(A/N: WARNING: Updates will be slow here, but will speed up if I get enough reviews. Anyway, this is my version of Battalion Wars. Kind of a darker side to the whole Advance Wars series, if you will. It shows, in my opinion, the true face of war. Now, I'll try, if I can, to make each chapter as long as this, since I feel I can squeeze more story out of this concept. The only thing good about a story with loopholes is the fact that you can make whatever you want fit in those holes.)
Battalion Wars
The Old War
Prologue
0814 hours
Near the Tundran border
2 months before the peace treaty
The sunlight shone down across the landscape, pristinely covered in snow and pine trees, decorating the gray hills with enough beauty to almost disguise the signs of the battle that had occurred the night before. Mortar and artillery craters dotted the small space between two hills, which was also occupied by the charred wreckage of six small green tanks, decorated on the sides with white stars. Several bodies, dressed in green uniforms, lay around the wreckage, in the craters, everywhere. The furthest any of them got was one soldier who almost made it through the death trap, clambering over the log barricade at one end, only to be gunned down by assault rifles and machine guns. There he lay, the pieces of him that remained, a grim reminder of the butchery that had occurred to all of the soldiers.
However, not everything was dead.
Slowly, something black and metallic slid out from a small niche in the side of one of the hills, catching the sunlight and reflecting off it. It stayed there for several seconds before it withdrew. A split second later, the chatter of automatic fire ripped through the chilled air, and the niche began to widen as the bullets hammered it from the inside. Finally, the rocks fell away wide enough to let a man through, and the gunfire ceased. There was a second of grunting and scraping, a couple of muttered curses, and then a gloved hand poked itself out of the newly created fissure, grasping the rock before pulling the body it was connected to out.
Sergeant Rex Neils cursed once more as a rock fell from above him, landing right on his helmet. He looked up, sighting with his M19 carbine assault rifle. Nothing. It probably just fell loose because of the impacts of twenty bullets on the wall of rock beneath it.
He sighed, lowering his rifle, then scanned the area with his eyes. As soon as he had verified that nothing out there was alive, he turned back and gestured into the fissure, not daring to speak lest there were still Tundran snipers out there. A man in an orange mask, carrying an Inferno gun and a tank of the same color as his mask strapped to his back, stepped out next, looking around a little before shaking his head some. Three more rifle troopers stepped out after him, and then the final member of the platoon, a stubble bearing Corporal hefting a large M70 belt fed machine-gun. The assault trooper looked at the devastation around him, whistling as he beheld the grim spectacle before muttering "Looks even worse than it sounded." Several whispers of "Shh!" rang out, and the corporal quickly covered his mouth with an uncovered hand before whispering "Sorry…"
Quickly, all the soldiers sought cover behind the smoldering frame of one of the light tanks, and once they were all there, Neils began whispering.
"Alright, here's the situation. As it's fairly obvious to see, we're all that remains of the 68th."
"Yeah, no kiddin'," muttered the corporal with the flamethrower as he peered around the side of the tank. "We walked right into a bona fide deathtrap. Who knew the Tundrans were so smart, eh?"
Neils waved his hand for silence before continuing with "As such, it's our job to get to the nearest radio and tell them what the hell's going on. Anyone see which division it was that attacked us?"
One of the rifle troopers piped up with "I think I saw an eight on the side of a tank."
Once more, it became deathly silent. Every soldier had turned and was staring at the rifleman, eyes wide.
"What?" he asked, oblivious. The corporal with the machine gun whispered, frightfully "Are you sure you saw an eight, private? You aren't just messing with us?"
The private shook his head and replied "No, I'm not kidding. One of our spotlights got knocked around, and before the tank it was on got destroyed, it lit up the hill over there and I saw a tank with an eight on it moving into position."
Everyone cursed, and this time Neils didn't even bother hushing them. Instead, he muttered "Dammit. Then we got ambushed by the Iron Eighth. Those weren't artillery shells raining down on us. They were tank rounds. We gotta find a radio and report this. First, let's get our asses outta here."
