They were in the midst of breakfast when all hell broke loose.

The ground rumbled first. Instants later, the familiar sound of an explosion burst through the room, the windows rattling on already loose frames. Althea stiffened reflexively, instincts honed during her time on the battlefield sharpening her focus from the drowsy state of the early morning.

"W-what the hell was that?!" Several of them screamed, leaping to their feet at once, bowls clattering from the table.

"A Legion attack?"

"How could they get so close?"

"Without warning from the Handler?"

Althea cursed, running outside. The rest followed suit, galvanised by her movement. The explosion had been close – too close – and they had to mobilise at once.

"Link up! Everyone, Resonate!"

An illusory heat grew by her ear, the tell-tale sign of the link forming.

Why hadn't the Handler warned them? No matter how much they delighted in their suffering, all her previous Handlers always gave them due warning whenever a Legion force drew near. Was he that much of a petty bastard, that he was willing to risk punishment just so they could all suffer?

Over the Para-RAID, she could hear hyperventilation, Petra on the verge of tears as she tried to catch up with the rest of them, panic setting in. They had barely managed to get the team to gel together, and there hadn't been time to show them the ropes of piloting the Juggernaut. If they were now going to have to fight against the Legion –

No. She couldn't think about that. She had to protect them.

She was halfway through to the hangar, when suddenly –

"Handler One to Third Squadron Processors. Good morning, everyone."

Good morning –

"Why didn't you warn us?!" she practically screamed, still running in a mad rush toward the hangar, hoping to at least be able to get to a position where they could ambush them without being put on the back foot. "The Legion's practically at our base! We're lucky if we're even in our Juggernauts in time, asshole!"

"What are you talking about?" Handler One's voice was both confused, and yet alert at the same time. "There are no units in sight for a hundred and fifty kilometres. Skies are clear of Eintagsfliege."

"But the explosion –" Leo forced out, himself sounding panicked even though he had warmed up to them yesterday.

There was a pause.

"Ah." Handler One spoke, and there was a sense of – embarrassment? – coming from him. That faded away quickly enough, and he was once more the same smug white pig. "While I appreciate your commitment to combating the Legion, I'm afraid that there might be a little misunderstanding. In my defence, I did warn you yesterday that insubordination would result in escalating punishments."

It took a moment for the sentiment to register.

"That was you?!" Eden shouted, and even she had to wince at the sheer volume, despite having been exposed to the cacophony of explosions on the battlefield countless times.

"Affirmative, B-3." He injected a sense of authority into his voice, and Althea sorely wanted to reach straight through the Para-RAID and punch him in the face. "Third Squadron, that was a warning shot from an interception cannon. I believe I have made my point clear."

Silence.

"Handler One," she growled. "I believe that I told you not to contact us unless you had a valid assignment for us to carry out."

"True. However, in accordance with the Special Wartime Peace Preservation Act, I am not obliged to follow through with your request. You, however, have to abide by my orders."

Tien laughed. "So, what? You'll order us to march over to the Legion and die? Dance like little pigs? You want to know what I told the last Handler who said that to us?"

"Can't do that, actually." He wasn't fazed in the slightest. "The Handler Act only allows me to issue orders deemed to be of strategic value in combating the Legion forces threatening Republic lands, and-slash-or during active engagements, and-slash-or a general state of emergency is raised. Sending my Processors out on a suicidal death march does not fit any of those criteria."

He paused. "If you do know a Handler who threatened that point before, I am required to inform you that you are within legal right to initiate sanctions against him or her. Unfortunately, because Eighty-Six are technically not citizens of the Republic, you will be unable to find a lawyer able to represent you and take up your case."

… what the hell was up with this guy?

She had been able to bear the taunts and jeers of her previous Handlers in the past. All the insults meant nothing to them; simple white-noise of pigs living behind the Republic's walls. She had one Handler in the past who had seemed genuinely willing to make a difference, but hatred ran too deep, and she ignored her like all the others.

