So, this is my first attempt at a fanfiction set in one of my favourite universes. It takes place during and around the events of the first Valkyria Chronicles game, but instead of focusing on Squad 7, it primarily follows the troops of the Second Independent Gallian Interdictory Strike Unit, better known as Deathwish Squad, my own creation. If you think of them as the Valkyria Chronicles version of the Dirty Dozen, that's the type of idea I'm going for. Disclaimer: I only own my OC's. All the other settings and characters belong to Sega.
Welkin Gunther, until yesterday a third year student in natural sciences, but now a rather uncomfortable lieutenant in the Gallian Militia, stepped briskly down the cobblestone of Castlefront Street. To an onlooker, he resembled the perfect warrior, calm and detached from the bustle of city life in Randgriz. The truth, however, would have surprised no-one who really knew Welkin. Head in the clouds, he was watching the movements of the pigeons on the roofs of the yellow-brick buildings, oblivious to all other considerations. "Hard to believe there's a war on.", he said quietly to himself, before opening his officer's map case and removing his ubiquitous nature notebook. "Now, that's twelve of the usual slate grey variety, three with varying levels of albinism, and hmm…is that a pouter pigeon?" Welkin's quick hands sketched the pigeon in question, with its prominent fluffy chest.
The peace of the Randgriz street was shattered by a scared cry, cut off almost immediately. Most of the people looked down, or pretended to be doing something else. Welkin was not 'most people ', though. He set off at a run towards where the cry had come from. His first thought was that maybe Imperial commandos had mounted a sneak attack. He then remembered that he had only his Gallian type scout rifle with him, and that he'd probably better be a bit more cautious, considering that he was no longer safe behind angled armour plate. As such, Welkin slowed down to a walk as he neared the source of the noise and carefully looked round the corner of the alley.
Welkin's initial response was of relief. The uniforms of the two men in the alley were not the beige or red uniforms of the Empire, but instead the blue uniforms with scarlet hatbands of the Gallian military police. Obviously, they'd caught a deserter or black marketeer. Then Welkin noticed who the two military policemen were beating up. A young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with the characteristic deep indigo hair, dark eyes and patterned shawl of a Darcsen. At her best, she would have been pretty, maybe even beautiful, but sprawled on the ground, blood running down her face and her features twisted with fear, she was more pathetic than pretty. As Welkin watched, anger rising, one of the military police snarled at the girl. "Think you're too good to fight and die for Gallia? Or are you just a coward, you stinking dark-hair?" The girl could only whimper in reply. A nasty smirk played over the MP's face. "Pathetic. Our orders are to get cowards like you to the nearest militia base. Fortunately, the orders don't specify what condition you have to be in when you get there."
"That's enough." snapped Welkin angrily, emerging from round the corner. The two military police turned around and looked at him in an unfriendly way. "What's it to you, boy?" sneered the first MP. "She your girlfriend or something?" Welkin clenched his fists in impotent rage as he saw the insignia on the corrupt policemen's uniforms. Not only were they military police, but they were regular army instead of militia, and the lead thug was wearing the rank insignia of a major, two ranks above Welkin. Obviously he'd noticed as well, as the major swaggered over and poked a meaty finger into Welkin's chest. "I could put you on a charge, boy, but I'm go to overlook your insubordination. I'm nice like that. Now git, Darcsen lover, or you'll be the next to taste my truncheon!" Helplessly, Welkin walked back around the corner.
"Either you got a death wish, or you really like Darcsens." A laconic voice with a distinct twang said from behind Welkin. He turned to see another Gallian soldier standing behind him, although his appearance was hardly likely to please any drill sergeant. The soldier's uniform was creased and his boots had the bare minimum of polish on them. His chin boasted at least a day's worth of stubble, and instead of the regulation Gallian side-cap, he was wearing an Imperial junior officer's cap. Welkin couldn't help but notice the bullet hole in the side of the cap and the faded remains of bloodstains around the hole. A red, spotted handkerchief was tied round the soldier's neck in a rakish, piratical fashion. He grinned amiably at Welkin, blowing a stream of smoke from his cigarette.
"My adopted sister's a Darcsen." Welkin confessed. Something about the strange soldier made him want to be open. "That's not why I tried to help, though. I don't like bullies, no matter what side they're on."
"You and me both, son." Another pained scream echoed round the corner, followed by the major shouting. "For goodness sakes, sergeant, can't you keep the bitch quiet?" Welkin winced, a sick look on his face. His companion took another drag on his cigarette. "Showtime. Watch and learn, kid."
The scruffy soldier walked confidently around the corner and positioned himself, nonchalantly leaning against the wall. "Pretty brave of you, taking on an unarmed girl like that. Reckon you're overmatched, though. Maybe if you got King Kong here" he gestured at the sergeant "to hold her down while you run and get another dozen of your thugs, then it might be more even." The major glared at the new arrival. "So who are you? Another backwoods militia hick with bad timing? Maybe you'd like to see my truncheon up close?" The soldier's charming smile never wavered. "Yeah, I thought you might make a response like that. It's sort of expected from cavemen whose mothers did the dirty with pigs so often, their panties smelled of smoky bacon."
