A/N: I'm not sure what the limits of Capitol war tech are. In the book it seems mostly missiles and aircraft, and in the movie it seems almost like a war of attrition, like both sides just. . . shoot at each other a lot. My genius addition is tanks.
To fangirl: Madge is a bit fatalistic right now - partly because of what she knows of war, and partly due to the fact that she just got out of the arena (remember, in story it's been like a week or two) - but she will find that spark quickly. She's not just going to be an unwilling pawn forever.
To Guest: I LOVE that you like my OC! I hadn't meant to make him such a big character, but it's starting to come out that way, so there WILL be more Calisto in this story. Though Gadge is still endgame lol.
Warnings: Depictions of war-related violence, minor character death, blood, slight PTSD
Unforgettable
Chapter Eleven: The F Squad
Whitaker glares when she sees me show up before dawn dressed like an 11 soldier. She can't really argue the issue, however, seeing as Anemone is wearing a skin-tight suit, all black with shells, and a brown net, tastefully aged, wrapped around her shoulders and draped to halfway to her elbows like a cape. Calisto is wearing some sort of mesh armor with a matching helmet. Juno practically gushes when she sees us, so we are given a free pass.
Seeder goes over the plans one final time, and I feel my stomach twist in anticipation when she leads us to the small squadron of thirteen soldiers that we will be joining in battle come morning. No use trying for the dark of night, since the Peacekeepers have night vision goggles.
Juno forces us to pose with our new, larger squad for pictures. I try to smile as I remember the pictures that would appear in the sky each night in the arena. After a few dozen group pictures, and twice as many individual pictures, she calls each of the 13 soldiers for an interview. We are asked pointless questions, like why we chose to fight in the rebellion, what we hope will happen, and what is our inspiration for fighting.
I am asked that question three times and I get the feeling she wants me to mention Gale. I absolutely refuse, instead practically spitting, "Basic survival instinct." This isn't the Quarter Quell, there is no reason for me to be that lovesick girl anymore. If I am fighting now, it is because I do not want to die and I know I will not survive under Capitol rule.
Of course I want to see Gale again. The same way I want to see my parents again. And Rory, and Katniss, and Peeta, and Haymitch, and the Everdeens, and the Hawthornes. Even Effie and Cinna. But at this moment I can't think of any of them. I have to think of the rifle in my hands and the hundreds of enemies between me and my goal.
I'm being sent to disarm the automatic cannons surrounding the Justice Building, the central control of the Peacekeepers.
I'm literally being sent to the mouth of the wolf.
I couldn't be in more danger if I just strolled right up to them. Which is essentially what we're doing, just that we will attempt to be slightly more sneaky. One wrong move and I could be blown to bits. That's if I don't get shot first.
I can't do this.
I try to pull some courage to the surface, like I did for the Games, but I can't. All I feel is an intense feeling of dread. It's worse than the arena even. Then, I knew exactly how many enemies I had, I even knew who they were, and I had a purpose. Now, all I know is that there are 'possibly several thousand' Peacekeepers, and my purpose is the ever nebulous 'stay alive.'
"Sergeant Grouch is so messed up," Anemone says into a lull in preparations. "Why do we have to do this? We're not even the A Squad, we're the B Squad."
"More like the F Squad," I mutter mutinously and she actually smiles. There's a bit of spite and anger in that smile, but it's more amiability than she's ever shown me.
I see Cassius and Justus hanging around us and feel conflicted. I may not like their role here, but it seems foolhardy to send them to battle unarmed. "They're not going with us, are they?"
Anemone shrugs uncaringly, but Calisto shakes his head. "They'll be capturing footage in the distance, and then they'll swoop in for close ups after we take the Justice Building."
"If we take the Justice Building," I say. Even I'm surprised by my pessimism, I'm usually more positive. Or at least morbidly humorous.
Calisto bumps my shoulder and frowns, "What happened to that speech from yesterday?"
