Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
June 2, 1935 EC
Corporal Batory Andrzejevski
Squad 1, Gallian Militia 3rd Company
"Moink?"
Batory looked down to his right side to look for the now-familiar animal that sought his attention once more. He had suspected it was the "porcavian" that Squad 7 had adopted at Kloden – and the animal that Gunther had insisted was the true key to the Militia victory a week ago – based on the jingling of the belled collar that Isara and Squad 7's platoon sergeant Melchiott had fashioned for the piglet. Sure enough, the baby animal stood there and stared up at the Viszevar, its miniature wing-like appendages on its back waving slightly as if it were waiting for something.
Batory just didn't entirely expect the piglet, apparently named Hans for reasons unknown, to follow him, let alone follow him outside Amatriain to the cluster of trees that he had commandeered for the past handful of months as his abode away from the hustle of the Gallian military base and from questioning eyes. Hans had already begun a habit of nestling in Melchiott's headscarf or in Isara's shawl, and rarely left the company of Squad 7 in general. For the piglet to be here now, and approaching someone in Squad 1 of all people, was somewhat surprising given its choices of shelter.
Well, there is the barbeque that spontaneously started, thought the Viszevar as he once again confirmed passively the smell of grilled meat. He was not totally certain how the reporter Irene Ellet of the Gallian Broadcasting Station was able to haul enough fresh beef into Amatriain to feed an entire company of Militiamen, but he could not deny that it was having a definitive impact on the local surroundings. He could hear the chatter and laughter of the combined 3rd Company rotating in and out among the improvised grills, although there was one brief stretch of time in which the commotion betrayed a brief lapse of the party into a giant brawl. Batory could have sworn with his enhanced senses someone – possibly Walker in Squad 7 – bellowing about teaching an unidentified target the "joys of men," whatever that meant.
The barbeque was yet another reason Batory chose to relocate outside Amatriain to finish his report; he could still sense the ambivalence Squad 1 had for him, and he was still never entirely used to so much meat at once. He had half a mind to go, that familiar tingling sensation at his limbs coming back as if to compel him to put more effort into socializing. But the letter he had in his hand was far more pressing a matter for him, and now the piglet seemingly stood in his way.
"… Wae yeogiro watseo? (1)" quietly asked the Crow in Kokurian as he turned back to his letter/report. The final touches had to be made tonight; there were already rumors that the company would be receiving fresh reinforcements, fresh promotions, new batches of weapons and gear, and even the occasional leave passes for a lucky few. The 3rd Company would be very busy in the coming days, and Batory would arguably be called upon to assist in the reorganization too often for him to slip out and finish his report. "… Nothing here for you, I'm afraid."
Hans let out another moink, and shoved its way onto Batory's lap with a curious air of urgency emphasized by another hurried jingling of a bell. The piglet nudged aside the paper in Batory's hands with its snout and looked down as if to show the warrant officer that he was to pay attention to the collar. Indeed, the Crow clearly made out in the dim light of the June evening a small roll of paper inserted between the baby pig's collar and the back of its neck.
Clearly, someone was looking for him but did not want to make it a public thing. Why else would they have sent Batory a piglet messenger with a note?
"… I see," murmured the warrant officer again in Kokurian. He carefully folded his report and returned it to one of his many pouches on his webbing, and took the rolled scrap of paper from under the collar. Batory unrolled it to read its content, and immediately let out a silent groan.
Batty, we need to talk. Find me in the ladies' platoon tent. – Catherine
/
O'Hara seemed quite surprised in turn to see Batory walk in brazenly through the flaps that separated the ladies' tent for Squad 1 (doubling as a supply dump of sorts due to the platoon's unusual lack of female soldiers) from the outside world, holding Hans under his left arm and staring at the Sniper without a word. Batory for his part was still wondering what in the Hell he was doing inside the ladies' tent, although he personally trusted himself at the very least to not have any funny ideas. Seongnam was never keen on enforcing gender segregation in clear contrast to Kokurian and Yamataian society, mainly because the attrition rate was too damned catastrophic for it to be a pressing concern.
He certainly did not find it surprising in the least to see from the entrance that O'Hara still carried her sniper rifle, although she wore yet another bandolier of ammunition about her torso this time. How much ammo was enough for this poor woman was beyond the Crow, but he didn't exactly bother her over that; ammo was ammo, and it was an understandable precaution. Even more striking, however, was O'Hara's new lance corporal's rank insignia patch; Batory with his enhanced vision made out the two vertical gold braids on the sides that differentiated the new rank patch from her previous one.
Oh yes, so the promotions were indeed carried through, noted Batory silently to himself as he recalled the captain confirming that all EWI veterans at least in her company were to be promoted to NCO ranks ASAP. The losses were mounting despite Squad 7 making it appear to not be the case; more experienced leaders would be required for the coming days.
"… So you wished to talk to me in private, lance corporal," started the Viszevar, continuing to fix O'Hara with his glance. He gently shook Hans, who let out an amused and quiet moink. "Enough for you to send a messenger."
"Aye, I did," warily smiled the Sniper. "Hans is a smart enough wee critter to get ye the message. Marina trained him well so quickly." She extended her hand in the direction of one of the cots opposite her own. "Take a seat, laddie, I promise ye it won't be too long."
