"And what's the damage on our side?" Angela eyed the two Lance-Knights and the Knight-Lieutenant, sitting in her small office. Usually, such debriefings would be held in a meeting room by their immediate superior officer. But with Knight-Captain Thomas Blackwell being busy with other tasks and the specific nature of their mission, Angela saw it fit to make an exception. Her office was also more secure, which helped prevent an unwanted spread of information.
Anthony and Yuriko exchanged glances, and, after Anthony's nod, the red-haired woman spoke up. "Despite the situation, we did not lose a single pilot. Light to medium damage to all Mobile Suits, but nothing serious." The Asian woman adjusted her position, so that she was sitting a bit more comfortably in one of the two chairs.
"More serious for my team. No damage to one. Medium damage to two. Heavy damage to the fourth. Might end up having to scrap the Mobile Suit." Anthony, the only person standing due to lack of chairs, leaned against the wall with his shoulder.
"And the pilot?"
"Physically, he is fine." Anthony mentally went over the events of the battle. "Though there might be some psychological problems."
"Explain." Angela leaned forward, a mix of curiosity and concern in her voice.
''First kill." Anthony watched the three people give understanding nods. "Followed by an emotionally charged verbal backlash from a Retributor pilot on an open channel." Angela winced, so did Knight-Lieutenant Samuel. That was a nasty combination.
"How did he react?" Yuriko prodded after a moment of silence.
"He's quiet. Didn't say much during the return trip and his after-action report was as standard as it gets." Anthony shrugged. "He seems fine, but that is a guess. I lack the skills necessary to handle such a situation."
"I will talk to him and see what's going on inside his head. However, that will have to wait for now. There are other things to discuss." Angela steered the conversation back on the intended path. "What I need to know is, how would you rate the enemy response? Were they expecting you, or did you catch them by surprise?"
Angela had barely finished her sentence when Samuel spoke up in his deep voice. "They were expecting us alright. No way they sent out a force of that size just to rendezvous with the transport. The ship was a fifty-thousand-ton Wayfarer class. You know, one of those cheap things you see in the hundreds back home."
"It could have been carrying vital cargo." Yuriko pointed out for the sake of argument. "Something the Retributors consider important."
Samuel scratched the side of his jaw. "Doubtful. You saw how they reacted. None of them gave a shit about the transport. They left it way too exposed for too long and one of them even used it as cover."
"Inexperienced pilots? Deception, perhaps?" Yuriko tried to come up with another argument in order to consider the situation from all aspects, but it was obvious she herself was grasping at straws. It was a habit of hers to play the devil's advocate in such situations. Not to antagonize others, but to help reach a conclusion by eliminating unlikely possibilities.
Angela tapped her desk a few times for attention and opened up a file on her computer. She quickly went over it for details, to make sure she hadn't missed a thing. When she was done, Angela shifted her attention back to her subordinates. "Samuel is correct on this one. They were expecting you. At least, the hope was that they were informed about you showing up to the meeting. Fortunately, the gamble paid off."
It didn't take long for them to put two and two together and realize the meaning of Angela's words. "So, we were sent to surprise an enemy that already knew we were coming. Okay, from what I've seen that's exactly what happened. My question is, why?"
"Spy games, Samuel. Fucking spy games. From what I've been able to piece together, the intelligence guys are trying to do more than take out the Retributor spy responsible for the transport. By intentionally leaking the information about our deployment, they are trying to find more people who can inform the Retributors about our actions. My guess is that, depending on how the Retributors reacted to our intervention, they can trace whoever leaked the info." Angela said with a disgusted look on her face. Cloak and dagger tricks were not her favorite method of dealing with enemies. Lines tended to become blurry when things got pushed far enough and oftentimes it was soldiers on the front line paying the price.
"Well, it's obvious someone talked. So, I guess that once we report what happened, someone will lose their head." Samuel's comment left a moment of uneasy silence in its wake. It wasn't like Section 9 would actually chop off a person's head, but there were stories. Crazy stories, sure, but all stories had to come from somewhere.
Not wanting to dwell on such unpleasant thoughts, Angela carried on. "It doesn't matter what they do with this information, it's out of our hands once I send the report. For you, that mission is over. All that remains is to hope that the transport will lead us somewhere good."
"Ah, you sent someone to follow it?"