I frown back, but know that he's right. I shrug and pout petulantly.
"These people, they're looking at us right now, at you. Even if it's hopeless, you have to pretend you're confident."
I think of him in the arena, the way he tried to act cool and unaffected with his sister there. Even if he knew about the plan, he must have known that there was a chance one or both of them could die. But still he acted the part of the cocky Career to perfection. I can do that, I suppose, if that's what these people need from me.
A whistle goes out and we are quickly put into formation. Dawn is breaking and we will attack them when they are still weary from sleep. It will be up to us, the thirteen 11 soldiers and the F Squad, to take out their first defense so that the main rebel army can advance and storm the building.
My last thought as we leave the camp is that I hope the F in F Squad doesn't stand for Failure.
The silence is almost anticlimactic. The air is tense, and the silence doesn't allow me a moment to breathe, but for just one moment longer I am safe. Sergeant Whitaker has taken the lead, and we follow her with steps as silent as they can be when we carry rifles, and grenades, and 'stylish' weapons for the propos. My rapier is light but still makes a muffled thud every time it hits my thigh. In the silence, it is damning.
There is an almost perfect tree line just up ahead and Whitaker slows us to a stop. There are no words exchanged, we are too close to the enemy for any unnecessary noise, but she uses her hands to remind us where we are meant to set up.
I head for a small thicket of trees and bushes, Calisto on one side and one of the 13 soldiers on the other. For a moment, I am regretful that I never bothered to learn his name. We set up our rifles and wait for the signal. The automatic cannons are not unguarded. Not even the Capitol is so arrogant that they would leave their first and greatest defense alone. There are a series of trenches surrounding the five cannons, and I can see the very tops of shiny, white helmets as the Peacekeepers make their rounds.
The sun's rays have pierced the early morning fog when the signal finally comes. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my hands shake - my aim will be off! - when in response to the strange whistling bird call, a Peacekeeper rises his head just above the trench line. His helmet is off and he's just so young, and then his head snaps back. All I can see is the District 2 boy when the mace cracked his chest open, and then I see the wave of Peacekeepers.
I pull the trigger almost mindlessly, some animal instinct overriding my morals, and I'm almost pleased when I see three of them go down because of me. We need to get over to the nearest trench in order to take out the cannon, so it is imperative that we charge at the same time as this preliminary force does, it will be the only moment the cannons do not aim at us, for fear of killing their own. No matter how counterintuitive running into gunfire is.
I wouldn't have moved from my spot if Calisto hadn't gripped the back of my shirt and lifted me with him. "Let's go, now!"
I fire as I run, having no choice but to follow as our hiding places are exposed. From the corner of my eye I can see movement and I know the others have followed orders. They are not as cowardly as I am.
I nearly trip over my feet when I reach the edge of the trench and jump in without hesitation. There is a Peacekeeper just a few steps from me, his gun pointed at my head, and then Calisto's sword slices his neck open. Idiot, I chide myself, watch what you're doing!
My entire body is vibrating, but I force myself to move forward. Now I have to be brave, I owe Calisto my life and I can't let him down because of my fear. Be brave like Katniss.
A twist in the trench and then there are two Peacekeepers. I shoot them down before they can fully react. Be fierce like Gale.
We reach the little control room built into the ground. Five Peacekeepers are dead before we fully enter the room. A sixth rips his helmet off, corkscrew curls drenched with sweat, and he holds up his hands in surrender. "Please!" he cries. Be. . . gentle like Peeta?
Calisto and I - and even the 13 soldier with us - hesitate. Does this make him a prisoner of war? Is 11 taking any? Is 13? The answer doesn't matter. He suddenly tenses and a wheezing sound escapes his mouth before he slumps to the ground.
Anemone pulls her two-pronged spear - the blades larger than the one she had in the arena - out of the soldier's back. "No quarter," she says to what must be a shocked look on my face.