Batory quietly returned the porcavian to the ground, giving it a gentle rub on the head, a whispered "Naga,(2)" and a nudge forward in the direction of the outside world. Watching the piglet give another moink and trot back out through the tent entrance, the Crow silently closed the flaps behind the baby animal and found an empty cot to sit on.
"… I assume this is about Kloden, Catherine," he started quietly, his gaze returning to the Sniper as the cot creaked under his weight and that of his own full complement of ammunition. "… You want an explanation."
O'Hara gave Batory a slow nod of her head. "Of course, laddie," she sighed. "About the Imp ye shot in front of everyone."
Batory could not help but experience a brief flare of exasperation behind his emotionless exterior. "… Imperial Guardsmen do not surrender, Catherine," he blandly responded, although he was still not sure how correct this statement was anymore. "… You are a veteran, and you surely must know this."
"I know that, lad," muttered O'Hara in reply as she briefly cast her eyes down at the dirt. "I also know that ye had to shoot the man since I saw the gun and all. No, it's about something slightly different." She looked at the Scout again and leaned forward on her cot, a wary expression imprinted on her face. "Alex was worried about ye, Batty, and a couple of others, too. The young lad never thought ye would just walk out there and shoot a man in the face without any sort of regret."
"… He still does not know me very well, Catherine," curtly replied the Crow as he gave a quick glance at the tent entrance. "… I am not the most… well-adjusted person in this camp."
"He doesn't think any less of ye, that I know," assured O'Hara. "Alex would follow ye to the ends of the damned Earth, unless that other chap in Squad 7 was around to pull him in another direction. The one with the eyepatch and all." She shook her head. "But what I'm trying to tell ye is that he's seen a side of ye that he never expected. I didn't entirely expect to see ye doing that, either."
"… It has become second nature for me, Catherine," shrugged Batory in response as he returned his stare toward the veteran. "… We are all raised in the Diarchy to hate the Imperial, and you very well understand why if you have kept up with the stories from those fleeing the Gallian borders."
O'Hara gave a quiet scoff. "I know about the Imp bastards," she softly replied, a tinge of venom applied to her words. "But where the Devil do ye think ye are, Batty? This isn't the Far East, this is Gallia. Hell, this is most of the West, for Valks' sakes. Same rules don't apply."
The Sniper let out a weary sigh as she slowly stood up and made her way to the center of the tent, where a table and a collection of old chairs occupied the dirt floor with copies of Gallian Girl littered all around. She dragged before the Crow a chair from this meager arrangement of furniture and fashion magazines, sitting down on it and resting her arms on the top of the backrest. "Listen, I'm not going to ask ye to be any worse of a soldier than ye are now, aye? I just want ye to do something for this poor old woman."
Batory blinked. He certainly did not anticipate O'Hara asking him to do homework for her; that was mainly Uncle's repertoire. "… And what would that be?"
O'Hara gave a half-smile. "Don't consider all these mongrels to be subhuman, Batty, even though they might very well be. Give them a chance, they may be closer to ye than ye might first think."
She laughed a little and waved her hand weakly, interrupting Batory before he had a chance to retort that he was not at all like the Imperials. "I know, I know, those stupid helmets with those bloody useless faceplates make the job a little dodgy," she smirked. "But do that for me, will ye kindly? Shoot the bastards if they try anything stupid, of course, and they'll do that a lot. But it'd put the others slightly at ease with ye being a non-com and all."
O'Hara shook her head, as if she was at this point making less of a recommendation and more of a plea. "Look, I'll even throw in my leave for you, so ye can think on it better," she finished. "I sure as Hell don't need it with all of the new chaps coming in soon. Valks know they'll need a friendly face to show them around. No offense."
I'm just here to do my damned job, Catherine, thought Batory to himself. That's all I'm here to do.
And other funny jokes I can tell myself, perhaps.
Catherine O'Hara was wrong about one thing: maybe there was a little regret at shooting the Imperial out of hand. The dead man's terrified expression flashed back in his mind, as well as the subsequent brief second-guessing he experienced during his walk back to the rest of his platoon.
Batory also pondered once more why he had to explain himself to Raymond. Under normal circumstances, he would have just shot the Imperial and given a short justification, one that others in his experience may have understood. Kokurians as a whole would have sympathized, and the Yamataians and Diarchic Viszevars would have downright toasted him. Hell, he even had justified his actions by telling himself that he wanted to make Raymond a better soldier. But did he really have to explain that much to the Gallian because he was solely interested in making a better killer out of Raymond at this point? Was it that, or was it because he wanted to harden Raymond to certain uncomfortable facts out of genuine concern for him as a person?
Maybe Gallia was changing him, and faster than he ever wanted. He may have desired this somewhat in peacetime, but that was before he had to shoot Imperials again. He had no intention of changing now while the Imperials still had the audacity to commit a battery of crimes against humanity on foreign soil as they seemingly did every damned war, but intentions always had the funny tendency to be corrupted and changed.
"… I can try," relented the Crow, breaking eye contact for the second time during this heart-to-heart. "… But I will not let this endanger the platoon under any circumstances... You know that."
