A Certain Winter Witch II

Normally Saten would never be allowed to step foot in this kind of establishment, but she's been forced to do a lot of things lately a normal middle school girl shouldn't. The men enjoying their vodka all pause when they notice the one now standing in the doorway. To say the least they're short for words.

For having no business in a bar, she certainly appears impressive enough. Since deciding to play the role of "Morena," the girl has dumped the scavenged military fatigues for something a bit more suitable. Her army pitched in and got her a suitable ensemble. She's still in the same boots, but she's now wearing denim jeans, a black long sleeve blouse, and a white Kodiak parajumper jacket. Even to those who have never seen her before, one can tell she's important.

Darkness seeps from every corner. A faint orchestral plays off a vinyl at a volume below the chatter. The lighting is dim as well are the patrons. Tables are occupied by no more than three, though more than a few have only their drinks to keep them company. There's an aura of "just leave me alone" emanating from the vast majority, though there is one discrepancy other than the one who just entered.

In the back is a party of five. Of everyone here, they're the loudest. Obviously outsiders, the locals who regular this dive would rather they leave so they could have their quiet, but by the impressive spoils displayed on their table it's clear they're building a hefty tab. The bartender would never want to turn away a sales total like that. Apparently too occupied with themselves, they're the only ones who have yet to notice the young girl who entered. And wouldn't you know it, they're precisely the ones who should be weariest of young girls.

Marching with purpose, Saten holds no reservation entering this den of testosterone and liquor. But before heading directly to the part of five, she makes a quick stop at the bartender. Without saying a word or particularly listening to his protest, she tosses a wad of cash on the counter.

"Прости," apologizing ahead of time.

When Saten draws near a one of them finally notices. He nudges the others and they too look at the girl. More than a couple leer, but the others reserve caution. That a Japanese girl suddenly walks in their bar should alone be cause for alarm. But to them, the gossip has only been rumors.

Coming to a stop right in front of the table, Saten leans forward, takes the bottle they'd been passing around, and pours it onto the floor. Of course this isn't received well.

"Меня зовут Морена," and that is taken even worse.

While some had a faint suspicion, the others are completely floored. This group drinking away their cares are privateers. Their current job is to wipe out a small community nearly a hundred kilometers from here, but a rumor's been circulating that others who've been hired for the task had been taken out by a one-eyed Japanese girl claiming to be the Winter Witch Morena. This person might have two eyes, but it's obvious this is in fact the one in question.

The closest reaches out towards the girl, but she leans just outside the grasp of his fingers. In the same motion, she spins and smashes the now empty bottle into his face. Crying out in pain, while recoiling from the pain he tips from his chair and falls on the floor, rolling around less in purpose than reflex.

While this was going on the others wouldn't so simply abandon their partner. They over turn the table to make space and charge. Morena keeps a step ahead, tossing away her jacket and prepared to throw down. The other patrons of the bar merely move their chairs and tables so not to get in way. They haven't the slightest concern for their own safety. Yet.

Morena keeps backpedaling, avoiding their attempts to grab her, but yet to go on the offensive. She backs straight into a smaller type of stool for the low tables. For a moment it appears as though she hasn't seen it and is about to trip, but her foot catches on one of the legs, she kicks, and hurls it skidding across the floor directly towards the four approaching privateers. It's the lead who ends up tripping. Falling forward, he's about to catch himself when a raising knee crashes right into his nose. Morena planned all this, and such a powerful blow from the girl knocks out the grown man instantly. He falls limp on the floor.

At first the privateers though of her as nothing more than a little girl. Whatever rumors about her must have been exaggerated or mistaken. They didn't know if she even existed, let alone if she were truly so grand. When someone claiming to be her suddenly appeared before them, their initial thought was that she was just a kid playing at war. They wanted to catch her rather than do anything extreme. But when she incapacitated two grown men in just a matter of seconds, the three who remained realized they couldn't take this lightly anymore. They began retrieving concealed weapons. For simply going to a bar, they weren't so maniacal to bring firearms, but they did have knives, brass knuckles, and a billy club. Now they're out for blood.

Morena backs into a previously empty table, so it wasn't moved out of the way by those who were sticking around for a free show.

Knify, The man wielding the knife sneers, stepping over his unconscious teammate, and lunges. No look of concern graces Morena's face as she merely leans and avoids the weapon's keen edge. Despite being unexpected, the man isn't stunned or even dismayed. Once he made the conscious decision to draw blood, the warrior's instinct took over and he wouldn't allow himself to be careless. He swift draws back and stabs at her again, hesitating none at all, keeping equal focuses on offense and defense.

