7 - Hotspot 
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
“51. Wing reports a squadron downed at Polyphemus Base,” Die Kok announced over the comm. “Dirk, check it out.”
The Klotho.
“Very well…” Witman withdrew his Straallem Mk. I beamblade from the glowing wreckage of a T-22, disabling the wrist-mounted close-quarters weapon. Their adversaries had hardly stood a chance against them, and that much was enough to annoy the skilled ace. Mina and her lot were preoccupied with fencer combat on another landmass, leaving him with what felt like easy pickings.
Then again, Witman supposed, it was merely the superiority of their technology. The commanders of Die Kok’s unit were equipped with cutting-edge HGG-07 Klotho mobile fencers, which had only entered service the year before. Lighter than the Vegter, yet boasting superior armor made possible by new techniques in the production of the halcyonite metamaterial, the Klotho had become the ‘shock troopers’ of the GDF’s fencer component, a favorite among aces… and the 22. Mobile Fencer Wing in particular.
Witman looked forward, noting the rising pillars of black smoke from behind the walls of Polyphemus Base. Swapping for his SSKG-20 203mm assault cannon, he silently readied himself for the engagement to come.
“Something wrong, Majoor?” His second-in-command, Kaptein Anika Bolland, took note of his idle stare. She, too, fielded an HGG-07, her mobile fencer’s form standing triumphant over the wreckage of a Bogatyr.
“51. Wing hasn’t taken casualties this bad since Arkansieel…” Witman voiced his concern behind the guise of idle thinking. “No matter. We’ll right their wrongs.”
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
The platoon approached the imposing gates of Polyphemus Base, only to be greeted by a poignant sight. Three battle-scarred Bogatyrs approached with frantic urgency, two of them lugging their heavy 2A43s in hand while the third dragged the twisted remains of its fighting hand, cables dangling from the shattered forearm. Comms data identified them as hailing from the 228th Fencer Battalion.
“You’ll retreat no further!” Oralbeg boomed, raising his fencer’s assault cannon. “Or I’ll have you shot for dereliction of duty!”
“W-we’ve been utterly obliterated!” screamed one of the pilots. “I’ve never seen a fencer like this before!”
Rustam scoffed. “We’ve dealt with Titans, we can handle a few Vegters—”
BOOM
A shot pierced the central mass of his fencer with effortless ease, its torso crumpling inward from the sheer force of the impact. Sparks flew, and an explosion followed as the Bogatyr collapsed lifelessly to the ground. All of it in a matter of seconds. Asya could hardly process what she’d just witnessed.
“R-RUSTAM!” Lilia screamed at the abrupt loss of her superior. The 3rd platoon was down to one.
“They’re here!” The stragglers were filled with an immediate terror. Turning around, they managed a few shots in the aft direction—only to be obliterated in quick succession.
“Get to cover!” Jiancheng commanded. The company didn’t need to be told twice. The breaches left across the facility’s reinforced perimeter granted them the opportunity to return fire, to which Asya, Attila and Yen-Minh took point by one such gap in the outer wall, poised to peer and fire back upon the enemy.
“No, no, no…” Lilia muttered to herself. The last of her platoon, she still reeled from the aftermath of her loss. “This isn’t right!”
“Hold yourself together, Michman!” Oralbeg instructed, assuming his role as commissar. “Your superior’s sacrifice will not be in vain—”
“Do not cower, adversary!” a voice spoke on the comm in accented Zalesian. “We have come to bring liberation to all Spacers. Surrender, lest the blood of this futile fight stain your hands and blight your soul…”
For a moment, the pilots were left unsure of what to say. From her position, Asya glimpsed the enemy force. Of the six fencers, three of them were of a design she hadn’t seen before.
“W-what do we do?” Asya questioned her superior over the platoon comm.
“The fool tempts us with honeyed words…” Yen-Minh exclaimed anxiously, mistaking Asya’s questioning for a lack of faith. “D-do not be swayed by his lies!”
“I’ve never seen an opponent this arrogant,” Attila noted, “but I don’t plan on underestimating him.”
“H-he obliterated Atamanov effortlessly…” Asya said, expressing her worry.
“And we outnumber him,” Attila countered. “Up your stim dosage, if necessary.”
“Y-yes sir!”
“You too, Vu.”
“Understood!”
Complying, Asya gritted her teeth as the nervous tremor gradually left her, her bloodstream filled with an increased dosage of the chemical cocktail. They were in the middle of battle, and there was no shirking away from duty and responsibility—even in the face of a purportedly superior opponent.
