeks don’t like speaking to women or dolls. I had to communicate with them through an intermediary, Leopold. Our driver.”

 

“So it isn’t a doll driving your BTR. Huh. I thought Grifon’s already phased out all human fighting staff.”

 

“Fighting staff, Sasha,” Kalina interjected. “Our flesh-and-blood people are the support staff on paper, though with the Butterfly Incident...”

​

“...They are pushed back into combat duty. I get it.” Sasha sounded sympathetic.

 

M4 glanced at Kalina, lingered on the radio, and returned it to her.

 

A petite figure in a rust-brown jumpsuit jogged towards the side mirror.

 

“So, what really happened during the Butterfly Incident? All Pravda has to say about it is the Sangvis Ferri dolls going rogue and taking over the Carpathia. I mean, that is obviously true, but how and why?”

 

Kalina shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. The Sangvis hadn’t been chatty. It would be so nice if that Agent turned up on television and declared secession from Soviet rule or something. That would have cleared up so many things.”

 

A giggle from the radio. “Imagine that. A next-generation T-Doll sitting at the table with cameras flashing their lights at her, declaring independence from human control. But really, going rogue? I thought that’s impossible with dolls.”

 

“You try experiencing dolls getting together to protest against mistreatment and get back to me on that.”

 

They shared a giggle over the statement.

 

The petite jumpsuited figure passed the rear mirror. Her posture was that of a sprinter; she had been sprinting for the past minute without showing any signs of fatigue.

 

A doll.

 

“You too, huh? Does that have anything to do with your Kommandir?”

​

“Right on your very first guess. But don’t worry, he’s acclimated now, even if he doesn’t look like it. So, that also happened on your side?”

 

“You remember that shut-in doll I mentioned? Last month, we cut her power to get her to come out to work longer, and she banded together with a hundred other dolls to protest. Turns out we didn’t just cut her power; we cut the power to all the dorms! Took us an entire day to calm them all down! No work done the entire day!”

 

Kalina grinned from ear to ear. “You should have asked an electrician next time.”

 

The radio sighed. “I’ve learned my lesson, but that’s still not the same as having an entire army of T-Dolls exterminate all the human staff and take control of all facilities, then evict all the mountain residents.”

 

Kalina shrugged again. The Svarog doll, who was squatting by the bridge, had now laid down. Her fingers still form the same gestures MP41 did moments before she shot her camera.

 

“Don’t ask me,” Kalina replied. “Or anyone from Grifon either. We don’t know. We are just here to contain the Sangvis until the Soviet Army can get around to sorting out this mess.”

 

A sigh from the radio. “That better be soon. I heard that the management’s planning to evaluate and refurbish the infrastructure of this city later this month. Novum Sambir, is it?"

 

The doll got up on her feet and sprinted past the side mirror.

 

“That’s the name of the place, but...” Kalina bit her lips. “Are you sure that’s true? Sure, there are still plenty of unexploited resources here, and we are already working on tightening up the perimeter, but plenty of stragglers remain unaccounted for. Sure, they don’t actively go out of their way to attack us; they didn’t even attempt to raid our supply lines, but who knows when that will change?”

 

“Maybe that’s just middle management gossip, but...wait...you said the Sangvis stragglers didn’t actively raid anyone, not even your supply lines?”

 

“Kalina, pass me the radio.”

 

The logistics officer unhesitantly handed the device over to the true hand. Cleared the throat, spoke. “Far as we experienced it, the Sangvis minions disperse upon loss of contact with the Ringleaders by default. After they do so, they will congregate around high-cover areas in groups too small to be readily detected by the UAVs, where they will remain until we find and neutralise them, or until they reestablish contact with said Ringleaders.”

 

The doll was ascending Sebastien’s ladder.

 

“You mentioned seeing the Sangvis on your journey to Novum Sambir?”

 

“Y-yes!”

 

“Come with me to the command tent once we arrive. You will provide me with their location. On the subject of the bridge, can Sebastien cross it?”

 

A brief pause. The radio crackled again. “The bridge’s sturdy enough to bear Sebastien’s weight, but it will take us fifteen to thirty minutes to cross it. It’s the exact same width as Sebastien, you know. He will fall into the river if I veer him even slightly off the path. Not to mention having to knock down all the curbs...”

 

“Copy.” Pulled the handbrake, shifted the gear, stepped on the pedal. “We will wait for you on the other side.”

 

The BTR had turned right, clearing the path for the Segmental Bridge Builder. “I’ll post my team on rear-guard duty,” M4 informed.

. 

“You are already doing that, M4.” 

 

She did not reply. Instead, she quietly looked out the window towards the glistening river beyond the curb. The APC’s side hatch opened, and her teammates disembarked. 

 

“Vanguard One to Svarog. My people will cover your rear and flanks from here on out.”

 

“Are you sure? This will take a while, and you said the Sangvis minions won’t actively go out of their way to attack us.”

 

“We can wait. And as Kalina insinuated, we cannot predict if and when the Sangvis stragglers will cease their pacifism. Best that we continue the escort just in case.”

 

The radio fell silent. Svarog dolls had passed Sebastien, bearing all manner of heavy tools.

 

The radio crackled again. “You know, Kommandir. You sound just like my pa.”

​

Veered off-road, stepped on the brake, pulled the lever.

 

“...Pa?”

 

“Yes! My pa! You are just as unapproachable as him, especially since after the war!”

