-3 April 1936-

Lady luck must have been on Kriegstotcher's side, since overnight the snowfall dissipated and the sky cleared. All that remained was a biting chill that chewed on exposed flesh like a malicious animal. Fortunately, radio contact would be easy to maintain thanks to this change in elements while on the move through enemy territory. Although the remote nature of the Republic meant that the icy ravines were a greater threat than a chance of crossing paths with a Republican scout.

The first task to be addressed was the trouble of command. It was Karl's decision. He ultimately concluded Chiara's impulsiveness would be a detriment to the squad's ability to react in the field. However, after her passionate objections and a few sadistic displays of abuse of authority from Nikola, Karl decided it would suit the mission for them to be of equal rank. His hope was when push came to shove, they would work together to meet any challenges head on. In supporting roles, Fedor would handle the radio. Sorina, a sniper, and Gunther, of course, would be a dutiful engineer. There was no doubt of his unique importance. Engineers in the Imperial armed forces served as sappers and medics, often weighted down with plenty of supplies.

Their goal was simple enough. Establish contact with the loyalist armies, assess their needs and then withdraw. While the Commissariat had little supplies to spare its allies, the shadowy organization was no stranger to taking advantage of fracture supply chains for its own needs. Given that its needs were in line with the Empire as a whole. A tangible hypocrisy to those who were aware of it.

Nikola and Chiara were well aware of the need for the entire operation to remain clandestine. Secrecy ensured the conflict would remain that of a civil war and not one of reclamation as the disaster campaign in Gallia was becoming. Although everyone knew Karl was keeping quiet about what was to come once they restored order in the region.

But before the operation could begin, there was the torturous task of waiting. Chiara went ahead of her partner and found Gunther, Sorina, and Fedor already at the center of the camp. Certainly, these three were the most eccentric members of Kriegstotcher. Gunther had few friends, his sunny disposition off-putting to the stoic members of the unit. Sorina seemed to frighten all those who interacted with her. Many of the men claimed she was a practitioner of black magic. Last, was Fedor. A fanatic. A zealot. Who approached their mission was a frightful zeal, as evidenced by the fact he was on his knees in prayer. Balled head pointed toward the Northstar. He mumbled to himself in a hushed tone.

It was Gunther who had arrived first, and had already gone through an entire pack of cigarettes by the time the rest joined him. This pile of smoldering butts sat at his foot. Sorina remained aloof, eerie, and in her own world. But her incessant scratching at her bandages was hard to ignore. Whatever the extent of the affliction, it caused her incredible discomfort.

Chiara herself felt better, if only moderately. The sniffles were still a source of embarrassment and she was quick to ward off questions with a scowl affixed permanently to her face. At the very least, the Commissariat requisitioned appropriate cold weather gear for the days ahead. Already far ahead in terms of forward thinking as opposed to X-0. Fedor was in a warm white fur coat which covered his normal uniform all the way to his boots. The wrappings around his head made it so only his green eyes were visible. Sorina wore a white, loose-fitting cloak that stopped at her waist, if she was cold, no one could tell since she was a stoic.

Chiara remained. She did not want to part with her standard combat garb but did not object to a warm cloak which was now draped around her shoulders. Though it was her treasured red beret that truly made her stick out like a sore thumb. But she still fit into the elements better than the likes of Gunther, who unbothered by the freezing temperatures still wore in his summer fatigues aside from a notable long grey wool coat of similar make to that of the Commissars. Underneath it was a thin white muscle shirt smudged with grease. When asked if he was insane, Gunther would chortle and answer: Absolutely.

Confronted with someone deep in prayer, Chiara was not sure what to make of the spectacle. Belgar scorned superstition, preferring to find comfort in cold and mechanical views of life.

So here was Fedor, on his knees. Hands clasped together as he muttered. "Almighty Valkyrur, I speak to you as a servant." His accent was guttural and heavily accented by a dialect alien to her. Chiara was unaware of the church's internal usage of a spoken form of Old Northern Script.

