1050

 

“Team FAL. M14. Cliff-top. Primary Vespids. Secondary Rippers.”

 

M14 wordlessly unloaded into the advancing Sangvis units at the bottom of the cliff. The bitter-sour taste of coffee soaked my tongue. The enemy pulled away from the communications outpost. I enunciated my next order.

 

“Team Skorpion. East Forest. Face north.”

 

The aforementioned echelon gave no reply.

 

The Sangvis cleared the outpost and concentrated their numbers at the bottom of the slope.

 

“Team FAL. FAL. Grenade. Team Skorpion. Skorpion. Incendiaries. Communications outpost.”

 

Hostiles reduced to wreckage. Outpost in flames. Visuals faded, replaced with a bright yellow  ‘Mission Accomplished’. The battle result overview followed. Submitted the result to the laptop, extracted the disc, placed it atop the tactical map. Hevhj environs replaced the simulated battlefield.

 

Removed the headphones and looked towards the iron gate. Beside it leaned HK416. She unfolded her arms, straightened herself and saluted.

 

She was there for the past half hour.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Just checking on you, Commander,” she replied.

 

I placed the headphones on the stand.

 

“Your command style differs from usual.”

 

Another sip on the bitter-sour beverage.

 

“All you have uttered are key-words.”

 

“Key-words are sufficient enough for the simulation,” I replied.

 

“Will you order us the same way?”

 

The thermos-cap hung under my hand. Its humidity seeped into my palm’s skin. “No.”

 

“May I inquire why?”

 

Last drink. I placed the empty thermos-cap on the desk beside its companion container. The ventilation turbines rattled, toiling to keep the staleness at bay.

 

“Skorpion would complain...” I filled the thermos-cap with more of the invigorating beverage. “...about treating T-Dolls as mere machines.”

 

My reflection was barely discernible on the liquid’s dark surface.

 

“Springfield...would insist on a conversation I rather avoid.”

 

“I asked a serious question.” HK416’s jade glare bore into me.

 

“I gave a serious answer,” I replied before sipping on my beverage.

 

The ventilation turbines continued to rattle.

 

She sighed. “I see. Why, then, did you choose to command as you did with the simulation?”

 

“They are robotic.”

 

She cocked her head slightly. “Aren’t we robotic too?”

 

A sharp snort. “I wouldn’t be having this conversation with a true robot.”

 

The generator hummed from deeper within the catacomb.

 

“You aren’t really here to check up on me.”

 

HK416 nodded in affirmation. “I wanted to hear your opinion on my performance earlier this morning.”

 

“I barely needed to provide further instructions with you as team leader,” I answered. “Even with Ingram’s attempt to bypass the chain of command. This isn’t your first time dealing with problematic personalities, is it?”

 

HK416 smiled ruefully. “No. It isn’t. I take it you are satisfied with my performance?”

 

I nodded in affirmation.

 

Her smile assumed a self-assured quality. “Continue to watch over me, Commander, while I am here. I will continue to meet your expectations.”

 

HK416’s fading footsteps overlapped with Skorpion’s approaching pitter-patters.

 

“Cetin!” she cried as she crossed the threshold. “Second breakfast!” She was carrying a metal tray.

 

The watch read, ‘11:00'.

 

“It’s eleven,” I said. The tray rattled as she set it on the tactical map. “Lunch is at 1300.” The tray carried two plates of bread rolls, two steel mugs, two steel kettles, two spoons and multiple sugar packs.

 

“Don’t sweat the details,” she replied. She stuffed a bread-roll in her mouth. “Mmm..sides...mmmm...mmmm...not like we…mmm mmm mmmmph our break...mmm…”

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

 

The sound of chewing resonated throughout the command room.

 

“Don’t eat too fast.” I lifted the lid of one of the kettles. It contained milk.

 

Skorpion, her cheeks still stuffed, glared at me. The command room had quietened enough for the sound of draining tea to be audible. She rose slightly from the metal chair in an exaggerated display of swallowing.

 

“You should have taken smaller bites,” I commented.

 

She shot me another glare. She then breathed deeply and repeated herself, “As I was saying, it’s not like we had the time to finish our breakfast earlier this morning.”

 

The tea smelled aromatic. Chamomile?

 

“You are supposed to drink that with sugar and milk.”

 

I grunted and gave the beverage another sip. “Did Springfield send you?” I asked as I set down the mug. “Nah.” Skorpion shook her head. She nibbled on the pastry, then continued, “I figured you should have finished the simulation at around this time and you aren’t in a hurry to take a nap after drinking all that coffee.”