The Sniper gave a snort. "Of course, laddie, I'm not asking ye to be like poor Susie in Squad 7 and get squeamish every time ye pull the trigger. Be more like that sailor lad I mentioned, Vyse I think was his name." She shrugged slightly on the backrest. "I'm just asking ye to not be so hasty on that trigger, especially if they have a good chance of giving up."
"… And how," questioned Batory once more, still refusing to reestablish eye contact, "Would you or I be able to tell?"
"Well, for starters," gently quipped the woman, "An Imp bastard who's alone and at gunpoint as he's getting up from being blown down by HE might be a good candidate for surrender. Even Guardsmen have to surrender eventually, right?"
This may have been true, but the warrant officer still scoffed internally out of reflex at the thought of giving any Imperial cur the benefit of the doubt. Entire nations fell under the rule of the Iron Throne because they gave the Empire too much benefit of the doubt, and neither Kokuria nor Yamatai had ever felt generous toward East Europans since the Empire's round of coercive diplomacy in the mid-19th century.
But he could perhaps try, very tentatively and on a case-by-case basis; it probably couldn't hurt. After all, the company overall most certainly did not need another visibly rabidly anti-Imperial warrior like a certain florist woman turned Shocktrooper in Squad 7 to terrify it outside the combat zone. Even Rodriguez, Amatriain's most feared drill instructor, allegedly put a certain distance between himself and her.
"… Even with you giving me that leave," Batory finally stated with finality and resignation, "I cannot make it a promise… I can try for the platoon, Catherine, but the Imperial dies if he endangers anything we work for."
"Aye, that'll do," smiled O'Hara. She reached out with both hands to give the Scout a pat on both shoulders. "That's a good start. Thank ye, Batty."
Batory finally shifted his glance to look back at O'Hara. "… And congratulations on your promotion, Catherine," quietly remarked the Scout as the Sniper's new rank patch was impossible to miss that close up. "… It suits you."
O'Hara let out a quiet chuckle, tinged with some regret. "Thank ye again, lad," she smirked, and suddenly let out a sigh. "This is for my friends back in the first war. Can't let anyone else get sent home in body bags."
Batory shook his head. "… No," he assured her. "… You will do fine."
"As will ye," she smiled. "Now come take me to the barbeque, would ye kindly? Raymond and the others are waiting."
"… Was there not a fight there, Catherine?" Batory asked quietly as he slowly rose from "his" cot. "… I could hear it from outside the base."
"Oh, aye, there was," laughed O'Hara as she also rose from her chair and started to drag it back to where it first was. "The fight burned out quickly, though. No serious injuries."
"… What do you mean, the fight burned out?"
O'Hara shrugged, her face indicating that she was about as perplexed over the issue as the Viszevar was. "Damnedest thing, lad," quipped O'Hara as she briefly fiddled with some trinkets on the table at the center of the tent. "Landzaat told me later that Gunther said the platoons needed to let loose their frustrations, and that the Ones and Sevens would get along in no time after that was done." She let out a chuckle as she returned her hands to her side and glanced back at Batory. "I'm no psychologist, but if it works…"
Batory blinked in surprise. That was never taught in the Diarchic officer schools as far as he knew. Unit coherency was critical in Diarchic military planning; the men and occasional women were allowed a fair amount of leeway in dress and equipment, but the officers generally turned a blind eye to such eccentricities so long as they could move fast and fight hard as was expected of them. But the brass would have never condoned what Gunther had done; such laissez-faire enforcement – or lack of enforcement outright – of unit discipline would have been considered too much of a risk for unit coherency and an embodiment of the failure of the unit commander to actively enforce the order so badly needed to keep the Diarchic Army together. The Yamataians would have blown a fuse had they seen what Gunther had done and would have liberally applied the cane; the Kokurians and the Diarchic Viszevars would have questioned his sanity, even if no one in the Diarchic military would have entirely questioned the results in the end.
But it worked, noted Batory silently. So who's exactly the sane one: the army that hands out beatings like candy if we screw up that badly to fix the problem, or the one that doesn't but gets the same results, anyways?
I can't accept that, that's absurd even for me at the moment.
"… Just tell me that Lt. Landzaat will not do the same," muttered Batory in resignation. "… He's lenient, but what Gunther did is too much of a risk for unit discipline."
O'Hara shrugged once more. "Well, he and Gunther are friends, so I can't promise ye anything, either." She winked and smiled. "But let's go already, sergeant, before they run out of the steaks and another fight breaks out over those. Can't grab those so easily anymore nowadays, even with the mess hall's tastes."
Batory made to respond, but then realized that O'Hara gave him a terrible bit of news. He blinked again, fixed to the spot; he surely did not hear that properly.
Me? A sergeant?
The implication dawned on him as he realized that he had. He could only nod and follow a cheerful Edinburgher Sniper out of the tent, while fuming over what had just happened.
Oh, Gods damn it. Uncle is probably going to kill me.