This Handler was a different breed of monster. It infuriated her, how smug he was acting, how indifferent he was to all this.

Who in their right mind was petty enough to launch a god-damned interception cannon, startle them all half to death, and then pretend it wasn't his fault at all?

"Back on topic, however – I hope I made my position clear. I will not hesitate to use whatever means are available to me in order to command your unit in combating the Legion. Skies are clear, no Legion are within sight. Head to Area 112, and we'll begin with basic drills."

"Drills –" Dariel stuttered. "Handler One, you've got to be –"

"E-2, E-3, E-4," Handler One interrupted, addressing Leo, Raphael, and Petra, who were still shocked and terrified from how their second day was starting. "Quiz time. E-2, how do you move the Juggernaut forward?"

Gareth mimed the action of moving the stick forward.

"You move the stick," Raphael said, looking at Gareth askingly, receiving a proud nod in return.

"E-3, how many buttons are there on the left console?"

Seven, Ygritte gestured.

"Seven?"

"E-4, what do those buttons do?"

… how were they supposed to try and explain that?

"They…" he stammered, sweating. "They, uh…"

There was a moment of silence, and when Handler One next spoke, his tone was utterly flat. Disappointed, even. "You didn't do as I asked."

Leo was shivering. Immediately, Althea and Sonia were by his side, gripping his shoulders supportively. This damned Handler!

"Damn right we didn't!" Eden countered, roaring. "If you're so smart, you tell us what they do!"

"Wire anchor launch, wire anchor disconnection, wire anchor retraction, in order from closest to furthest on the left-most column. High-frequency blade or machine gun pivoting and rotation on the middle column. Leg anchor deployment and ammunition type cycling on the right-most column."

She drew a sharp intake of breath. He knew?

"I'm disappointed, Third Squadron. Last evening was my first time inside a Juggernaut as well. Granted, I do not have to fight against the Legion – but that only raises the point that there is no reason for why the three of you have not yet been taught the controls. The urgency and the stakes are infinitely higher for you than for me."

"We – we –"

"The fault lies not with you, E-4. I believe that I asked for it to be relayed to Starfall, A-2, and A-3 that you three were taught the basics. Why was that not performed, squadron leader?"

In a cold, utterly detached way, what he said made sense. But for him to even think that way –

"Half our squadron just lost all the friends we knew!" she burst out, unable to contain her rage, just barely coherent enough to use their Processor identities rather than their real names. "E-2, E-3, and E-4 are scared half to death! We barely even managed to get to know each other yesterday, and come to terms with our new roster! We need time to grieve… damn it – we aren't heartlessbastards like you!"

There was nothing from the other end for a moment. She feared he would bring the interception cannons down on them once again.

"I see. I suppose that warrants consideration. Very well. I shall accept that as extenuating circumstances. Please proceed to Area 112, Third Squadron."

"What –"

"Have I not made myself clear? We are running drills. According to past information filed by your predecessors in this Ward, and the Handler and Para-RAID records I have access to, Area 112 is a zone that sees frequent Legion activity – a full fifteen-point-nine-two percent of all Legion patrol routes within your area of jurisdiction have involved the traversing of this stretch. I will have you practice combat manoeuvres and scout out the local terrain in anticipation of a future engagement."

She couldn't understand him. All her previous Handlers had made their positions blindingly clear – they were either pigs in human skin, or those who tried to help, but were just as unknowingly condescending to them as their Alba peers.

Aside from the fact that this new Handler was undoubtedly the most annoying, most smug, and most punchable bastard in the entire Republic, she couldn't understand him at all. The way he spoke was as though they weren't even human… as though he wasn't even human.

"Starfall, lead your squadron to Area 112. E-2, E-3, E-4; I appreciate that you are currently unable to effectively mobilise your crafts. A-2 and A-3, the two of you are to get them up to speed. Once done, the five of you are to proceed to join the rest of your squadron in Area 112."