 

“You could have eaten with the others in the hall.” The vat-meat in the bread roll tasted like mushrooms.

 

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Skorpion replied. “I don’t know what you have against celebrations but really, Cetin.” She gestured at the walls. “Being here in such a tiny place with all the dead people is just too depressing!”

 

“...I’m not depressed.”

 

“Sure, you aren’t.”

 

She picked up her mug, gave it a drawn-out slurp, before setting it down. “So, what did Sarge come down here for?”

 

“...Sarge?”

 

“416.”

 

“She came looking for feedback on her performance.”

 

The T-Doll narrowed her eye. “Oh. Ooooh.” A mischievous grin crept up her lips. I quietly consumed my food.

 

As I stirred milk into my second serving of tea, the radio sounded. “Team -AL to Com--nd. Do ---copy?”

 

“Command to Team FAL. Report.”

 

“Te-- FA- to Com--nd. Re-ort-ng succ-ssf-- dem-litions of the passes.”

 

I punched the coordinates into the tactical map. Plumes of dusty brown had shrouded the passes.

 

“We --e ret-rn-ng to base camp.”

 

“Command to Team FAL. Understood.”

 

I returned the tactical map view to the Hevhj environs. Clear of Sangvis activity. Switched to surveillance mode. Tactical map view zoomed out to cover an area of five kilometres radius of the base camp.

 

“Team FAL to Command. One last thing. We have recovered Sturmgewehr-44.”

 

A metallic ring pealed in the command room.

 

 

​

Skorpion had left the room. She ran like the wind.

 

…

 

No, not like the night wind blowing from the Channel. Like the wind driving the dunes into city streets.

 

…

 

She had snatched my headphone to speak to FAL. Rather, she shouted at FAL. Asked about the status of Sturmgewehr-44. Where was she found, how she was, if she was injured, if she was delirious, if she needed the stretcher, those types of questions. Then she shouted for Papasha, requested to speak to her, asked her those same questions.

 

She ran out after that, shouting Ingram’s name.

 

…

 

It was like the dunes had broken through her bulwark and washed away her reason. It appears she had been holding it in behind the smile and the mischief.

 

…

…

…

 

 

​

1210

 

As soon as Siskin 1 touched down in the town square, Skorpion leapt down the steps and darted towards its opening hatch. Ingram shrugged before skipping down those same flights after her comrade. The hatch fully opened and out filed FAL, Tiss, Viking, FMG-9 and finally, Papasha, supporting a haggard blonde T-Doll clad in tattered military dress uniform.

 

Skorpion collided into the T-Doll’s torso the moment she lurched off the ramp.

 

“Sturmgewehr! Sturmgewehr!” she cried.

 

Tightening in my chest.

 

“Erkan, you look like you swam in blood!” Hasan cried urgently.

 

“Where have you been?”

 

“What did you do?”

 

The aforementioned T-Doll returned Skorpion’s embrace and smiled in relief.

 

“Mission completed exemplarily,” said FAL as soon as she reached the top of the steps.

 

“Erkan fucked up,” Celik reported. “We know where the stockpiles are, but we had revealed ourselves in the process.”

 

Ingram had circled around the seemingly dazed Sturmgewehr. “Hey~, Sturmgewehr,” she uttered in a low tone.

 

“Erkan! What did you...?” Suleiman cried in surprise.

 

The German T-Doll jumped in surprise. “...Ingram?” she squeaked timidly.

 

“Ehhh...I used the wrong slang?” Erkan replied meekly.

 

“Commander?” asked FAL again. She had tilted her head slightly to her left.

 

“Submit your report by 1500,” I replied. FAL saluted and proceeded into the church.

 

Ingram gripped Sturmgewehr’s shoulder. “You have some gall. Disappearing on us for three days.” She was wearing a discomfiting smile. Sturmgewehr giggled nervously.

​

“The wrong slang? The wrong slang!?” Suleiman shouted incredulously.

 

“Completed the secret mission,” Tiss saluted. “Secret mission, secret mission,” FMG-9 grumbled. “Don’t mind her, boss. Everything is a secret mission for her.”

 

“...Noted,” I replied.

 

Ingram had wrapped her left arm around Sturmgewehr’s neck and drilled her knuckles against the side of her head. Skorpion was shouting at her to stop. Papasha simply stood there, her hands to her mouth, glancing back and forth, undecided on what she ought to do.