The broader company, meanwhile, struggled to gauge their adversary.
“What is that fencer?” questioned Obadiah over the company comm, observing the enemy unit from his position.
“Identified as HGG-07 Klotho,” answered Jiancheng. “They entered GDF service late last year.”
“Three Klothos, three Vegter IIs,” Ye Nyunt Oo followed with an observation of his own.
“Three times the trouble,” Tamaz followed succinctly. “Their leader’s fielding a higher-caliber gun, semi-automatic fire. No wonder Rustam bit the dust.”
The lack of an answer on open comms warranted a scoff from their adversary, “No response, I see. Very well… you will see how a follower of President Frederik Andries Vlok fights!”
“Open fire!” Tkachuk’s armored platoon had assumed positions by the wall, firing off into the hills beyond. One of the rounds impacted the modular armor of the Klotho, leaving little more than a mild dent upon the enhanced, angular armor. Another shot connected, decapitating one of the Vegters.
The ensuing firefight was immediate and brutal. Rounds were exchanged across the clearing, the walls shaking with each impact that lashed the perimeter of Polyphemus Base.
“Opening fire!” Asya announced, peering from cover to fire a burst at one of the Vegters. In her agitated state, one of her rounds veered off-target from the machine’s center mass, impacting its left shoulder and severing it in the process. The machine recoiled, only for a far more precise volley to strike its groin and topple it to the ground. Memories of Irakly’s death flashed through Asya’s mind—and this time she chose not to take chances. The machine defiantly raised its remaining hand to open fire, only for it to be severed by another hail of shots.
“Enemy Vegter down! Swapping mags!” she announced, ducking back into cover as APFSDS sabots whizzed past, impacting the buildings just behind them.
“Die, damn you!” Lilia yelled over the comm, peering out of cover to fire a spray of rounds in the leading Klotho’s direction. The rounds impacted its armor uselessly, and, as it turned in her direction to fire off another shot.
The sole survivor of the 3rd platoon quickly retreated back to cover, sobbing over the comm. “I’m fucking useless!”
“I’ve damaged one!” Tamaz exclaimed. Emboldened by his subordinate’s success, Obadiah peered from cover to take a shot. Another Vegter collapsed, knees folding upon the shattering impact of an inbound fusillade of sabots. As he did, however, a shot from one of the Klothos utterly decapitated his fighting machine, the force of the impact sending his Bogatyr staggering backwards and collapsing to the ground.
“Shit! Main optical suite is down!” Obadiah announced.
The damage sustained by their leader warranted the immediate retaliation of his subordinates—peering again, Ye Nyunt Oo and Tamaz took their shots. One of the Klothos recoiled as a depleted uranium sabot shredded through its right hand, its assault cannon embroiled in the ensuing storm of shrapnel as its loaded magazine detonated.
The machine recoiled, falling to one knee—as it did, it fired away a spray of 25mm rounds from its autocannons, severing Tamaz by his Bogatyr’s legs. Staggering backwards, Tamaz’s mech collapsed into an adjacent row of military offices.
“I’m alive!” he announced preemptively. “And we’ve disarmed one of the bastards!”
The trio peered from cover once again. A few rounds from Attila and Asya pinged off the remaining Vegter. Holding its ground, it took a few cautious steps back, only for a shot from Yen-Minh to decapitate the fighting machine in a fiery flash. Its firefighting systems went live, foam spreading across its headless topside. Undeterred by its damage, the Vegter took aim—only for an ATGM to bypass its CIWS defenses and detonate above the mobile fencer. The Vegter collapsed, kicking up dust in its wake.
“You owe us one, tin-men!” The culprits revealed themselves, as Asya observed Space Infantry ATGM teams assuming defensive positions in the nearby buildings. Morozov and his forces had come once more, this time to aid the fencer pilots.
“Last Vegter is down!” Attila exclaimed. “At this rate—”
He hadn’t the time to ruminate on their success. A shot from the lead Klotho impacted against his Bogatyr’s right shoulder. The force of the blast alone was enough to knock his machine to the ground.
Asya turned her gaze, her features turning pale before she could even fully process what had happened. Scenes of Irakly’s end flashed before her.
It happened again, she thought.