"Yeah, I sent one of my Paladins to follow you and then trail the transport under stealth." Angela answered Samuel's question as she slowly started to put together a report on her computer. She glanced at Yuriko, as if anticipating her question, and shook her head. "Malcolm was under strict orders not to engage unless absolutely necessary. You didn't lose a single pilot and everything went swimmingly. Therefore, he was able to follow the Retributors once you withdrew."
"What are the chances he will uncover something?" Anthony stood upright as he stopped leaning against the wall. It was obvious the meeting was nearing the end. "We have done this before and the Retributors are aware of it."
Angela paused in her typing and sighed. "I know. The chances are almost nonexistent. Most likely they will lead him to some random location and force him to withdraw when they conduct an extensive area scan. But you know, there are formalities to follow and there is always the possibility that someone will screw up. Hopefully it will be them and not us."
"So, what do we do in the mean time?" Samuel got up from his chair as he too sensed that the meeting was over.
"Get some rest, relax, hand in mission reports, you know, the usual. Though don't get carried away, there's always a chance that something will come up." Angela dismissed them with a casual wave of the hand, the nonchalant attitude a hallmark of her leadership style. Just before Anthony could open the door, she looked up from her computer. "Remember, be quiet about what we talked about in here. There's no reason to give Section 9 funny ideas about us. I'm sure they have a fair number of operatives among the task force personnel."
"Here? Impossible! Why would they spy on their most loyal and reliable soldiers? Aren't we above such suspicion?" Nobody even smiled, not even Samuel himself. Jokes about Section 9 were never funny and there were few more reliable ways to kill the mood and end the conversation than mentioning the infamous organization.
…
When describing the person in charge of a Retributor cell, it really depended on who you asked. If one were to ask the USN, then the description would be of a disfigured savage, occupied with eating babies and destroying civilization. Whereas Retributors would pain the picture of a grim-faced man with a steely-eyed look, standing tall and proud against tyranny in the fight for a better future.
Dante Santoro was none of those things. Sure, fighting against tyranny by taking down the USN was important, but it was no reason to become an uptight bastard with a stick up his ass. He enjoyed a good joke and the occasional drink. He also enjoyed taking things easy and preferred a relaxed approach when controlling the people under his command. Yes, sometimes it was necessary to wield the stick, but most of the time it was better to step back and trust his subordinates.
Bad management was one of the main threats to the various Retributor cells working inside and outside USN territory. Many leaders tried to run them as military units, forgetting that not all Retributors came from a military background and were not used to strict discipline. Conflicts ensued, tension escalated and work suffered, which lead to the discovery of the cell and its following destruction by USN forces.
Despite his distaste for enforcing discipline, Dante had a feeling like he should have been a bit more liberal with the stick. Rules existed for a reason and you had to have some standards. He felt his hand move towards his pistol holster, but he managed to disguise it as scratching an itch on his thigh and then changed it into adjusting the trousers of his grey flight suit.
"I don't think executing Wilbert is a good idea." Apparently, his actions had failed to fool the person following him. "He did say he had a reason for breaking the protocol."
"Which is why I am giving him a chance to explain himself, Saya." Dante ran his hand though his unruly black hair and glanced over his shoulder at the younger woman escorting him. His longtime friend, clad in a similar outfit, shrugged and focused her attention on her computer as she followed him down the tunnel. "Though I doubt whatever reason he has is good enough."
Thanks to the lack of gravity, it didn't take long for them to reach the airlock that separated them from the hangar. As they put on their helmets before cycling the airlock, Dante noted that, for the first time in a while, he and Saya were surrounded by metal, instead of rock. Built inside a hollowed out asteroid, the base was severely lacking when it came to comfort and interior design. Bare rock walls, exposed cables and simple lights were a common sight. Functionality and simplicity above all.
The reason for it was simple. Their base, nicknamed The Brick due to the shape of the asteroid, was a temporary installation. It was a safe location for Retributors to operate from, a hiding hole. It was not a fortress upon which to break the enemy assault. The Brick's greatest defense was stealth. Sure, there were plenty of automated defensive emplacements around the base, but those were the last line of defense and wouldn't stand up for long against a dedicated attack.
A ping signaled the completion of the cycle and the doors hissed open, allowing Dante and Saya access to the hangar. Technically, they did not need their helmets, since the hangar had breathable air. Regardless, there were safety requirements as the hangar had the least number of barriers between breathable air and deadly vacuum. The hangar was massive and took up most of the asteroid's volume. It had two Mobile Suit airlocks on either end and a large shutter in the middle that could split the hangar in two, should the need arise.