1421 hours
Twenty miles from Fort Gridiron
Two days later
She could feel the wind biting at her face, could feel the snow falling on top of her, could feel the deathly cold…but she couldn't move. She managed to open one eye to see a blurry white landscape, with snow falling onto the blank powdery hills. Her head hurt. Actually, all of her hurt. She tried moving her arm and found that she couldn't. She sighed, wincing as the action sent needle-like pains through her lungs, then again as she breathed in razor-like arctic air. Boy, what a place to die. Out in the middle of nowhere.Her eye closed once more, one part of her patiently awaiting death, the other screaming at her to get up and get moving. The one waiting for death seemed to be winning.
Suddenly, another noise spliced through her headache and made her open her eye again. Footsteps. Then murmured voices. She moved her head a little, ignoring the pain as she tried to identify the source. She tried to open her other eye, only to find that it was frozen shut. The footsteps and voices grew steadily louder, and she could hear what they were saying. Fortunately, they were speaking in Frontier, so they weren't Tundran troops.
"Holy hell, it looks a lot worse up close."
"Damn, what the hell did the Tundrans do to this thing, carve it into Xylvanian cheese? There's enough holes here for that."
"Are there any survivors?"
"If we don't take shelter soon, there won't be any survivors, period."
"Comma, corporal it's our obligation to find any surviving troops. I outrank you, I have the right to shoot you for insubordination!"
"Exclamation point."
A few short, weak laughs sounded, which ended almost as soon as they began, before someone said "Alright, spread out, but don't go too far. We've got two priorities here: finding shelter and finding survivors. Keep your eyes out for both."
"Yessir."
"Got it, Sarge."
More footsteps, some that were almost right on top of her. She opened her mouth, feeling her cracked lips start to bleed, and tried to say something, anything that would get their attention. She couldn't though. Dehydration had taken its toll. Her head fell back down, not onto snow as she thought, but onto metal with a loud clank. The footsteps nearest her stopped. After a few seconds, they started again, slower, softer, and there came the click of someone working the slide of an assault rifle.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, they stopped again, and a voice yelled "Hey, Sarge! I found someone over here!"
In seconds, five sets of feet were crunching fast through the rapidly deepening snow drifts towards her and the soldier, finally stopping alongside whoever it was had called out for the sergeant. All six soldiers began speaking at once, making it hard to discern one voice from another.
"What the hell-"
"She's not moving-"
"Is she dead?"
"Hope not, she looks pretty-"
And then, from the jumble of murmurs came a sharp voice, the sergeant, she assumed.
"Someone go find some shelter, on the double! We need to get her to some heat!"
"What's the rush, Sarge?"
"Don't you realize who this is? Look at her collar!"
"Yeah, she's a captain. So what?"
There came the sound of cloth on metal and an "Ow!"
"You damned idiot! That's Brigadier Betty!"
"WHAT THE HELL?!" said four other voices simultaneously.
Instantly, five sets of feet scrambled off, yelling out possible shelter locations, and then reasons why the other's shelters wouldn't cut it. Meanwhile, Betty felt something being laid on her back, something warm. It took her a few seconds to place it, but she got it: a rifleman's jacket. She shifted, trying to move, but a firm hand pressed itself gently against her back, keeping her pinned down.
"Woah, easy, Brigadier. You're all banged up. Here, hang on a sec."
Something soft, or at least softer than the ground or the metal her head had been on, slid under her cheek, and her mind placed it as a sleeping pad. Her eye slid open once again to behold the blurry image of a soldier with buzz cut red hair and a bloody shoulder. He'd pulled his facemask down and taken his helmet off and was currently putting both onto her. She looked up at his gentle face, barely past his twentieth birthday, she guessed, and saw sea-green eyes, as well as a small trickle of blood running down his cheek from a cut on his temple. The blood and the cut had both frozen over, so he didn't seem to notice it. He wore a small smile, and he had a little bit of stubble, not very much, but it was still there.
Under the mask, her mouth opened once again, but this time she actually managed to whisper something. He didn't seem to catch it, though, because he frowned and leaned closer. She licked her cracked lips and whispered, once more "This must be heaven, because right now, you look like an angel."
His response was to grin and chuckle. Amazingly, she grinned too, though it was killing her thawing face.
2156 hours
They'd found shelter in the wreckage of the T-copter, in what remained of the cockpit. The belly of the copter had been blown apart, and there wasn't any point salvaging weapons or equipment from the soldiers who had been riding with Betty, since there wasn't anything left of them. No trace. The survivors must've beat it.