"Why is he doing this?" Chiara asked finally. She preferred to give Fedor space, given his foul mood and tendency to lecture those ruthlessly who disturbed him. Since he never objected to her or Nikola's command, neither saw fit to bother him.

Sorina suddenly became animate. "Comrade Servaas likes to invoke protection from ghosts before operations." Her tone was cutting, cruel, filled with malice. To say she spurned the Valkyrur and what they represented was an understatement. From wherever her hatred originated, it was enough to unnerve even Karl. Her pale red eye flicked to her rifle. She adjusted the sight, which had a tendency to become misaligned because of forces unknown to her. Newer models of Zechmeister's sniper rifles were prone to jamming due to a lack of standardization and increasingly irrational production demands. Sorina often had to spend hours tinking with the rifle to get it into fighting shape.

Chiara continued to stare dully at Fedor. Her basic knowledge of the world only went as far as Belgar's indoctrination allowed. In short, anything that was deemed superfluous to her purpose as an extension of his will was deemed unnecessary. Puzzled, she asked. "Ghosts?"

"The Valkyrur." Sorina clarified, amused by her squad leader's innocence. "Those wretched progenitors of European society who delusional weaklings like to call upon in their ignorance." Harsh words that matched her equally harsh demeanor. "Sufficiently advanced souls have no need for saviors to intervene on their behalf."

"Souls…" Chiara said aloud. She brought her boot up and studied the sole of her boot. A move that caused Gunther to belt out laughing. Embarrassed, she flew into a rage. "What, you idiot!?" Her fangs bore at him, she looked ready to rip him limb from limb.

"Not 'sole' boss," Gunther said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Soul." He motioned to the world around them. "The ghost in the machine. What quality makes us who we are." He found Chiara's lack of practical understanding fascinating. Like she grew up in a cave without input from any exterior forces. Unknown to him, he was not far off the mark.

Chiara felt a wave of uneasiness overtake her as a knot formed in her stomach. "Who… we… are?" She recited slowly. Given she grew up in a laboratory under constant supervision from faceless figures in white coats, existential fears became proof of a need for further adjustments. Belgar called it the mechanization of man and pursued his experiments to their logical end points.

Sorina snickered. "Careful now. Comrade Servaas may feel inspired to lecture us about the nature of the soul." To say the two were in conflict was an understatement, for was it not for regulations, they would have killed each other.

"Hey. He has got divine protection. What do we have?" Gunther laughed. He pointed at the kneeling chaplain. "When the bullets are in the air, I am putting my money on the Valkyrur."

"My Dunkel is the only protection I need," Chiara declared confidently, as she held up her precious crossbow. She stroked her fingertips across its grooves.

Already smitten from intimately working on the impressive piece of machinery, Gunther was nothing but in love with the crossbow. "Such beauty. Simple yet complex, like a good woman." He stopped short of reaching to stroke the smooth alloy that comprised its mechanical body. "Can't wait to see it in action."

There was a novel idea, and her eyes lit up. A mischievous, cruel smirk crawled onto her face. "Oh! If that is the case, let's test it on you!" Chiara's intimidating aura fled almost as soon as it arrived, when she suddenly paused. For a moment, there was silence as she opened her mouth. Then came an incredible sneeze. Globules of snot flew into the air before they landed in a greenish ooze at her feet.

Now she was nothing more than a shivering little kitten. Gunther chuckled heartily at her misfortune. "Uh, huh? Bet you'd drop it before hitting the broad side of a barn."

"Quiet! Y-Y-You MORON!" Chiara screeched, kicking at his shins. She hunched over both nostrils, flaring with an inconsolable rage. She was ready to kill, and he was the prime choice of victim.

"Easy shrimp! Those boots are sharp!" Gunther laughed as he danced backward, away from her strike zone. He evidently lacked any form of a survival instinct. This statement was a bridge too far. Chiara stopped in her tracks, a definite twitch in her eye.

"Shrimp?" She repeated the word through gritted teeth. A torrent of insults followed as she barked, "You are the freak of nature here, giant!" Chiara lunged, fully prepared to tackle him to the ground. He predicted her choice of attack, though, and avoided her charge. An elaborate dance ensued as she ranted furiously at a bemused Gunther who continued to walk backwards.