 

“Freshen up,” I said to the FMG-9 and Tiss. “Lunch in fifty minutes.”

 

“Awwww, not even a ‘good job’, Kommandir?”

 

FMG-9 glared at Tiss. “Be quiet, you delusional T-Doll. I don’t want to hear anything more from you for the rest of the day.”

 

“I'm hungry~” Tiss whined as she strode past the double-gate, followed by her scowling companion.

 

“Papasha! Papasha!” Skorpion cried.

​

“Celik! Damn it! Celik!” Hasan cried.

 

While she was trying to pry Ingram away from the squirming and wailing Sturmgewehr, Papasha stood at the sidelines, hands to her mouth, unsure of what to do.

 

“Help already, Papasha! Ingram’s trying to kill Sturmgewehr!”

 

“Help me already! Suleiman’s trying to kill him!”

 

Papasha looked to her left, then to her right, then to her left again. She then knitted her brow, frowned and hurriedly attempt to separate the struggling trio.

 

Nicholai had disembarked from the cockpit and was standing around the hatch. He was in communication with Pierre, who had slinked into the helo.

 

Papasha was tugging at Ingram’s waist while Skorpion tugged at her neck. The patchwork T-Doll was losing her grip on Sturmgewehr.

​

“Enough tomfoolery!” Captain boomed sternly. “Suleiman! Get off him and carry him to medical!”

 

There were no clouds in the deep blue sky.

 

Springfield stood between me and the double gate. She was carrying two paper bags, one in each hand. One was filled with thermos. The other, neatly stacked plastic containers.

 

“My, leaving for the command room already, Commander?” she asked, with her usual gentle smile.

 

“...I am done here.”

 

“No, you aren't.”

 

“Sturmgewehr,” said Skorpion suddenly from behind me. The aforementioned T-Doll wore a tired smile. A large strip of black leather wound around her left eye, deep cuts and exposed wiring at her thigh and shin. Stinging in my false eyes.

 

Erkan gave me an excruciating smile. His blood-soaked hand was pressing a crimson gauze into his abdomen. “Hey, Cetin. Hey...”

 

“Our commander, Cetin Yilmaz,” Skorpion continued.

 

Ingram, who was lifting Sturmgewehr from under her arm, said with a sneer, “Don’t mind him. He’s a gloomy sort.”

 

“Tovarisch Ingram, that’s rude,” chided Papasha.

 

“Yeah, he’s a gloomy sort,” Skorpion nodded. “But he’s not a bad person. Really.”

 

Sturmgewehr’s smile grew strained. “That isn’t reassuring.” She cleared her throat, mustered whatever strength she still had and greeted, “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She looked at her coat and legs and smiled embarrassedly, “I’m sorry you had to see me in such a messy state...and…” she looked towards Papasha, Ingram and Skorpion. “...thank you. For taking care of them.”

 

“...Sorry. I fucked up.”

 

She then looked towards Skorpion. “You didn’t cause him trouble, I hope?”

 

Skorpion averted her gaze. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead. She wore a very nervous grin. “No...no! I had been a very good girl.”

 

Sturmgewehr’s tired smile faded. “...Skorpion...”

 

The pig-tailed T-Doll begun whistling. My throat tightened.

 

“Report to repair bay. Springfield?”

 

“Yes, Commander?”

 

“Get her something warm.”

 

“Cetin,” said Captain. “The Khorasani will be expecting us. We need to hit them before they can consolidate their defences. We need to hit them tonight!”

 

I motioned to enter the church. Springfield did not budge. “You can use a cup of tea. I recommend peppermint. It calms the nerves.”

 

“...I had already drunk tea.”

 

“Are you returning to the command room already, Cetin?” Skorpion frowned.

 

“I have to watch for any incoming counterattack.”

 

“You brought along your command tablet, didn’t you?” Springfield pointed at my pouch.

 

“It doesn’t have surveillance mode.”

 

“The FN duo are on patrol.”

 

“We also have the listening posts and the guard towers,” Skorpion stated. “Come on, get some fresh air! It’s only thirty minutes until lunch!”

 

“On the subject of guard towers,” started Springfield as she extended to us the paper bags. “Would you kindly take these to the Southern Checkpoint? It will be lunchtime the moment you arrive there.”

 

“Rest of you, get to the command room! We have work to do!”

 

“...I really should return to the command room.”

 

“Would you kindly take these to the Southern Checkpoint?” she repeated, still smiling.