Betty had filled them all in, sipping some coffee made from Sergeant Neils' C-ration pack. She'd told him he needn't have bothered, but he put the camping cup up to her lips, and she couldn't turn it down. Meantime, the flame-trooper, she couldn't remember his name, was treating her wounds with a medi-pack they'd found next to the pilot's seat.
Currently, she was sitting in the copilot's chair, talking with the corporal while he bandaged her head.
"I don't really remember what happened. All I know is that we were on our way to Fort Gridiron to reinforce the garrison."
She looked up at the corporal, who cursed as the knife he was holding slipped and slit his finger.
"Dammit. Oh uh, sorry, ma'am. Uhm…hang on a sec while I fix this."
He rummaged around in the medi-pack, searching for some adhesive band-aids while Betty sipped some more coffee.
With a screech, the door opened, since the wall between the cargo bay and the cockpit was nearly intact, and Sergeant Neils stepped in, leading two others inside, one of them an assault trooper, the other a rifleman. He'd gone out to change the shifts, and the two other riflemen hidden outside had been given extra jackets to wear while they sat in their hidden positions. Never knew when a Tundran patrol might come packratting through.
Neils pulled his facemask down, brushing the snow out of his hair and moving around to warm himself up. Even though she'd offered them back, Neils had insisted she keep his jacket and helmet, but took back the facemask. Hey, there was only so much a soldier could take.
Neils stamped his feet, saying through chattering teeth "W-we've changed the shift. We should be good for the night. How you f-feeling, ma'am?"
Betty rolled her eyes, pushing the helmet a little further up. As it was two sizes too big for her, it kept slipping and getting in her eyes.
"I'm fine, sergeant. And please, call me Betty."
Neils smiled and shook his head a little, saying "Sorry, ma'am, no can do. I've had the authority beaten into me, as well as respecting authority. Plus, if I start getting friendly with you," he smacked the assault trooper, Corporal Price, who'd been ogling Betty's legs, over the head before continuing "Then these damned idiots'll get even friendlier, if you catch my drift."
She chuckled a little and shook her head. She got it, alright. She just thought the sergeant was overreacting a little.
As everyone settled down once more, digging into C-ration packs with disgust as to what they held and with excitement because it was food. The flame-trooper, Corporal Devin, she now remembered, finally said "Alright, Brigadier. Give yourself a little bit of rest, a few hot meals, and you should be ready to do handsprings in no time!"
Laughter rang through the small space, as everyone finally eased off the pressure of the situation over a cup of bad coffee, some poor-tasting food and four cigarettes each.
0139 hours
Next day
"INCOMING!"
KA-BOOM!
"Bastards! Eat this!"
RAT-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA
BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM
Suddenly, the cockpit was lit up with explosions and gunfire from outside. Everyone inside was scrambling to their feet, weapons being pulled from under blankets. They kept their guns close, not only in case they were attacked, such as now, but also to keep the mechanisms from freezing.
Swiftly, the door was opened, and all the soldiers, Betty included, streamed out, firing like hell. It seemed a patrol had managed to find their position, and judging from the heavy machine-gun fire, they'd brought a light tank with them.Neils was shouting orders over the gunfire as he emptied his M19 into the belly of a Tundran rifleman.
"Price! Give us some suppressing fire! Devin! Start going around the back of the tank! Torch the crew when you get there if you can! Everyone else, fire at will!"
And they were most certainly doing that. The assault had fallen into a shootout, with the Tundrans, hiding behind rocks, trees and logs, firing their AKM assault rifles into the wreckage. The other rifle trooper managed to kill one or two before his gun jammed, and he was unceremoniously gunned down.
"Dammit!" snarled Neils, pushing another magazine in. "Betty, grab his sidearm and fire!"
He seemed to have tossed the rulebook out the window, not only since he was commanding a captain, but also because he was addressing her informally, against his own rules.
Swiftly, she scrambled to do just as he asked, patting the rifleman down until she found his holster, yanking the pistol free. Now, she'd had some practice on a range, but she'd never actually been in live combat with just a handgun. Actually, she'd never been in live combat. However, she fired towards the flashes in the darkness, hoping to God she would hit something.