Their noise was enough to rouse Fedor, whose eyes snapped open. Looking around erratically, it did not take him long at all to discover the source of the interruption. Exuding a rage that caused even Sorina to step back, Fedor glared. He concealed the spiral medallion he held during prayers. "Be silent." When Chiara and Gunther continued to bicker, Fedor raised his voice. "Silence you cretins!"

Chiara flew into the air with a start. "Gah!?"

Her hand grabbed hold of her Dunkel when Fedor reached for his machine pistol. It was the third iteration of the titular automatic weapon. "I can't carry forth the Almighty's crusade if I do not know their command."

"Is that so? Have you had some sort of divine revelation?" Sorina asked.

"Do not mock me, witch." Fedor said, with words drenched in judgment. "Corrupted, miserable souls the entire lot of you, plucked from darkness by the bloodied nails of the Lord Commissar."

Gunther touched his hat by its bill. "Ah shit. Here we go again." A chill ran up his spine and served as enough motivation to at last button his coat.

Chiara was elsewhere in her mind. "Corrupt." She mumbled, the word crawling through her subconscious like a sapper crawled beneath barbwire. A slow movement straight to the very heart of her being. Even as far back as her time with X-0, the word hanged over her and Nikola like a sword. It was ready to fall on them without mercy or warning. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Gunther could tell it bothered her, but was unsure why. "Eh. You know how these Yggdist types can be. Always ranting about this and that. Living clean and morally."

Chiara was a few connected circuits short of a live wire. A stream of drool ran down from her lips as she tried to put two and two together. "Unclean? Are you supposed to wash your soul?" This was certainly news to her. Maybe that was why Forseti had nothing but harsh words to impart to her.

Or why Belgar was always so disappointed by her progress. Deciding to take pity on her lack of socialization, Gunther knelt. He offered a kindly but humorous tone, not unlike that of an older brother. "I wouldn't recommend it. A soul is just some mumbo-jumbo." He wiggled his fingers in the air, and her gaze followed them. "Invisible, ya know?"

"That sounds dumb." Chiara said, returning her crossbow to its sling. Now the weapon's long bayonet pointed toward the ground. "What good is a soul if it is invisible?"

"Heh. I am not really the one to ask. According to our comrade here." He pointed to Fedor, who stared back at them both with a chilling gaze filled with disdain. Whatever fire was lit deep inside the chaplain, they had yet to hear the end of it. "Says my soul is beyond all repair."

Sorina was quick to disparage the concept all together. "Bah! It matters not!" She uncrooked a bandaged finger and prodded Chiara's cheek. "I wouldn't let it trouble you. Soul or not, everything dies the same way."

Her statement was one Chiara could understand. With fangs visible, she smirked with a frightful glee in her brown eyes. "That's right, isn't it? A bolt to the skull and the body stops moving… Hehe."

Fedor was unimpressed by her violent inclinations, but if he had a conflict with anyone present, it was not his commander, no rather, it was Sorina. "Blasphemous creature. Your perversions of the Valkyrur's teachings will go unheard." His rage shifted to a grinning Gunther. "And you."

"Who, me?" Gunther asked.

"Yes, you." Fedor took a step forward. "You should hold your tongue. Given the corrupt life you choose to lead. Gold cannot protect you from a bullet."

Gunther snapped his fingers. "Dang. I was counting on it." He snorted, his good nature unphased by the hostility. "I am banking on the Valkyrur being gamblers."

He gave a sarcastic tip of his cap, revealing his blonde hair. Fedor scoffed and moved on to his commander herself. She may have been young, but that was all the more reason to start the criticisms early. "It is profoundly disheartening to lay eyes on an animal as wretched as you and Agent Graf. Souls blacker than night, and unfit for the world."

Sorina tittered. Gunther made a face. Chiara, though unwilling to tolerate such disrespect, planted her feet firmly and raised a fist. "You got a problem!? I will show you who is unfit for this world!"

"Hey, congrats," Gunther said as he leaned over; he lowered his voice. "You are officially one of us."