Startled, she realised belatedly that the rest were waiting for her call. She was their leader – whether the position was earned or not – and they would follow through with whatever she decided.

It physically pained her to have to say it, but…

"Third Squadron." She swallowed back the words she sorely wanted to say. "We're heading to Area 112."

She would watch and see whether this Handler was full of hot air, or if he actually knew a thing or two about tactics and warfare. She wouldn't blindly trust him – but for now, so long as they were not involved in a battle, she would play along, and see if he had anything of value to add.

If after a week, it turned out that her initial impression of him was spot-on, that he was nothing more than the epitome of arrogance, then she would tune him out, and take charge of her squadron by herself.

She still hated him, though. And she knew that she would never – never – come to respect him.

-x-x-x-

I grinned, leaning back into my chair. It seemed I was finally getting through to them after all. Once again, appealing to reason prevailed!

It wasn't that I didn't understand where they were coming from – I certainly had reacted in much the same way nine years ago. Unlike me, however, what my squadron didn't have was the luxury of time. They couldn't be allowed to process their grief and realise that the best way to move forward was to leave it all behind the way I had, because the Legion would swoop in and kill them all anyway.

I was now on a smaller Para-RAID channel, coordinating with a select few members that I had singled out while the others worked on assigned drills.

"Starfall, B-2, B-5, C-2; I want the four of you to engage in a simple Löwe combat movement. A Löwe is travelling eastward along the road at distance 2200, bearing 015 from your position. B-2 and B-5 will advance on either side, C-2 circles around, and goes for the kill from behind. Starfall, your job is to provide artillery support, and prevent the Löwe from getting into a firing position."

I stared at the blips, noting the orientation and direction of travel of their crafts, comparing it to a map I had found of the local geography. I couldn't physically see them at work, but with each sound of the cannons firing echoing through the Para-RAID, I saw a fragment of what might be happening.

Of course, there was no actual Löwe there, so the effectiveness of the exercise was reduced. Still, I tried to simulate real conditions. A timer was continually counting upward by my station, and I had a script running to perform quick calculations on estimated distance of travel, that I could modify with the push of a few buttons.

I breathed in. 2, 4, 8, 16, 32… my mind was calm, and I saw the battle unfold. Blur figures moved – but now, they were sharper than they had been back in the hangar.

"The Löwe is now angled toward you, B-2, and is advancing at cruising speed. Distance 2000. Starfall, it is now just 300 metres from the base of the hill to your two o'clock. It –"

An explosion sounded. "Confirmed hit on its armour, but the shell did not penetrate. The Löwe is knocked off course, however. It skids… forty metres, but it rises to its feet, and –"

I paused, my eyes closed. How much damage could that realistically do? I didn't know – technical information on the Löwe weren't the most specific. I would improvise, although I wasn't happy with it.

"- and swivels its cannon toward B-5. It fires –"

The blip that was B-5 dodged left. I considered their relative distances, and watched how the scene played out.

" – and misses. C-2, you are now within firing distance –"

There was the sound of an explosion, but considering where his craft was angled on my grid…

"Your hit was off the mark! It misses, and it now realises your presence. It turns, and –"

Another explosion – as it turned, what had been front was now the rear.

"Confirmed hit, B-2. Löwe is down. Good work."

I let the scene play out for a moment longer. I could see the smouldering remains of the Löwe, but immediately, the shapes turned hazy. I couldn't think about what my squadron members would do once the Löwe was destroyed, since I hadn't factored in other enemy troops into the scenario.

"What was the point of that exercise?" B-2 asked, and it was clear that she was exasperated. "We aren't going to be engaging a Löwe on its own. It will have Grauwolf or Ameise escorts with it."