As her eyes went wet and the air became stuffy, she turned to the Klothos. “YOU WILL NOT BE TAKING ANY MORE OF MY COMRADES!” she shouted into the comm in an uncontrolled rage, as her Bogatyr assumed position and opened fire upon them. In the fugue, she’d hardly noticed she was on open comms.
“Your care for your comrades is admirable, Bogatyr pilot. I had believed Asterians to be dull-minded people in service to a rubbish ideology—perhaps I may have been somewhat misguided. Bolland, Chevalier, on me!”
The Klothos withdrew with a thruster jump that propelled them into the zero-g center of the cylindrical colony, using the momentum to slingshot themselves through the breach.
With the shock of combat fading, Asya and Yen-Minh immediately turned their attention to Attila’s condition.
“Attila! Are you okay?!” Asya frantically questioned, breaking formality in her panic.
“You… did good, Asya,” Attila commended. “Not a scratch on me, don’t you worry. I’ve still got a fight in me, if either of you could lend a hand…”
“S-Sir!” Yen-Minh offered the platoon commander a hand, her Bogatyr pulling his upright.
“Thank you.” Attila steadied himself, assessing his situation. Without alternative recourse, he pried a 2A43 from the hands of Tamaz’s downed fencer, gripping it in his left hand.
The rest of the company quickly got to assessing their damages—Rustam was dead, Tamaz’s fencer legless, and Attila was down to his Bogatyr’s left hand. “That’ll keep them off our backs for now…” Jiancheng’s words were betrayed by his tone.
Polyphemus-1
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
“We’ve taken three casualties!” Witman announced. “We’ll be withdrawing from the fight.”
Majoor Jakomina Griffioen experienced a momentary lull in her slaughter as she glimpsed Witman’s unit retreating through the breach. Thus far, the combat had been effortless for her and her unit, 1. Mobile Fencer Squadron. They had cut through Bogatyr and soldier alike with reckless abandon. The death of her enemies hardly weighed on her conscience at all—most were not destined for everlasting life, she reminded herself.
“Tch!” She growled. “Maybe if you focused on KILLING your enemies instead of offering them honeyed words…”
“Hatred won’t win us this war, Majoor Griffioen,” Witman countered on the way out. “No matter how righteous our fight may be.”
The challenge served only to provoke Griffioen’s ire. “Believe what you may, Witman; I will show these mongrels Soter’s boundless love!”
Her subordinates, meanwhile, were mopping up stragglers in the hills. Pillars of smoke rose where two motor rifle companies had made their stand, hopelessly crushed by Griffioen’s forces.
“The vermin are routed. Orders, ma’am?” questioned her second-in-command, Kaptein Willem Visser, his HGG-07 standing idle before the destruction they’d wrought upon the enemy.
“We’re going hunting,” Griffioen answered, struggling to contain her glee in the moment. “Van Rooyen,” she called for the de-facto third in command of the unit, Kaptein Elsie van Rooyen, responsible for the squadron’s second flight.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Search for any survivors and eliminate them accordingly. Myself and the first flight will assess the situation in Polyphemus Base…”
“Understood!”
“Visser, du Plessis, on me!” she called. A Klotho and a Vegter II formed up on her position, standing ready. Through her optical unit, she designated their LZ, and all three assumed a hilltop position in anticipation of the gravity-assisted leap.
“Three, two, one…”
With a jolt, Griffioen went airborne, her two cohorts not far behind. For a moment, her fencer fought against the colony’s gravity—then she felt weightlessness as she reached the center. The moment was brief, as lingering would only make them easy targets.
Feeling gravity again as her Klotho began its drop, the Majoor took aim.
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
BOOM
Without warning, Polyphemus Base was suddenly subjected to a barrage from above. The thunderclaps of cannon fire filled the air, abruptly casting the entire unit into disarray. Asya looked about in confusion, seeing the immobile form of the company commissar’s fencer half-buried in the rubble of a military office.
“Three contacts, fore!” Jiancheng exclaimed. “They’ve touched down, prepare for a fight!”
“Malenko, assess casualties!” Attila instructed over the platoon’s comm. “Vu, prepare yourself!”
“Yes sir!”
Asya approached in a hurry to render aid, approaching the commissar’s immobilized Bogatyr. At the sight of her approach, the wrecked machine turned its head slightly, monoeye flickering as sparks flew from loose wiring.
“My fencer’s done for!” Oralbeg announced, confirming he still lived. “I’ll hunker down for the time being—worry about your patriotic duty, Michman!”
“Y-yes!”