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
June 3, 1935 EC
Corporal Batory Andrzejevski
Squad 1, Gallian Militia 3rd Company
Batory stood as unmoving as a totem pole even while at rest before the captain of the Militia's 3rd Company and the commander of Squad 1. He damned well knew the reason these two officers singled him out to come report to Cpt. Varrot's office first thing that morning, and he abhorred said reason. But a superior officer had ordered him to appear before her and she had requested his appearance as soon as it was reasonable. Despite his reservations about being singled out for a promotion, which likely would have caused someone in the KISHIN office in the embassy to come flay him alive, he went.
Varrot peered up at the warrant officer from behind her aged pair of glasses, which made her seem far more intimidating than she apparently was. All Batory knew about Eleanor Varrot, the "Elle" that Potter had mentioned a week prior at Kloden, was that she was a veteran of the First Europan War – although she refused to tell anyone about her time in it – and that she was an exceedingly fair officer. Batory believed both of these statements. Regardless of how she truly behaved, Varrot had the air of a combat veteran and a killer. Furthermore, any officer that tolerated the lax nature of Welkin Gunther and his platoon due to their ability to deliver results was perhaps an officer who cared more for her men's combat effectiveness than her men's presentation on the parade grounds.
As Varrot finally began to speak, Batory remembered that there was another factor to why he didn't mind the captain as much as he probably should have. She was evidently a learned woman and someone who actually cared to have an interest in affairs far beyond her own nation's borders. Varrot may have been the only person in the entirety of the 3rd Company who knew how to pronounce his false surname without assistance.
"Cpl. Andrzejevski," the captain said without so much as a hint of stumbling as she adjusted her glasses with her hand. "We appreciate you coming here."
Here it comes.
"Lt. Landzaat had brought your performance during the last battle to my attention, and we would like to address that."
Of course you would.
Batory made no reply at first; he continued to stare at the wall behind Varrot, unmoving and utterly silent. Internally, he began to wonder if he had finally screwed up. The Kloden raid now started to gnaw at him to a greater degree than before. Between his aggressive flanking maneuvers and the little incident with the Guardsman, people higher up like Varrot began to take a semi-active interest in him.
He just hoped it didn't go any higher. To become entangled with the actual Gallian regulars' hierarchy would bring about excessive complications. Of all the Crows KISHIN could have sent, they had to send him, the one who was in the bottom four for social competence out of those who were left.
They had no choice given the long-term nature of this job, screeched Batory internally. And from what I heard, the Militia's actively booting foreigners who don't even look Europan. They even got a half-Yamataian kicked and apparently sent off to a penal unit for "insubordination."
Many thousands of Viszevaric children in my generation, and they only found me and the other girl who died halfway through the process.
"… Go ahead, captain," he finally managed. He almost choked on those words.
Varrot glanced down at her notes. "According to Pvt. Jung, you took the initiative to outflank by yourself the Imperial troops occupying the northwestern entrance to the supply base at Kloden," she summarized. "Based on what Jung saw afterwards, corroborated by O'Hara, Kissinger, and a few others, you also destroyed a pair of AT gun emplacements by yourself. "
Varrot peered at him again, with a hint of incredulity on her face this time. "Is this correct?"
The warrant officer acknowledged. There was nowhere to run, and it was physically painful for him to lie in the best of circumstances. "… Yes, captain… They were too busy watching for Lt. Landzaat's tank to see me in time."
"I see," Varrot replied as she evidently saw this as a sufficiently good reason. "And according to Jung and Squad 7's Sgt. Melchiott, you then proceeded to take the initiative again, this time in outflanking Imperial reinforcements that suppressed Squad 1. According to the two, you had killed several Imperial troops single-handedly. Is this also true?"
"… Not entirely, captain… Jung should take credit for assisting me."
Deflect, damn you, swore the Crow to himself. Spread the extraordinary combat actions around the whole platoon so that she doesn't think I'm that unique.
Varrot was silent for a brief moment as she processed Batory's answers. Batory, for his part, was more than happy to maintain his own silence as he continued to stare at the wall with an intensity that could have melted the paint and drilled a firing port through it.
"Very impressive results for a soldier of your age, corporal," Varrot resumed with a motion of her hand to some documentation on her desk. "According to your files, you had already seen battle before, correct?"
Batory murmured in confirmation, still declining to look at the captain directly and instead focusing even harder on the map behind her. "… I served in the Black Army during the Border War, yes."
Varrot paused as she seemingly ran numbers through her head. "I see…" she murmured. "That would mean that you were only 16 or 17 when you fought, correct?"
"… Yes, captain… I had joined the army as early as I could."
Technically true in a sense. I never asked for it, but that is what I got.
The captain sighed, her eyes losing focus for a brief moment as she stroked her chin. "Boys and girls so young shouldn't be anywhere near the battlefield… It's a crime to send them out to die that quickly."
Shaking her head, Varrot pulled out a file from the thin pile of documentation that she had previously motioned to, and began to quickly scratch out notes with her pen. Her task completed after a scant moment, she returned the file to where it first was and looked up back at Batory. Batory noted that Varrot's eyes were completely refocused now.
"But back to business, Cpl. Andrzejevski," the captain spoke. "Due to your actions and the loss of Sgt. Reddy at Kloden, Lt. Landzaat here has formally put you up for promotion to sergeant."
