And now, for something completely different.
Hammond Naval Vessel (HNV) Bolivia
Lieutenant Michael Rafton was leaning on the railing overlooking the hospital wing. He watched the nurses, medics, and doctors work diligently and efficiently to help the wounded. Various religious figures were walking around as well, giving last rites to those who had died from their wounds or died in the battle. Rafton was upset, upset at the fact that his commander tried to negotiate with the Militia terrorists, upset that his commander got people hurt, and upset that the stupid commander died before anyone got the chance to punish him for it. Rafton sighed, and looked at a certain individual, the one he saved from the explosion. She was pretty, he was sure of that, but she seemed to be very sturdy. Most of the civilians the Hammond force had saved were scared beyond comprehension, which Rafton expected. The remainder were just shellshocked, complete husks of themselves, which Rafton also expected. But the girl? No, she was up and speaking to others. She was reassuring them that everything was going to be okay, and helping the nurses with some meager tasks. Rafton liked her, and hoped she would join the Hammond forces. They needed more human soldiers, since the Hammond military was just seemed a unfeeling machine these days. At least their robots weren't brainwashed fanatics, like the Militia.
The door behind Rafton opened, and he turned around to see who it was. The person was adorned in pilot gear, and had obviously been in multiple battles, evident by his dirty armor and the Hammond symbol barely present on his chestplate.
"Lieutenant, nice to see you're still alive. The others and I were afraid you didn't make it after the explosion." The pilot said, sounding relieved.
"Markus, you know it's going to take more than an improvised Militia explosive device to kill me. You guys probably had bets on what state I would come out in." Rafton said back, high-fiving his old friend. "Now, where the hell were you in the fight, we coulda used Junior in the fight where I was."
"Junior ain't meant to fight three Ogres at once. He's an Atlas Titan, remember?"
"Yeah, but...still, we missed you two out there. Any reason why no pilots were sent out?"
Markus took off his helmet, his tanned features and blue eyes worn from...whatever he did. "Our Group Commander told us it was going to be a milk run, and had us stay back to do what felt like a half-ton of paperwork. Evidently, this was not a milk run. I mean, most of your squad was wiped, right?"
Rafton turned back to the makeshift hospital below the two. "Yeah, I'm going to need some new soldiers. I have one I think will do, but getting a whole new squad together is going to be tough to not only do, but getting them to work together like a team is going to be especially rough."
"Yeah, and they have to pass the squad exams at the end of the training. The Army Training Corp sends over twelve thousand squads to them, only three thousand go into active roles. You think you can assemble a squad that will win not one but two fights?"
"Markus, I have to try. I don't care if I have to go up to Marder myself to get them in."
"I don't think General Marder will disagree with you. He's always up for recruiting the New Frontier planets to fight for us instead of Hammond lives. The only thing stopping him is our shaky alliance with the New Frontier, they would have a fit if we tried recruiting their people."
Rafton sighed, and went back to watching the girl he saved help others. He wanted so badly to talk to her about it, but he knew deep down she wasn't going to go easy.
Makeshift Hospital, AKA Hangar 14 of the HNV Bolivia
Sam was exhausted.
She had been helping the medics and others with their patients and anything else they needed. Her body wanted rest, but her mind said to help others rest before she could. Sam had gotten friendly with some others around the hospital, people from her planet and some Hammond personnel as well. They seemed nice and, evident by the number of different religious figures walking around, were very lax about religious expression. The Militia banned religion, as they feared it got in the soldier's way of doing their job of exterminating 'Hammond scum'. Another reason not to join them. Sam wasn't taking the loss of her home as hard as others were. Her friends that survived were shaken to the core, their homes were demolished and their lives changed from farmers and merchants to refugees from one Militia attack. Sam tried to comfort them, but they were too shaken to care. She left them to professionals who knew how to deal with these things, and went to leave to find the cafeteria or at least someplace with food. Sam left the hangar, and walked through a grey hallway. She passed two Hammond soldiers, who were armed with Flatlines painted grey. They walked away, not saying a word or showing a single emotion. Sam was a little nerved by this, it seemed Hammond had two faces for their military, cold and unnerved by threats or friendly and caring. She shrugged, and kept walking down the hallway. She turned a corner, and almost ran into another person. She quickly apologized, before realizing it was the lieutenant from the attack.
"Ah, it's you. I was looking for you." He said. "Come with me, I need to speak to you." He led her to a secluded spot in the hallway. "Listen, I know your planet was just attacked by the Militia, and you may be still trying to figure out why-"
"I'm not." Sam interrupted
"Okay, but still. It's a bit early to ask, but I saw you fighting down there, on Hyrt. Whether it was for us or against the Militia, it remains to be seen, but I, among the others here, were wondering if you would want to join us."
Sam was a bit taken back. Yes, she knew she fought the Militia, but she herself couldn't really place why she did it. Was it for Hammond? Or against the Militia? Why did she pick up the gun and start shooting back? These questions, and others, filled her mind. She pushed it all away, or tried to at least. She focused back on the lieutenant, "I need to think about. I need some time, consider my options."
The lieutenant nodded, and started to walk off, but not before saying "If you have an answer for me, then just ask for Lieutenant Rafton. I'll wait till we drop you off back at Hyrt, when we know the planet is secure." He walked away, leaving a pondering Sam to her own devices. However, she just realized something.
"Dammit, I forgot to ask where the hell the cafeteria was."
Miserily, Militia Capital Planet
Two figures stood on an elegant balcony, overlooking a not so pleasant sight of factories puffing smog into the bleak sky. The planet itself was already in a horrible shape, this was only worse. The two figures were adorned with different clothing. The one on the right was wearing white robes, while also wearing a black cape with the Militia Skull on it. His waist had but only a regular sword on the left and a Wingman revolver on the right. The left figure was wearing military clothes, his chest adorned with ribbons and some medals. The two seemed to be speaking about something, but they were speaking in hushed tones.
"The Fifthteen Fleet was destroyed over the new planet we found, maybe something around two million lost in the battle, space and ground." The robed one said.
"I thought they got away? The commandant was killed, but the acting one reported they got out of the fight." The Military one said.
"Yes, they did leave, but a hasty jump led them straight into a space fight between the Seventy-Fourth fleet and one of the fascists fleet near the Lazuli Star, the Fifthteenth was destroyed in the fight, the Seventy-Fourth got away, but not without losses."
"Hmm…" The military one was deep in thought, and looked back at the factories. Out in the distance, a new converted tanker rose from the factories, with it being surrounded by carriers and brick ships. The reconstructed Fifthteenth fleet was ready to go once more. The military one nodded, and turned back to the robed one, "I wonder if the fascists know if Hyrt is very important?"
"I doubt it, they destroyed our forces, and are in the process of securing it. If they don't know, they will soon, regardless if we take it back or not." The robed one responded.
"Then assemble the Tenth, Sixteenth, and Twentieth Fleets to go take it back, tell them to form up with the Fifthteen, and they shall secure the planet from the fascists. Hammond must not have Hyrt. Am I understood?"
The robed one turned to him, his face now seen obscured by a skull mask. "Yes, High Commandant. Crystal." And with that, he walked away.
The High Commandant turned back to the skyline, his face curling into a smile. "Soon, Hammond, you will crumble to the might of my new army. And all your technology, fascism, and tin cans won't save you from your fate."