With the matter seemingly resolved, Asya took a few backward steps, ready to return to her unit. She froze as she noticed the wrecks of three tanks at the foot of the downed Bogatyr. Two burned readily, while the third lay deathly still. A massive gash upon its glacis plate marked where the killing round had impacted, the edges of the affected metal still glowing with lingering heat. The tank bore the distinctively red marks Asya remembered of Tkachuk’s unit, which gave her pause.
“You! Tin-man!” There was a voice on the comm—Tkachuk’s. “We’ve been fucking slaughtered. I’ve got another survivor with me, he’s wounded… If we stay here, we’ll be crushed when the enemy fencers come.” The quiver in her voice betrayed the stoic facade she presented.
Kneeling down, Asya lent her left hand. “Please, climb aboard! Quickly!”
Its hatch flew open, a silvery-haired survivor dragging herself out of the doomed vehicle. She dragged with her a helmeted crewman, who writhed from the agony of his own injuries. What remained of his legs were now covered in coagulant foam, though that did little to stem the sheer shock and pain of what he’d been through.
Already, the sounds of cannon-fire drew near, meriting a rising urgency from the surviving tankers. Dragging her comrade into the mech’s palm, Tkachuk stood beside him, both to console him and render further aid.
Unsealing the hatch for them, Asya allowed them to board. Internal camera footage in the peripheries of Asya’s neural-linked perception showed the survivors descend the ladder, hatch closing behind them as they did. Leaving her crewmate to lie in the passenger compartment, the tanker briefly peered into the cockpit.
“You have my thanks, tin-can soldier…” Tkachuk said. “I… I’ll make it up to you, if I ever get another platoon of tanks to command.”
“I-It’s nothing!” Asya humbly answered.
Her attention returned to the battle before her as the cockpit door slid shut once more.
“I’ve got two survivors onboard,” she announced. “I’m returning to your position, sir!”
“Be quick, they’re closing the distance!” Attila urged her. Moving past blocks of ruins, she caught up with Attila and Yen-Minh.
As she did, however, she glimpsed the forms of their adversaries rocketing over the perimeter, raining down another hail of sabots upon the entrenched mobile fencers. Any relief in the moment of their reunion was cut short, as all scrambled for more adequate cover. The trio found themselves huddled behind a row of weathered structures, wordlessly waiting for word from the rest of the unit.
Three loud crashes followed as each of the enemy fencers touched down—and then, a fourth earth-shaking clamor sounded. A few blocks away, Jiancheng signaled he’d been downed.
“Stand and fight, company!” Still, the company commander attempted to maintain order over the comm, even as all reeled from the attack. “We still outnumber them two to one!” The words weren’t exactly reassuring, given how quickly they’d been torn into by the unit.
“Enemy fencers sighted!” The Space Infantry were first to confront their new attackers, Morozov commanding what remained of his company. “Fire ATGMs!”
Contrails surged from some of the buildings, only for the missiles to be uselessly cut down by the enemy fencer team, active decoys filling the air and rendering coherent tracking of their positions useless. The fencers retaliated with blasts of autocannon fire that shredded through the pockmarked structures around them.
The trio stood their ground with bated breath. Amidst the ruins of Polyphemus Base, they were confronted with a game of cat and mouse—and none were quite certain which they were. The enemy seemed wholly undeterred, despite their superior numbers.
“And so we trample the corpses of the unworthy…” Over open channels, a woman spoke in Ruimters. Their systems translated her speech automatically, relaying it to the Union State pilots. “I expected nothing less. Come, barbarians! Show me the worth of your ideology in the face of the faithful and righteous!”
“This zealot mocks us!” Yen-Minh uttered, a tremor in her voice.
Unfazed by their opponent, Obadiah took initiative. “Kallio, Yo! I’ve designated adequate positions for an ambush.”
“Understood!” Attila affirmed. With a gesture to his peers, the 2nd platoon moved once more, positioning themselves behind a battered inner wall of the large military complex. Opposite them were Obadiah, Ye Nyunt Oo and Lilia.
“We have eyes on their leader,” said Obadiah. “If we take her down, the rest will surely follow. Michman Yo, keep her distracted—aim for her knees, if possible. The rest of us will cover you as she approaches.”
The sole survivor of the 3rd platoon responded with murderous determination, “Yes.”
