I awoke to find myself looking into Skorpion’s single eye. It...she...cracked a grin, then scurried out the door.

 

…

 

It..she brought breakfast. A single bar of Caloriemate and a mug of coffee.

 

…

 

|Sniffing|

|Sipping sound|

 

…

 

Same coffee as yesterday’s.

 

…

 

|Clattering sound|

 

Boss-lady will call me in thirty minutes. Another simulation. Compulsory training regimen. I will finish that by 1030, then join the convoy going into subsector 2. We are heading to this town designated as HVQQJ.

 

Lousy name. I’m calling it Hevhj.

 

|Muffled childish voice| Bless you!

 

…

 

Hevhj will serve as our subsector HQ. It is situated at the midpoint of the western edge of the subsector. Taking into account of the general terrain and the coverage provided by the location, Hevhj might as well be at the very center of the subsector.

 

The town is located on top of a plateau, with only two ways in from the ground. The Northern Pass, which runs along the cliff’s edge, and the Southern Road, which can be set up into a funnel. Easy to defend, if the enemy were to try to attack it from the ground.

 

Looking at the movement of the Sangvis, I estimate four to five hours before they arrive at Hevhj…

 

|Muffled childish voice| Bless you!

 

|Sighs|

 

We will talk later.

 

 

 

 

 

1200

 

“Siskin 1 to Command!” the radio sounded. “LZ’s hot! Advise alternate LZ!”

 

“Team Skorpion to Command! If Siskin 1 can bring us closer to the hotel, I can light it up!”

 

I zoomed in on my command tablet’s display and confirmed the viability of Skorpion’s suggestion. The volume of fire coming from the hotel wasn’t sufficient to disable the helo. At least, not quickly enough for Skorpion to do its...her damage.

 

“Siskin 1, make the approach. Skorpion, deploy your incendiaries once you are close enough. BAR, suppress the Vespids and cover Siskin 1’s approach.”

 

“What did you think I was doing, Commander?” shouted BAR from over the radio. “Sheesh! Another one of these and I’ll have you take me shopping!”

 

“Shut up and shoot, Auntie!” Skorpion retorted.

 

“I’m not an Auntie!”

 

Conflagration devoured the red blips and the hotel which sheltered them.  

 

“Command to Team Skorpion. Cover Team HK416’s landing.”

 

“Give me a break, Commander!” BAR wailed.

 

“Siskin 2 has landed! Give them hell, girls!”

 

Team HK416 took up positions behind the fountain in the Town Square, the outer walls of a stone house to the east and the steps of a church to the west.

 

“Team HK416 to Command. Covering Siskin 1!”

 

Tracer rounds flared up, thinning the rapidly closing red blips.

 

“Command to Siskin 1,” I spoke into the radio. “Stay airborne. Reposition at the mouth of the Southern Road. BAR, cover Team HK416.”

 

“Jeez! You are such a taskmaster, Commander.”

 

I ignored BAR’s complaint and continued. “Team HK416, block Sangvis access into the Town Square.”

 

“Team HK416 to Command. Executing order. G11! Wake up!”

 

“Uwaaah….please...not so loud...”

 

“Team Skorpion to Command! I can use incendiaries to cut off the Sangvis advance!”

 

“Do it.”

 

A literal firewall erupted and immolated the front-most row of the Sangvis formation. Team HK416, under the cover of BAR’s suppression fire, rushed forward and took their positions in the houses overlooking the road. They then fired upon the Sangvis. The Sangvis Vespids slipped behind rusted vehicles and retaliated in kind.

 

“Command to Siskin 1. Land in the Town Square, now! Team Skorpion, move north and cover the Northern Pass.”

 

“Siskin 1 has landed!”

 

“Team HK416, advance down the Southern Road. Clear the Sangvis blockade.”

 

“Team HK416 to Command. Fire-wall has died. Making our advance. Out.”

 

Thirty minutes. No activity at the Northern Pass. The battle at the Southern Road had ceased. “Team HK416 to Command. Southern Road cleared.”

 

“Oi! You lot! Get a move on!” Lev shouted from behind my truck’s flap.