"Yes, but the initial salvo of artillery fire from B-4 at your nine o'clock drew their attention away. They attempted to counterattack, but from his position up on the hill, machine gun fire and rockets were unable to score a single hit. They chased after him, but this messed up with their formation. After three volleys, they were close to attacking range, and so he retreated. C-1 is providing sniper fire from a hill to your six o'clock, whittling their numbers down while outside of line of fire. The Löwe was too slow, and could not catch up with its peers, and your ambush party of four managed to sneak up on it and engage it in battle before it could assist its fellow Legion-kind in delivering deadly doom decisively down upon your fellow Processors."

I noticed their blips on my screen turning around to face the indicated directions. Had they not noticed that all their exercises were part of one coordinated movement?

And did they not appreciate my alliteration at all?

"If we were to continue this exercise, I would have had you chase after the Löwe's escorts from the rear, and engage in a pincer movement with B-3 and C-3 as they ambush them mid-chase, with C-1 continuing to provide long-range support. However, I believe that to be unnecessary, because mopping up with the remaining drones would be a simple task."

Starfall raised a valid argument after a moment's pause. "You're just saying that, Handler One, but you've never seen the Legion in person."

"That's true. I am simply operating based off what information I have access to regarding their capabilities. There may be some inaccuracies – and of course, you cannot physically see where my phantom Legion units are, diminishing the usefulness of the exercise."

Such a shame that this was how the game worked. With chess, one could perfectly visualise any chessboard, with both parties being simultaneously aware of where each piece was. Here, however, there was going to be incongruity.

… or was there?

The Para-RAID could share sight… but could it share information? Could it share a conjured mental image?

I didn't know. I wasn't going to risk it, though. I heard the rumours that people could go blind from sending or receiving their sense of sight – a single brain could only process a limited amount of sensory input, apparently – which was why the system was used strictly for hearing only.

Still, food for thought. Shame that I didn't know anyone who knew much about the subject, and anything that I could dig up on my own had been barebones.

"Regardless, I believe it to be a worthwhile endeavour. B-2, B-5; your coordinated approach could use some work. The Löwe was able to settle on a target early on, without worrying about the potential threat of your partner, because your speeds of approach were different. Starfall blew it off course with a well-aimed shot, but you can't always rely on that. B-2, B-5, C-2; I want you three to repeat the exercise several times. Pay special attention to your formation as you move in. I'll monitor you on my screen and only interject if I see something majorly wrong."

I pointedly ignored the whispered swear that B-5 made, merely making a tally mark on a stray sheet, and noted the current time for future reference in the RAID logs. Still, they complied, although they were half-hearted about it.

I cut the Resonance with them, leaving only Starfall on the line for now, as the other groups continued their own practice and drills. E-2, E-3, and E-4 were now on site as well, running through a basic obstacle course using the local geography as environmental hazards.

"Starfall," I said. "A word?"

"… you'll just Resonate with me even if I cut the line, won't you?"

Aha! They were learning!

"True."

Again, I ignored the muttered insult, although hers was much more creative than B-5's.

"Well, what the hell do you want, Handler One?"

"I want you to provide me with an unbiased evaluation of the exercises your team is undergoing, using your experience in your previous squadrons as reference."

She remained silent. After a moment, she barked out a laugh, that I assumed was laced with sarcasm. "You. You, Handler One. You want meto give you an unbiased evaluation. An Eighty-Six to an Alba. You're actually serious."

"Yes. I had partially intended for these exercises to strengthen camaraderie between your squadron members, after having factored in my initial impressions of their respective personalities and existing skillsets and preferences. Unfortunately, I have been told in the past that I am ignorant of the finer details of interpersonal relationships, and would like a second opinion to see if I would need to refine future exercises."

There was a pause. A long pause.

"You're actually serious."

"Had I not made that point clear?"

She breathed in. Long, hard – probably to quell whatever remark she had in mind. I would have offered my favoured exercises, but I doubted she was in much of a receptive mood.