Dante glanced to his left, past all the catwalks and gantries that crisscrossed the walls of the hangar, to where a Punisher was entering through the airlock and caught a glimpse of a transport ship through one of the view screens between the two airlocks. Though he was already aware of the situation, seeing the ship with his own eyes, further worsened his mood. "Heads will roll."
"Just give Wilbert a chance to explain himself." Saya, ever the voice of calm, advised and kicked off from the catwalk. Dante did the same and followed her across the hangar to where they could find the person responsible for the mess.
On his way there, Dante caught sight of a pair of Ginn Scouts next to his personal Punisher. A few taps to the comm device on his belt allowed Dante's helmet to access the hangar's PA system. "I want those fucking scouts up and out as soon as possible! Start looking for any signs of enemy presence." He didn't hear any confirmations, but he didn't have to. He knew the pilots of said Mobile Suits. Unlike some, those guys could be relied upon to do what's necessary.
They managed to avoid any collisions with any mechanics who did their best to service the Mobile Suits returning from the mission. The amount of work they had to do was less than expected, Dante noted, since not all of the Mobile Suits had returned. He had sent out a sizeable force of six Punishers and four Primals, slightly more than half of the Mobile Suits at his disposal. Seven came back. Two of the four Punishers were damaged, but it was nothing they couldn't fix. Of the three Primals one was undamaged, the second one would be good to go after some minor repairs, but the third one was so damaged it might as well be destroyed. It would be easier to build a new Mobile Suit than bother with repairing the wreck that remained.
Evaluating the status of his Mobile Suit force would have to wait, since there was a much bigger problem to deal with. Dante shifted his gaze away from the busted Primal towards where a young pilot was coming out of the Punisher's cockpit. Wilbert Vogel. A day before he was the man Dante had placed high hopes on. Despite being only seventeen years old, the ex-ZAFT pilot was worth keeping an eye on. Brave, intelligent and charismatic, Wilbert had all the makings of a capable team leader. In fact, Dante had placed Wilbert in charge of the mission for this very reason. An opportunity for Wilbert to get some experience and grow as a leader. Unfortunately, it seemed that Dante had made a mistake. He had placed too much trust in Wilbert. All that remained was to learn the reason for this screwup. To Wilbert's credit, the moment he spotted Dante and Saya, he straightened up and did not look away. Wilbert's amber yellow eyes meeting the gaze of Dante's pale blue. Dante was further assuaged by the pained expression on Wilbert's face. The guy knew he had messed up. Good. Perhaps there was still hope.
Dante caught Saya's outstretched hand and brought himself to a halt next to her. He then moved slightly forward, bringing himself well inside Wilbert's comfort zone. The pilot opened his mouth to say something, but never managed to because Dante was faster. "Wilbert Vogel. Tell me, what is our standard procedure for all retrieval missions?"
"Wha…?" Confused, Wilbert glanced at Saya, but the Japanese woman's grey-eyed stare told him that no assistance was coming from her. The blonde Coordinator turned his attention back towards Dante. "Standard procedure is to head towards a designated safe zone, where all members of the team as well as the transport are to remain until it's clear that no enemy units are following us." As he spoke, emotion started to fill his voice. "Look, sir. I know this is…" Dante did not give him an opportunity to defend his actions. Not yet.
"Good. Now, what did you do instead?" Dante asked in a casual tone, as if asking for the time.
"We don't have…"
"What did you do instead?" Dante could clearly see that his painfully obvious questions were annoying Wilbert to the extreme. Good. Let the guy stew in his emotions for a bit. Hopefully, voicing his screwups out loud would teach Wilbert a valuable lesson.
Wilber took a deep breath, calming himself. Though the creaking of his gloves betrayed his true state of mind. "We ignored the procedure and came directly to the base."
"Why?" It was time to get to the bottom of this. Now Wilbert had the opportunity to lay it all out and defend his decisions, thus allowing Dante to determine what sort of future Wilbert would have in the Retributors. Dante already had a sneaking suspicion of why everything had fallen apart. All he needed now, was the final confirmation.
