ME: Battle time, or preparation for battle time, readers! A/N: Interlude.
*Fort Cheyenne CIC*
"Sir, an enemy infantry force from the east is Oscar Mike to the evacuation defenses now."
Augustus stared at the operator. "Did they get past our defenses?"
"Affirmative, sir. Our forces are holding, but the rebels were able to slip this group past our defenses. All available units already at the front are tied up dealing with both local rebels and soldiers from Thirteen as well as the rest of Panem."
"Son, what are we dealing with?"
The younger Peacekeeper swallowed. "Sir, reports indicate that the hostile unit is of battalion-strength. That means they have at least eight-hundred troops, though they could have a thousand or even one-thousand-two-hundred soldiers total. Looks like a mix of APCs and technicals plus stolen MRAPs in addition to gun trucks. They also appear to have a company-sized tank unit for support."
The Head Peacekeeper of the Armies gasped. Even at the most conservative estimates the Loyalist defenders would be outnumbered by at least a four-to-one margin (the Peacekeeping battalion defending the evacuation had been reduced to two hundred, and while the Militias would've reinforced them both were undoubtedly even further depleted); the most liberal estimates would have them outnumbered six-to-one.
Fuck. "Alright," Augustus asked, "are there any available reinforcements for us to dispatch?"
One of his three aides, a Lieutenant Colonel, typed at his tablet. "We could scramble a flight of hovercraft to attack the tanks, thinning them out will be key to evening the odds. On top of that, sir, we just finished repairing a platoon's worth of our own tanks."
"Release them immediately on my authority," he ordered. "And get me a line to Thread five minutes ago."
His youngest aide, a newly minted Major, smiled. "Once those tanks are gone, sir, we'll have Johnny Reb on the run."
"You young fool," retorted his eldest, a full-bird Colonel. "Commander Lyme and her officers may be traitors, but they're not fools. She's a fucking Victor for Mars's sake, not to mention our forces are at best outnumbered by a four-to-one margin.
*Back to the front*
"Thread, this is Augustus. Radio check, over."
Everyone who heard that stood a little straighter. "Go ahead, sir."
Terrible news soon followed. "A battalion-sized enemy mechanized infantry force is inbound from the east, strength could be anywhere from eight-hundred at the least to twelve-hundred-that's one-two-double-zero-at the most. Additionally, attached to them is a company-sized tank unit."
"Holy shit," District Two's Head Peacekeeper replied.
"Grab the propo crew and return to base immediately, your position is not safe. I say again, get your ass in gear and take the VIPs with you."
"Roger that. Thread out," he answered.
He turned to Irons. "Kid, get your crew together, we're leaving."
"No!" Said the actor. "I'm not running away from a fight when I should be helping out, I'm combat-trained!"
"Kid-."
"Sorry to interrupt," Julia said, "but just got word from Egeria: The President himself ordered that our footage of the SSS to not be aired-in fact, they deleted it."
"WHAT?!" Both men yelled in surprise at the news.
"They're worried about it being used in rebel anti-Loyalist propos or it inciting their troops to go down fighting rather than surrender."
Enobaria could tell the young Capitolite wasn't happy about the decision made by the powers that be despite her neutral and objective tone.
"If you and your crew wanna stay here, son," Thread told Irons, "what if you end up dead from a Thirteen bullet?"
Centurion Panem smiled. "Then Manius and Marcus better get it on camera."
The Head Peacekeeper simply left with his aides in tow along with the surviving Rebel prisoner-turned-refugee. As their transport left, four attack hovercraft soared overhead towards the east.
"Platoon leaders, return to your subordinates," Flavius ordered as his earpiece beeped.
"Oscar Four Foxtrot, this is Spartan One Actual. Come in, over."
"Spartan One," he replied while walking, "Flavius here. Go ahead, over."
"Be advised: We are Oscar Mike to your position from Fort Cheyenne, ETA eleven or so Mikes. Acknowledge."
"Understood, Spartan."
Irons and his crew joined her behind the barricades along with Lawrence and the two Cadets, the latter of whom wearing modern vests and helmets undoubtedly formerly owned by either the five SSS or the guard.