With a light boost from her thrusters, she brought herself to the middle of the street, cannon aimed ahead. The Klotho seemed preoccupied with shredding through the Space Infantry put up to halt its rampage, autocannons cutting through teams as if they were paper. A swing of its wrist-mounted beamblade practically vaporized one of the barracks, leaving nothing but burning ruins in its wake. Beside it was a Vegter II, assisting the advanced fencer in its assault.
“This… is for everyone I’ve lost!”
Lilia opened fire. A round pierced the side of the Vegter II, the ensuing orange flash staggering the Klotho. Sabots pattered against the armor of the formidable fighting machine, drawing its attention away from the abrupt loss of its cohort.
Obadiah picked the moment carefully. “Go!”
Attila nodded. “Let’s show them what we’re made of!”
The company emerged from cover, poised to join Lilia in the impromptu firing squad. Before her mag could even run dry, however, the advanced fencer had lunged forward, propelled by its suite of multiple thrusters.
“Rejoice! For it is an HONOR to be cut down by a servant of God!” The ace howled, a manic fervor in her voice. Upon the wrists of the fighting machine, its beamblades lit up with an energetic crackle, poised for a close-quarters strike.
“I-incoming—” Lilia hardly had a moment to react. The Klotho careened into her Bogatyr, both machines sent crashing into the buildings behind them. As the rest of the company turned their guns to fire, the Klotho held up Lilia’s fencer as a shield, bearing the initial brunt of the volleys.
“She’s using Michman Yo as a shield!” Asya exclaimed, releasing her grip on the trigger.
“FUCKING CEASE FIRE!” Attila bellowed. There was a momentary lull in the pilots’ fire amidst the realization, as Lilia pleaded for her life over the comm.
“H-HELP ME! I don’t wanna die! I DON’T WANNA DIE—”
“God have mercy on your wretched soul!” The enemy pilot exclaimed. A bright flash ensued as the Klotho’s beamblades deployed, impaling the Bogatyr through its center mass. Lilia’s terrified screams were cut short as she was vaporized in the ensuing tempest of searing energy, her comm going dead in a morbid burst of static.
“Oh no—” Yen-Minh had hardly a moment to react, as, from their flank, the second Klotho emerged.
“FALL BACK!” Obadiah’s instruction was followed by the unit’s swift maneuvers as they attempted to elude their adversaries. Chaos took hold, and the two platoons quickly split up in the blur of their retreat. Asya struggled to keep up with her superior, with Yen-Minh not far behind. Yet they weren’t alone—one of the two Klothos had given chase, intent on finishing them off.
The 2nd platoon found itself backed into one of many ruined blocks of the facility, backs to the wall. The sound of loud, mechanical footsteps drew near. Asya hastily reloaded her magazine, training her assault cannon straight ahead. If they were to be cornered in this street, they’d be ready.
A male voice spoke on the open comm, “Come on out! There are billions more small-souled vermin like yourselves… your sacrifice will be meaningless.”
Maybe meeting her end here wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed. Surely, Irakly awaited her on the other side.
“We’re not dying here,” Attila’s words gave Asya pause. “Remember that!”
She set the thought aside. “Y-yes sir!”
Yen-Minh answered her superior’s assurance with an anxious battle cry. “I serve the Union State!”
As the Klotho rounded the corner, the platoon opened fire. A lucky impact from Yen-Minh impacted the shoulder of the fighting machine, momentarily staggering it.
“You have some guts—”
Their opponent hadn’t the time to finish his words. An impact from Asya’s assault cannon shattered its hip joint, the advanced fencer lurching to the side as it collapsed headfirst into what’d once been a military office. A shot in Attila’s wild spray pierced its side, sparks flying as the Klotho went limp.
Faced with the idle form of the machine, none were sure what to do—subconsciously, Asya feared it might rise abruptly and slaughter them where they stood.
“We…” Yen-Minh began.
“We did it!” Asya finished her compatriot’s words.
Attila, on the other hand, got straight to the point, “Let’s regroup with Mordechai.”
Setting foot in the military complex’s concourse, the trio halted at the sound of cannon-fire.
Over the comm, their remaining opponent now spoke with an eerie calmness to her tone. “This is not over, mongrels. We will return—and we will cut you down, like the weeds you are. Get right with God—lest your fate be the same Hellfire in which your dead now boil.”
The silhouette of a Klotho leapt, rocketing in the aft direction. Landing outside the base, it leapt again—the second time was its retreat. The colony’s automated drone swarms had mended the initial set of breaches created by the Grenslander attack, only for the retreating fencer to pierce the glass once more.