 

“She’s right, you know.” Kalina nodded in agreement.

 

Harsh exhale. Dry wind coursed up the windpipe. The throat croaked. “I am approachable. The dolls and the auxiliary guard can attest to this.”

 

“You do project an impenetrable air of aloofness,” Makarov commented. “Were it not for the efforts of Gospozha Springfield and...” she knitted her brow and scrunched up her expression in distaste, “...Skorpion, that impression would be unassailable.”

​

“See? Even Makarov sees it. Hey!” Kalina knocked at the jeep’s roof. “Deuce! You heard all of that, right?”

 

“Yeah. I heard that. First time I saw you, I thought, ‘Good Lord, He’s one of those full-of-themselves stick-in-the-mud commanders.’ Even Thirteen thought that.”

 

Sigh exhaled. “I understand.”

 

“Then try making some small talk,” Kalina advised.

 

Sigh exhaled again. Small talk. What would be a suitable topic? The weather? Dry, awfully sunny; enough to wilt the weeds around the base. Snow blanketing the Carpathian peaks at the height of this dry summer. No point inquiring when the answer was already known: the plummeting of average global temperature since the Beilan Island Incident and exacerbated by the Third World War. The Uzbeks? Koryo-Saram?

 

Outcasts from far off lands, choosing to settle in this region of palpable danger and anxious uncertainty.

 

“Sasha.”

 

"What is it, Kommandir Yilmaz?"

 

“You mentioned outcasts.”

 

“Nyet. That was Tovarisch Kalin, but go on.”

 

“...What does that mean?”

​

“Shouldn’t Kalin be answering that? Well, unless I grossly misunderstood her, she meant exactly that. People who don’t mesh with the fabric of Soviet society. Our Great Union has graciously opened up many sanctuaries...”

 

“By that, she meant ‘refugee camps’.”

 

“Let’s just call them ‘sanctuaries’, dear Kalin. You never know if the KGB’s monitoring the airwaves.”

 

Kalina scoffed. “Our lines are encrypted, dear Sasha. Moving on.”

 

“Right,” the radio crackled. “We have refugees from all over seeking refuge in our sanctuaries all over the borders of our Great Union, but they also brought along many foreign practices that...eh...”

 

“Rub the common Soviet citizen the wrong way?” Kalina suggested.

 

“That. Islam, Unorthodox Faiths, strange practices. Rattles the common Soviet citizen, you know?”

 

“...I see. Yet, refugee camps should have effectively segregated the alien elements from the ‘common Soviet citizen’, should they not?”

 

“You think they would,” Sasha replied. “But the guards are of the ‘common Soviet people’.”

 

“...and they are intolerant to such practices.”

 

“Hey! The Soviet Union is tolerant of them. All are equal under the Red Star.”

 

“That’s the official Party line,” Makarov scoffed. “Unofficially, the policy is ‘fit in or get out’.”

 

“...Nivy and I are foreigners.”

 

“Don’t worry, Kommandir,” Makarov consoled. “Neither you nor Kommandir Washington have stepped out of the line, unlike the Uzbeks we interacted with.”

​

Tremors on the floor; Sebastien had rumbled to life. The Svarog dolls had knocked down the curbs until midway through the bridge.

 

“Anyway, the Sangvis’ presence had cleared the region of anyone who would have opposed their settling here.” Makarov pointed out. “That would be why they chose to come here.”

 

“That would change soon, I think,” the radio crackled again. “Kremlin’s mandated Svarog Heavy Industries to resume the prospecting and exploitation of the Carpathia, picking up from where Sangvis Ferri Manufacturing left off.”

 

This meant the acquisition and resettling of Novum Sambir and the other corporate cities and towns around the mountain range, bringing the newly arrived ‘common Soviet citizen’ into conflict with these outcasts.

 

“Of course, Svarog won’t do this right now, not with the Sangvis still at large.”

 

“I see.”

 

The dolls picked up their pace; Sebastien had driven onto the bridge.

​

​

​

2100

​

“Cool!” Having ceased her current activity, Skorpion drifted away from the gun-trucks and towards us. “Cool! What is it? What is it?” she inquired, her singular blue eye glittered like the sun-stroke sea.

 

MP41, drawn by the forming commotion, had emerged from the blustering crowd, both her hands forming a frame before her face.

 

“Ain’t that a Segmental Bridge Builder?” said Pierre as he brushed past MP41. He still wore his work gloves, and his screwdriver appeared to have been recently tucked into his breast pocket. “I didn’t expect Helian to send us a big one.”

 

“His name’s Sebastien!” Sasha exclaimed as she descended the ladder rungs. “He’s seen some action, you know. Podilsko-Voskrensensky, Rusanivka, Zaporizhia!” She rested her knuckles against her hips and puffed out her chest. “I was his operator when we reconnected those bridges.”

 

“So, both of you are veterans.” Pierre commented as he looked the behemoth up and down. “Think you both can handle taking Sangvis fire?”

 

Before Sasha could respond, Skorpion voiced her request while pointing at the behemoth. “Can I get on him?”

 

“Of course not!” Sasha had crossed her arms at the yellow doll. 

 

Skorpion blinked, then pouted. “Why can’t I get on him? I want to see what it’s like from up there. Pretty sure I can see the entire base from up there. That would be so cool.” She then turned towards Ingram, Thirteen and Deuce, who had passed her. “Right? Right?”

 

The aforementioned dolls groaned yet nodded their heads.