Morena is much the same, wasting not a movement or breath. She keeps mere millimeters from harm while focusing on the battlefield as a whole. Despite being cornered, she doesn't appear concerned at all.

While them men circle around, the knife-wielder makes a wide horizontal swipe, which Morena bends low and continues to dodge. As if prepared to miss, he follows his heavy momentum and reaches to her with his free hand. Normally a seamless combination, this was seen through as Morena merely slaps his hand away and knocks him off balance. Shocked at the reversal taking place, before retaining balance he thrusts with a heavy stab. Morena merely grins.

Leaning all the way back, the girl lands on the table with the knife and arm passing right above her. Then the table is thrown off balance, tipping backwards. The edge of the table slams right into Knify's wrist, knocking free the grip of the blade, hurling into the air.

Morena wasn't slightly surprised from this development. Riding her falling momentum, the moment the floor is hit she tucks into a roll. Kicking with her feet, she comes to a stand and backs into the bar, bartender right behind her.

Seeing that this common brawl was turning deadly, the bartender saw fit to put a stop to this immediately. Ducking underneath the counter, he reached for a shotgun he kept hidden for when the drunks got just a little too rowdy. However, when he brought it out the girl flipped over a table and came to a stop right in front of him. Without even looking she reached behind her and placed a hand on his shotgun. She merely peeked back and shook her head, still that grin on her face.

That wayward knife headed just slightly to the left of the Morena and the bartender's heads. Just as the girl signaled the shotgun wasn't needed, she caught the knife by the handle and placed it safely on the bar. Instead of the shotgun or knife, she chose a pair of shot glasses as her weapons.

With the table now acting as a obstruction, the man with the club is now the closest. Just like a brute a swings for the fences. Morena again effortlessly dodges, and many bottles and glasses are shattered as a result. Though the girl doesn't entirely focus on avoiding. This time she actually attacks, aiming for his horribly exposed midsection.

With a shot glass in the palm of her left hand, she thrusts it directly into his back. The power behind a blow like that shouldn't have been much, but his body recoiled as if hit by a cannon ball. He was hit directly in the kidney, the force of the impact directed onto the vital organ by the structure of the small 50 ml glass. His entire body is paralyzed by intense pain.

Pushing the table out of the way, Knify is still the next closest. He's so infuriated he accidentally trips up the one with brass knuckles with the act. Now weaponless, the man swings with bare fists. Morena likewise challenges him, performing another palm thrust complete with shot glass.

Between the man's fist and the small glass cylinder, the intermediate phalanges of his middle finger proves the more brittle. A "snap" resounds that has the entire bar wincing in pain.

Screaming to high heavens, Knify holds at his wrist as if doing so would somehow help sooth his pain. Completely oblivious to the world around him, he doesn't notice Morena confront him. Grabbing his broken finger, he's completely at her mercy. She drags him and he follows. While trying to lessen the pain that's being inflicted upon him, he actually does all the girl's work for her. As if he weighed no more than a straw pillow, she tosses the full grown man onto the one with brass knuckles. The weight of such a beanbag, without a doubt, knocks him to the floor.

Before he could push the one lost in pain off him, Morena takes a wide chair and sits on top of the both of them, pinning them between it's legs. Brass knuckles should easily be strong enough to lift the girl sitting on top of him, but there's also a helpless Knify with a broken finger as well. He doesn't have the leverage to do a thing. Morena goes ahead and ties a green and blue ribbon over her right eye.

The table Morena sat at was previously occupied (the customer moving when he saw the brawl heading his way). His bottle of vodka is still on the table, and Morena helps herself to pouring a drink into one of her two shot glasses. First sniffing than recoiling at it's strong effect; taking but a sip, she immediately pulls back and sticks out her tongue as if it were burnt. She's certainly too young and the alcohol too strong for her tastes.

Relaxing for bit a few seconds, Morena then whistles. After she does, the door swings open and a crowd suddenly rushes inside. Armed with assault rifles they cause quite the scene with the remaining patrons. It's obvious their aim isn't the regular drunks, but the ones the girl picked a fight with. They start rounding the bodies up and take them outside. Upon seeing how the situation's drastically turned, the only one truly capable of opposition, brass knuckles, ceases his struggles once the rifles' muzzles are trained on him. Not like he could really do anything in the first place. Though the soldiers seem a bit unsure what to do, as their commander seems to be indifferent and won't move from her position of sitting on them.

"In the first place, was this even necessary?" a new girl, a cute short blonde, walks into the bar, speaking a language the drunks wouldn't recognize as Japanese. "Basically, you just wanted some practice."