 

Siskin 1 hovered over us throughout our thirty-minute journey towards Hevhj. As soon as our convoy cleared the gradual slope of the Southern Road, the last two trucks veered to side. Ten Auxiliary Guardsmen disembarked from one of the trucks. They wasted no time forming a train to move sandbags between the second truck to the mouth of the road.

 

The convoy pulled away and continued towards the Town Square. HK416’s mainframe unit saluted as my truck passed her by. G11’s mainframe was leaning against her.

 

The shrieks of denting metal accompanied the engine-roar of the front-most truck. My fingers dug into my command tablet’s screen. I felt nauseous and was glad that I had given lunch a pass. My truck jumped twice in quick succession. The bump we hit was that of a doll carcass, identifiable only by the weapon she wielded.

 

Dummy and Sangvis carcasses passed me by. Slumped against the walls or vehicles, crushed under wheels or by our convoy’s approach. False skin charred, metal ribs jutted out, artificial innards splayed along the street.

 

The stench of ashes and soot assailed me the moment I disembarked from my truck. The hotel still burned. The flooring of its second storey collapsed as soon as I laid my eyes on it. Its orange linger briefly in my false eyes.

 

The rotors of Siskin 1 and the engines of the front-most truck faded as they continued on towards the Northern Pass.

 

The church to my right was a sturdy cuboidal structure, with two towers flanking its frontal face and a cross with an additional slanted bar on its dome. I slung my assault rifle over my shoulder and motioned at Lev. He nodded and elbowed a younger Guardsman. His name patch read ‘Stefan Sokolov’.

 

We passed the dried-up fountain, walked up the stone steps and took up positions at both sides of the sturdy double-door. With some difficulty, Lev exposed a gap wide enough for a micro-drone to pass.

 

Ten minutes. The drone detected no activity. The two Guardsmen shoved open the door and crossed the threshold. After a brief survey of the interior, they signalled ‘All Clear’.

 

Dust rose over our ankles as we cautiously crossed another set of rusting iron gate into the church’s courtyard. The courtyard was brightly illuminated. Radiant sunlight streamed down through the gaping hole above us. The stained windows which lined the walls were shattered. Shards of various colours lay scattered at their feet.

 

Our flashlights beat back the darkness beyond the left side-door. A brief descent into the abyss led us to a chamber with niche-lined walls.

 

Lev’s utterance carried a solemn air. Seeing that he wouldn’t want to be disturbed, I let him be. I returned to the courtyard and called Pierre over the radio.

 

 

 

 

1440

 

I had thought I knew what desolation was. This town taught me otherwise. There’s dust everywhere, just like in Istanbul. There is dilapidation everywhere, just like in Istanbul.

 

However, Istanbul, despite its decay, had life. Roving traders seeking barter. Merchants manning their sorry stalls along Alemdağ Caddesi. Wives, mothers, daughters eking meagre livings. Rivals sniffing the streets for fresh blood and fresh meat.

 

Here? No human life at all. At least, not until our arrival. A true necropolis. A town meant for at least a thousand souls bereft of any human life.

 

Yet, the signs of human residency are all around me. Rusted cars clogged the Southern Road. Doors ajar, creaking in the wind. Luggage abandoned at the doorsteps and sidewalks. Left there under the sun and sleet. If rot had not set in, if foliages had not overrun the cobbles, I would have thought the place frozen in time.

 

|Childish voice| Oi! Cetin! Why are you muttering to yourself over there?

 

 

 

Skorpion grinned toothily. She was holding out her right fist. She appeared to be in good spirits, despite the foam-like sealant on her cheek, on the side of her abdomen and along her right forearm.

 

“What do you want?” I asked.

 

She shook her fist. “Fist bump! I did a great job, didn’t I? So give me a fist bump!”

 

I looked at both my hands, then at her right fist, which was trembling in perceived anticipation. I looked at my hands again, then lowered my right and curled the fingers of my left.

 

“Oh...oh right!” Skorpion hurriedly dropped her right and raised her left. “Okay, here’s what we will do. We will hit our fists together, lightly. Like this.” She tapped her knuckles against mine. “We will both do this at the same time. I’m going to make it easy and count to three. Here goes!”