 

“Hey! What’s with that response?” Skorpion admonished. “You can’t just groan like that and still nod your heads! Is he cool or not?”

 

Ingram sighed and folded her arms behind her head. “Cut us some slack, Skorp. We stared at his rectangular ass and face for nearly three hours. I don’t care how cool he is, but too much staring just gets tiring, y’know.”

 

“You are all tasteless tupitsa!” Sasha exclaimed. Her left arm shot out, planting her palm against Sop II’s forehead. “Getting tired! You can’t appreciate his pistons’ motions and his radiators’ trembling!” 

 

“But I doooooo!” Sop II cried while flailing her outstretched arms at the engineer. “Let me ooooon!”

 

“Sop II! That’s enough!” AR-15 seized her by her hood and dragged her away, with M4 following close behind. “I wanna get on! I wanna!” the black garb doll’s cries dissipated into the gathering commotion.

 

Sasha did not notice the Svarog dolls congregating around the Bridge Builder’s rear, gawking at IDW, who had fluidly clambered up the machine’s grille. MP41, sensing the ongoing mischief, circled around the crowd and inserted herself into the Svarog throng.

 

“Oh, dear.” The shoulders jumped; Springfield had emerged without forewarning. “I’ve counted eleven unexpected guests.” Wearing her gentle yet inscrutable smile, she gently reprimanded, “You should have contacted me, Cetin. I could have prepared additional servings throughout the past three hours.”

 

“...Sorry.”

 

Still wearing that oppressively gentle smile, she looked behind herself and picked out Dimas’ slouching shoulders. She clapped her hands, producing a sharp snap. “Dimas!” 

 

“Da? Gospozha?”

​

“Would you kindly heat up the shashlik and the pelmeni in the kitchen?”

 

He frowned and rubbed his nose. “I was saving those for when we rendezvous with Babushka and the others tomorrow.”

​

“Nagant would be happy to hear that her dearest grandson had been saving leftovers for her,” said Springfield, still folding her arms, still wearing that smile. “But don’t you think she would be cross to hear you have neglected our guests? After such a long journey they must have taken to reach us?”

 

Dimas puckered his lips and held his breath.

 

“Besides, Nivy would disapprove if we don’t show our guests proper hospitality. Don’t you agree, Cetin?”

 

Sigh exhaled. “He would not approve.” Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. “Should I help?”

 

“Thank you for your offer, Cetin, but we can take it from here,” Springfield replied, her smile impressing her appreciation. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend to, Commander. Tell our guests their supper will be ready in an hour.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Her smile remained fixed as she strode towards Sten and FMG-9, who mingled with the curious crowd, with Dimas following in her wake.

 

“Nyah!”

 

The heart leapt. The cry was sharp, startled and pained. 

 

“Nyah!” A thud preceded the cry. Spun towards its direction, ran. Svarog dolls parted, giving way. “A drone!” One of them shouted, pointing towards the sky. “A drone hit her!”

 

“Nyaaaa…” IDW mewed softly. She was squatting, on all fours, trembling. 

 

“Sebastien!” Sasha exclaimed. “Your grate!” 

 

IDW looked into the false eyes, then lowered her gaze. Her ears drooped; there was a red scratch on her left lobe. A lump on her head. 

 

“Can you stand?” 

 

She blinked, then met the false eyes. “Nya can…” she said as she got up swiftly. She stumbled forward, caught herself, and then corrected her posture. 

 

“The grate is bent!” Sasha continued shouting hysterically. 

 

“Better get that looked at,” said Pierre, his previously tense posture relaxed. “Deele should still be on standby in the repair bay; his flight’s not due for three hours.” 

 

“N-nya can walk there, nya!” said IDW, concealing her timidity with a bold display. 

 

“No, you will not. I am taking you there.”

 

“Skorpion!” Makarov stomped through the Svarog crowd. “You will answer for what you have done!” 

 

Skorpion swiftly hid her smirk; there was a hint of mischief. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

 

Makarov frowned and furrowed her brow. She then turned her gaze towards the false eyes and recounted, “Skorpion has vandalised our trucks and BTRs during our absence. She spray-painted hideous symbols onto them! I’m making her scrub them off all our vehicles by dawn!”

​

“Graffiti?” Skorpion blurted her offense. “What do you mean graffiti? Those are company insignias! They even have the words ‘G&K’ on them!” 

Makarov ground her teeth, her pale face flushing. “Kommandir! Judge for yourself!”

​

Held IDW’s hand as we marched to the motor pool; she was wincing with every step. Ten steps, twenty steps, Makarov stopped, turned around and slammed her palm against the truck’s door. 

 

“Hey!” Deuce shouted from the truck’s bed. “You surprised me! Give a warning next time,  I could have dropped the barrel on y’all.” 

 

Ignoring her, Makarov scathingly criticised, “What is this supposed to be?” 

 

“Erlikan Company logo,” Skorpion replied insolently, her arms folded behind her head. “Erlikan Company?” Ingram interjected; she had arrived bearing a pair of heavy barrels on her shoulders. “What did you cook up during our absence?” 

 

“Oh, we had a roundtable meeting two days ago where we decided on the name of our company.”

 

“That meeting was about attire, Skorpion.” 

 

“Details, details,” Skorpion scoffed. “I told you before us dolls don’t process temperature the same way humans do. I was dressed as I am right now when I was stranded up there. Ingram, tell him. Come on.” 