The 11 soldiers don't miss a beat and begin setting the dynamite at the base of the cannon. I had wondered why they didn't just take control of it to shoot the other cannons, and was told the others would automatically destroy the one they tried to use. Even if they took out one, they would just lose soldiers and their position. The only way was to completely annihilate them.
"Set!" an 11 boy declares. "Let's move!"
To the next trench? Luckily, they are built so that the ends are close together, even if they aren't connecting. Probably to avoid giving enemies easy access to all the cannons at once. The explosion that shakes the ground gives us enough cover to jump over and cross to the next trench.
I feel slightly more confident as we run as best we can in a crouch.
"Grenade!" somebody shouts, and I feel Calisto push me to the ground, his body covering mine, before a muffled thud goes off just behind me.
"Are they dead?" I ask, but he ignores me. Only lifts himself to his feet and pulls me to mine.
Before we even reach the next room, one of the 13 soldiers pulls out his own grenade and throws it at the enemy soldiers on guard. As if on prior agreement, we all charge, rifles firing, not even giving them a chance to breathe. This time, there are no Peacekeepers to ask for mercy, no need to wonder what it makes me if I want to give it to them. . . or if I don't.
In the third trench, we meet up with Whitaker. "Good job! After this, we move to the rear!"
I try not to freak out too much at her words. The five cannons were spread out around the Justice Building. Three in the front, a frontal attack always presumed more likely, and two in the back, just to make sure they are protected. Even if we take out the first three and the rebels charge, a frontal attack would come to nothing. The Peacekeepers still have superior weaponry and years of formal training. The rebels would be pushed back or completely decimated.
No, the plan hinges on a two-sided pincer assault, Seeder leading the frontal attack and Chaff swooping in from behind. While the rebels attack from the forward face of the building, we are to make our move to the back and clear the way for Chaff's forces. The only problem is that there are several hundred feet of open field between the third and fourth cannons. We'll be completely unguarded, easy pickings for an expert marksman.
Focus on the now, I order myself. We still need to take out this cannon. There's no need to worry about the open field, I might die in this trench yet.
My rapier is a comforting weight on my thigh, even if I don't have the courage to pull it from its sheath. I follow the sergeant as she leads us, only thirteen in total now, to the final control room.
"We're running low on dynamite!" an 11 woman declares, as she hands over the sticks, "We lost a bag when Reaper went down."
"Make it count then!" Whitaker says easily. I almost don't recognize her. The emotionless robot I met just a day ago has been replaced with an energetic woman with a loose tongue and fire in her eyes.
We move to the end of the trench and wait for the cover of the explosion to make our move. Open field. Easy target. I rub my finger against my ear wrap, almost wishing I was back in the arena. But, no, that's not what I want. I don't even want to be back in Compartment 317. I want to be back in 12, in my house playing the piano. Or maybe just outside 12, out in the forest. Not training, just sitting and enjoying the quiet like that day with Gale.
"Stay low, keep your heads down! Speed is tantamount!" Whitaker instructs us just as the blast shakes the ground. "Go! Go! Go!"
My body is on autopilot. That's the only reason I can think of as to why I follow orders so readily. I'm on my stomach, using my arms to propel myself forward before I even realize what I'm doing. How low should I keep my head? Just high enough to see? Do I even need to see? It's more or less a straight shot from here. . . isn't it?
A voice shouts to my right and I turn to see the 13 soldier there. My eyes are wide and I can't hear anything but gunfire and my own heartbeat. He must have asked me something, but I have no idea what it is. I shake my head and he seems to understand.
He lifts his head a little more so I can see his lips. "Can you see-"
A fwump and then he slumps to the ground, his head lolling listlessly, the shiny red hole in it glistening in the sun. I don't scream, not even when I realize that the warm, sticky feeling on my face is his blood. Instead I lower my head even further until it is scraping against the ground. I don't even care about checking to see if I'm going the right way.