 

She counted to three, and we bumped our fists together.

 

“Mmmm, hmmm,” she hummed while rubbing her chin. “Mmmm, hmmm, a little too forceful on your side. We’ll do this a few more times until we get this right. Then we move on to more complicated moves. So!” She clapped her hands. “How did I do?”

 

She wasn’t asking about the ‘fist-bump’.

 

I looked towards the black smoke billowing from the centre of town, an hour’s walk away.

 

“...Excellent job with the hotel and the Southern Road…” My eyes lingered on the T-Doll’s battle damage. “Shouldn’t you be getting repairs?”

 

Skorpion puffed her cheeks and answered, “We’ve got only one repair bay up and running. Tech’s focused on running cables up to the cross. Besides,” she smiled. “I don’t feel right just letting you wander about by yourself.” She then paced about. “What are you doing other than talking to yourself?”

 

“...I am getting the lay of the land.”

 

The T-Doll stopped to stare at me. There was a sceptical look in her eye. I head to the cliff-edge and craned my neck over the ledge. “This part of the cliff here...” I pointed at the river’s edge. A small strip of river-bank crossed under this section of the cliff. “...is gradual enough for our enemies to scale. A chink in our armour. The Sangvis might exploit this chink.”

 

“So you are going to have mines laid here?” asked Skorpion. “I don’t think the armoury and warehouse have enough claymores to cover this length of the cliff. I saw Kalin piling up a stack of requisition forms for claymores yesterday.”

 

“What about grenades?”

 

“Entire aisle stocked with grenades,” she replied. She paused, looking pensive for a moment, before continuing, “At least that’s what I saw in the warehouse.”

 

“I see…” I turned towards the stone house ten paces away. Its shattered window was facing the cliff. “Put a MG over there and even the Auxiliary Guard can repel Sangvis for a considerable amount of time.”

 

I turned to see Skorpion staring at me intently. Her expression was inquisitive. “You are planning something with the grenades, aren’t you?”

 

“Grenade traps.”

 

A slight tilt to the left, furrowed brow and a frown. Her expression had turned into that of puzzlement. “What’s that?”

 

The bird’s chirpings were coming from the thatched roof of the stone house.

 

“Oh, I get it!” Skorpion hammered her fist against her palm. “It’s like a rope with a bait right? Just with one end of the rope being connected to a grenade’s pin?”

 

It wasn’t a single bird. There were five distinct chirps.

 

The radio beeped.

 

“Hey, Desert Fox,” Lev said. “We got the command room set up and ready for your inspection.”

 

I gave my reply and turned towards the direction of the church. “Hey, wait up!” Skorpion pitter-pattered after me. “Tell me! Did I get it right? Am I right? Hey!”  

 

1630

 

Static. It rang in my ears and bored into my skull. Faint impressions of a voice came out of the radio, like ghastly whispers from a medium's mouth. The phantom image of Kalina faded in and out of the eerie blue.

 

The falling metal chair added to the cacophony of the catacomb. I stumbled up the stairs, out of the iron gate and out of the side-door.

 

“Finally reached you, Desert Fox,” said Pierre over the radio. “Problem with the reception, yes? Give me five minutes.”

 

The static still rang in my head. I sank on the steps to the left of the side door, with my right palm against my head.

 

“Told you not to go in there," said Skorpion, as she extended to me a mug and a Caloriemate. I accepted her offerings and gave the coffee a sip.

 

Same flavour as the breakfast coffee.

 

“Springfield made that,” said Skorpion as she sat beside me. The aforementioned T-Doll was at the north-side wall, behind a long plastic-and-metal table. She gave me a wink before returning to her task of directing Sten on kitchen-work.

 

“Anyway,” Skorpion started, “Something to report. Papasha’s done with the first barricade at the Southern Road.”

 

“PPSh-41?”

 

“Pa-pa-sha!” The T-Doll pouted. “Cetin! Don’t you get tired saying P-P-S-h-Forty-One all the time?”

 

“That’s her official designation.”

 

“You know her official designation is uncool! That’s why we all call her Papasha, why everyone calls me Skorpion instead of ‘Vz.61’ and why you call this town by another name other than its official designation! HVQQJ, right? What did you call it again? Hijj? Hachs?”