"Man," Nero said, "this vest is so much more comfy and practical then the old model. Not to mention protective."
Claudia snorted. "What do you expect? I helped design the new uniform."
*Flashback*
Claudia let out a sigh of relief. She was finally finished.
Her older cousin (who had babysat her when she was younger) had been injured serving in District Eleven, for the rubes had rioted after Rue's death (why didn't any of the eighteen-year old female rabble volunteer if they were so angry about her death?); both of his legs had to be amputated because a mob had beat him to the point of where he barely survived, and thus would receive an honorable discharge before returning to Two post-recovery.
Evidently the helmets were part of the reason why the masses of Eleven revolted; the transparent half-visor clearly was inadequate for intimidating them into submission. So she applied what she knew of psychology to her artwork.
Going downstairs, she opened the door for her mother with one hand and held her sketchbook in another.
"Mom," she asked, "remember what happened in Eleven?"
"There was a riot, yes," she answered. "Your cousin was injured, you know. You'll have to be supportive of him since they had to amputate his legs."
"I know," Claudia answered, "and I wanna make sure things like that riot don't happen again." She opened the sketchbook to a certain page and showed her most important drawing-a Peacekeeper helmet with an opaque visor. "Can we make something like this, Mom? For him?"
*Back to the present*
"You designed the new uniform?" Lawrence asked the redheaded girl, clearly surprised beyond belief.
"Yes and no," the Cadet replied. "For starters, DARPA actually designed the uniform itself with the aesthetics modeled off my drawings. But I did suggest the following elements-an opaque visor, the helmet having an integrated gas mask for CBRN protection, the vest being more protective on top of being made more comfortable to wear and the kneepads."
"How was your mother able to get your proposal to DARPA?" Enobaria asked; she was impressed that the design made it out of Two.
"She's a weapons factory manager," Claudia answered. "She used her connections to get it done-you're welcome, Lieutenant."
*Peacekeeper attack hovercraft Eagle One-One*
"You good back there?" The pilot asked his PWO in the rear.
"Yeah," she replied. "Guns and bombs are ready."
"Eagle One-One, this is Command," came the order over the radio.
He replied with a, "Go ahead, Command, over."
"Eagle One-One, you are cleared to initiate your attack. Command out."
At this, the pilot switched frequencies. "Alright, Eagle One, Command wants those tanks taken care of so the ground-pounders don't have more on their overfilled plate. Semper Fi?"
"Semper Fi!"
"Firing now!" His PWO shouted as she squeezed the trigger.
The pilot was only able to count to three before a Thirteen tank exploded.
*Back to Enobaria*
"All units, this is Blue One. Be advised: Hostiles are about two klicks out, over."
Lawrence glanced over at the two Cadets, smiling at Nero. "So, you two already fuck yet?"
The two were clearly embarassed by the Victor's question. Nero covered his ears even though he was wearing the latest helmet. "INAPPROPRIATE PUBLIC ENVIORNMENT, INAPPROPRIATE PUBLIC ENIVORNMENT!"
Claudia, on the other hand, maintained her composure. "What, no!" Enobaria smiled as she wondered if her probable blushing matched her hair. "I'm not a tesserae queen from Twelve, I'm not getting knocked up at seventeen AND out of wedlock!"
"Good for you," said the Lieutenant. "Though I think female Twelvers wait until their last Reaping to marry."
*Remus Thread's hovercraft*
"So," he asked the District Thirteen pilot, "do you have any family back in Thirteen, Aquilina?"
Evidently not, for she shook her head and gained a sad expression. "No, I do not. I grew up in what you continentals call an orphanage or a community home. From what I was told, my mother died in childbirth and my father, who was a soldier, committed suicide afterwards."
The Head Peacekeeper decided to bring up his own experiences. "I never knew my father either, while my mother was a lowly criminal who cared more for her morphling addiction then myself and my two siblings."
"But how did you get your job, then?" She asked, shocked. "I was taught as a child ranks were not awarded on the basis of merit in the Peacekeepers..."
