…

…

 

|Sighs|

 

The enemy won’t wait. I am fine. I can do this. 

 

…

 

Right.

 

Kalina’s intel package both illuminates and obfuscates.

 

Executioner. Hunter. They hunt in packs. The hawk and the hound. Hunter flushes, harries, drives the prey towards Executioner’s waiting blade. 

 

Hunter and Executioner. Apt designations.

 

Certainties. Uncertainties. Start with the certainties.

 

Certainties. Executioner and Hunter are dogged pursuers. Single-minded. They did not respond from having their reinforcements cut off. Executioner...simply left when she realised we hadn’t found M4A1. 

 

M4A1. They are after M4A1. M4A1 would take shelter in settlements and forests. The battle for M4A1 will be waged in settlements and forests and the open fields surrounding it. M4A1 will draw them in.

 

…

 

Hunter. Her acrobatics is her strength. Her movement options must be limited. We must use the towns and villages as our battleground. Force her to move into restricted terrain. Grenades, machine gun fire. Saturate the air with lead and explosives. If she darts into the alleys or buildings, cover the exits and flush her out with grenades. She needs to be boxed in, cornered at every turn.

 

The impediment for this tactic is the minions she will bring with her. They need to be funnelled. Best to hold position in the closest of quarters until the minions are dealt with. 

 

…

 

Executioner. She fights with sword and pistol. Pistol...accurate up to two hundred metres. Sword...generates shockwave capable of cutting through her foes from that same distance. 

 

Her minions must be dealt with quickly, and she has to be encircled. Her attention must be drawn to a singular target whilst her minions are dealt with. 

 

Uncertainties. Close combat? Keep distance? 

 

I must ruminate on this further. 

 

 

​

1545

 

“FAL! What are you doing?!” 

 

Skorpion’s shouting overpowered the audio, despite the headphones. FAL, leaning against the tactical map, calmly continued her reading.

 

“I said, what are you doing?” Skorpion demanded. FAL glanced up towards the shorter T-Doll, then continued to ignore her.

 

She slammed a stack of papers right beside her. “Hey! FAL!” 

 

FAL lowered the notes in her hands and frowned. “I should be asking that question, Skorpion.”

 

Skorpion placed her hands against her hips and puffed out her chest. “As his adjutant, I have every right to be here!” She then pointed at FAL and demanded once more, “What are you doing here?” 

 

“Looking through his strategies and compiling a list of criticisms,” FAL replied as she put down the papers in her grasp. “Once he stops engrossing himself with his visual references, I'm going to levy my criticisms at him.” 

 

“He’s busy!” Skorpion pointed out. “Don’t disturb him!”

 

“That’s no excuse,” FAL commented. She sighed. “Declaring yourself his adjutant. How shameless.”

 

“What did you say?” Skorpion snapped. 

 

FAL sneered, “You did an incredible job being his adjutant. Letting him get away with such rude behaviour. Did you know he had me waiting on him for the past forty-five minutes? Are you going to let him get away with this?” 

 

She paused, her eyes on the pig-tailed T-Doll, awaiting her response. 

 

“I’m trying to do something about this, alright!” Skorpion declared. “He’s injured! Injured! He needs time!” 

 

FAL clicked her tongue. “Excuses, excuses.” She shook her head and shrugged. “Maybe that’s all a regular T-Doll can do. Perhaps...an Elite T-Doll such as myself should be his adjutant. I will fix him for sure. It won't even take me a day.”

 

Skorpion trembled. Her fists were clenched tightly, her tensed arms stretched downwards. Her cheeks puffed, her face was red. “Wh...why you!!!”

 

The audio paused. The chair creaked. Both T-Dolls ceased their bickering. They blinked once, twice, then started a different commotion.

 

“Commander! I had been waiting for over forty-five minutes!” 

 

“Cetin! Why did you let this mink disturb you as much as she pleases?”

 

Moments passed. No further words were uttered. Silence broken by rattling turbines. 