The fight took a turn for the worse, however, as Devin had made it around to the back of the light tank, and had managed to jump onto the turret, torching the gunner in the process. But the driver was no fool, and shot Devin dead with his pistol when the flame trooper tried to get in position over the hatch. However, the driver was forced to take the gunner's position, therefore stopping the tank's movement.
Meanwhile, Price was mowing the infantry down, and it was clear that the Tundrans were heavily considering making a run for it.
"Ha-ha! Whatsa matter, you sonsabitches? Aren't you going to fight anymore?"
Price cackled as he fired burst after burst into each rifleman, not aware that the turret of the tank was slowly turning towards him. Neils saw, however, and yelled out but it was too late. The turret fired, and Price turned at the sound only to disappear in a fountain of snow and dirt. Or was it blood? It was too dark for anyone to tell. However, Price's body came down after that, making a sickening crunch on the hard dirt.
And that was where Neils went, in a word, berserk. Betty watched the whole process, from him simply staring wide-eyed at Price's body, to his own body tensing up, fists clenched, limbs shaking. Suddenly, a wild look appeared in his eye and he screamed so horribly that the Tundran riflemen, who had been slowly advancing, decided they should retreat after all, and they did. Neils didn't let them go so easily, however, and emptied his rifle into their backs, dropping several of them, staining the snow red with blood. By the time his rifle clicked empty, only two soldiers had escaped. The tank fired again, knocking Neil over, and Betty could clearly see the bloody stump where, only seconds ago, his right arm had been. She stared on in horror, frozen to the spot, pistol held loosely in her hand, pointed at the ground. She'd never seen anything like this, and now, five people she'd known, had actually talked to only a few hours ago, were all dead. Slowly, her grip on the pistol loosened until it fell from her hand. Even more slowly, she fell to her knees, so dazed by the sights and sounds of the last few minutes that she didn't even feel it. Instead, her vision went dark, an explosion rang in her ears, and she remembered no more.
1426 hours
5 days later
Fort Gridiron MASH
Betty instantly knew she wasn't at the crash site when she came around. She was laying a soft bed, she was covered with blankets, and above all, it wasn't cold. It was actually very warm.
She opened one eye.
There was a ceiling above her head, with propeller fanlights hanging from it. She opened the other eye, looking around. She spied windows, and outside it a snowy landscape. Carefully, she raised herself, feeling something around her head that wasn't Sgt. Neils helmet. A needle sharp bolt of pure agony laced through her skull, and she shut her eyes, head in hands. As soon as the pain in her head finally settled to a dull throb, she opened her eyes again. There were other beds, with men laying in them, some asleep, some talking, and there were a few who were playing a game of cards. There were also a few men walking around, dressed in white and attending to the wounded soldiers. No doubt about it, she was in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, aka a MASH.
She held up a hand to signal someone, and one of the doctors noticed, stepping over to her and saying "Well, well, Ms. Brigadier Betty finally awakes. I'm Dr. Hutchinson, how you feeling, ma'am?"
"Sore." she said, quietly, surprised to find her throat hoarse. "How bad am I, doc?"
The man leaned forward, lifting up her bandages to check the wound on her head before saying "Not too bad. In fact, you're healing quite quickly for someone in your state. Looks like the shrapnel wounds are healing up without a scar and-"
"Shrapnel?" Betty said, frowning. "What do you mean, shrapnel?"
The doctor shrugged, saying "Didn't you know? Had a piece of grenade stuck in your forehead, remarkable it didn't kill you. Anyway, we also had to treat all your limbs, almost lost a few fingers to frostbite. You're a lucky lady, Brigadier."
Hutchinson stood up, about to leave, when Betty remembered Neils and said "Wait, doc."
The man stopped, waiting, and Betty took a breath before asking "How did I get here?"
The doctor shrugged, saying "A patrol found you. I don't know the details, though, so don't ask me."
"Doc, one more thing. There was a soldier with me, a sergeant. How's he doing?"
Hutchinson pondered for a second before replying "Oh, fine. In fact, they're fitting him for a robotic right now. Then, he's going home if he wants to."
1207 hours
2 days later
"I'm so sorry."
"Hey, no need to be sorry, ma'am. It wasn't your fault. 'Sides, it's not as bad as it seems."
Betty looked up at Sergeant Neils eyes, full of pain and sorrow. Watching the remnants of his division being slaughtered in front of his eyes must be tearing him apart, but like the valiant soldier he was supposed to be, he carried on without showing it.