"How am I supposed to get stronger if I don't grind and gain exp?" Saten casually objects. "Besides, if things went south I could have just called you guys in."

Frenda sighs, not exactly sure where she should start. Well, obviously it should be the two grown men she's sitting on top of like some kind of queen. Giving her a queer look, the perpetrator merely smiles. That alone is reason enough. Saten got into a bar fight because she thought it'd be fun. Apparently it was, very much.

Instead the blonde mercenary decides to ignore the headache altogether, "Come on. We need to get out of here before someone realizes what we're doing."

"Yeah yeah," Saten finally gets up, and her fellow rebels take the two privateers into custody.

"You only need to say 'yeah' once," her friend reprimands.

Returning to the corner where the privateers were previously sitting, she retrieves her large coat. At the bar, she takes the knife. With them, Saten's Rebellion finally leaves the bar. However, she doesn't leave empty handed. After exiting, she hands two near-full bottles of vodka to the rebels still standing guard outside. She threw her coat in the first place to save those three bottles when the privateers overturned their own table at the brawl's start. The gift was accepted gracefully by the men.

Of course she kept one for herself.

Waiting impatiently beside Magpie, Eliza carries a mixture of expressions. Worry, frustration, over-eagerness, and a scolding that only a mother could possess. She was against the idea of Saten going in there alone, but didn't know if the girl was really in any danger or not. The mother couldn't really tell if she was glad or upset that the girl returned without a scratch on her.

"I'm glad you're okay," she chose as her greeting when the pair returned.

Smiling, "See, I told you you'd have nothing to worry about!"

Eliza returns the warm gesture and allows Saten to walk past. Until she hooks the girl's arm and hold her in place. The sudden action causes the hidden bottle to slip from her grasp and fall into the snow. Saten freezes in place.

"Saten-san, did you think you could sneak that passed me?"

The girl under the spotlight doesn't respond.

"This might be a war, but you're still a minor!"

Eliza takes the bottle for herself.

"Wait! Don't take that! I still need it!"

For the record, Frenda knew her partner was still hiding a bottle, but didn't really care either way.

Why Saten needed a bottle of vodka became clear an hour later.

"I think I've seen enough hairy butts to last a lifetime," Frenda complains.

The five privateers captured by Saten now stand before the audience of Saten's Rebellion. They stand for interrogation now that they're far from civilization and warmth and comfort. They stand naked.

Saten sits upon Hawk who's barrel points in the center of their little crew while fixing Knify's sheath to her belt. Many are gathered as witnesses and the privateers aren't sure if this is an interrogation or execution. It could very well be both. In this freezing cold, they silently hope this is over with as soon as possible.

"Okay," is translated not by Eliza, but a male so as to add an effect of intimidation, "here is what's going to happen. I'm going to ask some questions, and the first one to answer get this," she holds up the bottle of vodka, "and a head start. Now, what can you tell me about the ones who hired you?"

They nearly trip over themselves to answer her every question. The one deemed the winner, Knify with the broken finger, got the bottle, directions to the nearest town, and a five minute head start. After that time the other four gave pursuit in this freezing snow.

"So," Frenda asks after staring too long at a group of naked men running for their lives in the snow, "what do you think about this?"

To get the information they needed out of the privateers, Saten didn't even need to use her eye. Nobody even questioned the validity of their responses. While they were prepared to die on the battlefield, they didn't exactly possesses a loyalty outside of their paycheck. Worse part, they weren't even paid by the Russian Military yet.

"They were supposed to meet with their Contact in a few hours and receive their equipment. If nobody shows it won't be any skin off the Contact's back. He'll just find some more stooges. But, if we swing in there, not only can we get ourselves some more vehicles, but we can also disrupt the flow of privateer attacks. Even if we have to backtrack a little, I think the choice is clear."

It would appear so, but Frenda isn't so convinced.

Leaning in close so no one could overhear, "I hate to break this to you, but this might not be the best idea. We can reach the Elizalina Alliance today if we ignore this. Basically, we can finally get out of World War III and get ourselves a warm bed to sleep in."

There was no way Saten could blame her friend for this selfishness. As they are finally so close to their goal, of course she would be eager. It was very tempting to drop everything and sprint for the finish line, but Saten simply couldn't do it.

"After everything these people have done for us, I can just simply leave them behind. You saw them, right? They all want to go after the ones responsible for destroying their peaceful lives."

Yet the Academy City pair could still run and leave them behind. After all the battle experience these rebels have acquired, they very likely could handle this on their own. However, without Saten, without her Right Eye, the casualty count will be high. Could the former middle school girl live with that?