 

A twitch on FAL’s brow. She turned her attention to the notes clutched in her hands. “From reading these, I have the impression you had forgotten you are commanding fine T-Dolls like myself.”

 

A pause. Her right brow twitched again. Skorpion turned an anxious gaze towards FAL. She then inched towards her and elbowed her lightly. 

 

FAL, ignoring Skorpion, continued. “Hunter's movement will throw off human combatants, yes, but we aren't humans. We are T-Dolls. Her fancy maneuvers won't work on us. We will nail her, one hundred percent, assuming no weapons malfunction. I guarantee it. The time she spent airborne is enough for us to calculate her landing three times over. In fact, we can nail her like a duck the moment she takes to the air.”

 

Two more elbows from Skorpion, more frantic this time. FAL slapped away the third elbow. “As such, your tactics for dealing with her is counter-productive. Your proposed battleground gives her cover to duck behind and blind corners to exploit. She’s going to hop and prance from alley to alley and catch us from behind. It will be a circus! Less than ideal! Take the fight to the plains, catch her in the open, encircle her and she’s foie gras.”

 

Another pause. Another twitch. The notes crumpled in her grip as she folded her arms. “You are not going to say anything, are you?” Her words were critical. 

 

No replies uttered.

 

She slammed down my notes. A white mink, curled up on the tactical map, jolted awake. FAL turned up her nose and strode for the iron gate. Two steps. Three steps. She paused and glanced back. “Fel! Come!” she said sternly. 

 

The animal bounded across the equipment and leapt onto her shoulder. With an upturned nose, she ascended the steps. 

 

“Hey, Cetin,” said Skorpion, tugging my sleeve. She appeared to have shrunk. “FAL didn’t do anything to you, did she?” 

 

“...She didn't.” My reply was reluctant.

 

Her head drooped as she released her grip. She wore an uneasy smile. “I’ll just leave Sturmgewehr’s testimony here.” 

 

 

​

1715

 

Five minutes. Springfield still wore that inscrutable smile, unaffected by my silent glare. She stood firm at the opposite end of the tactical map, arms folded, unyielding like the wind-scoured walls of old Nineveh. Skorpion, her visage cast in eerie blue, looked back and forth between us. She was fidgeting with discomfort and silent distress.

 

“Care to explain your string of poor behaviour, Commander?” Springfield inquired with a matriarchal tone. “Springfield…” Skorpion started and was immediately shushed. “Let him speak. I must hear from him directly.” 

 

I offered no answers.

 

Her shoulders eased, though her arms remained folded. “These had to do with what transpired before and during lunch-time, isn’t it?”

 

Another pause. Another minute trickled. 

 

“Sturmgewehr and M14 dredged out some unpleasant memories, didn’t they?” 

 

Another minute of silence. 

 

She sighed. “Your wound isn’t going to mend if you keep quiet about it, Commander.”

 

“...I have to return to my work.”

 

“This is about your work, Commander,” Springfield replied insistently. “I understand you ran into difficulties coming up with countermeasures against the ringleaders.” She looked about, her gaze rested over several piles of scattered notes layered around the corners of the tactical map. “You still haven’t made any headways.”

 

“I have developed tactics against Hunter. They are in need of refinement but I’m confident we will come out on top of our inevitable confrontation.”

 

“My, but can you say the same with Executioner?” 

 

Silence broken by rattling turbines. She continued to smile. I answered reluctantly, “...I still need more time.”

 

“Time you may not have, Commander.”

 

Another moment of silence. 

 

“Errr, Cetin?” asked Skorpion, hesitantly. “About the tactics against Hunter...does it have anything to do with what FAL said?” 

 

She had cocked her head slightly to her right. 

 

“Yes, I had taken FAL’s input into consideration.”