 

“That’s beside the point!” Makarov snapped. “You overstepped, Tovarisch Skorpion. We had not agreed on any insignia! You are out of line!” 

​

Sigh exhaled. False eyes swivelled towards the truck’s door. The alleged ‘insignia’ had the general shape of the Grifon logo. Yet, the chevrons were absent. In its place, the unmistakable three-eyed visage of the underworld god, Erlik, albeit heavily stylised.

 

“Leave it be.” 

 

Skorpion pumped her fist while Makarov scowled. 

 

“Anyway,” the yellow doll regarded Deuce, who had unfastened the barrel of her gun and laid it down on the truck’s bed. “You’ve just gotten back, right? Why haven’t you gone for supper yet?”

 

“Work first, slack later,” Deuce answered as the truck shook; Ingram had hoisted two more heavy barrels onto the vehicle. The machine gunner lifted one of them one-handed effortlessly and brought it to the disassembled gun. “Once I finish maintenance of all my fifty cals now, I can have a break all the way till sunrise. Efficient arrangement, don’t you think?” She twisted the barrel in place.

 

“That’s the complete opposite of Auntie BAR’s approach,” Skorpion commented. “Are you sure you are sisters?”

 

“Don’t speak to me of that disgrace of the Browning name,” Deuce replied as she drifted towards the next gun. “Thirteen is my only sister, and she is the cutest little sister there is.” 

 

“I’m going to linger around to help with the other trucks,” Pierre said as he twisted his flask shut. “Last minute calibrations and all. No good for us if anything breaks down when we are up there.” 

 

“Carry on. Skorpion, collect Sasha. Tell her we will head directly to the command tent after a brief detour to the repair bay. We have idled for long enough.” 

 

“Tell Deele I said ‘hi’,” Pierre said before jogging over to Leopold’s BTR. 

 

Passed the rows of trucks and APCs. A Thirteen dummy carrying gun parts hurried by us towards the BTRs. Kalina stood behind Griga as he pried open a crate and retrieved a rotary grenade launcher; she made a series of taps on her tablet screen. Other auxiliary guardsmen and dolls milled around their respective transports, clamouring, turning nuts or rummaging under the hood. MP41, having tired of Sebastien, had returned to prowl for a scoop. 

 

A dummy container on the backmost truck was open. Four opened pods with MDR dummies staring glassy-eyed at the lights within.

 

Andino and Filo inspecting an unknown light helicopter parked among Siskins 1 and 2; it must be the Kamov Nivy had spoken about.

 

IDW winced with every step, though she insistently wore a brave face.

 

416, who previously leaned against the tools cabinet, snapped into attention and saluted. “Commander,” she greeted. 

 

Her greeting was followed by Deeleʼs. “Hey, Commander!” He zipped up his duffle bag. 

 

G11 slumbered on a repair bench behind them. Deeper in, David chattered with MDR, who sat upright on her cradle.

 

“Pierre said ‘Hi’.” Pushed IDW forward, deeper into the tent. “She fell off a Segmental Bridge Builder. A drone had allegedly collided with her.”

 

“...Nyaaaa...” the aforementioned doll pawed at her injured ear and head lump.

 

David froze, then suddenly turned towards his opened laptop. Deele’s smile faded, and he muttered aside. “Damn that Pierre. He knows my ride’s arriving at midnight.” He shook his head and sighed. “Whatever.” He then motioned at the vacant bed beside G11’s.

IDW sprung forward, only to stumble and wince.

 

“I knew it,” commented the young technician as he hoisted IDW’s right arm over his shoulder. “Misaligned servos. Simple enough. I can fix this and the cosmetic head damage in under half an hour. 416, a hand? Bitte?” 

​

The elite doll’s expression remained wooden as she unfolded her arms and approached them. She tucked her hands under IDW’s armpits and hoisted her onto the bed. 

 

“This is going to tickle a bit,” Deele muttered as the overhead machinery hovered into position. IDW stared wide-eyed at it, her tail stiff as a log, her mouth wide in silent terror.

 

“Whichever drone hit IDW wasn’t one of ours,” David declared, pointing at the screen. Drone icons, all greyed out. “I think we are dealing with a third party. Maybe the hacker again.”

 

“Aaaargh! P7!” MDR exclaimed suddenly, causing the signals specialist to jump. “She stole my drone!” 

 

“Your drone?!” David gaped. “What do you mean by your drone?” His voice took on an accusing tone. “Have you been stealing…”

 

“I stole nothing!” MDR gesticulated wildly. “I called a few friends and arranged for my camera drone to be added to today’s scheduled deliveries! I kept it in my tent but somehow….”

 

“I know that voice!” Sasha tore through the tent flap, tripping and stumbling. She knocked against G11’s bed, shaking her awake. Her cheeks flushed. “Kuro! It's you!” 

 

A loud clatter. David had ducked to retrieve his laptop while MDR planted her feet firmly on her cradle, assuming a pose. “Yes, it is I, the great Kuro!” 

 

“It is you!” Sasha squealed, her fists brought to her mouth, suddenly starstruck. 

 

“Woah…” Skorpion muttered, peeking from behind the tent’s flap. “She was all mad about Sebby just a while ago,” she commented.

 

“Damn it, MDR!” David snarled as he picked himself up, laptop in hand. “That was dangerous! What has gotten into you?” 

 

“Hush!” MDR retorted. She now smirked cockily. “Can’t you see? I’m entertaining my fan.” 