Batory remained outwardly emotionless, but he could not help but feel surprised just a little bit. As far as he was concerned, he was only doing what he was trained and raised to do. For a pair of one-man flanking attacks to warrant a promotion may have been normal even among the ranks of the regular rank and file in the Diarchic Army, but not for a Crow. The Viszevar was also shaken. For these exploits to be seen as praiseworthy meant that his façade was indeed slipping by just doing his job, and slipping fast. On the other hand, he couldn't act any less competent now without having several questions asked of him.
Batory was trapped, or so he thought.
I do something that I can't ever consider special, and now here I am. Great work, idiot.
"… I was merely doing my job, captain," Batory replied quietly, keeping the growing unease out of his voice. "… I saw openings and I took them."
Leaning against the wall, Landzaat immediately spoke up with an amused shake of his head. "You wiped out most of the things that would have stopped us from even entering the base to start, so you deserve this promotion," he replied. "The fact I'm still here says that much."
The lieutenant let out a chuckle. "Besides," continued Landzaat with good nature, "You're a combat vet who knows what he's doing, and the Squad seems to appreciate you well enough for the most part."
What? If you consider being a socially stunted shell of a human being going around shooting shell-shocked Imperials in the head to be considered charming enough, I suppose. Did I really behave anywhere close to normal at the barbeque?
"… I was always just a rifleman, sir… I am better at fighting than commanding."
Landzaat shook his head. "That's not what Jung told me. He said you immediately took action to get me alerted to the Imperial defenses and get Mayfield out of the line of fire. You also acted immediately to the Imperial reinforcements."
He gave a slight shrug. "If that doesn't mean you know how to command, I'm not sure what will."
Varrot spoke up again, with a more encouraging tone. "There's no need to downplay your achievements, corporal. You objectively did well to end the skirmish as fast as you did, and Squad 1 remained mostly intact because of this. Also…"
Varrot opened a drawer in her desk, and pulled out a considerably larger stack of personnel documents. She placed the documents onto her desk with a slight flourish, as if to demonstrate the importance of what she was about to say.
"The Imperials being dislodged from Kloden has seemingly put most of their operations on hold for the time being," she spoke with a faint air of satisfaction. "Because of this, the 3rd Company has received reinforcements and gear that were earmarked for other units closer to the main anticipated Imperial axes of assault."
The captain allowed herself a smirk tinged with sourness. "New guns, new grenades. We finally got those helmets, too."
"Basically," finished Landzaat as he removed himself from the wall and approached closer, "We're all about to get another round of new guys and gear, and we need more NCOs to help wrangle them. Valt's still young, and I think having more experienced soldiers in NCO positions would help the Squad function better."
I am young as well, Landzaat, morosely thought the Crow. If you want actual leadership, take Calvey. He's older than me and far better suited for this.
"… Would Calvey not be a better choice then, sir?" Batory made one last attempt to deflect. "… The men know him better as a proven leader."
"He's a Lancer," refuted Landzaat with another shake of the head. "I did consider him for the reasons you said, but I need him to keep the Lancers coordinated like in Kloden. No, I need a Scout like you to help command at the skirmish line."
His last avenue of escape denied, Batory pondered his ultimate fate for a moment as he continued to burn a hole through Varrot's rear office wall with his eyes. He had never really commanded a unit in battle; the eight Crows that survived their training were organized into an Alpha Wing of two men and four women, with Batory and another man acting as independent operators loosely organized into a second Beta Wing. If anything, Batory couldn't trust himself to lead a group with more members than however many fingers a disfigured man who had fumbled a grenade had left on his hand.
They described Beta Wing as the "Solo Wing", Batory briefly reminisced. I never received extensive command and control training because of it.
Hell, Yuell's mandatory officer classes taught me more than KISHIN did in that regard.
All of this was before taking into consideration his dilemma regarding outward competence. To be a higher-level NCO would mean more responsibilities and more eyes on him, and would make it increasingly difficult to hide whom he truly was from the rest of the regular human beings in the Militia. But as he remembered, he couldn't exactly act less competent anymore, not when people had evidently already considered him too proficient at killing Imperials.
Ultimately, Batory also knew deep inside that Varrot most likely wouldn't take no for an answer, her fairness notwithstanding. Even with the Militia's recent string of unexpected victories throwing the Imperial timetables out of order, the Gallian situation was still precarious. She needed as many competent NCOs and officers on duty as she could scrape up.
In the end, the Viszevar made the choice the Gallians, his temporary masters, asked of him. He didn't have a choice; this was a cage he built with his own two foolish hands.
"… As you wish, captain," Batory relented as he looked at Varrot for the first time this session. "… I will accept the promotion."
And I will have to consider swallowing my pistol if I keep fucking up like this. How do Gallian subgun rounds taste, I wonder?
Varrot gave a nod of approval and wore a slight smile on her face. "Excellent choice, sergeant," she quipped. She turned to look at Landzaat this time. "Lt. Landzaat, if you can please go and round up your Squad. I understand that the new recruits should be coming in very soon; the sergeant will join you after I work out one last thing with him."
