Isara leaned over yet again hours later, hammering on yet another tread plate, this one on the other side of the Edelweiss. Loose as well. We might have taken more hits on the treads than I thought. I should have been more careful driving. With a sigh, she laid the hammer on the tread, snatched a wrench from one of the set dangling on her heavily-weighed skirt, and stuck in into the mess of machinery once more.
She smiled even as she found the bolts and worked them to the right, the mechanical clicking music to her ears. Who'd have thought that after vehicle maintenance courses in high school, I'd be fixing tanks on the Gallian war front? She had an affinity for it, no doubt – she frequently confounded the other engineers of Squad 7 with her ideas, and her innovations were leaps and bounds ahead of the current standard-issue equipment. In fact, the smoke rounds that had been a literal lifesaver in the Marberry operation, just a day ago, had been created by her in a burst of inspiration. Elsewhere, back at base, the skeleton of an aeroplane – a vehicle that traveled through the sky – was seeing construction. It would be her masterpiece. Truly, she was following in the footsteps of her father, Theimer, the one who had developed the awe-inspiring Edelweiss in the first place. She had done her best to maintain it - especially to improve on it - but if she got that thing to work, no one, not even the Darcsen haters, could deny her ingenuity. And convincing those haters to give up their most fervent emotion...
A timid footstep behind her made Isara give a small "hmph" of annoyance, hands still busy, mind still elsewhere.
Before she could ask who it was, though, the person spoke. "Isara?" a low alto said behind her.
Isara looked up, surprised; it was Rosie, wearing a sheepish expression, head turned to let some of her bound red hair conceal her embarrassed face. She got up, wiping her hands on her skirt, staining the light blue with more grease. "Hi, Rosie," she said awkwardly. "How can I help you?"
Rosie turned from side to side, as if uncertain. Finally, she raised a crude doll, made from scraps of cloth and stitching – but something that Isara recognized instantly. It was the doll she'd made for her for the Feast, a lucky protective charm. Her heart leapt – she thought Rosie had trashed it before the operation.
"Well… you have already." Isara's heart jumped again. Rosie! You're actually… She quashed that line of thought, waiting for the stinger that accompanied Rosie's Darcsen prejudice. They had been progressing in friendship, especially after Rosie's full realization of the costs of hatred at the Fouzen massacres during the last operation, where Darcsens had been burned en masse in mere spite as Squad 7 had taken the industrial center. But Rosie's flat refusal of accepting the gift before Marberry was a dream-crushing move, and Isara steeled herself for the insult.
"You mean the doll I made?" she offered carefully. "I didn't know you kept it."
"You said it was a protective charm, didn't you?" Isara heard noises from around the Edelweiss – she cursed inwardly. She didn't want this to turn into another scene.
"I still owe you one from the Feast, so… anything you want, just name it." Rosie looked back down again as if ashamed.
Isara knew now that everyone around was looking at her, knew that Largo was most likely gaping, mouth hanging open, Alicia and Welkin – goodness, everyone knew they were a couple except them – with expressions of benevolent happiness on their faces. But she didn't care anymore; Rosie was giving ground in her hatred, and Isara was going to ride this advantage to the hilt. She fished for a thought of how best to connect with Rosie, to end her entrenched belief, opened her mouth to voice it.
Her words came out as a mere "erk".
The sniper's bullet ripped into the base of her front left shoulder, penetrating through the armored lining of her uniform like a scythe through wheat. The skin parted easily – the thin layer of muscle cutting away just as fast, and then the weight hit bone, flattening itself out and embedding in the flesh that closed around it in reflex, shattering the entire shoulder blade. Shockwaves from the impact flooded into the surrounding tissue, bruising it and drawing blood, blood that would not exit through the wound but flood the chest cavity.
Worst of all, the shock went straight to her heart.
Isara stood for a second – heard the reverb of the report – and toppled to the side like a felled tree.
She heard screams above her – of her name, of a sniper, for a medic, for people to pick up their weapons. Shots were fired – a single report, they'd gotten him. Probably Marina, the deadeye. But it was all so far away…
Her main regret was that she had never gotten to ask Rosie to sing.
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And so, the first chapter of Isara's Survival is finished. Too much violence? Flashbacks confusing? Isara currently still unchanged? Problems are abound, but improvements can be only prompted with feedback. Suggest, comment, complain, review! It's all worth it in the end - and there are internet cookies for those who leave their opinions.