He laughed. "Well, that my dear is baseless propaganda. If you're a Boy or Girl in White and work hard enough, you can and probably will become a Head Peacekeeper."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied at his answer judging by her smile and eyes as well as body language. "Do you have a wife and kids?" She asked next.
He shook his head. "No, I don't. In fact, Aquilina, in addition to a minimum of twenty years of active-duty service Peacekeepers cannot marry or have children. However, we are allowed to have fiancées and have romantic relationships-it's just that we can't get marriage licenses."
She seemed more curious. "What if a male Peacekeeper impregnates his fiancé?"
"It's probably happened more than once," he admitted. "Particularly considering the sexual appetites of youngsters, most wouldn't wait the minimal twenty years. More so if the woman wants to have children and won't risk losing her fertility around her middle-aged years."
He then took a deep breath. "However, there are additional restrictions. Contrary to what you may have been taught in that over-sized bunker, Peacekeepers are prohibited from paying civilians for sex even if they are of legal age and consent. Also, we may not have any sexual relations with civilians whatsoever outside of the Capitol and Districts One, Two and Four. Finally, sexual relations between Peacekeepers on duty is prohibited; in addition to maintaining discipline, these measures minimize the spread of sexually transmitted diseases and out-of-wedlock pregnancies, both of which cause only trouble for the Nation of Panem."
He paused before questioning her about her home. "What's District Thirteen like, Aquilina?"
"Hell," she spat bitterly. "My guardian was an abusive matron appointed by the State. A slap would be her weakest way to hurt you; she had the older girls pick on me and others. The food there is tasteless garbage designed to keep us functional enough to serve the elite, who have luxuries such as meat and fresh vegetables. They find it necessary to have a schedule tattooed on you everyday instead of printing a simple sheet of paper. You are considered to be mere breeding stock."
"Breeding stock?" He asked, confused.
She smiled ruefully at him. "I envy your current ignorance. In Thirteen, heterosexuality is mandated for 'population sustainability.' That was never a problem for me, but don't think I was-or am-okay with it. A couple of my friends kissed each other, only for the matron to walk in on them."
She paused, and Remus found himself horrified to the point he took off his helmet to avoid vomiting in it. "Her response to them being lesbians? She had them turned into lab rats, for both disappeared and were never seen again."
"The one good thing about Thirteen? I met my Caeso."
Remus nodded, grateful that he hadn't thrown up in a hovercraft. "I'm sorry for your loss and your birthplace, Aquilina. Know that those SSS monsters who tormented you do not represent the Peacekeepers as a whole."
"I know," she replied. "Your troops are the only reason I'm still a virgin."
"How old are you?" He asked. "Not to be rude, and I'm sixty years old. You don't have to answer if you feel uncomfortable."
"Seventeen," she said; the Head Peacekeeper noted her voice didn't have a District Thirteen accent or any accent for that matter. Good, she can definitely pass as a refugee, he thought. Though her stated age concerned him.
"Seventeen?" He asked. "Weren't you talking about getting married to Caeso?"
Aquilina paused before offering an answer. "In District Thirteen, you become eligible for conscription into the military or assignment to the defense industry at age fourteen. The age of consent for marriage-and thus sex as well, since it's legally prohibited outside of marriage for health reasons-is sixteen. I was taught the minimal age of sixteen was for the sake of population sustainability."
Remus shook his head. "So my troops have definitely killed some child soldiers in gray uniforms, that's just great." He then decided to inform her of the differing laws in the Nation of Panem. "You can marry at eighteen without parental consent in both the Districts and the Capitol, though you can marry at sixteen with the permission of a parent, guardian or government official. I think it's to cut down on single mothers having to raise kids at a young age, though thanks to our superb schools and discipline amongst youngsters unwed mothers are rare in District Two. Unless you count fiancées of Peacekeepers, of course. Similarly, you can join the Peacekeeping Force at sixteen with the consent of a parent or legal guardian."
She nodded. "Interesting to see how you continental folk are different. However, there's something I want to get off my chest."
"Go ahead."