Then more followed. Relief turned to confusion at the sight of the Grenslander fencers retreating en masse. Outside, the explosions had diminished, leaving the outcome of the space battle ambiguous.
“They’re retreating!” Yen-Minh observed with tenuous excitement.
“GDF forces have just received a retreat order,” Jiancheng observed. That the company’s commander was still alive was a reassurance in of itself, despite the losses the unit had faced thus far. “They’re pulling back on all fronts. Our fleet’s taken some losses, too- but we’ll have to worry about that later.”
“It’s… over?” Asya questioned between bated breaths.
“I’d say it’s just begun…” Attila hesitated to celebrate prematurely, but was quick to offer a caveat to his subordinates, “but you’ve both done well.”
“What we just experienced was a decapitating strike,” said Oralbeg. “We cannot let the imperialists have such a victory. This unit will be returned to fighting capacity as soon as possible! Our survival depends on it!”
“Not even an evening to celebrate, commissar?” questioned Obadiah.
“Tch!” Oralbeg scoffed. “Fine! This unit has earned that much- but do not interpret this fleeting luxury as an excuse to slacken!”
At this, the unit eased up at last, laughter breaking out among the ranks. There’d be a lot to clean up, and the future ahead of them remained uncertain—but, if only for a moment, they’d triumphed. A fitting celebration—and a send-off to the deceased—was in order.
“Our work is done here. Let’s drag our tin-men back to their pens.” The platoon commander paused, looking at his Bogatyr’s missing arm. Turning to Asya and Yen-Minh, he continued, albeit in a softer tone, “I… don’t think I would’ve made it without your help. Thank you both.”
Asya could hardly hold back her own emotions. “I… won’t fail you ever again, sir!”
Yen-Minh nodded. “It is my patriotic duty to serve!”
Attila paused, as if to think. “And welcome to the team, Michman Vu. I’d say you’ve more than proven yourself.”
Asya could practically hear her new cohort light up at the affirmation. “T-thank you, sir. I’ll do my best!”
Polyphemus Base
Polyphemus, Union State Provisional Military Government
Asterian Union State
“… Furthermore, we are expecting a sortie within the week. We might’ve been dealt a black eye, but this fight is far from over. Consider that a promise.” A morbid silence hung over the room as Jiancheng finished their debrief.
“Now that Leytenant Jin has updated you on our status,” Oralbeg stepped forward and said, “it should be pertinent that you understand what you will be up against.”
“Wouldn’t that be the GDF, sir?” Tamaz asked.
Jiancheng chuckled as the commissar pointed towards him. “Right, but can you tell me what it is that’s driving them to attack our Union State?”
Tamaz scratched his head. “All I know… is they gained independence from Olympic City and purport to be fighting for Spacer rights.”
“You’re correct, but that’s not enough. It is true that the ‘Free State of Grensland’ broke away from the Coalition in 0117, and that they brag about ‘defending Spacers’… But don’t you forget that these snakes have knowingly married the traitors in Kunlun.”
None in the company spoke up, as they listened to the commissar’s explanation. He continued with an ideologue’s passion, his fists swinging before his face.
“Grensland… has always been a delusional dictatorship, launched by overzealous Spacers in the name of their lunatic interpretation of the Lectorist religion. Their belief is in their destiny as ‘God’s Chosen People’ to ‘liberate’ mankind in space—this is but demagogy for their terrorist state to exploit gullible Spacers, and establish a theocratic space empire! And yet their church-state is held, by the rhetoric of a demented madman on television named Gaudensius Wit, who whips their entire population into a frenzy, making them believe YOU are below them: a garbage-can race, as they literally call you!”
Oralbeg paused to let the company reflect on his words for a brief moment, before he finished his explanation.
“We, as those who hold the mantle of mankind’s liberation, cannot stand to have these crazed goldilocks unleash their brand of misery upon the masses of the cosmos. It is imperative that you keep at heart our mission to defend Man from his own undoing. I expect you to remain steadfast in your loyalty and devotion to our Union State.”
“YES, SIR!” they responded in unison, Yen-Minh especially seeming as though she had been revitalized for the minute.
“… You may go.”
The walk back to their barracks was largely a wordless one, Attila leading his pair of subordinates ahead.
The sight of the barracks finally let a word escape the platoon commander.
“Is that all now?” Attila sighed. “We lost a whole platoon today, what an unfitting end to that.”