Landzaat nodded his head and gave a brief salute. "Ma'am," he replied as he turned around to leave. He grinned at Batory and gave him a light tap of approval on his right shoulder with the back of his hand as he strode away from the warrant officer and soon left through the door he once leaned next to. Soon, it was just Varrot and Batory – two career soldiers who both understood war far better than most of their compatriots. Batory knew that he was in a sense superior in every capacity when it came to soldiering and killing to Varrot – but he still felt extremely small compared to this middle-aged woman. He soon found out why.
"One more thing, sergeant," finally spoke up Varrot. She looked directly into Batory's eyes, and despite him never wanting to admit it, it felt as though she was ripping his very soul to shreds. "About the incident."
Oh, fuck me.
"I understand that the Diarchic Army operates on… different principles," quietly stated Varrot. There was no malice the Crow could feel in her words, but there was absolutely an air of concern and warning. "The Haesamwi Massacre was quite the news back two years ago even here. But you must understand if no one has already told you this…"
She leaned forward on her table; her eyes never broke contact with his. "I do not know whether you were directly part of the slaughter, Sgt. Andrzejevski, but that's not important right now. What is important is that you behave like a Gallian while wearing the uniform." The captain paused for a minute before she continued more quietly. "You may already know this given your stay in Gallia beforehand, and you were justified in your actions according to Cpl. O'Hara. There most definitely are many Imperials who deserve to die like animals. But you will follow our rules of war while you are fighting for Gallia as much as you can."
Varrot quietly fixed her spectacles on her face. "Do you understand, sergeant?"
Batory quietly nodded. "… I understand, captain," he conceded. "… Never again."
Surprisingly, Varrot let out a small smile of understanding. "I expect more good work from you, Andrzejevski," she reassured him softly. "Fight for your Squad as hard as you can and don't take any chances with the Imperials, but don't do anything that will get you court-martialed. That's all I need from my company." She looked down one last time at her notes and held her attention on the writing for several seconds before raising her eyes to meet the Viszevar's again. "Now, I understand that O'Hara has transferred her leave to you, and I will respect that decision. Do you have anything else you would like to add to our conversation before I let you go?"
"… No, captain," quietly concluded the warrant officer. "… Nothing else to comment on."
"Very well, then," nodded Varrot. She gave a brief salute to Batory, signaling that their conversation was at a virtual end. "Carry out your duties today, but do enjoy your leave."
"… Captain," finished Batory, sharply returning the salute. He turned around without a word and made to leave. He quietly opened the oaken door and passed into the hallway, holding his facial expressions utterly neutral until Varrot's office door clicked shut and the hallway was confirmed clear.
He finally allowed himself a guttural hiss of frustration. What the Hell else am I going to say, sergeant?
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
June 4, 1935 EC
Sergeant Batory Andrzejevski
Squad 1, Gallian Militia 3rd Company
Batory felt a strange pang of guilt and regret as his boots silently made contact with the hallway of Amatriain's main administrative building. Perhaps it was the sheer brazen betrayal of his second masters that he was about to commit yet again, juxtaposed with his recent promotion and his leave that was due to start in roughly eight hours courtesy of a very friendly Sniper of northern Edinburgher origins.
You are Warrant Officer Dmovski Batory, he once again reminded himself. Focus on your job. Or what's left of it, dumbass.
Shortly after the clock struck midnight on the 4th, Batory snuck into the main administrative building of Amatriain to conduct a secondary operation – to maintain KISHIN's intel on Gallian Army capabilities and hardware. KISHIN's mission in Gallia was always at a knife's edge, and the attaché's team was constantly recalculating whether or not it was worth it to stay in Randgriz based on any intercepted Gallian and Imperial communications as well as any intel sent back by Batory. The embassy would still need a little time to properly destroy any sensitive documents even when operating at full speed; Batory helping KISHIN keep accurate accounts of the Gallian defensive war was critical to ensure safe operations.
Easily evading the sentries posted to prevent such an intrusion from happening by means of using a window in the southernmost reaches of the east wing he had previously noted as possessing a broken lock that no one else had noticed, the Crow quietly oriented himself and plotted in his head the most efficient path to Varrot's office, located in the northeast corner of the facility. Varrot, as with many Militia officers, seemingly never locked her doors to her office in Amatriain. Theoretically speaking, that alone should have made it all too easy for Batory to sneak in, file through the documents in her office, glean some intel, and sneak back out. It did not stop him from carrying a small box of bobby pins that night, a habit borne of experience.
Even with the main administrative building being still subject to patrols by uniformed Army personnel, sneaking into Amatriain's offices was nothing difficult in the slightest for a Crow. The training was somehow more difficult than this. Batory could simply see everyone in the building – through walls, under the floor, over the ceiling. He could detect the movements and facing of every Gallian soldier present in the structure – all the better with which to plan his moves and hide in the shadows as of the assassins of Kokuria's and Yamatai's past.
Really, the only major problem – if he could call it that – was that he had no legal excuse to be in the building so far past curfew. Varrot had her own administrative staff to run errands for her; the last person the Army expected to see heading into the command officers this late in the night was a sergeant from Squad 1, even if he was under Varrot's command. Detection, therefore, meant a shipload of issues that Batory's social ineptitude would not be able to overcome.