They were on opposite sides of a wall of glass, talking into microphones with Neils sitting in a 'clean room' an antiseptic recovery area for people who'd just gotten prosthetics. Of course, Neils didn't have the whole arm yet, just the base, which had been fitted onto the stump of his arm. Now that she looked at it, she felt that it wasn't really as bad as she had thought. There were no scars, and despite the horrific stories she'd heard about these sort of things, the operation looked to have gone off without a hitch. They'd bolted the base straight into the bones of Neils' arm after connecting the nerve endings with wires, which would operate the arm like normal nerve endings. However, instead of blood and flesh and bone, all Neils would have would be a hunk of stainless, insulated steel. The reason for the clean room was that although the doctors had made the base the right specifications, the wound would still have to heal around the small bit of metal that acted as the anchor into the bone, meaning the wound was still open. No risk doing an expensive operation if your patient was at risk of catching diseases.
"They tell me I can start using the arm in a few days, and that I'll be able to come out and walk around after a few weeks. No big activity until then, though. How're you doing?"
Betty smiled and briefly touched the gauze pad that had replaced the bandages before replying "Fine. Apparently, I caught a piece of steel with my skull, and the doctor says it's coming along nicely. I should be able to walk around without this after about two weeks. I won't be back and commanding for about a month, though."
Neils' eyes lit up, and he said, "Hey, that's great! We can recover together! Eat crappy food, play some card games…" he trailed off, and eventually, they simply stared at each other through the glass until Betty said "Yeah…thank you, ser-...Rex."
Neils blinked rapidly, so taken aback was he, and all he could say back was "For what?"
"For not leaving me behind. For staying with me and even giving up your supplies for me. I get the feeling not a lot of soldiers would've done that."
Neils snorted, responding "Are you kidding? Any soldier out there, even if all he had was a cigarette and a hat would've given 'em to you. You don't realize how much you mean to all the boys out there. If anything, you oughta be thanking yourself. You're the hero here, Briga-...Betty."
1453 hours
Betty was laying in her bed, currently reading a newspaper titled The DMZ Enquirer. Apparently, the peace talks were going quite well, and new developments were being made as Tsar Gorgi finally decided it was time to pass down the control of the Territories to his son, Marshal Nova. Betty had met Nova once or twice before at other peace talks, and although he had some good ideas in mind, he was still all for keeping the Tundran military active. It didn't really surprise her, the Western Frontier and Tundran Territories had known only war for so many years that simply putting their military out of commission while their foe still had its own would seem hellishly foolish.
As she continued to read, she heard the door to the Post-Op ward open, but didn't really pay any attention to it. Corpsmen, doctors and soldiers came through all the time, this was no big thing. She realized how wrong she was when a voiced yelled out "BETTY!" Her head snapped up just in time to catch a flash of yellow plaid zooming towards her. Next thing she knew, General Herman himself, four star 'Ironsides' himself had her in a killer bear hug. She spotted Colonel Austin over his broad back, dressed up in his neat and pressed Frontier uniform, grinning sheepishly at her, two heavy coats slung over his arm.
Finally, when the short General let her go, Betty asked "What are you two doing here? You can't just be seeing little old me, right?" She was grinning, feeling happier than she had in what seemed like forever. They talked for hours, Herman telling her the progress of the war, Austin informing her jokingly about all the paperwork she'd left behind for him to do, etc. etc. until they were all laughing and telling old stories like the good times would never end. Finally, however, they settled down enough to get serious.
"So, Betty, how ya doin'?" Herman always had a fatherly attitude towards the young captain, and this seemed to have doubled in her short absence.
"Well, the doc says I can start walking around in a while. Bandages don't come off 'til then, though, and then I get to have a month of R&R in this nice, luxurious hotel."
"Really?" asked Austin, grinning. "Where is this hotel?"
Betty grinned back and replied "Here."
They all laughed again, and it was just like back at HQ on coffee break. However, it didn't last long. Finally, the question she was dreading came around: "What happened out there?"
And she just poured it out. Every detail from when the T-copter took off, to the gap in her memory, to Neils' squad finding them, through the assault and ending at her second mental blank. Sure, it didn't sound like much, but to her it was something she'd never forget. Herman and Austin sat through it all, listening with rapt attention, Herman's mouth hanging open, Austin's set in a grim line.