How long do I crawl? It feels like an hour, but it can't be, the battle would be over in favor of the Capitol if it took us an hour to take out the rear cannons.
The bullets hit closer now and I finally take the chance to see that I am nearing the trench. I stop crawling and position my rifle. Breathe, concentrate, take a moment. I pull the trigger and the Peacekeeper right in front of me goes down. I don't smile, but it's a near thing.
The line right in front of me goes down, my allies taking them down, and I take the opportunity to run over and drop into the trench. This time I am ready for whoever is waiting for me, but no one is. There are only bodies. Ten other rebels jump down next to me and then, a second later, Anemone rolls herself into the trench, falling into a heap with a scream of pain. She doesn't get up.
I run to her, even though I'm not a medic or her friend. It feels like we're still in an alliance, and even though we don't like each other, we have promised to keep each other alive for as long as possible.
"My hip!" she cries out when Whitaker asks her where she was hit. I can see her hands pressing against the wound, blood is practically gushing out unimpeded, helped by the frantic beating of her heart.
"We can't help you here," Whitaker tells her. "Do you think you can make it to that copse over there? Chaff's forces should be waiting."
Anemone grimaces but eventually nods. "Soldier Undersee, help me lift her!"
We each grab one of her arms, and as the others provide cover fire, we heft her over the trench. I can only watch for one second, one instant, to see her begin crawling over to the trees. Then I have to duck for cover or risk having my head blown off. Eleven of us left now. It's honestly more than I thought would make it to the fourth cannon. I didn't even think I would make it to the fourth cannon.
"Who has dynamite?" Whitaker asks.
"I do!" One of the 11 soldiers, just around my age, raises his hand as if we were in a classroom.
The sergeant nods, "Stick close to me!"
We move as a unit to the control room. I shoot. I breathe. I don't do much in comparison. I see the last 13 soldier throwing grenades. I see Calisto pull out his sword to fight in close quarters. I see the boy with the dynamite run into the control room. And I see the cloud of dirt and smoke suddenly burst from the subterranean structure.
Somehow, in the shuffle, I am the one closest to the room, and I run in to see the problem. Bodies are strewn across the room, Peacekeepers and the 11 boy. His bag is nonexistent. I think a Peacekeeper must have shot at him, maybe he turned to run back out, and the energy-based bullet hit the bag, detonating the dynamite. Everybody's dead. There is no more dynamite. And the cannon is untouched.
"Shit," Calisto mutters when he enters next.
"What do we do?"
He looks over to the cannon and I can see that his first thought is the one I had last night. Why not use the cannon to take the other out? He shakes his head sharply. "I don't think anybody knows how to use that, and if we mess up they'll target the room and blow us to bits."
"They might have seen the cloud," I argue. "They might target the room and blow us to bits anyway."
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "They would have done so already."
That's true. It feels like everything happens too quickly or too slow.
"We don't have dynamite, so we can't blow them up," he reiterates. "The only option is to take control of them both, hold them for the rebels."
"We don't have enough soldiers for that," I feel like all I'm doing is being negative, but he hasn't told me to be quiet yet so I continue. "Leave four here, and then what? Five to take the entire trench? It's unlikely that would work."
We had made it this far by targeting the control rooms from both directions. We changed that pattern now, and look what happened!
Whitaker enters next and she takes one look before sighing tiredly. "This presents a problem."
Understatement. We tell her the options we had come up with and she agrees that they are unlikely to succeed. "But we need to do something. Every moment that we hesitate, the rebellion loses more of its forces."
I had allowed myself to relax for a moment, hidden from gunfire in the control room, but her words reawaken my anxiety. I feel like I need to personally do something. "What about the grenades?"
"They'd never penetrate the shielding," Whitaker tells me.
But I only have to think for a second. "What if we threw them into the mouth of the cannon?"
For a second, her eyes twinkle dangerously, but then she frowns. "You'd leave yourself exposed, and the cannon might blow your hand off it detects you."