So nothing really changes, thought the Crow as he easily crouched and slipped past a pair of Gallian Army enlisted men, their darker blue uniforms doing nothing to conceal their presence. The Gallian troops virtually (and for Batory, literally) glowed in the dark with their loud footsteps and their chatter as they continued down the hall with flashlights in hand and the more current Gallian-A rifles and the occasional Mags M10 series of subguns – both with their water jackets – slung over their backs. I don't want to be caught in any case.
Also, anything really to avoid looking at those cursed guns. Water jackets on personal firearms? Gods help me.
He maintained his focus to keep the glowing silhouettes of the Gallians in his vision and listened to his inner voice, navigating the eastern hallways of the main Amatriain building. Staying in a hunched posture to minimize noise and ducking into and out of abandoned offices, Batory made his way closer and closer to Varrot's first-floor office, evading no fewer than two additional pairs of sentries along the way. It may have been easy, but the Crow did not take this task lightly; a day would certainly come when he wished he kept up to speed on his training, and he would not be so foolish to be lax to not take even this stroll in the dark for granted.
I would have taken the direct window entry, but Varrot actually keeps the windows locked and routinely checked from what I've heard. All the more practice for me.
At last, he reached Varrot's door. While he knew from experience that the door was not prone to squeaking, Batory felt no need to roll the dice; a creaking door was always seemingly louder at night. After confirming no near contacts, Batory slowly turned the knob to Varrot's door and pushed the door open. The door was indeed unlocked and silent, precisely as the Crow had hoped. Opening the door just wide enough for his thin body to squeeze through, Batory soon found himself in Varrot's office. He quickly and silently closed the door. After noting the best hiding spot in her office – under the desk, unfortunately – and stealthily approaching her workstation, he quickly opened the desk drawers and began to pull out the most recent intelligence reports that the Army had bothered to give the captain.
Batory focused, and soon felt that familiar, burning sensation coursing through his left arm and hand. Around the tip of his left index finger glowed a claw of Caelite energy, extending roughly three centimeters from the tip of the finger but still outputting enough light to rival a high-end flashlight. Using the claw for additional illumination while being careful to not drag it on any solid object lest he damage or ignite it, the Viszevar ducked underneath the desk and began to ruffle through the papers for any useful information.
Hmm… not much here, sighed Batory as he quickly shuffled through the documents in Varrot's possession with his free hand. Nothing here that I haven't already seen or found out. It was worth a shot.
Batory extinguished the claw, and the portions of the room behind the desk soon returned to the same level of darkness as the rest. Looking up and concentrating to confirm whether any sentries were approaching, Batory quietly placed the documents back to their proper place and closed the drawers. Knowing that he couldn't exactly leave through the window knowing Varrot's usually high focus on details, he prepared to leave the building through the next best method: opening a window next to Varrot's office in the hallway and exfiltrating that way.
Batory pulled out his vial of gun oil. He may not have gotten any valuable details on troop concentrations from Gallia's commanders, but he certainly did get some practice in before he gave that report to his true superiors.
Every bit counts.
/
Randgriz, Principality of Gallia
June 4, 1935 EC
Ambassador Ichiro Sugihara
Diarchic Joint Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Sugihara had not anticipated Dmovski to make an unscheduled stop by the Diarchic embassy that early afternoon. He did, however, anticipate Dmovski's answer to the question of "how did you spend the morning" to be him staking out as much of the city as he could to look for optimal defensive positions and killzones. Again. KISHIN trained him well, Sugihara had thought.
However, he had not anticipated in the slightest the Crow's unsettling clarification of his letter, the one that reported the presence of an unidentified Imperial heavy tank in the Kloden Wildwoods area only a short time prior.
Sugihara sat at his desk in his familiar office as the sunset threw its last rays of light through his window, while a Kokurian man of roughly his same height leaned on the doorframe to his office. The Kokurian, despite being the Yamataian's same age at fifty years old, seemed a full decade and a half younger and had the physique to match, with a full head of black hair and a jaw line that looked as if it could slice glass. From behind his square spectacles, the man stared at Sugihara as if he were expecting some sort of response from the ambassador.
"Not what we expected, Ichiro?" The man spoke in Kokurian, with a hint of amusement in his comment. Sugihara was familiar with the attaché's seeming lack of respect. After all, the two had known each other ever since they had stormed Hill 200 in the 1903 campaign, and had become very familiar with each other's operating procedures.
"No, Gyeongjong," Sugihara grumbled back in Yamataian at Ulsan-Bak, the intelligence attaché. It was standard operating procedure within Diarchic embassies to always use Kokurian and Yamataian, depending on the person speaking, to obfuscate any enemy attempts at eavesdropping. "It was not very high up on the list of what I wanted to hear today."
Sugihara got up from his office chair in a fit of frustration. Whatever the vehicle Dmovski had detailed was, it certainly wasn't something KISHIN had 100% anticipated. Ulsan-Bak had told him as such.
Ulsan-Bak had been relatively unconcerned when Batory gave details on the heavy tank, and he still remained seemingly relaxed about the situation leaning against the doorframe. "Come on, man," the attaché grinned. "You know how the Imperials adore their unique vehicles. Especially their generals."