 

“...You are going to keep doing this until I comply, aren’t you?”

 

Her gaze was calm. That smile on her lips remained still. There was a hint of menace behind that smile, one which suggested she will broker no argument.

 

“Would you kindly take these to the Southern Checkpoint?” she repeated again, slowly, letting every uttered word sink in. With a shrug, I received my share of the paper containers.

 

Skorpion voiced her concern as she received her share of the burden, “What about Sturmgewehr?”

 

“We will take care of Tovarisch Sturmgewehr,” replied Papasha with a nod. “Right, Tovarisch Ingram?”

 

“Yea..yea…” replied the aforementioned doll indifferently as she carried Sturmgewehr through the double-gate.

 

Springfield clapped her hands together and beamed. “There we have it. The thermos with the green cap is for the Commander.”

​

 

 

1300

 

Sun, shade, sun again. Skorpion waited on the opposite side of the chasm. “Come on, Cetin!” She waved her free arm. “You can do this! You did this four times already!”

 

Groaning under my boots. My throat tightened. First step. Clutched the chain tight. Second step. Pounding against my ribcage. Third step. Laboured breaths. Hands around my wrists. Soft on the right, rough on the left. “Gotcha!” Lev said. He was wearing a smug grin.

 

The radio by the window beeped. “Lev. Lev!” Stefan cried in half panic. “What's going on up there? Where are you?”

 

Lev picked up the mic. “Yea, sorry about that. Had to catch Fox before he fell off the bridge.”

 

“The Commander? What's he doing here?”  

 

“We’ve brought Springfield's lunchboxes!” Skorpion lifted her bag.

 

A wide smile spread on his lips. “Stefan. Tell everyone we’re having Springfield's handmade meals for lunch.”

​

​

 

1310

 

Stinging smoke. Sparks and swaying light. Captain...dead at my feet. Shattering bones. Snapping tendons. What weren’t there had returned, only to be robbed from me again.

 

The false fingers contorted. The false foot trembled. Knives in both my stumps.

 

Yellow eyes gleaming in the steel-grey mist.

 

“Please, Commander,” she beamed brilliantly. “May I have some more?”

 

“Leave him be,” said Lev. “You are bothering him.”

 

“Yeah! Leave him be!” Skorpion brandished her spork at M14. “You already had your share!”

 

“Ehe. Stingy. Stingy!” M14 skipped away.

 

“Why are you acting like a Brit, Yankee?” Oleksiy said as he stabbed his spork into his meat pie.

 

“Just want to bother the Commander, is all.”

 

“Oi! M14! Who let you read Oliver Twist?”

 

“You lent me that book, Stefan!”

 

“Oh, right. Return that book already!”

 

M14 stuck her tongue out. “No! I’m not done with it yet!”

 

“Cetin.” Skorpion tugged on my left sleeve. Concern shone from her good eye. “Did M14 do something to you?”

 

My throat throbbed painfully as I attempted to reply. It felt as though dust had clogged my airways. Relief flooded my throat like desert rain as I gulped down my tea. “...What makes you think that?”

 

“You are sweating something fierce.”

 

“It is a hot summer day.”

 

She pointed upwards at the canvas hanging over us. “We are under the shade!” She then pointed at the revolving table fans on the crates in the centre of our circle. “We have fans blowing at us! Also…” she turned her finger towards my nose. “...you barely breathed!”

 

My eyes flickered towards the steel plank bridge between the houses, to my right. “...I am still recovering from crossing the bridge.”

 

“That was fifteen minutes ago!” Skorpion noted. “Also, you are holding your thermos too tightly!”

 

My right fingers, wrapped around the thermos, were contorted backwards at unnatural angles.

 

"Slowly inhale. Count to three. Now exhale...smoothly..."

 

His words repeated in my head like a mantra.

 

My grip slackened after the tenth repetition. The false appendages had sunk impressions into its surface.

 

“I’m fine,” I breathed.

 

“You are not!”

 

“Oh, come on!” Lev said as he stood up. He came over to my side of the circle and sat on the ammo box beside me. “Not you too, Skorpy!”

 

“Look at him, Lev!” Skorpion gesticulated at me. “Look at him! He’s not doing well and he still won’t say what’s bothering him!”

 

“Give him some space. What he’s got…” he smacked my shoulder, “you can’t force out of him. He will talk about it when he’s ready.”

 

Skorpion’s puffed cheeks showed her dissatisfaction.