 

“Then!” Skorpion’s eye lit up. “If we ask the others, maybe we can come up with something against Executioner? Ingram’s an expert in CQC. She might know what to do about that big sword. MP40, I think, may know a thing or two about fighting at close quarters…”

 

“It’s clear what we should do, yes?” Springfield clasped her hands together and beamed. 

 

“Yeah!” Skorpion shot up from her chair. “We go topside, get everyone and put our heads together! We will figure this out before the day’s end!”

 

Sporadic radio static. The chair creaked. The dolls' shadows still on the azure-lit padded walls. Skorpion’s jubilance frozen on her face. 

 

She pursed her lips tight and pouted. “Cetin! Say something! You are making this awkward!”

 

The chair creaked again. Skorpion grumbled.

 

“Commander,” said Springfield, as she walked around the tactical map. The chair clattered. “Our every action hinges on your command. Our lives hinge on your command. If you give us the wrong command, the wrong orders to follow and the wrong battle plan to adhere to, we will fail at our objectives.” A faint coffee scent. Shadow fell over her green eyes. She was frowning. “We will die.”

 

Phillipes’ gurgling cry amidst the radio static. 

 

“Cetin...we are on our last legs.”

 

Captain…

 

“They did a number on us.”

 

“Our success and our lives are in your hands, Commander.” 

 

A gurgled cough over the radio. The turbines rattled. Skorpion watched intently. The false fingers twitched. 

 

Captain. Dead at my feet.

 

“I’m trying. I just need more time.”

 

“Time isn’t mine to give, Cetin. Counsel, on the other hand, I can provide.” She straightened herself. Her smile was wistful. “However, my counsel is not enough. My engagements had been at range thus far. The others, however…”

​

“That’s why we should go topside!” Skorpion wrung her right arm. “We have to ask the others too!” She slapped her palm against her ‘sternum’. “Don’t worry! I’ll protect you from all the bad things! M14, no, nobody will hurt you while I’m here!”

 

“Skorpion…” Springfield strode towards the aforementioned T-Doll, placed her palms on her shoulders, kneeled down and stared her in the eye, “Don’t go picking fights, understand?” 

 

Skorpion recoiled. A twitch at the left edge of her grinning lips. “I...I won’t. I won’t!” 

 

“Good girl,” Springfield said as she stood up, wearing that usual smile again. “So, Commander, what are you waiting for?”

 

“...I will collect the materials…”

 

“Oh! Let me help!” Skorpion offered.

 

“Call Pierre and ask if he has a projector or similar. Then collect the disks. I’ll take care of the notes.” 

​

​

 

1930

​

“Hey, Cetin.”

 

Strong fingers dug into my left shoulder. Torso rocked against the woven chair.

 

“Cetin. Commander. Wake up.”

 

Suleiman was smiling. His cheeks were wrinkled and marred by sun-spots, despite his age. He smelled of coffee.

 

“It’s already five a.m. Come on. Wake up.” 

 

Clay mug thrust into my left hand. Caffeine aroma wafting about the room. 

 

He pulled back, still smiling. “There’s more on the table.” He gestured at the steaming pot resting atop the marked maps. “Enjoy as much as you can,” he said as he rested his long rifle against his shoulder. “It’ll be a while before I return to make more.”

 

There was cinnamon in the coffee.

 

“Getting lost in your head again?” A rough shove against my shoulder. Grigori had seated himself to my right. “Quite the food for thought you had served us for dinner here.” 

 

The T-Dolls were paying rapt attention to the battle playing on the projector screens lining the cathedral’s northern wall. Their usual raucousness was curiously absent. FNC, who would usually be pestering Sten or any of the Auxiliary Guards for chocolate, was silently sucking on her spoon. Nagant, seated beside Dimas, hadn't said a single word about midnight supper. Ingram had yet to complain about boredom or leave to skulk somewhere else. Instead, she was observing Executioner while chewing on a pen, stopping every so often to scribble onto a piece of paper. 

 

The only one who kept with her usual habits was G11. She leaned against HK416, her torso rising and sinking with a slow rhythm. She was fast asleep. 

