Hello. I'm Kharys.
Not much of an introduction is it? I'm rather bad at those, but I won't bother to apologise. I imagine this won't reach many people to begin with. I just needed things out. Someone to listen, to remember, to reflect. The war has become such a monotonous part of life now, far away from the Core Worlds, trapped in the Frontier. No one thinks about it. Not one thought for the colonists vying for independence, nor the thousands of IMC troops stranded in what is probably unknown territory to them as compared to the Frontier inhabitants ever since Demeter fell. But I'm getting ahead of myself. You'll find very quickly that's a habit of mine.
Where my story begins, it's since been over ten years. Yeah, that's a long time, I know. Back then the War wasn't as big, nor as serious. Some insurgencies, some casualties, but with people, you'll always find some bad eggs, and the Frontier people, boy were they the most rotten of them. That was the basic mentality. Back then, my name was Kharys Iksania. Turkish surname, if you were curious, though it didn't matter then just as much as it doesn't now. People ask what my first memory of my part in the War is. My answer is always a little sooner than most people expect.
You see, back then, the IMC Academy for Pilots had rules. Rules people actually followed to the tee. The youngest age we were allowed to join Battle School was 13 years old. Yes, allowed, not conscripted. Of course, most parents didn't put their kids in. They wanted a normal life. A quieter life. The Army was honorable and venerable, as long as it was kept at a distance and their kids had nothing to do with it. My parents weren't like most parents. The Iksanias had been involved in the Army since there has been an organised army. We were a military family, daughters and sons having given lives for hundreds of years. The moment my little sister Tori and I were old enough to enlist, we were enlisted, me first, then two years later she. Normally, it takes five years to clear battle school, gain your first officer rank. If you don't meet five years, it usually takes longer. You have up to ten years to finish or you're out. Rarely does anyone finish anywhere under four years. Why am I telling you this? I finished in three years.
Am I genius? Not really. Just very efficient and quick to grasp basic tactics and battle concepts. In my graduation squad, there were six people, including myself, and I might've been the youngest cadet expected to graduate too if it weren't for Yuna Rhie. Yuna came from the Koreas, and she was the genius. Fifteen years old and about to graduate. Second in the class only to myself, and we were the only two girls of our squad. The other guys were at least two years older than me. Jacob Rhoyne was 18, English. His mum was a well known war hero in the Titan Wars. Erik Parker came from the Americas. He would've been the first of his family to become a soldier. Cassius Logan, close childhood friend of Parker's. His parents had been looking forward to graduation day. Rhett Zaire, the oldest of us all at 21. He wasn't just the first in his family to join the army, he'd been the first to escape poverty. And all of us crazy nuts were the responsibility of Sergeant Aaron Sykes. Twenty three with a wife who'd wait for eternity for the day he'd come home.
It was tradition that the day before graduation, squads visited Airbase Sierra. Yes, the one that was blown up and left to the animals just before the Battle of Demeter. That wasn't the first time it'd been attacked. Before I had even arrived there, Sierra had come under attack by the Militia terrorists no less than three times. Three times attacked, three times the Navy had crushed them before they'd even breached the planet's surface. It was a symbol of endurance and the capability to overcome everything, and of course, it was the most important base of the Frontier. It monitored all activity in and out of Demeter. We were cocky enough to send young teenagers there to witness the glory of the IMC's finest base.
I don't remember everything of that day. A lot of it is just scents and colours trapped in the back of my mind. But I do remember the excitement. We arrived on Sierra at dawn, though we were wide awake. The boys took nothing seriously—in two days, we'd be back home celebrating the end of a grueling training. Sierra was another experience that took us just a bit closer to the glory that'd come out of fighting in the war. We'd seen pictures of the base, of course, but somehow it looked more vibrant with my own eyes, I remember seeing my orbs wide, the bright green irises some of many reflections off the viewing glass. For a moment, we were the kids that we never got to be, and probably never would be again. It's funny that while everyone, including Yuna, took in the beauty that was the rainy moon base, I thought there were too few capital ships around the base itself. It seemed most of the troops were concentrated on the other side of Demeter. But what did it matter? It had been nearly a year since the last skirmish over the Airbase and the fighting had been done in an hour with little to no IMC casualties. There'd been fewer ships then as well.
We hurried out of the shuttle—it was raining quite hard—and went into the main complex. The thing that struck me most was how clean it was. Obviously there was some order to be maintained in all army centrals, but there was not a speck of dust to be found anywhere. I whistled appreciatively. Yuna grinned.
"I can see the medic complex in you doing a happy tap dance," she teased.
"If you think the medic complex is dancing, the pilot in me is going nuts," I replied with a grin, as my eyes continued to wander the pristine hallways. "Can you imagine being able to serve here everyday? Top of all army professionals, the smartest minds contributing to efforts in the Frontier. There's more output from here than every other base combined."
"That's got to be an exaggeration," chuckled Yuna, but I doubted it. White-coats and pilots in well-maintained uniforms talked with each other in urgent, hushed tones, pointing to data pads and charts. Sharp, coded orders sounded over the PAs. Squads ran through the hallways, encouragement chants echoing through the halls before fading away while we naive newcomers dithered about, whispering-there was nothing to tour inside the base. It was the outside operations that was interesting, and until the rain stopped, we were sitting geese. So while everyone talked, and Yuna chatted about her plans to become the next youngest General, the rain drumming up a roar on the outside tarmac, I watched the works of better men and women, of a routine that I no longer recall and that is no longer practiced the same anymore. It took an hour for the rain to stop. We returned to order from the chaos of our imaginations and dreams and marched out to see what we really came to see. Ships, deployments, people returning from war. The occasional supply cargo ship coming by. The blue light flashing from the traffic controller bright as could be against the dark, nebulous clouds.