 

The aux guard gaped. “Since when do you have fans?” 

​

“Oh, you tasteless kham!” Sasha, who had drawn closer to the cradle, passed Deele, 416, G11 and IDW, proclaimed. “You obviously do not watch livestreams. That’s Kuro! Top livestream idol…” her smile slowly faded, her shoulders slumped. “...until two years ago. What happened to you, Kuro? Why are you in Grifon now? Why aren’t you streaming anymore?”

​

“I was out of inspiration….” MDR deflated slightly, though she remained on her perch. “But don’t worry!” She lit up like a newborn star again. “I’m coming back tomorrow! Look forward to Ku-, no, MDR’s re-debut livestream!” She thrust her finger towards the direction of the Carpathian peaks. “Live! In Subsector Four! MDR’s Debut Warstream!” 

 

“MDR! What the heck are you talking about?” David demanded. Yet, despite his tone, MDR continued, “But of course, before I can do that, I need my camera drone back.” She hopped down on her cradle. “I knew teaching P7 how to hack was a mistake.” She raised her arms, her fingers curled into claws. “I am so going to find her and….”

 

“You meant I taught her how to hack.” David shook his head and sighed; he must have sensed the disapproval gleaming within the false eyes. “I can explain, Commander….”

​

“P7 is equipped with an e-war module?”

 

“No, of course not,” the senior hacker shook his head. “It takes too long to arrange for a fresh e-war module to be delivered to us….”

 

“Let alone calibrate it to a doll’s neural cloud….” Deele added as he brought a screwdriver to IDW’s trembling knees. 

 

“Anyway, I figured I would teach P7 how to hack the traditional way. Via a laptop, uploading decryptors, ICE, ICEbreakers, the works. I figured if nothing else, she can support MDR in fighting off Intruder’s breach attempts.”

 

“Turns out I didn’t need it, right?” MDR grinned as she leaned towards him. “Right? I’m just too awesome, right?” 

 

David sighed. “I had her protect against a simulated DDOS attack, utilising the server ICE, including the black ones I bought two days ago…” he shoved MDR away. “...and her knowledge of the server architecture to fend it off.”

 

“It’s crazy!” MDR then threw her arms. “Davi-bro kept insisting that they were junk data, but all I saw were Dinergates everywhere, rushing from over the horizon. It’s like those orcs from all those fantasy movies they used to show before the war!” 

 

David clicked his tongue. “I’m not your bro.” 

 

“But you turned them all away, right?” Sasha twinkled again, ignoring him. “Right?”

 

MDR dug her knuckles into her hips and smirked once more. “Of course! I, the great Ku-I mean MDR, will not be trounced by a mere DDOS!” 

 

David rolled his eyes, then resumed staring at his laptop. “She managed to shut down the attack in a quarter of the projected time.” His finger drifted along the trackpad. “I’m still trying to figure out how she accomplished that, seeing that it took her nearly three hours to fend off that same DDOS attack yesterday.”

 

“Just admit it, Davi-bro,” the grinning MDR hopped off her cradle and elbowed his cheekbone. “MDR’s the hacker god now.”

 

The aux guard grimaced, his nostrils flared, though he withheld his comments.

 

“I saw her dummies activated but dormant in their pods on the way here.”

 

MDR froze.

 

“Is their anomalous activity relevant?”

 

“Active dummies, you say?” Deele had moved to the other side of the bed. “Probably operating as botnet servers.”

 

Beads of cold sweat formed on the doll’s forehead. David held his temple and sighed. “MDR…I never taught you how to operate a botnet. I never installed any programs into you that enabled you to run a botnet.” He turned to stare at the aforementioned doll. 

 

“I-I-...I can explain…”

 

“What did you do while I wasn’t looking?”

 

“I’m getting to that!” MDR blurted. She then blinked and answered hesitantly, “I-I don’t know?” 

 

A loud clatter. “What do you mean you don’t know?” David demanded.

 

“I think I found a software package somewhere. One of your test servers, I think…” she averted her gaze. “But I can’t access any of my relevant memory files for some reason. It was as though they were deleted.”

 

David sighed aloud. “We are running full system diagnostics on you.”

 

“Shouldn’t we get P7…”

 

“She can wait! This is more important!” David seized MDR and pressed her against the cradle. “Who knows what else you picked up!” He plugged a cable into his laptop. 

 

“We are leaving, Sasha.”

 

Sasha snapped from her spell. “You can rejoin MDR after you pinpointed the Sangvis coordinates.”

 

“What’s that I hear about livestreaming anyway?” David asked suddenly. 

 

Looked over the shoulder. MDR, prone on her cradle, was sweating profusely. 

​

​

​

2145

​

The stamping stopped; the chatters ceased. Two long shadows stretched out of the threshold, fretting and fidgeting as though bathed by fitful candlelight. 

 

“Don’t look away from me, Klein,” Fleur’s voice emitted from the tent, soft and cracking but lacking its usual gloom. Instead, there was iron in her diction.

 

“I…look, I did ask Cetin to put you on that Kamov, but I swear….” Nivy replied, his even voice absent of its usual calm and easygoingness. Instead, it is laced with quiet desperation. 

 

“You didn’t just charter that Kamov and request for me to be put on air support duty; you even assigned Andino to pilot it!” Fleur’s voice cracked. 

 

“Who else can I send? Nicholai and Rasputin already have their assignments. I can’t deprive Cetin of either of them; he needs them! It’s all hands on deck for him; Andino and Tilo are the only ones I can send!”