"We do this," Saten is concise. "Beside, it'll only push us back one day. One day could hardly make a difference."

Still, Frenda has a feeling in her gut that this is the wrong play. She doesn't know why, but her experience as a mercenary is telling her to walk away from this operation. Normally this would be where Frenda would abandon her friend, but reminds herself of Saten's capability. That girl is a dirty rotten cheater. Even if the situation turns south in the worst possible way, she'll still be able to pull them out of it.

So the decision is announced and the armored division turns around. They head off to deal the biggest blow for the sake of the Russian People yet.

When just short of 40 km from the Contact's rendezvous point, Saten puts a halt to the division. She's seen something with her Right Eye. So as not to be misinterpreted, she orders the vehicles to circle up so they can have a meeting right then and there.

"For the next 40 km, were are going to suffer howitzer bombardment, ballistic missiles, air support, tanks, infantry. Basically, the worst opposition we've faced yet. Even with my ability, some of you will die. This is guaranteed.

"They haven't picked up on our activity yet, but there are radar sensors up ahead that will track us the moment we cross that invisible line 40 meters ahead. Once we do, hell will be unleashed upon us. I haven't foreseen our defeat, but I haven't foreseen our victory either. This path will be ruthless, violent, and heartbreaking.

"While I can honestly say we stand a chance, it still isn't too late to turn back. We've already received word that all your families safely arrived within the Elizalina Alliance, and if we choose to continue down this path some of you will never see them again.

"I cannot, in good conscience, lead you any further knowing I will have to throw many of your lives away. I will leave the decision to you. Do we turn around and return to the only ones you owe responsibility, or do we strike back and protect your fellow civilians displaced by war that you'll never meet?"

This is dead serious. Were they soldiers they may have not given it a second thought. Hell, they might have even laughed at her concern. But Saten's rebels are not soldiers. They are farmers, grocery store clerks, gas station attendants, housewife. They possess no commitment, no obligation to do what they might. Those they'll protect will never thank them, never say a good word or shake their hands. They won't even know they're being protected. Still, do they want to risk their lives for this?

"Дa!"

"Дa!"

"Дa!"

"Дa!"

"Дa! Дa! Дa!"

Saten knew very little Russian. Just introducing herself as Morena to the privateers required 10 minutes of practice. However, she knew "Дa!" It meant "Yes!"

The girl honestly doesn't know what she is going to do with them. It brought a heartbroken smile to her face. She's seen this beforehand. She knows may are going to die. If she could do this alone and survive she would, but she'll have to ask many of them to throw themselves on barbed wire so that others may climb over them. It might have been their choice, but this is her responsibility. This is what it means to be a king.

"Alright men! You will follow my every word from this point on! If I ask you to jump, you don't ask 'why?' You don't ask, 'how high?' You just jump!"

They cheer.

"I will also reassign a lot of you. It might make you uncomfortable, you may leave a buddy you've spent this entire journey with, but I do this so that the most of us can survive, and the least of us die. No matter what I tell you to do, no matter how mundane, you perform without question. Got it?"

Again, they acknowledge. Every person here is well aware of just how frighteningly powerful this girl truly is. They have utmost confidence in her.

"First thing's first, every passenger abandon your jeeps and cram yourselves into the APCs!"

Her first order brings dire significance. She asked the passengers to leave, but not the drivers. That meant very likely the jeeps wouldn't make it through this hell march. Each person stared at the few they knew to drive those lightly armored vehicles. They are likely to be the first to die. While the atmosphere might have been good thus far, now people are starting to get scared. Many shake hands, salute, and some even hug the men given this horrible responsibility.

Saten continues giving out reassignments, including removing the commander for Hawk with one of the translators. In other words Saten will be in command, just from within Magpie. Other orders which sound strange are given, but likewise obeyed. Some of the elderly volunteer to take the places of the jeep drivers, but are flatly refused. They had to trust that Saten has a purpose for everything she's doing, so she can't go back on a single issue. Even if she doesn't necessarily know which decisions are best or not.

"Do you really see us succeeding?" Frenda has to ask whenever they have a moment of privacy.

Saten doesn't give any clear signs to anyone who might be reading her body language, but she does admit, "I can't see that far. As far as I can, it's hell."

So they have to set on this mission before even knowing if it's a Dead End or not. Frenda can't be more convinced this is a terrible idea.