Chiara continued to scowl. With a crack of her knuckles, she advanced at Fedor. "Let me teach you some manners. You want your eyes where your mouth is or the opposite?"

Fedor did not budge. He was not worried about her violent tendencies. Instead, with sagely disappointment, he sighed. "Pitiable child."

He turned, hearing the crunch of snow under a boot. Nikola was behind him and had heard the latter half of the conversation. "While she is certainly pitiful. Speak again and I will cut out your tongue, Servaas." Chiara did not expect Nikola to speak up in her defense. It was reassuring to hear. On tip toes, Nikola grabbed hold of Fedor's bandoleer and jerked him down so they were eye to eye. "Insult her again, and you are off this mission."

He had committed a grave sin by breaching the unspoken rule that the only person allowed to push Chiara around was Nikola herself. Fedor remained expressionless and wordlessly removed her hand. He then stepped back. His touch found his machine pistol, the barrel on which was scratched the words Dies irai. "Forgive me, Agent Graf. Do not deny me a place on this battlefield, as it is here the Valkyrur has sent me."

Palpable zeal was a desirable quality in a subordinate. Such fury guaranteed he would be a ruthless combatant to face. Nikola accepted his apology. "Good. Do not forget it." She jerked her head so Chiara joined her. "We have six hours to contact the loyalist vanguard. Should be plenty of time if we keep a steady pace."

"This is going to be fun." Chiara grinned, filled with overconfidence as usual. No one present objected, so their journey began in earnest. The border between the Empire and the Nord Republic was quite long. So, Imperial command had concentrated most of its available troops along the main roads. The majority of these garrison forces were under-strength and no longer fit for offensive operations; their primary task was to prevent incursions from the North toward Schwartzgrad.

While Republican strength was focused around Lowerholm, from where they could easily launch an offensive to drive the Loyalists out of the country entirely. Patrols were not a concern given the situation as a whole, since only light skirmishes had occurred between the participants.

Nikola and Chiara's first goal was to cross a coastal segment of the Crystal Sea, in order to avoid the main roads. It was a dangerous task since the ice was already beginning to thaw because of the warming temperatures. At the edge of where the bank met glacial sheets of ice, it was clear why X-0 depended so heavily on Crymaria's power. As she artificially strengthened the surface enough to support the deployment of soldiers.

Fedor brought everyone's hesitation to an abrupt end when pushed past his commanders and in prayer walked onto the sea without fear. A faithful man knew when it was his time.

There were better ways to cross a precarious area without relying on divine intervention. Gunther revealed a pouch of heavy tank bolts which he always kept on his person. With Nikola and Chiara fused to his backside, he inched forward. Every few steps, he would stop and throw one of these bolts ahead. If the ice could not support their weight, it was a safe conclusion that it would not support three soldiers weighed down with equipment.

Injecting some humor into the death defying situation, he laughed to himself. "How fun! It's like a game of dice, but instead of losing money, I just drown!" As if to illustrate his point, he brought his boot down too hard and instantly the ice splintered outward from the impact. A lengthy crack traveled several feet ahead of them. The trio froze in place.

Impatient as ever, and lacking a self-preservation instinct, Chiara grinned, then gave him a malicious shove. "Move it!"

Gunther cried out, stumbled, and caught himself before meeting an icy fate. "Easy!"

Nikola blew some air from her nostrils, exasperatedly. She folded her arms. "Can you not go faster?" Sorina and Fedor were already far ahead of them. An unacceptable state of affairs, given that she and Chiara were in charge.

"My deepest apologies, my empress," Gunther said sarcastically. He followed her stony gaze in the direction of their other squad mates. "I am neither a pious man nor a ghoul. If you want, you can go right ahead."

Nikola did not move. Instead, she grabbed hold of Chiara. "If you weren't so heavy, maybe we'd cross easier."

It was Chiara's turn to be pushed, and as she slipped on the ice, she crashed into Gunther's back. He avoided catastrophe, keeping his balance, but she hit the ice floor with a dull thud. Gunther moved to help her stand, but Chiara glowered at him. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Some call it a hand, boss," Gunther explained, vexed by her reaction. He opened and closed his hand for emphasis."