 

It seemed the squabble had been ongoing for quite some time, with no resolution forthcoming. 

 

Yellow eyes gleaming in the steel-tinted mist.

​

The breathing had become irregular. Trembling in the true fingers. Cleared the throat of its constriction, fished the tin out of the breast pocket. Thin fingers wrapped tightly around the wrist, a tug on the shirt; Skorpion and Makarov, both wearing a resolute frown, worked in tandem to restrict movement.

 

“What’s going on?” Sasha had lowered her voice to an anxious whisper.

 

“Nivy/Kommandir Washington and Fleur/MG4 are quarrelling/having a row,” Skorpion and Makarov replied simultaneously. 

​

“I will stop this argument before it escalates.” 

 

The false knee lifted, then lowered. Yet, the boot did not touch the ground. The dolls had tightened their grips, pulled and halted the legs’ advance. “No, you will not!” Skorpion insisted. “You are walking into a minefield!” Makarov warned. 

 

The false limbs ached. Minefield within the tent. Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. She meant verbal minefields, not physical ones. 

 

“Oooh!” Sasha hid her mouth behind her hands. “Is that a lovers’ quarrel?”

 

“It’s a marital row!” Makarov corrected her.

​

Inhaled. Counted to three. Exhaled. Marital row. Verbal minefields, not physical ones. Clenched the false hand, girded the spirit, braced for confrontation. 

 

“It matters not whether it’s marital or professional. This is impeding our duties. I must assist in the settlement of their dispute.”

 

Moved to ingress, yet the true leg could not budge. Makarov and Skorpion had tightened their grasps yet again. “No, you mustn’t!” they exclaimed simultaneously, holding back the boots’ advance. “Not yet!” Makarov then said. “It’s too volatile in there! At least wait until we know what their quarrel is all about!”

 

“I will make an inquiry.”

 

“You can’t!” replied both dolls in synchrony.

 

“I will navigate this minefield and defuse the situation.”

​

“You don’t understand!” Makarov exclaimed; she sounded frustrated. “You will exacerbate the situation!” 

 

The false leg flailed and kicked the air; the dolls had dug in their heels and pulled the torso back. The shadows fretted. Nivy and Fleur must have heard the scuffle, yet they continued their quarrel without pause. 

 

“I’m not being overprotective! I’m your husband!” Nivy’s desperation had intensified.

 

“You aren’t acting like a Kommandant, Klein! You overstepped your boundaries by interfering with the operation!” Fleur had raised her voice.

​

“Cetin agreed!” Nivy paused momentarily, then continued, his once desperate voice now laced with venom, “And rich of you to talk about overstepping boundaries when you went against your own commander.”

 

The dolls’ grasp around the waist and torso slackened. Skorpion had paled, Makarov's jaw had dropped. “Oh no...” uttered Sasha, covering her mouth, sounding appalled. “He just said something he shouldn’t.”

 

“But I’m your wife, Nivy.” Fleur now sounded anguished. She had taken a defensive stance; their positions had reversed. “I was trying to protect you.”

 

“By going after Agent without first consulting me? By attacking Cetin when he pressed me for information on her?”

 

The situation had escalated. Early signs of a death spiral. An intervention was mandatory!

 

“H-He was hurting you!” she raised her voice again.

 

“He wasn’t! I thought we already agreed on this! That he has every right to request more information about the enemy! You are being overprotective!”

 

Shook off the dolls’ grasp. Retrieved the ampoule. “Cetin!” Skorpion cried out as the needle broke the skin.

 

“Nivy!” Fleur’s dismay was palpable.

 

“Hey! Wait! Cetin!” Her fingertips brushed against the shirt as the boots crossed the threshold. 

 

“This is enough!” the throat rumbled. “You are tearing yourselves apart!”

 

“You are not one to speak, Kommandant; you are part of the problem.” Fleur seethed, her desperation smothered by her erupting temper. She glared fiercely through Kalina’s sunglasses. “We wouldn’t be having this argument if you hadn’t complied with Klein’s request,” she accused pointedly.

​

“Don’t you drag him into this!” Nivy spoke out. “I was the one who came after you when you left! I was the one who made the request! All of this is on me!”

 

“He still enabled you!” the silver-haired doll shouted suddenly, her trembling finger pointing accusingly towards the false eyes. “After everything, why are you still siding with him?!”

 

“And why are you treating him as the enemy? Is this what a T-Doll should be doing?”

 

“Why are you siding with him? I’m your wife!”

 

“I never asked for this! Why are you acting like my mother?”

 

“And why are you acting like my father?”

 

Slammed the false fist against the Tactical Map. “Cease this quarrel, both of you!” The rowing couple held their breaths, both beet red, sweating profusely. The sudden bang had robbed them of their momentum. “You are being unfair to Nivy, Fleur. He may have been trying to protect you, but not at the expense of the operation. His tactical suggestions were sound.”

 

“What’s sound is having me cover the rear!” she retorted.

 

“Which you will do from the skies. You will cover the rear and assist your dummies on the ground in gunning down any Sangvis who slip past Deuce’s sectors. You will intercept them should they make an attempt on the support convoy.”

 

Fleur opened her mouth, closed it, then furrowed her brow then puffed her cheeks. They were wet with frustrated tears when she suddenly stormed out of the command tent. Nivy limped after her in pursuit. “Fleur, wait!”