"But would it work?"
She stares solemnly at me, "If you approached the cannon from beneath it, it might not detect you."
"I'll do it!" Calisto immediately volunteers.
"No! It was my idea! I'll do it."
"I never approved of this plan," Whitaker argues, but she hasn't shot it down completely either.
"It's the only plan we have with a halfway decent chance of working. If it doesn't, you lose one soldier. For every moment we hesitate, the rebellion loses dozens."
She flinches at having her words thrown back at her. She nods, releasing a heavy breath through her nostrils. There is a little color in her cheeks that tells me that if I survive this, I will be getting a talk regarding insubordination.
"Soldier Undersee, your slight build will aid you best in this endeavor. Stay low, be quick. Soldier LaFont and I will provide you with cover fire from the east, the others will take the west."
I nod and take off my pack and lay my rifle down. After a moment's hesitation, I decide to leave the rapier. It gives me courage and I will need every bit of courage I can find. I am given four grenades to carry, although I will only need one to see if it will work or not.
I lift myself up to the ground and belly crawl towards the cannon. It twitches in my direction and I freeze, unsure if playing dead will help or kill me faster. Bullets spray over me in both directions. The cannon twitches forward again. I don't bother heaving a sigh of relief, I am nowhere near safe.
I scurry a bit faster and feel a thrill run through me when my hand makes contact with the base of the cannon. Now all I have to do is climb eight feet into the air as the enemy shoots at me. I take a breath and pull myself to my feet, pressing my body against the cannon. Almost immediately, I cry out as I feel something graze me. A bullet? Shrapnel? Doesn't matter, I'm not bleeding yet.
I climb, and I climb, and I climb. I'm over the cannon, a clearer target has never existed, and yet my teammates have somehow drawn attention from me.
I push myself right to the top of the mouth and then pull the pin from one of the grenades. I throw it in and then let myself fall. I land awkwardly on my ankle, and I feel a pull, just before my attention is pulled to my shoulder as I am hit by a bullet. I drop to the ground for cover and then the cannon implodes.
"Madge!" I can hear Calisto yell for me, and there is enough honest desperation in his voice that I force myself out of the ball I had instinctively curled into and force myself to move.
Two sets of arms pull me down back into the trench once I'm near enough.
"It's just my shoulder!" I yell as I feel hands fluttering around me. Why am I shouting?
The words around me are muffled, but I figure Whitaker will want me on my feet, so I get up. There's a slight twinge in my ankle, but it's not broken or twisted so I'm glad for it. Somebody is wrapping a torn and dirtied piece of cloth around my shoulder and I wince as it presses down on my wound.
My hearing is just coming back, I can hear Whitaker preparing us to take the next trench, to preserve our grenades, when a group of bodies drops down into the trench and surrounds us. Six rifles shoot up, mine most definitely not included, but the closest figure only laughs. Loud and happy, almost thrilled.
"You seemed like you could use some help."
Chaff. I recognize him, now that my ears have stopped ringing and my stomach isn't spinning quite so much. He holds a large gun in his one good hand, and his face is split in a grin that is vicious and joyous all at once. Is this what a Victor is?
Before any of us can even react to his blasé attitude, he is shouting at his troops to join him as he jumps over the trench and runs head on to the final cannon. The rebels do not hesitate. They follow their commander as if they were born to it, without fear or precaution. I wince as I see one of them be hit by a cannon and fall in seven different directions.
Don't throw up, I command myself. The least I can do is be strong enough to watch.
Wonder fills me as I see their mad dash bear fruit. Chaff himself is the one that takes out the cannon, dropping his rifle and chucking a grenade into the mouth of the cannon just as it reloaded. The rebels storm the trench and I can hear gunfire fill the air before it quickly cuts off. One side has been completely decimated. Dark-skinned figures dressed in greens and oranges and reds hop out of the trench and head towards the Justice Building.