"It's because of Rachel. She is… She… Her… Amy got killed. They tried to take them… the enemy… Solar Knights… by surprise. But they ran into an ambush and Amy… Amy was killed." The floodgates burst open before Dante could finish his single word question. "Rachel tried to get revenge, but her Mobile Suit got badly damaged. She was dragged off the battlefield." Dante and Saya glanced over to the damaged Primal Void, where a group of mechanics were crowding around the cockpit region. From a distance, it looked like the cockpit was fine, but there was no telling what had happened to the interior. "She is fine… I mean, she wasn't injured… physically. But she… Amy meant a lot to her... She loved her. And now Amy is… I have never heard someone scream like that."
There it was. The last piece of the puzzle that completed the picture. At this point, Dante was no longer listening to Wilbert's explanation. He had heard enough. Out of courtesy, he waited until Wilbert paused for breath before raising his hand for silence. "That's enough. What is done is done. Get some rest."
"What about her? I can't just… I have to do something."
"At the moment you cannot help her. Rachel needs rest and time to calm down. A conversation is the last thing on her mind." Saya explained as she made a few notes in her computer. "Go. Rest."
Dante followed the departing pilot with his eyes and shook his head. Once again, the harsh reality reared its ugly head. Wilbert's actions had little to do with stupidity or incompetence. The real problem was emotional immaturity. It was an old issue that had plagued ZAFT since the First Bloody Valentine War. When it came to physical and mental capabilities, Coordinators matured faster than Naturals. It was perfectly normal for a sixteen-year-old Coordinator, to do the same job that would be more suited for a twenty-year-old Natural. Emotions, however, were a different thing. Emotional development was not something that could be accelerated and no amount of mental or physical skills were enough to compensate when dealing with something emotionally devastating as war. "Stupid Coordinators." Dante muttered.
"Really?" Dante turned around and met Saya's flat gaze. There was no anger in it as Saya was an old friend and knew he didn't mean that.
Dante met her gaze with his amused one. "Don't pretend like you have no idea what I'm talking about. You know, just as well as I do, idiots who decided it was a good idea to send kids to war, deserve a lot more than a severe beating." He rested against the Punisher with his arms crossed. "Yeah, it was understandable back when ZAFT barely existed and the world was full of genocidal zealots who nuked colonies and bombed children's daycare clinics. They had no choice. But it's not the Bloody Valentine anymore. It's been, what … almost twenty years since then. ZAFT is no longer a tiny militia, they have had plenty of time to raise the age requirements. 'But no, we are super special, we can send children into battle and screw up their heads.' As long as such idiots are in charge of ZAFT, kids will suffer."
It wasn't the first time Saya had heard Dante's opinion on ZAFT's recruitment policies and, as before, she agreed with him. The disproportionately high number of PTSD cases among ZAFT's personnel was its dark secret. This was a clear case of just because one could, did not mean that one should. Wilbert was not the only example. Her attention shifted towards Rachel's Primal. "What are we going to do with her? She is in no condition for deployment. Should we send her back to Ronin City?"
"Not yet. Let's see how she deals with the loss and go from there. Though keep her on the base for the next few days. No patrols for her. Also, find out what the transport contains. I want to know what we potentially doomed this base for." Dante took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "And here I hoped earning the Commando of the Year Award for excellent record."
"Good. Means more chances for the rest of us." Saya managed a chuckle despite the situation. Humor was a good sign that Dante was returning to his normal self. A few taps on her computer relayed Dante's requests to the appropriate people. She often found herself serving as Dante's secretary, despite it not being her job. It was just how they worked. Dante's mindset was more focused on the immediate issues, while Saya often considered the situation as a whole. "Where are you going?" Saya asked when she saw Dante push off from Wilbert's Punisher and head towards his.
"I'm going out to help scout the area. Mirage Colloid might be hiding The Brick, but the transport ship has no such luxury, and neither do some of our Mobile Suits." Dante called over his shoulder. "Hopefully, the Solar Knights did not trail the transport. But if they did, an extra set of eyes might root out any unwelcome guests."
"Anyone who has followed the ship will be using Mirage Colloid. Vari-cams are a short-range tool. You believe you'll be able to find someone out there?" Saya had to raise her voice as the distance between them increased.
Dante's response was a grin and a cheery wave. "Saya. You know me. I have the luck of the devil."
…
"One, two, three, four, five. Reset." The blade slashed through the air. "Again. One, two, three, four, five. Reset." He took three steps back and assumed the guard position. "Again. One, two, three, four, five." A horizontal slash, followed by a draw cut, followed by a pair of slashes, one downwards, one upwards. Lastly, a solid thrust completed the series of motions. Roland held the position for a moment. "Reset."