 

The boots left ground, then planted themselves firmly on the dirt just before the exit. Makarov and Skorpion had stepped in, barred the way with their arms spread wide. They wore disapproving frowns, their gazes judgemental. 

 

“Cetin/Kommandir! Idiot!”

​

​

2230

​

Springfield’s smile was cold. Her agitation was further emphasised by that subtle twitch at the corner of her right brow. The false eyes had picked up a throbbing on her temple, an illusion conjured by a fearful mind.

 

Inhaled, counted to three, exhaled. The peppermint tea had cooled, balmy to the touch. It was still three-quarters full, barely sipped upon.

 

The false hand twitched; the sedatives had worn off. Springfield tapped her fingers against her folded arms, awaiting a reply. Cold smile, patience waning. A forthcoming answer to her queries was mandatory.

 

“But the only justification that matters is one of reason.”

 

Another twitch on her brow; her tapping had grown more agitated. She pinched her nose’s bridge, shook her head and sighed frustratedly.

 

“You aren’t listening, Cetin. Fleur isn’t interested in reason; that was a matter of the heart.”

 

Blinked. “I do not understand.”

 

“Just back off and let them settle the matter themselves,” Springfield said. “Even if it looks like everything will fall apart. If their bond is as strong as I think it is, they will keep trying until they can reconcile.”

 

“...they looked like they had entered a death spiral….”

 

“Don’t! Intervene!” Springfield frowned when she delivered the ultimatum.

 

“...Copy.”

 

Drained the cup, got up from the seat. Curious eyes spectated the hasty retreat, the slow chewing of stuffed cheeks asynchronous with the boots’ urgent pace. 

 

Heavy air peeled away, beaten back by the chilly night breeze.

 

“I’ve never seen Springfield so mad before,” blurted Skorpion, her pitter-patters slowed upon her completed intercept.

 

“I hope never to experience this again.”

 

Stomped towards the motor pool. The dry air tasted sweeter than what wafted about in the canteen. Weight lifted from the shoulders. 

 

“That was bad timing, though. The fight broke out while Second Sarge was away?” Skorpion had looked towards the Carpathia.

 

“Fortune lusts for drama.”

 

Skorpion blinked, then tilted her head. A moment later, she returned her gaze to the snowy peaks. “You think they are doing okay, though?”

 

“They haven’t been discovered yet, I am certain.”

 

Skorpion kept her silence.

 

“You fear your intel is faulty?”

 

“N-No.” She blinked again. “No!” she then blurted. “I mean, the Sangvis never found our hiding places the entire of last year.” 

 

“Then, they are safe.”

 

“You think?”

 

“We haven’t seen any signal flares from them, have we not?” 

 

She lowered her head, then lit up. “You are right.” She grinned confidently.

 

“Oi! Boss!” Nicholai waved. He was ascending the dirt path, accompanied by Rasputin, Andino and Pilo, their conversation interrupted. “Pierre’s asking if you have inspected the command truck yet.”

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Better hurry up then.” He pointed towards the starlit firmament. “Sun’s down already.”

 

Trudged among the rows of armoured trucks and troop transports, stopped by the aforementioned vehicle, identifiable by its attached trailer. 

 

Leaning against its rear wheel was Nivy, surrounded by clear glass bottles. His eyes were bloodshot. “Ah, Cetin.” He tried to straighten himself, only to slump against the wheel again.

 

Dishevelled hair, bottle rolling off his fingers, he looked utterly wretched. His attempt to placate Fleur hadn’t borne fruit.

 

Nudged the elbow against Skorpion, whispered, “Fetch Springfield.”

 

“Belay that order...request...whatever…” His hearing was sharp despite his inebriation. His hand fell by his lap.

 

“You need assistance which I am unqualified to provide, Nivy.”

 

“I’m fine. Just need a break.” He shook his head. “Don’t...get Springfield. She would make me feel...more awful, believe it or not.”

 

A tug on the sleeve; Skorpion had furrowed her brow. Her eye and posture conveyed her silent query.

 

Raised the false hand, patted her head thrice. “Stand by for now.”

 

“Sit with me.” Nivy picked up the bottle to his right. “Feeling…so alone. Please… Let’s talk for a bit.”

 

Sighed, then sneezed. The stinging odour of alcohol intensified as the hindquarters lowered to sit. 

 

“Want some?” He raised an open bottle.

 

“No. I need to be clear-headed for tomorrow.”

 

He broke into a cackle, launching Spittles. “You just don’t want to anger Springfield.” His elbow nudged the ribs. “Terrified of her dressing you down, aren’t you? Right?” He lowered his gaze. “No shame in that.”

 

Closed the mouth. The lips frowned.

 

“I don’t think there’s a single commander in Grifon who isn’t the slightest bit afraid of her...at least a little…well..was...” He looked to the stars above, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence.

 

Skorpion blinked, then glanced aside.

 

“Lost so many friends to this damned Butterfly Incident.”

 

The doll slinked away. “So many dolls too.”

 

“The dolls can be recovered.”

 

“It’s not the same!” the crestfallen commander suddenly boomed. “Every time they die, we bring them back from backup. But they don’t remember! Don’t remember!” 

 

“...Memory loss. From the time of backup to the moment of death.”

 

Nivy nodded, then gulped down from his raised bottle. 

 

“Is this not the reason behind your request for Fleur to be posted on the Kamov?”