The conversation had prior to breaking the news to the rest replays itself in Saten's mind. Frenda made mention that Russia would never give privateers howitzers that can reach as far as 40 km. At best they'd give them WWII relics which could hit 15 max. That's why only Magpie, which was taken directly from the military, is equipped with a remote control gun. Why in the world would the Contact bring weapons like these just for a hand off with privateers?

Well, the obvious solution is usually the best solution. It was a precaution against Saten's Rebellion. But of all things, why howitzers? Of all the precautions they could have made, they chose the one that would greatest test the limits of Saten's Right Eye. Covering 40 km will take an hour if they don't break formation, keeping pace with the slowest yet most pivotal T-80 tank. Saten simply can't "see" far enough ahead. Coincidence, or deliberate?

Thus far, only one opponent has shown an intelligence to analyze the nature of the Right Eye. Academy City. But couldn't the Russian Military have analyzed Saten's progress and hypothesized as much as well? Well, in short, no. Were she fighting the Russian Military, then maybe. But she hasn't. She's been fighting privateers with poor organizational skills and zero oversight. In other words, only those who've survived an attack against Saten's Rebellion would be able to provide any useful information. And the rebel leader didn't want to brag, but survivors are in extremely short supply. Certainly not enough to even come close to discerning her ability. No, this information could only have come from her old foe.

Never mind all the political ramification of Academy City intentionally leaking information to their enemy in war, but why would they do so in the first place? Certainly they didn't want the Russians to kill the girl and end up destroying the world. No, it can only be a test, an experiment. Academy City is watching and recording every piece of information that is about to transpire. They want to fully analyze the Right Eye and devise any critical flaw or weakness. The worst part is, after this battle, they might learn more about it than Saten herself.

"We shouldn't have come here," Saten mumbles.

Seeing her companion doubt herself, Frenda merely shrugs, "Basically, if everything we think is true, this will only be a test. There will be a path to victory."

Saten can only hope.

And thus Saten's Rebellion's toughest fought battle begins.

They started in a close-nit diamond formation. When one thinks of howitzers the normal counter would be to stay as spread apart as possible. A barrage of High-Explosive rounds can severely damage even if not a direct hit. To crowd would only increase each round's effectiveness. But of course, Saten orchestrated this for a reason.

With practically abandoning the lighter armored vehicles, the girl's paradise that was Magpie is now invaded by men of the rebellion. For many of them, this is their first time seeing the fabled leader up close. By now it was notoriously known that she spoke barely a word of their language, so they couldn't as much strike up the conversations they were all dying (not literally) to have. The cabin of Magpie is eerily silent for what can very well be it's death march.

The convoy drove for several minutes without as much as a disturbance. Certainly the Contact must have picked them up on radar, but as of yet has to make a move. A tension chokes the inside of the armored vehicle, as it must the rest of the rebellion, but they have faith that even if they die this day, their effort will bring forth victory and the safety of their countrymen.

Saten herself reserved the gunner's seat to herself rather than taking the more comfortable reserved for infantry. Of all the people, she is the one most relaxed. Humming slightly to pass the time, she must be imagining a tune listened to a lot back in Academy City. Merely is she trying to pass the time as all this silence is suffocating her.

Then she suddenly starts performing an activity. What the others might have suspected to be a system's check for the remote controlled guns up top, they are all shocked when she suddenly opens fire. To this point there hasn't been any sign of activity from their enemy.

Suddenly fire blankets the sky. Explosions rock the heavens and a shock wave strikes the armored vehicles.

"What was that?" Eliza is likely matching the concerns of all the worried Russian men who have no means of observing what's taking place outside.

"Was that an Excalibur?" asks Frenda.

"Or the Russian equivalent. Three of them actually," Saten corrects.

"'Excalibur?'"

Explaining to the military novice, "Basically, it's a rocket you can shoot out of a howitzer. Normally their range is only about 10-15 km, but if you fire a shell with an attached rocket, that's the only way you could get an absurd distance of 40 km."

"And if it has a rocket engine," Saten takes over the explanation, "it has rocket fuel. It doesn't take much to rupture the tank and cause it to explode. Once it detonated it set off a chain reaction to the other nearby Excaliburs."

A moment after they hear what sounds like thunder.

"There go the sonic booms. With a rocket engine they fly faster than the sound barrier, so basically, you don't even hear the death whistle of a regular mortar shell. Those Excaburs are some scary things."

Horrified by the truths of war, Eliza can't keep her curiosity in check, "What would happen if those thing's hit?"

"Well-"

But Frenda doesn't get to finish. Saten goes to work again and fires into the seeming clear sky. Like before, and explosion erupts. This time only one, but the gunner doesn't relent and times two more volleys, each resulting like the first. Once the girl appears finished, the blonde mercenary continues.