The building had been spared the worst of the fighting—it was still standing, at least. Already, engineers assessed the aftermath, while a pair of space infantrymen dragged out a conspicuously light body bag—Kalontarov, Asya assumed.
Jiancheng traded words with one of the engineers, returning to the group and nodding. “It’s structurally sound,” he announced. “Third platoon hall’s got a hole in the roof… hopefully it’s patched up by the time we receive replacements. Get out of those suits and get some rest.”
Most returned to their respective halls once out of their pilot suits, the 2nd platoon included. Looking on, Asya breathed a sigh of relief—at least they had a roof to sleep under.
“Ah, um…” Turning around, she was met by the sight of Yen-Minh tugging at her sleeve. “Could you help me unpack my things? I was… interrupted, when all of that happened.”
Asya looked to Attila, who returned her unspoken question with a nod.
“You two can busy yourselves with that for a bit—I’ve got something planned to raise our spirits.” Not elaborating further, he set off for his room. Left to their own devices, the remaining pair wandered into Yen-Minh’s room.
Once inside, the young pilot seated herself at the bed, reaching down for her bag. At her side, she’d laid her trusty Party handbook, seemingly never letting it stray from her reach.
“It’s not much, I assure you,” Yen-Minh interpreted Asya’s idleness to be hesitation. “I try to live an austere life, one the Party would approve of.”
Asya was unsure of how to respond. “You’re a very diligent girl, Vu.”
“I could say the same to you,” the bookish rookie began, “But do you not find the menial chores objectionable? The quotations dictate that subordinates should not—”
Asya was quick to set the record straight. “It’s… not that way, really. You’ll get used to him.”
“Hmph!” Yen-Minh gave a pompous raise of her chin. “With enough guidance, even he could be an All-Union Man. Maybe I just need to give him a push in the right direction…”
“I… wouldn’t lecture him so soon, Michman Vu,” said Asya. “Get to know him, and you’ll find his heart’s in the right place.”
Yen-Minh pondered her words for a moment, before finally conceding. “If you insist…”
Asya returned to the topic. “So, your stuff..”
“Ah—Right, of course.” Yen-Minh blinked. Opening the bag, she got to stacking its contents on the bed—she paid little mind to the handful of hygienic products, official identification and other minutiae, far more passionate about the small library she’d brought along. “The Quotations of Mikhail Voronin, Selected Writings of Vsevolod Loginov, On The Governance of Asteria—I quite enjoy Vozhd Loginov’s insights—Proletarian Patriotism and Prostasist Revolution by Giôdoe Phrancô Tô…”
“You’re very well-read, Michman,” Asya remarked. “Maybe I can borrow one of these later—i-if you don’t mind, that is.”
Yen-Minh lit up at the idea of Asya potentially sharing her interest. “O-of course! Whenever you’d like to.”
Asya took the largest two, carrying them over to a nearby shelf. Her volunteering to help seemed enough to stir the rookie to action, joining her in organizing the books.
“Alphabetical order, please…”
“Ah, sorry—” Asya noticed Yen-Minh quietly slip an unmarked book into the shelf.
“That’s my…“ she hesitated to finish that sentence, “sketchbook. I draw sometimes, when I’m not reading. It’s not much..”
Asya’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “Can I… see it?”
Yen-Minh’s pale cheeks grew the slightest bit redder. “W-well… if you don’t mind my mediocrity..”
The pair returned to the bed, the rookie opening her sketchbook. Asya looked on, transfixed on her new compatriot’s creative work. Passing doodles of nature, the young Michman showed her eye for still life. She remained wordless until she came to stop at a page depicting a Bogatyr.
Asya took note of her attention to detail. “Wow… you’re really good at this!”
Yen-Minh looked away in embarrassment. “It’s not much…”
As the pages went on, her art took on increasingly militaristic setpieces—scenes aboard the Admiral Khasanov, the Bogatyrs, the Space Infantry in their idle duties… Yen-Minh came to a stop on a particular page.
By the grasp of line weight and shadows, she’d evidently put a good amount of work into this one. Three pilots in uniform, smiling as they stood together—in the middle was Yen-Minh, with the young man to her right and a young woman to her left.
“I hope they’re okay…” she muttered to herself.
“Are you alright?”
“Ah—” Yen-Minh looked up in surprise, reminded that Asya was in the room with her. “They’re.. my friends. We were the only survivors of our company. They got reassigned to the 3rd, while I got reassigned to the 1st. I… hope they’re doing fine after this last battle.”