When she was finished, an uneasy silence filled the air, and Betty bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Herman was the first to break the silence, thank god, and asked "And this boy, is he still here?"
Betty nodded, saying "Yeah. He's in the clean room. They're fitting him with a robotic."
Austin grimaced at that and rubbed his leg. His entire left leg had been blown off by a heavy machine-gun round, back when he had been in the air force. He knew what that was like.
Herman plowed on with "Well, I'm gonna go give that boy a medal. He deserves it. Hell, y'know what, better yet, I'm gonna make him commander of this new division we're puttin' together, the 74th. From what you told me, all he needs is a little bit a' trainin', and he'll be a bona fide field commander!"
With that, Herman got up and trotted over to the nearest MASH staff member to consult the location of the clean room. Austin shook his head, setting himself in the chair Herman had just vacated, taking off his hat before smiling and asking "You ok, Betty?"
Austin had lost both his sisters in a mass assault on his home town, and as such he'd made Betty his own surrogate sibling. He always knew when something wasn't right with her.
Betty sighed, shaking her head as she replied "I dunno. I just…you know I never got a field commission, right? I just went through military college and got lucky. I've never seen how it is on the field. I guess that's the main reason why I've always managed to stay peppy. Well, I finally got my taste of the field, and I gotta say, it's a hell of a lot different than I thought."
Austin was taken aback. Betty almost never swore, and hearing such words out of her mouth almost made him ask this strange girl who she was and what she'd done with Betty, that's how startling it was.
Betty continued. "I'm not too sure what's gonna happen next, but all I can say is, it's never gonna be the same for me. Because now I know what's actually going on down there."
1024 hours
Fort Gridiron training area
7 weeks later
General Herman and Colonel Austin had decided to set up a boot camp at Fort Gridiron in order to train the incoming recruits from the nearest town, Nomad's Basin. Or, at least, that's what they said. Actually, after visiting Betty for so long, they simply set one up so they could create a secondary command post there, that way they wouldn't have to travel so far to see her. Of course, both Betty and Sergeant Rex Neils had recovered fairly quickly. Neils seemed to have adapted quite well to the robotic arm, but was still having phantom pains, where he could feel his arm itching and would reach over and scratch it only to realize that his arm was metallic. Betty's head healed with no visible scarring, and as such, she was put back into command as soon as the doctor said she could take the bandages off. During the weeks they recovered together, they spent every second possible in each other's presence. Betty, it turned out, was quite the lucky lady when it came to poker, and she cleaned everyone else out at almost every game. Neils would engage in drinking games at the local bar, and won so much that he was pronounced the Man with the Liver of Steel. Betty got a kick out of this and had laughed it up for hours on end until Neils finally asked, dangling the corporal who started the name by his ankles, to cut it out. The soldiers did so, and it was forgotten.
Two days before they were to go back on active duty, a new issue of The DMZ Inquirer was released. Right there, smack dab on the front page, were the words "Peace Talks Breakthrough!" "Tundran Territories Under Marshal Nova's Control!" and "War of All Wars Finally Over?"
Unfortunately, Betty was shipped out right after that to get back to commanding. Now that the war was declared over for now, all officers were training their men in all the newest tactics, units were receiving the newest hardware, and seven whole divisions were being assembled to guard the DMZ, a stretch of plain dirt road right smack dab on the border between the Tundran Territories and the Western Frontier.
It was an entire week before Neils, bored as hell and lonely without Betty to laugh things up with, was called upon by a messenger. And so, it was with a heavy heart that he stepped onto the obstacle course, M19 in hand, waiting for his commanding officer to contact him via radio so he could finally begin his new career as a field commander. Shame though, he thought as he waited, ignoring the cold from the snowfall around him, that he should get his commission right when the war was over.
Suddenly, his headset began crackling with static, and a voice began speaking from behind the static cloud. All he caught was the commander and his name Neils. He held his hand up to his headset, adjusting the frequency until the static was gone and said, clearly "Sir, please repeat. Wrong frequency."
The voice that replied shocked him hard enough to make him drop his rifle to the ground.
"Come in Commander, this is Brigadier Betty speaking."
"Betty?!"