The Major who showed us around the base was named Peterson. Major Peterson. A pilot who was ranked based on the Army. Most pilots were in the Army. The elite few made it to the Navy division. I didn't judge harshly though. No matter the division, a fighter was still a fighter. We stopped in front of a ship, or rather a dropship copter.
"What's this?" asked Peterson sharply. We all intoned what it was.
"Not just any dropship coptor," he barked. "This is the Hammond Model XVC3. Does anyone know what that means?"
There were many confused looks, and only Cassius piped up, "Longer distance, more energy efficient in plasma usage. We consume less plasma trying to get more plasma."
Cassius was always into these kind of things. While the Major sounded his approval, my eyes wandered around the base again to see what was going on. It seemed today was a major supply day. Ships kept streaming into the atmosphere of Sierra, illuminated not only by their artificial blinking guiding lights, but the lightning in the distance. Some more of those new model dropship coptors and a line of seven bombers. I counted them quietly under my breath, marvelling their silvery copper sheen in light. The coptors landed immediately, though the bombers seemed to linger, hovering. I frowned. I could clearly see the ground-men directing the vessel, so why weren't they responding?
"Cadet Iksania!"
I immediately put myself to attention.
"Sir!"
"This isn't a normal school field trip, Cadet, it's an honour," snapped Sergeant Sykes. "Keep your eyes where they should be, and pay the Major due respect."
I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as I quickly apologised, "I meant no disrespect, sir."
The Major, on the other hand, looked vaguely amused. Maybe by my curiousity. I'd never know.
"Now Sergeant, let's see what diverted the cadet's attention. Speak up, cadet. What caught your eye?"
I felt the warmth in my cheeks deepen as the eyes of the entire squad fixed on me.
"It's the bombers, sir," I finally confessed, wringing my hands behind my back to keep my shame from being seen any further.
"Ah, yes, some of the best outputs of the IMC."
"They're not landing, even though they have clear space and direction to do so."
Major Peterson frowned as he watched the bombers simply hover in place, the confused control men still trying to relay instructions to the seven copper-sheened warcrafts.
"I didn't know we'd be receiving bombers today," he muttered. He unclipped his radio from his belt, and clicked the button.
"Hey, Alm, you know if those bombers are on the supply manifest?"
Only static greeted him. He frowned. I couldn't help but feel that something was terribly wrong. Little did I know.
"Seems the communications aren't working right," the Major remarked looking at the other confused men.
"Maybe we should get inside," Yuna whispered, but the Sergeant sent her a withering look.
"It's likely a malfunction," he told her shortly. "Those happen often."
The other cadets looked reassured by this, but I felt as uneasy as Yuna. Even without communication, at least one bomber should land to talk about the communication problem. And yet they all seemed lined uniformly. As if they were in perfect sync with each other. I sucked in breath sharply.
"Sergeant. Something is seriously not right. They're not following protocol."
No sooner had the words left my mouth when suddenly several ships left fold space. The sky was suddenly alight with flashes of yellow, red, and green.
"We're under attack," yelled the Major, and then the bombers unleashed their first load. My mind must've thought the sight was horrifying, because I cannot recall a single visual memory. Only that the sound was so loud, my teeth clattered, and I howled as my ears popped. Debris flew everywhere. Vaguely somewhere I could hear the orders to retreat to the main complex for shelter. I don't think I was even thinking, acting on instinct and whatever the hell I heard. Yuna, in complete shock, was immobile, so I grabbed her as we started sprinting across the pavement, trying not to slip on puddles. At some point, fright must've kicked in, because she was soon strides ahead of me. Another ear shattering boom shook the Airbase, accompanied by loud anti-aircraft fire attempting to hit the evasive aircraft.
Towers were falling like blocks knocked over by children, planes were exploding as violently as fireworks, the air was charged with static, burning the inside of my nostrils. There was a horrible screech as one of the incendiaries landed on one of the huge cannons meant to knock capital ships out of the sky. It creaked precariously, before tipping-and falling right in front of me, separating me from Yuna and the rest of the fleeing group. I could hear her frantic scream, and somewhere my voice unrecognisable to me shrieking back at her to keep running, don't stop for anything. I didn't know where I was running after that. I just knew I had to keep moving or I was dead. There was gunfire now, adding to the cacophony that was death on the moon. I'd managed to sprint around the cannon, God only knows how. I saw the facility. I saw Yuna standing at the threshold, the rest of my squad behind her, eyes like saucers, her own wide, almond shaped eyes pleading and scared. One thing I could never forget were those eyes.
I don't remember how it happened, or if it had meant to be done, but I assumed a few bombers turned around after their run. Maybe the reinforcement gunships that came might've done it as well. I must've been not even fifteen feet from the complex, when everything became pure white. I remember feeling weightless, as if the laws of gravity and physics no longer applied to me. My breath was as light and meaningless as a feather's action on a planet's total mass. My neck snapped back like some strange rubber band. I heard all screams as one anguished, desperate cry...and then I plunged into darkness.