 

“Also,” Lev glanced at the meat pie in my lunchbox. It was carved at the edge. “You better finish that fast, Fox, or M14’s gonna bother you again. If not her, then FNC.”

 

“...I’m not hungry.”

 

He laughed dryly. “That’s why you are so lean! What have you eaten up till now? One-tenth of Springfield’s soup, one, maybe two bars of Caloriemate?”

 

“...I had second breakfast.”

 

“And what’s that you had for second breakfast?”

 

“Bread roll and tea!” Skorpion interjected.

 

“You aren’t going to put on any weight if you eat that light all the time, especially in this business. Come on!” He smacked my shoulder. “Eat!”

 

The crust’s feeble resistance gave way the moment I applied more force onto my spork. Its upper layers flaked away as it split and spilt its greasy contents onto the lunchbox. Its oil dripped as I scooped it up and consumed it.

 

Juicy. A hint of spice mingled with the pepper. Flavour had soaked deeply into the false meat.

 

“Just like the real thing, eh?” said Lev as he cut away another portion of his meat pie. “Having tasted Springfield’s cooking, I can see why Griga’s thrilled to have her with us.”

 

He indulgently chewed on that portion of meat pie.

 

“...I see.”

 

“Ah!” M14 looked up from her thermos cap and uttered suddenly. “FNC and FN49’s here.” Their jeep was parked beyond the barbed wire between the barricades.

 

“Oi! Oleksiy!” said Lev. Oleksiy wiped the flakes off his beard and uttered, “Yeah?”

 

“Let them through.”

 

“What?” Oleksiy’s tone was of protestation. “Why is it always me? I let them out, I let them in, I let them out and now you want me to let them in again?”

 

“You are always the closest to the barricade.” Lev pointed his spork at Oleksiy before stabbing it into his meat pie.

 

Tea dripped from the fringes of Oleksiy’s moustache. “No more! Not this time! Ask Stefan to do it!”

 

The jeep’s horn blared. “Oi! Guys!” shouted FNC from the ringmount. “We are starving! Move the fence!”

 

“Don’t keep them, Oleksiy.” Lev pointed his utensil at the aforementioned Aux Guard again. “You know how FNC gets when she’s starving.”

 

“I will bite your hand if you keep us for another minute! I’m starving, guys!”

 

“Fine!” Oleksiy put down his lunchbox. “This is the last time!”

 

“Next time, don’t be the closest to the barricade. Haha!” Lev laughed heartily before shovelling another chunk of his meat pie into his mouth.

 

Oleksiy, with a grunt, got up from his seat, turned around and took five steps towards the barricade. He lifted the unanchored end of the barbed wire fence and retracted it. “Thanks!” shouted FNC as the jeep roved through. It swerved to park at the side of the street.

 

FNC grabbed her carbine, leapt off the jeep and skipped twice towards Oleksiy. She extended her hand, showed her palm and wriggled her fingers. Oleksiy shrugged and placed a thin, wrapped bar in her open palm. She ripped into the wrapping without delay.

 

FN49 had gotten out of the driver’s seat and was standing behind FNC. She gripped her rifle tightly and fidgeted in an oddly timid manner. “Ummmm... FNC?”

 

FNC, mere moments from gnawing at her bar, looked back and asked rudely, “Yeah?”

 

“It's lunchtime, right? There's food waiting for us, right?”

 

Skorpion brandished a lunchbox at them to emphasise FN49's point. FNC completely ignored her. “Yeah. So?”

 

FN49 chuckled nervously. “Don't you think...you should keep the choco for after lunch?”

 

“Mmm…” FNC mulled for a moment. “Okay!”. She tucked the bar into her pocket and skipped towards our position.

 

“Good job out there,” greeted Skorpion as she passed the lunchbox to her. “Here’s your share.”

 

FNC opened the container and beheld its content. “Ehhhh…” she uttered her dissatisfaction. “Just a meat pie?”

 

Skorpion lightly swung her right foot at FNC's shin. It missed by a hair. “Correction!” she proclaimed. “Springfield’s meat pie!”

 

“But the portion’s so small…” FNC muttered. FN49 lifted her right fist to her mouth and giggled in a strangely nervous fashion. “Good thing you kept the choco, right?”

 

FNC pouted. “...I was saving that for patrol…” She suddenly perked up. “Oh, I know!” I did not like the look in her eyes. I gave my preemptive answer, “No chocolate. You didn’t find M4A1.”

 

The T-Doll puffed her cheek. “You’re a bully, Commander!” she heckled. “Bully! Bully!”