For the next exercise he adopted a high guard, with the sword held high above his head. Before he could continue, a frustrating thought reminded him of the characteristics of the sword he was using. With an annoyed grunt, Roland lowered the sword, so that the blade was just above his right shoulder. The roof guard. Once that was done, he went through a series of strikes, aiming at the top part of the imaginary opponent's body. As he did so, Roland allowed a small bit of frustration to bleed into his strikes, granting them extra strength.
The training sword he was using, was modeled after the one equipped on the Excalibur Mobile Suits. Though classified as a longsword, in truth it fell into the nebulous category of bastard swords. Weapons that were in between one-handed and two-handed swords, and could be used as either one. In theory, it provided a great deal of versatility. Unfortunately, it also gave up the strengths of a specialized design.
The blade was too short for proper two-handed use, which made a lot of moves impractical. Roland also disliked the shape of the sword as it was too wide in almost every aspect. The blade, the crossguard, the grip and even the pommel. All of it too wide for his tastes. It added a lot of unnecessary weight to the weapon, which affected the sword's handling. Which, in turn, affected the way pilots trained with it and taught them several bad habits.
Parrying an imaginary strike from his opponent, Roland used the opening to hit his non-existent enemy in the face with the crossguard. With the enemy temporarily disoriented, Roland whirled the blade around and executed a quick draw cut that would open up the side of the opponent's neck. A moment later, he dispatched the already dying enemy with a thrust to the stomach. At least in theory. Fighting without an opponent was more of a challenge to his imagination rather than skill. What made the matters worse, the gym on the Sibrand didn't have any training dummies. Many techniques relied on using the opponent's sword as a leverage point. Without that solid point of contact, Roland was forced to rely on his past training sessions in order to recall how it felt working against and around an opponent's sword.
Eventually he gave up on trying to win a fight against an imaginary opponent and switched to a more standard training routine. It was important to practice strikes and movements so they could be fine tuned to the point where performing them was a reflexive action that didn't require conscious thoughts to guide them. Reflexes were much faster than thoughts and it allowed Roland to focus his mind on other things. Generally, it meant studying his opponent, finding weaknesses and guiding his actions in order to exploit them. It also gave Roland a chance to think about something other than the fight. One of such things that weighed heavily on his mind was…
"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping? At least that's what most people spend their free time on." Roland looked at the doorway where Angela had just entered the gym. Like him, she was clad in a simple exercise outfit. Her hair were done in a simple ponytail instead of the usual braid. "Then again, not many people use the gym in the first place. All these facilities and only a bare minimum of use. Such a waste." Angela took up a free spot nearby and began going through a series of warm-up exercises, mostly consisting of various stretches.
Taken off guard by the unexpected company, Roland was a bit slow when it came to answering the question. "Yes… I… I mean, I know what time it is. I just don't feel like sleeping. So I figured I might as well do something productive."
"So you decided to spend your free time here?"
"It provides a certain degree of comfort. Exercises of various sorts have been part of my life for years, ever since I was a child. It has become a way to relax." Roland resumed practicing with the sword, though he kept part of his attention on Angela.
"Exercise as a form of relaxation? Interesting." With her warm-ups done, Angela stepped onto a treadmill and began jogging. Silence reigned for a while as she seemed to consider his answer. "I assume it's also a great way to clear your head. Take your thoughts off things you'd rather not think about, right? Or do the opposite and think them through in order to find an answer."
Pausing mid-swing, Roland glanced at her with suspicion. In most situations, Angela's pondering would be little more than idle chat. A way to move the conversation along by expanding upon the mentioned concept. However, the timing of the phrase, the pause before it and the tone of it, as is Angela had something specific on her mind, all of it made Roland certain that there was an ulterior motive at play. Most likely, it was related to his last mission, nothing else came to his mind. "That's an oddly specific observation. What are you trying to say?" Roland probed. Though his tone was neutral, the demand for more details was strongly implied.
Angela gave no response. The woman merely increased the speed of the treadmill and kept running. Since she was facing away from him, Roland could not see the expression on her face, but her stiff posture betrayed the fact that she had heard him. Roland maintained his stare and was eventually rewarded with Angela peeking over her shoulder. The moment their eyes met, she looked away. Nonetheless, the damage was done. Roland knew it and Angela knew it as well. She let out a short chuckle and raised her index finger. "Just a moment, let me finish."