 

“Coffee’s meant to help us through the graveyard shift,” Grigori started. “You sure you should be drinking?”

 

“Let him drink,” Lev, seated to my left, replied. “He doesn’t look like he wants to sleep tonight anyway.” 

 

“Oh, he will sleep,” Grigori commented. “I found him sleeping by the Northern Cliffside. Though he hasn’t slept at all after I woke him up, while I was around.”

 

“That’s a nap!” Skorpion, seated in front of me, turned around and exclaimed. “He has naps! One or two hours per session!”

 

“You are saying his sleep cycle is fucked?” 

 

“Says you,” Lev scoffed. “You sleep during the day.” 

 

Grigori glared at him. He sup on his coffee and set his mug down. “I still get between six to seven continuous hours of sleep. Also, why are you still here?”

 

“As a senior member of the Grifon Auxiliary Guard Corp, I am obligated to be here.” Lev sup on his mug. “Been here for a while. Seen things. Might be of some use.” 

 

“Uhuh, so, what? Planning on a sleepover?”

 

“Nah,” Lev shook his head before sipping on his coffee again. “Nicholai’s giving me a lift back.”

 

“You sure you should be drinking that?”

 

“Funny you ask when you know, better than anyone, that pulling an all-nighter’s a small price to pay for Springfield’s coffee.” 

 

“Yeah!” Skorpion agreed. “You left us late this morning just for her coffee!” 

 

“Damn, Skorp,” Griga grinned. “How did you figure me out?”

 

One more sip of the coffee. Let the cinnamon linger upon my tongue. Return to the screen. 

 

Six T-Dolls, surrounded by cuboidal blocks five storeys high. Low-cost residences. Khrushchyovka, they were called. They were retreating southwards down an alley. Rippers closing in from the north, east and west. 

 

One of them sprawled across the alley, coolant fountained from her head and torso. Her comrades turned their weapons towards their assailant. Tracer fire struck nothing. The assailant, Hunter, had darted into the Khrushchyovka to their right. 

 

Another T-Doll crashed against the wall. The four Grifon dolls shot into the building. Down the corridor, if I recalled the layout correctly. Flashes of energy bolts coming from the north. The Rippers missed their shots. The T-Dolls returned fire as they retreated southwards, towards the street. 

 

The first to reach the alley’s mouth was bisected in half. The remaining three turned their weapons towards Executioner. Impact sparks on her right arm. She seemed unconcerned. 

 

Another T-Doll fell. One of the remaining dolls fired a burst at Hunter. Her shots struck one of the advancing Rippers instead. Executioner turned her blade sideways towards the alley. One stroke. The resultant shockwave tore through the last two dolls and three Rippers which had entered the 200m range.

 

“Took my sound advice, I see.” 

 

FAL had taken her seat directly in front of me, blocking my view of the screen. She was calm, her shoulders relaxed. She wore a smug smile, completely unaffected by Skorpion’s glare and scowl. Her mink leapt off her shoulder and onto the table. 

 

“As you can clearly see from the vids, trying to corner Hunter in the settlements is playing to her strengths. Not a single shot managed to graze her, none at all. Denying her cover to hide behind is the optimal choice.” 

 

The rodent stood on its hind legs, placed its paws on the mouth of the bowl and sniffed at its content. 

 

“FAL! Your pet’s snitching Cetin’s dinner!” 

 

“Ta Gueule, Skorpion! I’m trying to educate our Commander here!”

 

A sharp whistle from my left. Fel reared up, looked towards Lev for a moment, then scurried towards him. 

 

Skorpion still glared at FAL. She sneered back before returning her attention to our discussion. 

 

“Deny her cover, cut off all avenues of escape and we will catch her no matter where she goes. We will nail her like a stuffed Toulouse!”