“I’m sure they’re doing alright,” Asya consoled her. “Everything’s been a mess since we got here. I’m sure they have their own stuff to sort out.”
Closing the sketchbook, Yen-Minh smiled. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry for burdening you with this.”
Just then, the door creaked open. Peering inside, Attila knocked on the door after-the-fact.
“Ladies?”
In his hand, he held a guitar—it’d just been dusted off, by the looks of it.
Asya neared him, and gave the instrument a look of mild bemusement. “Sir? This is…”
“My guitar. I did some time with a VIA, I know a thing or two about how to make noise.”
That much had alarmed Yen-Minh, who approached them in fast steps. “E-excuse me, sir. Do we have permission to play spontaneous music?”
Her superior emitted a couple hearty chuckles at the question. “We do have the commissar’s word to take the evening to celebrate being alive… and mourn the dead. Even that Altynsarin should understand, Michman.”
Asya glanced at the Yen-Minh, whose confused “would correct ‘commissar’ to ‘political officer’” face turned left and right in a half-pout. She then conceded with a nod and a murmur, “I understand.”
Following the platoon commander outside, Asya noted the modest bonfire he’d prepared by a decrepit section of wall. The firewood was already beginning to glow, casting bathing the hastily-arranged circle of makeshift benches in orange light.
Seating himself, Attila gave his guitar a tentative strum. “How about it? A few songs around the fire… Good way to get your mind off things.”
Neither of the girls objected, joining him by the fire.
“Forgive me, Michman Vu, this one might be a little bit crude…” He prefaced.
Getting a feel of his instrument once more, Attila played with growing confidence. The two subordinates looked on, somewhere between curiosity and admiration. Then, he segued into lyrics.
Paraphrased:
“Vodka on my breath,
Stims in my veins,
I've met Lady Death,
and She remembers my name.
Under the c-beam's flash,
My flesh boils.
Let my mama know,
I was always loyal.”
While that went on, Yen-Minh’s eyes were fixed on her new superior of barely a day. His casual confidence reflected on her dilated pupils. Only when he finished and Asya turned to her did she realize how long she had been staring at him for.
“Malenko,” Attila called, the guitar offered from his hands in his subordinate’s direction.
“Huh? Me?”
“You. I know you’re aware of how to play these things. Let’s see how the VIAs would’ve liked you.”
Tentatively, Asya accepted the guitar offered by her superior, settling back down as she gave it a cautious strum. A few more tries quelled her anxiety enough to proceed.
In the moment, the only thing she could dredge up was a common soldiers’ song, passed along by word of mouth. Mindful of Yen-Minh’s sensibilities, Asya omitted a handful of the more vulgar verses sometimes used, intending to keep things positive.
Paraphrased:
“I dreamt of home last night,
Of my childhood days.
Now I've grown to fight,
On these islands in space.
The nation calls,
For all to hear.
The enemy's at our walls,
Fight for what you hold dear.
At break of dawn,
Our Bogatyrs head out.
Fight the imperialist pawns,
Make the cowards rout.
Plateia behind us,
Tianshu ahead.
Only when the battle's over,
Will we mourn the dead.”
When Asya had returned the scene around the fire to its prior quiet, she handed the guitar back to its owner.
“Charming. Your music career would’ve been brilliant,” Attila remarked.
“You’re… too kind, sir.” She smiled, nonetheless.
Beside her, Yen-Minh drew near, and spoke under her breath into her ears:
“Your singing voice is beautiful, Miss Malenko…”
Something in Asya was shaken. Her face reddened, and her head rotated towards the girl next to her. “W-why would you use that?” she whispered back.
“I’m…” Yen-Minh was understandably confused. “Did I… I’m sorry for any offense!”
The apology made the irrationality of her reaction click. “No… no! I was… just… caught off-guard by the ‘Miss,’ that’s all.”
“I would’ve called you ‘big sister’ had that not sounded strange for people outside eastern Asteria… I’ve elected to call women ‘Miss’ instead, do you not like it?”
“No, it’s…” Something of Irakly returned within the look in Yen-Minh’s eyes at that moment, causing Asya to take a deep breath after a brief pause. “It’d be fine by me.”
So a faint smile was imprinted onto the bespectacled girl’s face, and in Asya’s mind. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Seemed there was much for the Michman to remember of that day beyond death and war after all.