Sensing that the real purpose of her visit was about to be revealed, Roland sat down on a nearby bench. He placed the sword between his legs, pointing downwards and resting both palms and his chin on the pommel. Holding a sword, even a training one, had a comforting effect on him. It brought a degree of familiarity, a sense of normalcy and calm.
Roland patiently waited until Angela was done with her exercise. It didn't take long. She stepped off the treadmill, looked at him and let out another chuckle. "Yeah, this is about you. I planned to be discreet, but I guess I screwed that up. Therefore, I'll just grab the bull by its horns and get this over with." She sat down on a weight bench, so that they were level with each other and leaned forward, meeting his eyes with hers. "It's about what happened during your last mission as well as how you've been acting since you returned yesterday. You have been very quiet, staying away from others and now you're spending time at the gym. Not good signs."
"Okay?" Roland could not help but feel defensive, even though Angela's tone carried no accusation. "No offense, but why are you talking to me about this? I mean, you have a task force to lead?" No matter how much he tried, Roland could not maintain a neutral tone and his last question came out harsher than intended.
"Because I am kind of in charge of your platoon until Knight-Captain Blackwell returns. Also, I prefer taking the quick and dirty road instead of following proper procedures. Though it does have a chance to backfire. Of course, if you want to, we can follow the standard procedure and do a full psychological evaluation, but that would ground you for a long time, and I need every pilot I can get." Angela watched Roland shake his head at the proposition. "Good. Now, I read the reports and I know what happened. During the mission, you killed a Retributor pilot. The first time you actually killed someone."
"Yes… I did kill that pilot and she … Amy… is the first person of whose death I am directly responsible." Roland confirmed, making sure he pronounced every word as clearly as possible. As he spoke, he felt numbness spreading throughout him. It was nothing like what he had felt the moment he had a moment to himself and had fully realized what he had done, but it was still there. Then again, this was the first time he actually said it out loud and putting it into words gave the whole thing a degree of finality.
Angela stared at him, looking for any telltale signs of trouble. It was impossible to miss the wariness, but not to a degree she was expecting. "Yes, and how do you feel about it?"
"I feel … normal."
"Normal?" Angela repeated, surprised with Roland's answer. "That … is not the answer I was waiting for."
Roland spun the sword around a few times and for a brief moment, his eyes acquired a distant look. "I feel normal. Of course, I feel bad about what happened. It is sad that I had to kill her, but that's something I accepted years ago." When Angela narrowed her eyes at his explanation, Roland took a deep breath and continued. "Military tradition runs very deep in my family and ever since I was a child, I knew it for a fact that I will have to serve. Which meant that someone would die by my hand, unpleasant as it sounds. The schooling I received helped me understand that being a soldier means that, sometimes, you have to kill people."
"I see." Angela said, though the frown on her forehead told Roland she didn't.
"Killing a person does not bother me… wait, no. Poor choice of words. What I meant is, I know what I did and I will not make any excuses about it. When the next time comes, I am fully prepared to do the same."
"Huh, interesting. Usually, this is a serious problem for many new pilots. Which is good, because it should be. Killing a person should not be something you just shrug at and move on, but neither should it be something that makes you fall apart. Not if you want to be a soldier. It's just a sad fact of life. Like you said, being a soldier means that sometimes you can't avoid killing people." A wave of relief washed over Angela when she realized that Roland's ability to cope with the nature of war was better than expected. Fortunately, it looked like she won't have to help him deal with it like she had to with some of the other new pilots.
"True. Though there's something else that bothers me about the situation." Roland spoke up, his eyes still distant.
Fuck…
"The second Retributor pilot. One who was together with the one I killed. I do not know who they were, friends? Lovers? Siblings? Regardless, it was obvious that they were close. I left her alone, since she wasn't a threat and I had to reinforce the rest of my lance. However, she followed me and… the way she screamed. Blamed me. It just…" Roland trailed off for a moment, reliving the brief encounter. After that, his voice became more analytical. "I shouldn't be surprised, because it's quite obvious that the death of a person affects others. No one lives in a vacuum after all and it doesn't matter what kind of a person they are, someone, somewhere will be saddened by their death. I have always been aware of this fact on an intellectual level, but when it actually happened… right in front of me."
Angela rested her elbows on her knees and spoke in a quiet voice. "Turns out, theory and real life are two different things, isn't it?"