"It… was effective." It sounded like it took every bit of willpower to force that word out. "Teams normally take some time to get together. They aren't pushing too hard or too far, and the groups are well-balanced. Congratulations, bastard Handler. You're a pretty smart person. You have a big brain. Wow, I am in awe. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

I blinked. Did I deserve that vitriol?

Still, I made another note down; I was pretty sure 'bastard Handler' qualified for interception cannon usage – if the people who processed interception cannon requests even bothered checking the reports in the first place.

"Not at all, but I shall graciously accept the compliment. How is the camaraderie in your squadron proceeding?"

"… you're actually interested in our camaraderie?"

"Of course. A basic level is fundamental in ensuring coordinated movements in the battlefield, while excessive amounts can lead to irrational behaviour due to strong emotional attachment. I need to know in order to approximate how Third Squadron will behave in an actual patrol or elimination mission."

Again, I had the impression that she was just barely able to restrain from letting loose a string of expletives. I honestly didn't understand her. The others clearly resented me, but this was a different type of impression altogether.

"We are warming up to each other," she finally said. "I had planned for some icebreakers with the rest, but your little good morning greeting destroyed any chance of that happening."

"Hmm." I made a note of that. "And, in your opinion, how does my exercise compare to what you believe the outcome of your icebreakers would have?"

"Is this even important?!"

"Very." Every move in a game involved a trade-off. An opportunity cost. How much did I lose, with my use of the interception cannons as a warning shot and the training exercises I had devised for them? Was the gain worth it?

"Your idea was better, alright? You win! Are you happy now?"

Wordlessly, I reached over to her personnel file, and wrote down potentially emotionally unbalanced.

"Very well. Thank you, Starfall. Do you have anything further you would like to say to me?"

"You," she said, and I saw her craft turning around, moving to re-join a nearby skirmishing group. "Are an asshole."

I grinned, writing down another tally mark. Once this was all over, I would submit the data for requisition of the interception cannons.

Not because I planned to use them, mind. It was more that I simply could – and that was reason enough.

"Wouldn't be the first one calling me that, Starfall."

With that, I checked back in with a group I had neglected so far.

"E-2, E-3, E-4," I said, linking up with them – and their trainers A-2 and A-3 as well. "Training going well?"

Bless his heart, E-4 was deathly frightened of me. I could practically feel it through the Para-RAID – and I had absolutely no idea why he felt that way about me.

"H-Handler One," he choked out. "Umm… affirmative!"

"Great. I'll be watching your movements from my screen. Please proceed one at a time through the discussed route. Move to the best of your abilities, but do not push yourself beyond what you may reasonably perform on a mission. E-2, you go first. E-3, get ready." I paused, straining my ear. "A-2, I would appreciate if you did not say that about my deceased mother."

Oh, right. Another tally mark and timestamp for the upcoming report.

I glanced at the personnel files, double-checking what I already knew. At the age of twelve, E-2 and E-3 were just a year older than E-4. They were good at the initial portion, involving just the basic forward movements and steering. The problem came once they had obstacles in the way, in the form of elevation changes, narrowing of available pathways, and repeated short bursts of small movements.

And, funnily enough, each of them was good at a different aspect. E-2 used the wire anchor well to traverse gaps and climb steep angles, but was no good at quick reorientations, the likes that might come into play if one had to repeatedly dodge incoming fire or move from cover to cover. E-3 clearly thought fast, and knew how to navigate the dense network of trees rapidly, but was not quite as adept in utilising vertical spaces. E-4 was simply average – not as skilled as the other two – but he was a hard worker. I could feel his frustration mixing with rising terror.

It was then that I felt the need to clarify. "E-4, rest assured that I will not fire the interception cannons on you should your performance be below that of your peers," I clarified kindly.

…why the hell did that cause him to panic even more?