Sugihara snorted. "I know how those insufferable men behave. I was expecting something more in the 200-tonne range, Gyeongjong. Batomys class as you called it, something that we know exists. Not… whatever this is."
Ulsan-Bak languidly watched Sugihara pace slowly up and down the width of his office, partly to vent his frustration and partly to restore feeling in his legs. "It's only a 122 from what Batory told us," remarked the KISHIN man. "Those we know exist and know were slated to be put on line tanks within the decade. That's why Chilseong's been making our 80 and 105 super-v's and why Taepyeong's been making a whole new damned series of tanks."
"What exactly is there in this country that needs a 122 mm gun to destroy?" Sugihara dryly replied, never ceasing his pacing. "You would think our agents in the Valoisian front would have found more of these damned things. Half of your Delta Wing is invested in the Federation's Continental faction alone."
Sugihara stopped at the window and immediately made a 180. "Furthermore," the ambassador continued as he spun around on his heels, "I am concerned with how carelessly the Empire has deployed a tank like this to a front that doesn't need it. You said it yourself, Gyeongjong, that this could be a hint that the Empire has enough functioning models in inventory to just squander in a sideshow theater like here."
Ulsan-Bak shrugged. "True," he admitted. "But you know that the Imperial commanders on this front are… very high up. One prince, one confidante of the Iron Throne itself, a combat veteran of EWI that almost killed said confidante in battle, and…" Ulsan-Bak lowered his voice in slight irritation. "… Someone who's drawing a virtual blank in KISHIN."
The Kokurian swiftly returned his carefree smile to his face. That smirk never really went away from that man's visage unless something absolutely bad or concerning happened that caused him to break character. Sugihara knew his friend too well to think otherwise – or so he thought.
"But it's an Imperial prince, Ichiro," continued the KISHIN attaché as he lazily tracked Sugihara's movement. "I'd expect the Imperial Army to throw some prototypes and random trinkets in his direction and in his gremlins' way no matter how battle-tested or combat-ready these things are. You know how nepotism works, you've worked with the Clan Council before."
Sugihara stopped pacing for a moment to look at Ulsan-Bak. "Setting aside the part about the Kazoku Hyougikai (3)," he quipped, "You are suggesting that…"
The KISHIN man nodded. "… It's most likely some dipshit Imperial commander's personal ride, it's nothing to get too worked up about. Any field models we'll encounter on the field will most likely be stripped-down versions." He let out a tsk. "And so what if Gallian 88s can't kill them? We have the Pyeon-gons now and we'll soon get better super-vs."
Sugihara conceded that his friend had a point, and confirmed his stop. He did feel a little more relaxed now, especially at the mention of the short-ranged but devastating Kokurian Pyeon-gon HEAT rockets. However, he still had one concern – a worryingly major one.
"Gyeongjong," Sugihara asked his old friend again as he fixed his tie with his left hand. "About that last commander about whom we know nothing, you claimed that you asked your son to take a look?"
Ulsan-Bak's grin faded slightly. "Yeah, him. Or her. I don't know how Imperial names work but it ends in an 'ah' sound, so it's probably a woman." He gave a short snort. "And yeah, Batory's agreed to look into it."
"So you do have the name at least."
The Kokurian shrugged but with a frown fully manifesting itself on his face. It was nothing good, that much Sugihara knew. "Yeah. It's better than nothing, right? Don't ask me how we don't have any more information about this general," fumed Ulsan-Bak. "We've been keeping a running tally of everyone in the OKR and the Federate high command for years but I've never seen anyone in Europa recently make that high a rank at age 21, Ichiro. And she's a ghost as far as we're concerned in terms of intel."
"How exactly," muttered Sugihara with a squint, "did that happen?"
"Beats me," grumbled Ulsan-Bak with a groan. "That woman just suddenly popped up as a lieutenant colonel two years ago, disappeared again, and then reappeared in the order of battle as a full general officer right outside Gallia in February, damn it. Someone's apparently actively scrubbing as many details about her as possible on the fly faster than we can steal them." He let out a hmph of grudging respect. "That's impressive given the absolute state of Imperial counterintelligence."
"You sound as though you have an interest in her, Gyeongjong," offered Sugihara. "I assume it is more than just her young age as a general officer."
Ulsan-Bak nodded. "Damned right I do, and correct," he grumbled. "Especially since she's also apparently in the Barious Desert now. Why a force commander would spend time digging around in the desert that has little strategic value is beyond me, but I'm not having good feelings about it at all."
Sugihara started to feel that sense of unease and frustration return; the Kokurian had kept that frown on his face far too long for comfort. If Ulsan-Bak admitted that KISHIN had a blind spot and was openly fuming about it, it was something indeed to worry about.
"What is her name? … I feel as though we will hear about this general soon."
Ulsan-Bak immediately replied. There was no mistaking his concern, and the name he spoke would stay with Sugihara for months afterwards as he soon came to realize who she truly was.
"Brigadier General Selvaria Bles."
/
(1) Kokurian for Why did you come here?
(2) Kokurian for Leave
(3) The Clan Council (lit. Council of the Exalted Lineages), Yamatai's body of noble families that serves as Yamatai's second great pillar of political power, and by extension a major force in Diarchic affairs.