Roland rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm and nodded with a heavy sigh. It bothered him greatly that he was so upset about this. He felt like this was something he should have been prepared for. Something he should have known how to deal with. Had he missed a lesson? Was his training insufficient? How was he supposed to deal with this? What exactly he was supposed to do now? He found himself thinking about that Retributor pilot, whose scream he couldn't get out of his head. It was obvious, she was the most affected person in this situation. Something had to be done about her. But what he could do? Show her mercy on the battlefield and endanger his fellow pilots? Try and reason with her? Explain the harsh realities of war? Would she even give him a chance to do that? Would she even listen? Would she care? "Ugh, so many questions. But I have to do something. I have to fix this."
"Why?" Roland froze and stared at Angela, dumbfounded, when he heard the question. "Why do you feel like you have to do something? What makes you think this is your problem to solve?"
"Be-because I hurt her. I killed someone she cared about." Roland stammered as if struggling to find a way to explain a basic concept.
"True. But she was also quite happy with doing her best to kill you, was she not? Everything that happened was an unpleasant part of war, you said it yourself." Anger flashed inside Roland when he heard his own words being thrown back at him. Before he could think of a reply, Angela continued. "I know you want to find a way to solve this and do something about her, but listen to me when I say, right now, this is not a problem for you to solve. If you want to do something, then accept the fact that it's up to her to decide how it all ends. Your job is to respect that decision."
Roland narrowed his eyes as he tried to understand what Angela was saying. It wasn't up to him? How was that possible? He had hurt the Retributor. His actions had caused the pain. Was it not his responsibility to make amends? To fix it? "What do you mean? You want me to just sit here and do nothing?"
"Right now that pilot has a choice to make." Angela pointed off to the side as if the Retributor was somewhere nearby. "She can choose to understand your actions, accept what happened and move on. Hopefully, she has good friends, wonderful colleagues, people she can rely on to help her. Or…" Angela's voice gained a darker tone. "She can choose to hate you and do everything in her power to kill you. When, or if, you meet her again, one way or another, she will let you know which choice she has made."
"And if…"
"If she has decided on hate, then you will have to show her kindness and kill her." She held up her hand in order to forestall Roland's objections. "Roland, I have served for several years. I've seen what hate does to people. Unreasonable, all-consuming hate. It turns people into monsters. In fact, it does more than that, it also affects people around them. They are forced to see someone they know, someone they care about, become a twisted shell of their former selves. Hate is like a cancer – it spreads pain, misery and suffering. In such cases, death is a closure. An act of mercy. As weird as it sounds, sometimes, killing someone is the kindest thing you can do."
Roland mulled over her words and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Unpleasant as it was, he had no say in the matter. It was up to the pilot to choose whether to keep suffering or make peace with it. Roland's responsibility was to respect that decision and accept it, regardless of the choice. And if she chooses hate, then I will have to end the suffering. "This is … a situation I have no control over, which goes against everything I have been taught. 'Seize the initiative', 'be the one in control'. Letting go feels wrong." He admitted with a sigh.
"The only thing one truly controls is how they react to whatever happens to them. Thinking that you get to control how others react is not just stupid, it is the height of arrogance. Hope for the best, trust in the better part of human nature, but accept whatever happens. Respecting the enemy means more than just not underestimating them." Angela's tone became almost motherly and, though she was only a few years older than him, Roland found himself looking up at the woman. Both literary and figuratively. She gave him a cheerful smile. "Now, once again, how do you feel?"
"I feel… peaceful. Well, not maybe peaceful, it will take some time for me to wrap my head around this, but I am prepared to face whatever happens. Should I run into that pilot again, I will not do anything that jeopardizes the mission." Roland promised when Angela arched her eyebrows.
"Good. Now we can move on to your homework." Angela jumped to her feet, her hands on hips.
Roland nearly dropped his sword. "Homework?"
"Of course. Just because we had this conversation does not mean that mind of yours won't wonder. Therefore, here's what you'll be doing. I want to see you spend time with your fellow soldiers. Talk to them, hang out, socialize. The moment I see you near a dark corner or hear that you've been off brooding alone, we're doing the full psychological evaluation thing. Am I understood?" Despite the cheerful tone, Roland detected more than a hint of steel underneath.
"Yes." He replied. Angela frowned. "Yes, ma'am." And just like that, he was back in school.