 

“Hevhj.”

 

Skorpion coughed out her coffee. She alternated between coughing and giggling. “Bless you. You sound like you sneezed when you say that.”

 

Mug’s shadow over the coffee’s surface. I took another sip and started, “Why is Papasha putting up barricades?”

 

Skorpion sipped on her coffee, then held her mug over her thighs. “Papasha has heavy vehicles license. She operates the Power Loaders better than anyone in the base. She can do the work at half the time of any of the Auxiliary Guardsmen. Anyway, we are out of sandbags to build the second barricade.”

 

I narrowed my eyes at the T-Doll. “What did Papasha do?”

 

“Well…” she averted her gaze and scratched her chin, “...before you tell her off and make her clean the helos, hear me out. You know all those cars blocking the Southern Road, right?” A glance before she continued, “Lev’s got the idea of using them to reinforce the barricades. Told Papasha to stack the cars up three levels, he did. However…”

 

“...more sandbags are needed to stabilise the barricade.” I took another sip of the coffee.

 

“Yep!” Skorpion nodded. “Three times more sandbags. So…” she passed me a note. It contained the estimated number of sandbags required to set up the second barricade.

 

“I’ll talk to Kalina about it,” I said.

 

“Promise you won’t get angry with Papasha?”

 

“...I’m not angry.”

 

The radio beeped. “Oi! Desert Fox!”

 

Skorpion broke into a snickering fit. Her giggles turned into a yowl. Her coffee had spilt onto her thigh.

 

“Think we have isolated the problem,” said Pierre. “Have a crack at the comms and see if the interference’s cleared up.”

 

 

 

The T-Doll, Skorpion, had become more loquacious since I made those promises to her yesterday. I had inquired Kalina on the matter and was told that she’s just playing the role of my adjutant.

 

Her being my adjutant is part of a scheme. Kalina’s scheme? What does she hope to achieve by making Skorpion my adjutant?

 

..

 

Is she trying to shirk the responsibilities of an adjutant? No...she is still providing me updates on the situation of the other subsectors and is still passing my orders to the relevant departments of the FOB on my behalf. She hasn’t abandoned her position.

 

What, then, is her goal?

 

…

 

Perhaps it wasn’t Kalina’s scheme, but Skorpion’s. I recall M14 performing sentry duty without my input. Perhaps Lev or Kalina ordered her to take on the duty but I cannot discount the possibility that she volunteered. Especially in light of yesterday’s bedlam.

 

If M14 truly did volunteer, then it’s likely that Skorpion chose to take on the role of adjutant. If so, what is she trying to achieve, being my adjutant?

 

This T-Doll may be craftier than her childish appearance would suggest.

 

…

 

No, she is crafty. She did, after all, concoct a method to subvert her programmed compulsion to follow orders.

 

What is she up to?

 

...

…

 

Putting that aside for later. Not much has happened since we claimed Hevhj. The Sangvis have been giving this town a wide berth. Either their Ringleader is mustering her force to assault this position or she’s fixated on her search for M4A1.

 

Until I know for sure this Ringleader has located M4A1, I suppose fortifying this position is the only option I have to pursue.

 

…

 

|Chuckles| The generator for this base is in this catacomb. The command equipment is in this catacomb. The heart and mind of this base are in this realm of the dead.

 

The irony isn’t lost to me.

 

 

 

1850

 

The rattle of the ventilation turbines greeted my return to the waking world. The catacomb was bathed in light azure, as it had when I laid my head against the padded wall. The chair creaked. Muscles strained and bones groaned. Kalina’s shipping list on the screen. Tab out, series of clicks. A tap on the holo-communicator. No missed communique.

 

Out of the catacomb, with mug in hand. 1900. Chatters echoed throughout the occupied hall.

 

“My my,” Springfield smiled as she passed me the tray containing the bread-bowl. “You kept your promise.” I nodded at her as I collected my dinner.

 

“You are thinking about returning to the command room, aren’t you?” she asked suddenly. I blinked. She continued to smile. “They are calling for you.” Skorpion had stood up from her bench and was waving both her arms vigorously. “You should join them.”