 

“Oh!” Lev sighed as he set down his spork. “You too, FNC?”

 

FNC pointed at me and exclaimed, “He’s a bully, Lev! He won’t let me have my choco!”

 

“Leave him alone.” Lev tucked his hand into his pocket and retrieved a bar of chocolate. “You can have my choco.”

 

She wore a look of disgust the moment she saw the brown wrapping. “Ewww, choco ration.”

 

“Take it or leave it.”

 

“Fiiiiiine!” FNC snatched the chocolate ration from his hand. “I’ll take it!” She then pocketed it.  

 

“Seriously, that girl.” Lev shook his head. He picked up his spork and stabbed it into his meat pie. After consuming that portion of foodstuff, he pointed his utensil at me and asked, “Skorpion took you on a tour along the Southern Road, yes? You’ve seen we did to the place? How’d you like it?”

 

Glanced back. The vehicles, two-wheeled and four-wheeled, were pressed into the houses and alleys flanking the street. Papasha’s handiwork. Nowhere to go but up and down. No cover to duck behind, no place to hide.

 

Bridges connected the houses on both sides of the road from the second storey, allowing passage without exposing one’s back to the attackers. Steel plates behind the windows exposed narrow vertical slits.

 

Only three ways into the rows of houses: the knocked down holes in the walls facing the village square and this one door to my left. There were demolition charges planted at the bottom of the stairs. Trigger mechanism on the second floor right beside Lev’s radio.

 

“You’ve set up a funnel and a means of exit without exposing your men to enemy fire.”

 

Lev smiled. “And what else?”

 

“Overlapping fields of fire from the second floor. No blind spots.”

 

“Don’t just say stuff right out of a field engineer’s textbook,” Lev said. He wasn’t satisfied with my feedback. “Come on. Say something more.”

 

Taste of peppermint wet my tongue.

 

M14’s dummy on the roof. It got there from a rope ladder beside the door. “Rope ladder to the roof from the street. No alternative means of entering the house. How’s she supposed to withdraw safely after covering your retreat?”

 

“Don’t mind! Don’t mind, Commander,” M14 cried. “My dummy and I can just jump across the gaps during our retreat.”

 

“I see…”

 

M14 got up.

 

Steel-tinted smoke. Swaying lights.

 

“Leave him alone!” cried Skorpion.

 

A loud clatter. Skorpion, her back towards me, arms outstretched. She had sprung from her seat to obstruct M14.

 

Captain dead at my feet.

 

“But Skorp!” said M14 irritably. “He won’t comment about me clearing that gap with a single bound!”

 

Skorpion in my left hand. Raise the gun. Yellow-Eyes square in the sight. Still. Uncaringly still. Mocking contempt in those yellow eyes.

 

Pull the trigger.

 

“Of course he won’t!” Skorpion retorted. “He’s seen your moves earlier today! Us clearing gaps like that shouldn’t surprise him anymore!”

 

A loud grumble. “Hmmmph!” M14 returned to her seat. She folded her arms, crossed her legs and looked away. Her red cheeks were puffed. She was pouting.

 

“Hey, Fox,” Lev called.

 

My torso rocked forward. The lunchbox remained secured on my lap.

 

“Don’t forget to breathe, alright?”

 

 

 

|Glass clatters|

|Uncorking sound|

|Pouring|

|Gulping sound|

|Glass clatter|

 

…

 

Today turned out to be more trying than I had envisioned.

 

Used to be I can relax after an operation, if everything went well. Instead, today, I ended one struggle only to stumble into a different one, inside what should be safe haven.

 

…

 

I saw you again. Captain. I saw our scouts too. At the town square, at the Southern Checkpoint. Erkan’s bullet wound. Your empty eyes...staring up at me. Your blood pooling under my foot and around the wheels…

 

I saw those damned Yellow-Eyes again.

 

…

 

|Sound of pouring and gulping|

 

I should have been firmer with Springfield. Defy her. She’s a T-Doll. It’s not right I marched to her beat.

 

And M14. And Skorpion.

 

…

 

Lev. Skorpion. They suspect. Perhaps they already knew.

 

…

 

Not Skorpion. I don’t think she understands. Lev, however...he does.

 

…

 

They knew something’s wrong with me. Perhaps Springfield too. Why won’t they leave me alone? I don’t belong out there, Captain. I belong to the past. I belong to Istanbul. My place is among the dead.

 

…

 

No more promises. This has to end.