"When you executed those monsters who murdered Caeso, you told your troops, 'This is not the Mockingjay's army, we are Loyalists!' The majority of the rebels aren't rapists or murderers, we all simply want to end the Hunger Games forever. Not that most Peacekeepers are child-killers, however."
"That doesn't change Thirteen's war crimes," Remus replied. "Your government bombed District Twelve with disguised hovercraft bombers to incite terrorist insurgencies in the Districts, and I've heard reports of massacres and gang-rapes of Loyalist and even neutral civilians."
"I don't think any bombers were launched that day," Aquilina said. "And even if Peacekeepers bombed Twelve, I'm pretty sure they must've been those SSS assholes.
"Also, a case of raping and murdering did occur at a village here. The local quarriers who make up the majority of the Sub-District's population are largely neutral at worst, so they were left alone. The local Peacekeeping Department wanted to fight, but they were outnumbered and outgunned so the Major in command surrendered rather than risk the lives of his subordinates.
"However, an officer from Thirteen and his unit decided to be monsters like Homma and his men. They murdered all the male prisoners before raping the female ones. Fortunately-or unfortunately since they were too late to prevent the massacre and the rape that followed after-Defense Minister Boggs and Commander Lyme stopped the bastards before they could execute the rape victims."
"What did they do to those subhuman fuckers?" Remus asked.
"They got a flamethrower from the Department's arsenal and had the monsters roasted alive. Apparently they didn't want to waste bullets and decapitating or hanging them would have taken too long; not gonna pity those sons of bitches."
"Nice," said the Head Peacekeeper, smiling at the mental image. "Quick tip: You're a refugee who couldn't get on either a bus or monorail and had to walk to safety. Not a prisoner, because I doubt my colleagues will enjoy sharing a roof with a Thirteener. Fortunately, you don't seem to possess any Panemanian accent whatsoever, so while your lack of a Career District accent will be cause for suspicion it won't be as bad as you having a Thirteen accent."
"I got it," she replied.
*Back to the front*
The rebel battalion in front of Enobaria was impressive. Hundreds or a thousand, maybe even more, soldiers armed with military-grade weaponry were now in full view of her and the remaining members of the 1st Battalion, 1st Regiment of District Two's Garrison plus the Militia and Cadets that had reinforced them. They were definitely hardened veterans like the Loyalist troops defending the evacuation efforts-they all wore gray uniforms and helmets, even the ones who weren't from Thirteen. Not to mention that when they marched into position they had a confidence in their step only seasoned warriors possessed; though Enobaria refused to fight under the Mockingjay's banner, she definitely respected their prowess.
In addition to the infantry, the enemy unit possessed a motor pool of vehicles. Some were clearly improvised implements of war, either civilian vehicles (typically pickup trucks) with mounted machine guns or non-combat military cargo transports armed and equipped with add-on armor for extra protection. However, they were genuine military vehicles meant for battle as well. MRAPs either of Thirteen manufacture or captured Peacekeeper ones (the latter with the Panem Eagle painted over with the Mockingjay or Thirteen's hammer and sickle), APCs armed with 30mm cannons (said weapons essentially upscaled .50 cal machine guns modified to fire 30mm shells) and approximately seven tanks, the latter two always having Thirteen gray paint.
A tank commander, probably the battalion political officer, stood in his open hatch with a megaphone. "Surrender, and perhaps our great and magnanimous leader, Alma Coin, through her well-deserved position as President may show mercy on you!" Unlike previous commissars, he had an intimidating and menacing voice.
"Red One?" She heard Flavius ask.
"Yes, sir?" Was the crisp reply.
"Please shut this nitwit up right now."
"With pleasure, sir. Die, ya commie bastard! Firing now!"
BOOM!
ME: Cliffhanger, I know. A/N: "Semper Fi" translates into "Always Faithful (USMC version)/Always Loyal," the latter making it very appropriate for the Peacekeepers. The marriage/age of consent laws and whatnot are based off the laws of my state of Texas, where you have to have parental/guardian/governmental consent if you're 16-17. The "tesserae queen" remark is more or less a future version of "welfare queen", an insult in American English implying said queen is a social parasite.