 

“No promises,” I replied. Picked up the tray, walked against the direction of the queue, towards the eastern wall. Right-turn, pass the double gate. Empty table at the shadowed corner. Mostly empty. HK416 and G11 had occupied the far end.

 

“Desert Fox.” Lev slid onto the opposite seat. His lips were curled into an amused grin. He wore that grin this morning when I briefed the Dayshifters of our incursion into subsector 2. He had been wearing that grin throughout the day, whenever we conversed face-to-face. "Got the grenade traps planted. Pending your inspection.”

 

The milky soup was thick. Creamy.

 

“With me behind the wheel, we can get to the Northern Cliffside and back just in time for the ‘Changing of the Guard’.”

 

“Oi! Cetin!”

 

Skorpion dropped her tray on the long table.

 

“Why so angry, Skorpy?” Lev asked.

 

“He’s been very rude! I waved at him for a solid three minutes and he just ignored me!” The mono-eyed T-Doll puffed up her cheek. “What’s with the attitude, Cetin?”

 

“Wow.” Lev whistled. “Rude, Fox. Very rude.”

 

“Oi, Commander!” Ingram MAC-10, hopped onto the bench. Her right knee was over the table. Her grin reminded me of Dimas’. Irreverent and cocky. “Where’s my praise, eh?”

 

The meat bobbing in the soup was false. Vat-meat. Just like yesterday’s beef stew.

 

“Asking for praise from our Commander, Ingram?” Lev asked. “Feeling brave, aren’t you?”

 

“He’s been unfair.” Ingram shrugged. “He praised Skorpion for her stunt with the hotel and the Southern Road, but he hasn’t said a word to the rest of us who put in just as much, if not more effort. So!” Ingram grinned again. “Where’s my praise, Commander?”

 

The plastic spoon tapped against the tray. “Why do you think you deserve praise?”

 

“Well…” Ingram let out a low, arrogant chuckle. “I led the charge, didn’t I? Weaving from cover to cover, stabbing, cutting, shooting, clearing the way. Heh. The team would have stalled if it weren’t for me, yeah?”

 

“You are a liability, Ingram.”

 

Ingram’s grin faded slightly. Her jade eyes were wide. “Pardon?”

 

“You are reckless. You, not your dummy, you could have been beehived many times over. You kept charging ahead of the rest of the team. You had also given your mainframe unit away with your actions.”

 

“What? What actions?”

 

“You know what I meant.”

 

“You mean the stabbings?”

 

“Outside of smoke cover in clear view of the Vespids. I should be praising IDW and M14 for keeping you alive.”

 

“What’s tyat you syaid about me, da nya?” The aforementioned humanoid-cat T-Doll popped her head from under the table.

 

“You were fast enough to keep up with Ingram. You worked hard to draw fire away from her.”

 

IDW’s cat-like smile grew wide, exposing her fangs. She rubbed the back of her head as she exclaimed, “Nya nya! He praised me, nya!”

 

“Hey! Hey! Commander! What about me?”

 

“You took out the Vespids as soon as they leaned out of cover. Quick, precise response. Not a single missed shot. Ingram and IDW owed you their lives.”

 

“Hehe, he just praised me.”

 

“...Commander.”

 

“Excellent spotting work, HK416. And tell G11 she did excellently with the suppression fire.”

 

Ingram muttered something rude as she slinked away. Silence fell the moment she left. The T-Dolls had decided to cease their pestering, it seemed.

 

My plastic spoon sank into the bread bowl. The vat-meat floating in the soup was unlike what was served in the Kiev Hospital. Succulent, juicy. As though it was coated in a layer of fat. It was the same as yesterday’s beef stew. How did Springfield accomplish this feat?

 

No echoing chatters for the past three minutes. Skorpion was grinning like a child menace. It dawned on me that hers wasn’t the only gaze lingering on me.

 

I took one last gulp from the bread bowl and nodded at Lev. “Take me to the Northern Cliffside.”

 

 

 

2105. The sun still peeked from behind the mountain. Strange to see it still up at this hour. The day is long in this country, it seems.