 

Cinnamon soaked my tongue. Mug clattered against the bowl. “You are too fixated on the Ringleader…” the spoon dug into the stew, “...and have failed to account for her minions. Jaegers, Dinergates, Scouts and Vespids. You will be up against them with no cover, no place to hide. You will be nailed like a stuffed Toulouse yourself.” 

 

False meat seemingly melted in my mouth. 

 

Open field, no cover. FAL’s peculiar grenade launcher, capable of volley fire. Cover wide area. May not be enough to thin the enemy’s numbers rapidly. Solution...an automatic weapon. Machine gun? What about counter-sniper work? Jaegers in the open. Their weapons have a low rate of fire. Seem to have a charge time. Shoot them before they shoot us.

 

“BAR and M14. Take them with you. BAR’s task is to thin down the enemy numbers as quickly as possible. M14 handles counter-sniper work. She needs a spotter. Can you handle that?”

 

“You chose me to be Team Leader again?” FAL touched her chest with all four of her painted fingers, turned her nose up and spoke haughtily. “You have good taste. However!” The table shook. Stew did not spill. She had slammed her palms onto the furniture. “I still need two more T-Dolls to round up my team. Give me MP40 and Papasha. I need submachine-gunners to deal with the Sangvis the moment they close the distance.”

 

“Why them, specifically?” 

 

“It’s summer, isn’t it? Not a single drop of rain, dry plains make good fuel. Just a little spark and…” she snapped her fingers, “...Brochettes!”

 

“Not dry enough,” I commented. “Fog in the morning. Dew while the sun peeked from behind the mountain.”

 

“We still have dry farmlands, right?” 

 

Both of us looked at Skorpion. She cocked her head to her right. “Did I say something wrong?” FAL wore that smug grin again. “See? Just in case.”

 

“If you need a firestarter, why not bring me along?” Skorpion asked again. Her head cocked to her left.

 

“I don’t like you,” replied FAL, without looking at Skorpion. “You argue and shout too much.”

 

Skorpion stuck out her tongue. “That’s your problem!” 

 

“I understand MP40 but why Papasha?”

 

“Another grenadier wouldn’t hurt,” FAL replied. “I had seen Papasha’s work. She’s obedient and more resourceful than she appears.” That smug grin took on a more gentle quality, “I can see why Pierre treats her like his protege. I like her.”

 

“You actually like someone?.” Skorpion snickered. “That’s new.”

 

“Ta Gueule, Skorpion!”

 

Ingram loomed behind FAL. “My turn,” she declared as she squeezed in between Skorpion and FAL. FAL scowled as the stitched-up doll lifted one leg over the bench, then another, before sitting with a squatting motion. She slammed down her paper and leaned forward, her right arm perpendicular to the table. Frenzy lurked behind her cocky grin. “I have Executioner figured out. Send me after her.” 

 

“I will decide after I hear your proposal.”

 

Her grin took on a serpentine quality. “Executioner’s no swordswoman. She’s a brute! Easy enemy!” 

 

“That is very rich, coming out of a folle violente like yourself.” 

 

Ingram continued, unaffected by FAL’s taunt, “Executioner has no finesse or technique. She swings her sword like a cleaver. Two second delay between her swings, too much telegraphing, rigid angles.”

 

“Your point being?” FAL narrowed her eyes. 

 

Skorpion tilted her head. “You are saying she can’t handle close quarter fighting against a real expert?” 

 

“You’ve read my digimind, Skorpy.” Ingram pointed her index fingers at the mono-eyed T-Doll. “We aren’t friends for nothing,” Skorpion replied with her own finger gun gesture. Ingram chuckled and slapped Skorpion’s right shoulder. “That one-year camping counted for something, huh? Aaaanyway…” she returned to the topic, “...Against someone with real technique, she’s in trouble. She can swing, swing and swing and she won’t harm a hair.”

 

“Your hair, you mean,” FAL pointed out.

 

“She’s going to wear herself down sooner or later. When that happens…” that manic grin again, “I will land the killing blow. Dig her core out of her chest.” 