"Handler One." For the first time, A-3 spoke up with faux sweetness. She'd been in the same squadron as A-2 in the past, but where A-2 freely let his resentment show, she was more reserved, and less direct about her ill-feelings toward me. "You don't have many friends, do you?"

I shrugged – not that the gesture meant anything. "An astute observation."

"Do you even have any friends?" She probed, twisting the knife.

"Just the one."

"I pity him."

"As you rightly should. He's too good for this world. Idiot smuggles out supplies for the Eighty-Six." I paused. "Whoops. Don't report him, please."

"What the hell is up with this idiot?" I heard A-2 whisper, frustrated.

"He helps us out, Handler One?" E-4 asked timidly, midway through emerging out from the forest, where the final stretch would be pushing their Juggernauts as fast as they could go.

"Tries to, anyway. Doesn't mean much, though. Slow down a bit; you'll be damaging your Juggernaut's suspension systems at the rate you're going."

"R- right!"

Huh. Odd. He'd been going at such a high acceleration, without complaining about the strain of the g-forces acting on him, shock dampeners or not?

"A-3, check up on E-4 after he reaches the end of the stretch. Those were rather sharp changes in velocity, and I'd rather not have a Processor injured two days into my tenure as Handler."

"…affirmative. This doesn't change things, though. You're still the worst Alba I have ever had the misfortune of knowing."

"Uncalled for, but sure. Good job, the three of you. A-2, A-3; I'll leave it to your discretion of whether to continue having them repeat the exercise again, or to begin showing them the use of the Juggernaut's weapon systems. We'll wind down in an hour, and begin a quick debrief, and you'll all be free to have your lunch. Handler One out."

With that, I desynchronised from their group, and popped over to one of the first groups. "C-1, B-4, B-3, C-3 – everything going well?"

I eyed their blips. I had expected them to begin slacking off some time in the previous half-hour, considering their initial attitudes toward me, but strangely they had been one of the most zealous groups partaking in my mock exercise, repeating the artillery-sniper initiation with follow-up from the close-to-medium-range B-3 and C-3 as a stalling party at an advantageous chokepoint.

Of course, B-3 still hated my guts, but his offered insult was more mellowed than it had been yesterday. Perhaps Starfall had been right – I should have given them time to grieve. "Screw you."

I smiled, writing down another tally. Twenty-eight already!

"Well, keep it up. C-1, you might want to reposition to the vantage point at distance 280, bearing 124,in order to practice with different elevation angles and to have a feel for where might be good points to snipe at if a battle occurs in this site. Same goes for you, B-4."

I cut off from that group, cycling to the next. Same old insults, same old feedback. Rinse and repeat.

Finally, an hour later, I synchronised to the entire squadron. "Well, good work, everybody. Head back to base, enjoy your lunch; whatever it is you Eighty-Six do when we aren't screaming bloody murder and driving you all to your deaths. Engage in drills if you wish, but only go as far as Area 020, just in case a Legion force does actually arrive. Don't go beyond your limits. I'll contact you again tomorrow for drills, if no Legion forces are sighted. Any questions?"

"… Handler One?"

I was surprised. I hadn't expected E-4 to speak up. "Yes, E-4?"

"… will you use the cannons again tomorrow?"

Ah, bless his heart. Now even I was feeling a tinge of guilt.

7, 49, 343, 2401, 16807, 117649, 823543, 5764801, 40353607, 282475249…

And that was promptly quenched into nothingness.

"Not if you continue remaining on your best behaviour. Participate in practice, give your all, listen to my orders, and we'll have no problems getting along."

I ignored the muttered choice comments from Starfall. That statement made no anatomical sense, anyway.

"Well, then. Handler One out."

With that, I terminated the Resonance. I had a quick look at the recording of the data on my tactical grid at accelerated speed, making sure I hadn't missed anything important, before turning the terminal off.

I exited the room.

Now, then. A quick lunch, and then perhaps I could call upon good old Gunther to have some practice with the Juggernauts?