With a mighty effort at control, the military police sergeant stomped up to the soldier and poked him in the chest. "Right, sunshine, that's it! You're under arrest! We'll start with charges of gross insubordination and being improperly dressed…" The soldier, still smiling disarmingly, blew a stream of blue smoke in the sergeant's face. "You'd better add charges of assault and resisting arrest to that, bucko." With that, the soldier moved his leg upwards with lightning speed, sending the sergeant screaming to the ground, clutching his sore groin. The major growled angrily, snatching for his pistol. His hand met an empty holster. "What the…I've been pickpocketed!" he screamed in rage.
"By the best, mon ami." Another accented voice sounded as a second soldier, less scruffy than the first, with twinkling blue eyes, a sardonic smile, a small pointed moustache and blonde hair held down with enough hair oil to lubricate a ragnite generator waved the pistol tauntingly. The first soldier smiled wider. "Nice work, Weasel. I'm forced to admit, there are certain times when you're not as useless as you seem." The newcomer made a face and smirked back at the scruffy soldier. "It's no good denying it, lieutenant Coburn, you know that deep down you fancy me!" The major, purple with rage, reached for his truncheon, but was interrupted by a powerful grip on the back of his collar. He dropped the truncheon in shock as some force of immense strength hauled him off his feet. The major craned his neck around, found himself looking into a face that belonged to a super-heavyweight boxer or a circus strongman, gulped and twisted around to the front again. The scruffy lieutenant, Coburn, was watching him, still smiling.
"Now, I reckon you owe this little lady an apology." drawled Coburn, indicating the Darcsen girl, who was now sitting up and watching with wide eyes. "Then get your sorry ass gone." The major squirmed in the grip of his giant assailant. "Coburn, is it?" he blustered. "I won't forget this, any of you! I'll find your unit and have you all shot!" Coburn made a noise like the 'wrong answer' buzzer on a popular Gallian wireless game show. "Wrong answer, bucko. If you wanted to know what unit, you only had to ask." Coburn reached into his pocket and withdrew a Gallian military identity card. Unlike the normal ID cards, which were light cream with red and black ink, this one was printed in white ink on black paper. An insignia next to the photo of Coburn showed a laughing skull wearing a jester's hat. The major's eyes widened as Coburn clarified. "2nd Independent Gallian Interdictory Strike Unit. You probably know us better as 'Deathwish Squad.' Which means you can't touch us."
"Freaking black ops bastards! There should be a law against you!" the major yelled. Coburn took another drag on his stogie and flicked away the used butt. "Heard enough out of you. Tank, can you throw out the trash?" The huge man holding the major nodded and grinned savagely. "Tank throw out." he rumbled gleefully, walking over to a convenient dustbin and stuffing the major in up to his waist. Coburn and the short man, Weasel exchanged a handshake, before Coburn walked over to the huge form of Tank and gave him a high five. "Weasel. Tank. Thanks for the assist." Coburn walked back to the Darcsen girl and helped her up, and then the three soldiers of Deathwish Squad walked past a gobsmacked Welkin. "Bing-badda-boom, we're done. Learn from the professionals, kid."
Later, Welkin was lost in thought at the mess table at the Gallian militia headquarters. He was jerked out of his thoughts by a beefy arm tapping the table, and looked up to see Sergeant Largo, Squad 7's antitank specialist. "You in there, boss?" Welkin nodded absently. "Largo, do you know anything about a unit called Deathwish squad?" Largo raised an eyebrow. "Those lunatics? They're a special ops unit, operating outside the main Gallian chain of command. They got a reputation for getting things done, no matter how difficult the mission is, but they're made up of a mix of the biggest maniacs, insubordinates and goof-offs in the Gallian forces, combined with some of the best soldiers to ever put on a uniform, and it's impossible to tell which is which. My advice is to steer clear of them."
Several miles away, in a different Gallian base, Lieutenant Coburn had his booted feet up on a rickety wooden table, smoking another of his cigarettes. Several other members of Deathwish squad were scattered around the ready room. "Hear some poor sap got assigned to us." said a bald man with a network of scars over his head. A young woman with short cropped hair and brown eyes put down a gun manual. "That's only half of it, Bull. I hear the fresh meat volunteered for our squad." A thin man with black hair and a thin black moustache stopped picking his nails with a throwing dagger and his face twisted into a half-smile. "What kind of schmuck would volunteer for our unit?" he asked.
"The kind of schmuck who owes its leader a debt of gratitude." A female voice called from the doorway. Coburn felt surprise and shock as he looked over the uniformed female in the doorway, but he hid it well. Her head was sporting a clean bandage, and there were bruises visible on her neck, and no doubt elsewhere, but there was no mistaking the Darcsen girl that Coburn had aided earlier. She saluted Coburn and came to attention. "Recruit Valour reporting for duty, sir."
Next chapter, the training begins. Of course, being Deathwish Squad, the training will probably involve equal measures of physical exercise, weapons drill and strong liquor... Incidentally, please be aware that this story may be updated somewhat intermittently, because I've got to deal with my Sonic the Hedgehog fanfic and the irritating minutiae known as "real life" as well as this story.