 

My fatigues are drenched. I can still feel the wires gnawing at my fingertips. My thigh felt as though,...what did the doctor call it...its muscle fibres had welded together. You know the sensation, right?

 

The Auxiliary Guardsmen, Stefan, Oleksiy and their leader, Lev. They were with me when I inspected the traps laid along the Northern Cliffside. They assisted me when I fixed the faulty traps, though, I feel that they were with me to judge me, to determine if this outsider is fit to be one of them. They had kept their distance. Took turns glancing at my general direction.

 

...

 

Of the twenty traps, less than half were properly set up. I had to disassemble them, readjust the pins. Not too loose, not too tight, just enough for a light brush to trigger the trap. Plant the anchor points five metres apart from each other, tighten the wires, make them taut. Just like what you had taught us.

 

I had wondered why the new blood complained so much about the lessons. Now that I had actually done the work, I finally remembered how tedious it is. Two hours under the desert sun. Seared skin and seared flesh. Scorching sand in our boots. Well, they didn’t have it as bad as us old blood. They had the shade.

 

I missed so much in the past decade. That doomed crossing had robbed me of more than my limbs.

 

I wonder if you would give me the passing grade for my current handiwork.

 

...

 

Lev, Stefan, Oleksiy, they left about fifteen minutes before the ‘Changing of the Guard’. 1900. Left three traps for me to fix.

 

…

 

I think I made a grave error when I interacted with the dolls. I got careless.

 

...

 

It’s Ingram MAC-10. She came to me, seeking praise. Likely emboldened by Skorpion. Must have told Ingram about my complimenting her for her actions earlier today. I thought to criticise her recklessness. I thought I could make her leave if I do so. Then, I said too much. For a moment, I forgot I wasn’t talking to the new blood, that I was talking to an android. I provided feedback for the entire team.

 

I have chased Ingram away but at the cost of pleasing the rest of her team. I may have opened the floodgates as a consequence.

 

...Is this Skorpion’s plan all along? If that is indeed the case, what is she trying to accomplish?

 

I need to be more cautious about that T-Doll. She’s not a child, she’s an android. I must remind myself of this every hour, lest I be infected with the same sickness afflicting Kalina and the others.

 

…

 

I dread to think what awaits me back in the church. I will remain here until the sun is gone.

 

 

 

2300

 

“You shouldn’t sleep here, Kommandir. Wake up.”

 

The crickets sang. The gibbous moon hung high over the mountains. Auriga, Perseus, Big Dipper, they have returned.

 

“Come on. Get up, Kommandir. You shouldn’t sleep here.”

 

Grigori tapped at my shoulder again.

 

“You are exposed out here. The Sangvis could have sniped you from the opposite mountain. Come. Get up.”

 

“Oi! Griga!” shouted Dimas from the nearby stone house. He was leaning against the MG on the sandbags behind the window. “Get the Tovarisch in here, yea? Can’t have him catch a cold!”

 

Groggy steps through the dimly lit door. Nagant Revolver blowing at the flame.

 

“Is time to hang the pot, Babushka?” asked Dimas.

 

“Just a little more,” said the T-Doll. Bright orange engulfed the cobwebbed room. “There!” she exclaimed as she put her blower aside. “Come, little Dimas! Let us make the Borscht!”

 

"You are littler than I am, little Babushka.”

 

"No Borscht for you, cheeky Dimas.”

 

"Aww, Babushka. Is joke! Is joke!”

 

Nagant turned around. Her eyes met mine and she burst into mirthful laughter.

 

“Wha...what is this? Commander! What is this?”

 

“What’s so funny?” Dimas inquired, puzzled. He glanced at me and spat aside.

 

A loud clang. Water splashed on the dusty floorboards. He planted his right hand on the peeling wall as he stifled his laughter.

 

“Hey, Tovarischi, that’s really rude to the Kommandir. If you keep doing this…” he started to guffaw, “I’m going to laugh too.”

 

“But...but...Griga!” Nagant Revolver staggered towards us. "Hi...his face!” She produced a small mirror from her coat pocket.

 

The sunken cheeks in the mirror bore smudged whiskers.