"Basically, we'd be toast. If it's a rocket, it must have a guidance system. If they could tell which one of us is the tank on radar, they could of sent of direct hit to it first and finished the rest of us off with the other two. Normally, one volley would have been enough to wipe us all out."

Saten takes a deep breath and leans back in her seat, "That should do it for a while. Apparently six Excaliburs is all they had."

Frenda snorts, "Should have been. Each one costs $400,000, or around 50 million yen. Basically, it's a hell of an expensive bullet. To have wasted six of them is likely to cause an outrage from the taxpayers."

"It also tells us how many howitzers they have."

Three.

The two main players take a breather while Eliza translates the summery of the explanation received. If the Contact's ultra long range weapons have been exhausted, or they've decided to cease wasting the very expensive toys, the effective range of the coming encampment has been diminished considerably. They can relax for a couple dozen kilometers.

Afterwards, however...

Saten calls it, "It's about time, spread out in the Eagle formation."

Beforehand she explained the different formations and everyone's position in them. "Eagle" was precisely that, a widespread formation meant to have them as thinly herded as possible. That they initiated this maneuver could mean only one thing.

"Warthog, slow by 3 kph and adjust course 7 degrees left!"

"Blueberry, take position behind Rattlesnake and match speed!"

"Stingray, gun it!"

Saten began barking out orders in rapid succession as the true drums of war started thumping. Those "Death Whistles," as described by Frenda, finally sounded just prior to detonations occurring where the vehicles Saten ordered to vacate were previously stationed. It wasn't only there, but explosions rocked all of the snowy field.

"Hornet, break hard right and fall in line behind me!"

Continuing with the frantic orders, Eliza likewise translates so the drivers can act accordingly. Frenda keeps her eyes peeled and does her best to keep on a steady course, but knows not to rely entirely on the mystic guide. Frenda needn't be a drone that only takes orders, but an independent operator that can be relied upon to perform her static capability. If she needs to do something extra, or ends up taking the wrong course, she can trust Saten to correct her. But until then the blonde mercenary needs to continue doing her very best. That is the trust built between who began this journey together.

"Mosquito, hit the breaks and duck!"

The jeep, call sign "Mosquito" did exactly that. Before coming to a complete stop, a High Explosive round crashed twenty meters in front of him. Twenty is enough. The fragmentation rocked his vehicle, literally, like a spiked sledgehammer. Metal was rent, engine destroyed, windshield shattered, and the carriage as a whole flipped from the impact. The fate of the driver, Saten doesn't know. There was no surviving for Mosquito, so the best she could do was protect the man inside as best she could. Put the jeep as far behind the point of impact as possible, and have the thick engine block act as a shield. If it was enough, Saten didn't immediately know. Either she saved his life or prolonged his suffering. She wouldn't know until this is all over and they return to pick him up. That is the limit of her Right Eye.

"Hawk," Saten speaks directly into her own radio, in Japanese, "raise your gun's pitch as high as possible! Aim 2 degrees right!"

As she issued these direct orders, another jeep was hit. This time directly. There would be no question of the fate of it's driver. While issuing orders, Saten cruelly timed when she would speak to Hawk's Japanese-speaking commanding officer so as to limit the damage to an expendable vehicle. That direct hit was the result.

After ordering a few more evasive maneuvers, "Hawk, shoot!"

The roar of the 125 mm 2A46-2 smoothbore gun hailed the beginning of the rebel's counter attack. The Contact wanted to hit them simultaneously with long range artillery while having air support blanket them with missiles and gunfire. Ordering the three helicopters to advance, they were nearly in range when 20 kg of tungsten tore the flying platform to pieces. To say the least they never saw it coming.

Firmly spooked, the pilots abandoned course and hightailed it out of there. After hearing all the rumors about this rebel leader Morena, and witnessing what happened to their top-of-the-line artillery, shooting a helicopter out of the sky with a tank's main gun was the straw that broke the camel's back. No amount of patriotism, obedience, greed, or whatever drives them, would have them risk their lives against a, let's face it, superhuman enemy. The Contact is furious, but there isn't anything he can do to stop it. The Contact will have to make do with what's left. And what's left should be plenty.

Should be.

To this point, all that have been lost for certain by the Rebels are those who had to be sacrifice in lieu of crafting other options. However, that luxury extends only as far as, well, far. The greater the distance between themselves and the long range weapons, the further it will take those weapons to reach them. Exploiting the gap when an attack was committed to, and when it actually connects is how Saten has kept so many alive thus far. To be precise, it takes approximately 30 seconds for the shell to travel 15 km. That's a lot of time to organize and avoid.