The mission has been completed and the ground shakes as the tanks roll out of the tree line.
I can't breathe in relief at the fact that I survived my first mission. The 11 rebels are awe-inspiring. I understand suddenly how they have held on for so long with inferior weaponry - even those tanks are three generations old! People like Chaff and Seeder and the soldiers beside me are incredible. They seem invincible. They make you want to fight, to lay down your life by their side.
Even though my job is over, after taking out the cannons we were meant to retreat, my body is still strung tight. My very bones vibrate with anticipation as something in my core ignites for the first time ever. Not even the arena could awaken it. Maybe because back then I was planning to die. Now, I want to fight!
"Soldier Undersee!" Whitaker shouts at the same time Calisto shouts, "Madge!"
I am halfway across the field before I realize I am running, the pulling in my ankle a distant ache. With no cannons and the soldiers within all preoccupied with the main rebel force out front, I make it into the building unimpeded.
My chest heaves, short of breath, as I suddenly freeze. Bodies litter the ground, mostly Peacekeepers, and the hallway I am in is devoid of life. I make my way towards gunfire before I freeze again, remembering all at once that I never picked up my rifle since the moment I snuck up on the cannon. All I have are three grenades and the rapier. With nothing else to do, I pull it out of its sheath and whisper, "Hello."
The weight is familiar, and though I am tired, I am capable of keeping the one-handed grip my instructor taught me. I carefully make my way down the hallway, and I'm caught by surprise by a lone Peacekeeper, ostensibly sneaking around just like I am. My rapier is faster than her rifle and she only whimpers when I stab her between her ribs.
Her big gray eyes remind me of Rory's and my skin crawls in revulsion when I pull my rapier out with a horrible squelching sound. Whatever bravado led me to this room disappears completely as her body crumples to the ground. But I know that I can't simply stay here, so I force myself to move and somehow blindly stumble onto Chaff's body.
It's a massacre. The room is bloody in a way I've never seen, not even in a Cornucopia bloodbath. At least half the rebels that charged in with Chaff are lying lifeless in this room, just as many Peacekeepers are dead beside them. Chaff is near the center, his body almost unrecognizable due to the amount of bullets in his torso and face. It is only his missing hand that allows me to identify him.
It seems wrong, somehow, for him to die so unceremoniously. He had been laughing, joking, so full of life just minutes ago. Is this what becomes of Victors? Is this what will happen to Katniss and Peeta and the rest of the Star Squad? Is this what will happen to Gale?
I want to do something. Say some words, place a blanket over his body, something! But I don't know him well enough to say anything, I don't have the right, and suddenly a sound like trumpets blare followed by a deafening roaring.
Seeder did it! We have won the battle.
Not even that is enough to stir my spirits, and I stumble my way back from whence I came, searching for the remnants of the F Squad and the court martial I'm sure Whitaker is dying to give me. As the wild cheering becomes clearer, I am certain of one thing: I never want to see another battle ever again.
Too bad the war is just beginning.
A/N: If the action seems a bit familiar, it's because I borrowed it from the first battle in Band of Brothers. So, just saying I don't own that either.
I had a bit of trouble balancing the action scenes with the introspective nature of this fic. Let me know if you enjoyed my attempt at it! It's really weird trying to write somebody that's essentially a combat vet, but also an inexperienced soldier. Madge has killed a lot of people at this point, but it's the first time she's doing it for herself. And, of course, killing should never be easy even if there are times that it is necessary. The times when she seemed almost happy about it, wasn't so much to imply that she is being desensitized, but rather an attempt to balance the natural joy somebody would feel at survival with the inherent horror of becoming a murderer. She has no idea what to feel, and by the end of it, she's numb.
This is a bit shorter than last chapter, and it was actually supposed to include the scene immediately following this one, but it felt right to just end this here.
So, just let me know what you liked, didn't like, and thought could use improvement!
~ Destiny's Sweet Melody