 

“Cut the boast,” I chided. “How will your ‘real technique’ fare against Executioner’s massive blade? You are armed with a submachine gun and a dagger.”

 

“The dagger’s the trick.” She drew the aforementioned weapon and passed it into her right palm. FAL reared back, her eyes widened slightly. “You see, a dagger is an agile weapon.” Inram returned the weapon to her left. “A long, heavy blade like Executioner’s?” she passed the dagger back to her right palm. “Unwieldy and cumbersome, especially when used with one hand…” she returned the dagger to her left, flipped it around and swung it about in a horizontal zig-zagged pattern. 

 

“Ingram!” 

 

Skorpion caught the aforementioned T-Doll by the wrist. Her dagger was aimed towards my direction, point first. The table shook. Coffee and soup spilt on its surface. The left knee ached. Skorpion’s glare bored at Ingram. “Don’t you dare!”

 

“Tch,” Ingram clicked her tongue, “Way to ruin the effect.” She sheathed the weapon. “Point is I have way better control over my blade than she does hers.”

 

“That toothpick of yours isn’t going to pierce her endoskeleton.” FAL folded her arms. “Last I checked, one can’t stab with the velocity of a discharged bullet. Moreover, she’s a T-Doll. Her power supply might last as long as ours.”

 

“She is just the distraction.” 

 

FAL frowned as she regarded HK416, who was standing behind her. The German T-Doll placed her palm on her ‘heart’ and continued, “I’ll be the one to land the killing blow.”

 

“Oho,” FAL lifted her palm over her mouth and snickered smugly, “Two T-Dolls against one Ringleader and her minions. Why, aren’t you confident?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘two’ T-Dolls?” Skorpion leaned towards the table. FAL shot her a glare. “The three of you, and your dummies, won’t contribute enough firepower to deal with her and her minions. Moreover…” she turned her gaze towards Ingram, “How do you plan to invite Executioner to your dance?”

 

“Engage her in the settlements, forests or caves.”

 

“Commander?” FAL tilted her head slightly. Her arms were still folded. 

 

“While you engage Hunter, Executioner will be forced to move on M4A1 herself. M4A1 will most likely hide in high cover areas. Settlements, forests or caves. Ingram and her team…”

 

“My team, Commander,” HK416 declared calmly.

 

“I didn’t vote for you,” Ingram protested.

 

“HK416’s team will wait there to ambush her once she enters the area.”

 

“Nice, Commander,” Ingram shot me an upturned thumb. “Plenty of blind corners and obstructions. Too many obstacles for her shockwave attack to be effective, and her blade’s bound to be caught by something in enclosed spaces.”

 

“Keep Executioner occupied while HK416 and Skorpion clear out her minions…”

 

“You need more firepower to efficiently eliminate them,” FAL interjected. “You need someone like, say, FNC.”

 

“Quoi?” FNC turned towards our direction. “Need me for something?” 

 

HK416 gave FAL a hard glare. “G11 alone is enough against such trivial opponents.”

 

FAL folded her arms. “Oh? Can you confidently say she can penetrate Executioner’s sturdy exterior?” 

 

“G11 fires three bullets with a single trigger pull,” HK416 informed. “All three shots will hit the same mark. She will pierce her endoskeleton.”

 

“I say precision fire, aimed at the weakest points of her endoskeleton, will yield better results,” FAL argued. “FNC can provide precision fire in such close quarters. If she can’t incapacitate Executioner, she can immobilise her.” She grinned smugly. “That would be ideal, no? An immobile Executioner. You can bombard her with those ridiculously overyield grenades as much as you want. Why, the cumulative force of the blast may be enough to dislodge that stick in your rear.”

 

FNC left her seat and jogged towards us. “FAL, will you give me choco if I do this?” she asked, starry-eyed.