However, the closer they approach the less time it takes to connect. Saten's is only one voice dictating in real time the best paths for each vehicle to take. To say the least, that takes precious seconds. Let's not forget all the translating that happens as well, and one can image how long it takes for the order to exit the girl's mouth to when it's actually followed. Take into account there's three large guns shooting about four devastating shells a minute each, and it's obvious this girl with the cheat ability can't keep up.

A High-Explosive shell detonates rather close to Armadillo, punctures it's armor, and maims several inside. The driver escaped harm and continues to push forward, but it's effectiveness has been reduced to a moving target.

As they reach within 5 km, such begins to happen regularly. Unable to keep with the frequency of attacks in her rapidly dwindling window of opportunity, damage is taken on a constant basis. Hawk can survive non-direct hits just fine because of its heavy armor, but the same isn't true for the lighter APCs. Luck more than anything determines if the crew is injured or not. The jeeps, unfortunately, might as well have been made of tinfoil.

"Hawk, 9 degrees pitch, 3 degrees left! Fire!"

Following instructions explicitly, the T-80 aims and fires blindly. The result of which is perhaps best not witnessed in detail. One of the howitzers is hit. It, however, wasn't mounted on top of a motorized chassis. It required a crew of six maneuvering, scouting, loading, all in the open air. When the tank shell hit such an encampment directly, it wasn't a pretty sight. Let alone the weapon, those human beings were also blown to pieces, if not pounded into mush completely. To say the least, this display frightened the Contact's forces horribly.

So as a response, the Contact sends out their own tanks.

Four matching T-80s line up in front of the remaining artillery guns not as much to shield them, but to take advantage of their position. From there they can view well into the distance while provided with a bit of cover. The tanks point their guns at the advancing army. Really, only one vehicle is a threat, their sister T-80. But this is one against four. How can it possibly hold up? They take their time checking distance with their rangefinder, and prepare to fire for a guaranteed hit.

One of the four takes a direct hit. It's armor holds and the crew is more or less fine. Against equal machines, it will take a bit more than one hit to destroy it at this range.

With aiming preparations complete, the four tanks fire.

Two things happen at that very moment. As if it were reading their minds, Hawk changed course and evaded, the three shells making impact somewhere in it's tracks. And the second thing that happened, one of the four suddenly exploded.

When it was previously hit, that specific tank took damage to it's main smoothbore gun. It wasn't immediately noticeable, but it was in fact bent. When it tried to fire on Hawk, it backfired, sending all that kinetic energy straight back into turret. This resulted in an intense flare of heat that literally cooks everything inside. The pressure, seeking release, popped the top of the tank like a shaken soda can. As for everything inside, the smoke and pillar of flame is obvious an indicator.

With tanks entering the foray, all of the rebellion starts to swarm like a pack of insects. To this point they've been uniform in their movements, but that was only a counter against the howitzers. From this point it's no longer a race, but a battle.

The Contact seems to think so as well. While a few more artillery barrages couldn't hurt, by this point it's time for some up close and personal warfare. The Contact signals for all the others to move out as well.

Jeeps sped off with heavily armed passengers, infantry with rocket propelled grenades take positions, and anti-materiel rifles seek elevation. This is their final push, the combined might of a force meant to subjugate the area before the Elizaline Alliance of Independent Nations. In more ways than one, this is their last stand.

From this point, there's little Saten can do herself to limit the number of casualties. This organized chaos, this war, is simply too much for one individual to attempt to orchestrate. Now her concerns are only two; the safeties of Magpie and Hawk. If one or the other are lost, they are all going to die.

It's finally at this point Frenda is allowed to completely hit the throttle. To keep themselves as covered as possible, they were made to match pace with Hawk, but on this kind of terrain Magpie can speed up by 20 kph. There are truly only two conditions for victory, Hawk destroying the three remaining tanks, and Magpie and Saten breaching their line of defense. Once that's done, it's over.

With the artillery finally calling it quits as their own units are with range, the battle between the privateers and the rebels truly begins. Of the surviving APC crews, they unload their passengers and battle in the fields. Keep in mind, every one of their weapons were taken from the privateers themselves. Every weapon they have (minus howitzers and helicopters), the rebels also possess. They too eliminate targets with sniper fire, blow away vehicles with RPGs, and create general havoc. For the privateers to think they're superior simply because they're armed is a mistake. In practically every aspect, they truly were equals.