 

He sighed heavily, nodded, and then took a swig. “You know...I should have known. She had that look on her for months.” Another swig. “Knew what Agent did bother her. Yet, never talked to her about it. Scared of what she would say. So I kept not broaching the subject. Then she requested for reassignment, and I didn’t even know it!” Yet another swig. The bottle clinked and rolled away. “Didn’t know it until MG5 showed up to deliver the letter personally...just one day before her reassignment. Too late to stop her.”

 

“You had many opportunities to negotiate with Helianthus for her reassignment before this operation.”

 

He shook his head slowly. “No…no…that would just anger her more. I can’t just intervene like that; she has to decide for herself.” He looked at the false eyes. “You understand, right?”

 

“She is your wife.”

 

“Right...right…” He uncorked a fresh bottle and gulped down a mouthful of his liquor. “My wife.”

 

“That shouldn’t stop you if you are determined.”

 

He knocked his elbow against the true arm. “What’s stopping you from ordering Springfield to back off?”

 

Inhaled. Exhaled. “Springfield is too popular with the company. That action would have inspired mutiny.” 

 

“And what of Skorpion? Or anyone else?”

 

“I made a promise.”

 

“It’s still within your power. Nothing’s stopping you from breaking your promises, right?”

 

“No.” Sighed, shook the head. “That is not done.”

 

“See?” He cracked a grin. “You understand.”

 

Sigh exhaled. “All of this…still Greek to me.”

 

He chortled and took another swig. “Greek’s not complicated. I can teach you…if you like.” He raised, drained, and then lowered his bottle. A sudden frown upon his lips. “And before you say what you will say, I will punch you if you say it.”

 

“Then I shall not utter it.”

 

“Good.” He gulped down another mouthful of liquor. “Relationships...complicated. But it’s still better than having none. Better…” he sighed. “Better to know what it’s like to love and lose...than never to have known love and loss.”

 

“...I see?”

 

“You will see.” He cracked another grin as he downed another mouthful. “Maybe. I don’t know. But someday, maybe. I pray you will.” He raised his bottle and drained it. “I’m going to repair my marriage, Cetin.” He knocked his bottle against his thigh. “Agent broke my leg...broke my company...broke Fleur’s heart, but I won’t let her break my marriage too.” His red eyes hardened. “I won’t let that bitch win. I wonʼt let her break anything else. So…make sure Fleur comes back to me intact.”

 

“Fleur’s posted on the Kamov, perched over the firefight. She’s the safest she can be.”

 

“Her safety’s not guaranteed; I saw the topography.” He frowned. “And knowing her, she probably won’t back up today. Or maybe she will. I don’t know anymore, but…” He took another swig. “If she dies, there’s no point…so….”

 

“I will return her to you. Intact.”

 

“You do that...” He raised his bottle, gave it a shake and sighed again. “You know...this ouzo. I’ve wanted to share this with you. Celebrate your victory.”

 

“There is always a next time. For now, we make do with vodka.”

 

False eyes glimpsed a grin. “Next time...” His hand searched, then retrieved his cane. “That’s a good talk. Thanks.” He stabbed the cane into the dirt and hoisted himself up. “Remember our promise.”

 

“Always.”

 

He cracked another brief grin before he unsteadily limped away. “...Always.”

 

Looked up to the stars. Northern Light blinked in defiance of the motor pool’s lights. Bent the knee, stood up.

 

“We weren’t watching, not at all.” Ceno emerged from behind the truck’s radiator, followed by Fleur and Cano. “We will now go on our own way.”

 

The machine gunner remained as the markswomen followed after their commander’s wake. She still wore Kalina’s shades. 

 

“...What is it?” 

 

“I have updated my backup,” she said slowly. “And I will survive tomorrow’s operation. Order me as you should, Kommandant, and I will comply.” She lowered her gaze, then continued. “Whatever risk your orders may pose, I will fight my way out. I will live, no matter what.”

 

“You do that.” 

 

She nodded curtly, then hurried after the departing markswomen. 

 

“They are gone?” Skorpion asked, having returned. 

 

“They have all gone.”

 

Boarded the truck. Two sets of consoles on the sides, a cradle at the far end. Cables ran by the edge of the truck’s bed, connecting the signal booster to the left console. On the chair before it was a clipboard. Ticks on the page, titled ‘Signal Booster Checklist’. Flipped to the second page.

 

‘Command Console Checklist’.

 

Turned to the console to the right. A large screen spanned the roof’s height and two-thirds the width of the truck’s bed. The chair slid along the beams; the cracked cushions were inadequate. Clacked the keycard against the rightmost pad, lighting up the screen. Multiple lights to the south, one faint cluster by the river. The Uzbeks heeded M4’s advice after all.

 

Tapped on the touchpad. The feed shrank, taking up the rightmost corner. Additional blank feeds lined the bottom and left edges; echelon names were labelled on the top-right corners.

 

A disk labelled ‘TEST’ on the console’s surface. Slid it into the slot by the false leg. A yellow box blinked on the echelon feed at the bottom right.

 

The reader was silent; the disk wasn’t fully slotted in.

 

Two blinks. Three. Yellow text flowed rightwards, skipped a line, and flowed again.

​

DOES MDR LIKE MY GIFT?

 

CONSIDER THIS REPAYMENT FOR TAKING GOOD CARE OF MY SUBORDINATES.

 

YOUR PREPARATIONS AREN’T ADEQUATE.

 

I WILL HELP YOU.

 

IF YOU CAN CROSS THE BRIDGE.

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