 

“Mmmmmm…” G11 lifted herself from her bench and wobbled towards us. She leaned against HK416 and uttered groggily, “...Precision fire is better. Let her do it?”

 

“G11!” HK416 snapped.

 

“Choco?” a stream of drool flowed down FNC’s chin.

 

“I have...chocolate ice cream,” said G11. “You can have it.”

 

“If you skip this,” HK416 glared at G11, “I’ll tell her. You know what she would do.”

 

G11’s eyes snapped wide open. “Y-You mean…?”

 

“Your flying zombies are in danger.” Threat creeped behind HK416’s cold voice.

 

The narcoleptic shivered. She clutched HK416's left sleeve and wrung her arm frantically. “I’ll do it! I’ll perform the mission! Just leave my collection alone!” she pleaded.

 

"Do your job and she won't touch your collection," chided HK416 coldly, without looking at her grey-haired companion.
 

“Oho,” FAL grinned condescendingly as she rested her cheek on her palm. “You actually trust the narcoleptic to do her job?”

 

HK416 turned her glare towards the Belgian doll. “I trust her more than the chocolate extortionist.”

 

FAL smiled smugly, “I can count on the extortionist to perform.”

 

“Take both of them.”

 

FAL blinked. Her smile faded slightly. “Quoi?” 

 

I repeated, “Take both of them. FNC and G11. HK416, you are the team leader. Your team will consist of Ingram, Skorpion, FNC and G11.”

 

“Acknowledged, Commander,” HK416 smiled triumphantly. She then saluted. “We will deliver victory with utmost precision. Look forward to it.” 

 

“Team FAL will combat Hunter in the open field. Team HK416 will take Executioner in close quarters. Both teams will remain in Hevhj around the clock. You are the QRF. We will discuss tactics further at 2100.”

​

​

​

2050

 

I pocketed the dictation machine and returned my attention to the tactical map. Surveillance mode. No red blips on the screen. UAVs blind at night. Only Hevhj visible on the feed, indicated by a cluster of pinprick lights. 

 

Paper at the right corner. Chicken-scratch of rough maps. Switched to my left. The maps I would present were under my right palm.

 

Quiet, if not for the rattling turbine and humming generator. The dead were silent, as they always were. I sank into my chair.

 

Captain, Phillipes, the scouts. What would they say at this moment? What would be their thoughts about this challenge posed, these adversaries we must face? What counsel would they provide?

 

“Cetin?” 

 

Eyes peeled from the map towards the iron gate. Skorpion’s blue eye was filled with trepidation. “I didn’t interrupt anything, right?” 

 

“...No.”

 

She cocked her head slightly. “Both teams are gathered. It’s almost time for our tactical meeting.”

 

“...In a moment.”

​

​

​

You must be very disappointed in me, Captain, to see me buckle so easily to Springfield. What a weak man you had nurtured. To think you had entrusted the success and safety of our men to me.

 

It hasn’t been a day since I declared my commitment to resistance and...here I am. Marching to Springfield’s tune again. Leaving the tomb despite my better judgement and going out into the argent light once more.

 

At least some benefit was derived from this.

 

We’ve finally devised our battle plan. Some refinement is needed and...truth be told, there are too many uncertainties in it. I don’t believe I have a good gauge of our enemy’s capabilities but...we have a plan.

 

…

 

Captain. A confession. 

 

It felt as though a weight was lifted. Not much of a weight, but enough to downgrade it from ‘crushing’ to ‘burdening.’ I felt glad...to be up there and receiving counsel. 

 

These dolls, HK416, FAL, Ingram...them and their bickering ways...they can’t replace you or our men. However, for a while, I forgot I wasn’t home.

 

Maybe it’s because you weren’t around to bump their heads together whenever they get too unruly.

 

Heh. 

 

…

 

I’m leaving now. Need to prepare for my return to the argent light. Have to work out the details, refine the plan. 

 

…

 

|Sighs|

 

Not looking forward to interacting with M14 again.

 

 

 

​