Just as one of the tanks engaging Hawk is about to fire, the rebel vehicle rapidly turns. Unfortunately it isn't enough at this range and is hit in it's forward armor section. But the shot isn't enough to disable or hamper it in any great way, and Hawk returns fire. It's aim is for a specific area, dead center on a privateer tank's side just above the treads. The result of this is a fantastic explosion. It's now two versus one.

A jeeps cuts across the battlefield with the privateers shooting like madmen. The two passengers with rifles display some fairly accurate high-speeds shooting, tearing apart some of the rebel infantry without breaking a sweat. The forth passenger aims with his RPG and obliterates one of the now hallowed APCs. They cheer and cackle like hyenas, feeling invincible and high off violence. Then another APC sprays hot lead from a distance and their upper torsos are all but dissolved. It did so as little more than an afterthought, continuing to barrel towards the privateer's rear battle lines.

Saten relays further instructions to Hawk to avoid fire, and sets her own sights on certain victory. Namely, the Contact. Once this person is captured the battle can end. All that stands in her way is a small ridge.

Hitting the gas and jumping the incline, what awaits Saten is a firing squad of machine guns, RPGs, and more than a dozen privateers all ready to unload their ordinance into Magpie. They have the jump on her.

Except they never really did. Before hitting air Frenda jerked the controls to turns the wheels sideways and have the vehicle fishtail. As it does, the mounted gun up top locks in position. As the rear of the vehicle swings, the gun up top spews hot lead. Riding the momentum, the cross hairs naturally cover the front line of privateers, completely obliterating their ambush.

Those who weren't shredded instantly dove for cover. While that trick might have caught them off guard, there are still many left who have yet to let go of their rocket launchers. It isn't over.

And that's when the ramp drops and an entire squad of rebels are revealed. Unlike the other APCs, Magpie never unloaded her passengers. They now aim their weapons at the privateers frantically struggling to their feet. For the first few seconds it's like shooting fish in a barrel while the crew disembarks, and then it's upgraded to a slaughter after they do.

Just because Magpie reached the end of the battlefield, doesn't mean the battle's automatically won. There are still a few more odds and ends to mop up. First off, Saten obliterates the artillery's munitions, resulting is some fantastic explosions that consume those accursed howitzers. Next she targets one of the helicopters that has yet to be put to use (perhaps a lack of pilots?) and banishes it to a fiery abyss. A little removed is a black luxury sedan out of place in this battlefield, so she sprays a burst into it's engine block, surely killing it but without the previous fireworks. Finally she instructs Frenda to pull them up a small hill so they can get a wide view of the battlefield.

Honestly, it's difficult to tell from here exactly what's going on. Bodies lay scattered about, vehicle burn after being hit by explosives or concentrated fire, and the worst part is, she can't even truly tell friend from foe. However, there is an atmosphere about this battle, an aura. It began when the two remaining howitzers destroyed in plumes of flames. That act served as a beacon, a signal that the rebels have spearheaded all the way to the privateer's command center. It's practically the same as planting your flag in the enemy's base. It was the declaration of victory.

While the fighting has mostly lulled, the three tanks still battle restlessly. Even the base has fallen and commander captured/killed, the biggest weapons are still in play. After Hawk destroyed the second tank, the two remaining folded ranks and closely stuck together, covering the other so as not to leave an opening. Hawk and the remaining pair have been trading blows all the while without a distinct knockout. However, at this rate it's clear the outcome. Even with Saten's Right Eye guiding them, a Dead End is certain for this two versus one battle.

Which is why when one of the privateer's tanks exploded through no effort of Hawk, nobody could think. Back at the command center, a number of unused vehicles still remained. After all, this area was meant to be a depot to arm the privateer army that's been ravaging the civilians of Russia. Just because they had a bunch of tanks didn't mean they had enough qualified people who could crew them. Not to mention, the privateers Saten ambushed and left to wander naked in the snow were meant to fill that role. The plan from the very beginning was to grab hold of this very tank.

Now that Hawk has a brother Sparrow, the rebel's power is unmatched. The initial strike on the armored battle was enough to completely clinch victory. Even if there are stragglers, the Saten's Rebellion has achieved their final victory.

Still think this flowed better as 2 chapters, but oh well. Next week will be an actual double release, not two combined into one. The first will be a very short chapter, but it kinda has to be. Afterwards we'll finally get to the Elizalina Alliance. When I decided to start this rebellion sub arc I didn't think it would go on for so long before we could get back to the main plot, but at the very least I hope I've managed to keep it entertaining. I don't want to spoil things for what's coming up, so I'll shut myself up before I give up the goose.

Till next time,

~Kyle Castorena