"Boss?" Chiara repeated. Then she cocked her head. The word sounded strange, but the respect suited her ego. "I am your boss, aren't I?" Chiara placed her hand into his and allowed him to pull her up.

Nikola was less than impressed by the grotesque display of camaraderie. "Aw. Isn't that sweet?" She shrugged. "I guess it is like they say. Morons stick together."

Chiara twitched, her eyes darting to her hand, which was still holding Gunther's. She jerked away instantly, as red as her beret. He took the joke with grace. "No reason to be so cold, Agent Graf." Gunther pointed to the ice below her feet, which looked a bit weak. "All that negativity is bound to weigh you down. My guess it is your fault our progress is so slow."

"Hush! No one asked." Nikola huffed. "A grease monkey like you should be silent and follow orders."

"Aye aye," Gunther said with a salute. He held out his arm. "Ladies first, coMANder."

Anxiety flashed across Nikola's face, but her pride won in the end and she took a confident step forward. "Move aside then."

"Wait up!" Chiara shouted. She refused to languish in Nikola's shadow this time. Together, in a comical display of poor planning, they skittered and slid across the ice. As both girls discovered their boots sole no longer gripped like they use to.

Gunther stood there watching the spectacle. He shook his head. "And that is why you make friends with a conscripted cobbler." He clicked his heels together and moved to assist them. Nikola and Chiara did not object to his help now, allowing him to take stand ahead. The three made some progress, despite their bickering.

Fedor, who was only a few feet ahead now, paused and looked back. He squinted. Nikola, Chiara and Gunther's path was not quite his own. He raised his voice, commanding, "Stop!"

They froze on command. Nervously, their three pairs of eyes slowly drifted downward. A thinning patch of ice was right before them. No doubt it would have broken under their collective weight. Gunther smirked proudly as he tossed a bolt onto it. "See. My method is superior." To illustrate his point, he tossed a bolt ahead, and the ice cracked.

Weary of their slow pace, Fedor calmly walked over. Annoyed, he said, "Enough. Follow me." There was a subdued rage hidden just below the surface of calm, like a beast waiting for its prey.

Gunther gave a sarcastic salute. Nikola and Chiara scowled, once again, at the prospect of their command being undercut. The latter asserting, "We order you to help us cross." Although she retreated behind Nikola, when Fedor's hand momentarily touched one of his grenades. He looked prepared to use it without a second thought.

Nikola and Chiara gulped but held their tongue. Gunther, however, could not help but whisper, "I wouldn't be too worried. Fragging is against regulations."

No one was going to test Fedor, though, and with his infinite patience, they crossed the what remained of the Crystal Sea with no further issues. On solid ground at last, they needed to choose a path that could make up for lost time. Sorina was ahead of them, laying against a snow embankment. Her white hair serving as a natural camouflage. As the others joined her, she raised two fingers, her eyes fixed on something moving in the distance.

The rest of the squad crawled to her side. Up ahead of them was a Republican convoy, its lead vehicle was stuck in the mud. There were several militiamen, adorned in a patchwork of national uniforms from all over the continent, each denoted by an armband sporting the Blue Rose of their revolutionary struggle.

Sorina had already gotten a headcount, but an ambush was not their aim. Chiara raised her crossbow, but Nikola's firm hand on her shoulder caused her to frown. "Aw." Her finger remained fixed on the trigger.

Seeing this, Nikola dug her nails into Chiara's shoulder. "Don't," she hissed. There was a time for violence, but there was also a time for stealth. They knew the fact well, as many infiltration missions demanded restraint.

Only when Chiara relaxed did Nikola remove her hand. Then she reached for the map contained with a cylindrical tub around her belt. She fumbled with it as Fedor tapped Gunther and pointed to the unique command tank in the center of the convoy. It was unlike the Federation's Minute or the idling Imperial light tanks, which were in the service of the Nords now. Rather, this vehicle was of Vinnish make, with a unique dome shaped turret, and dual 12.8cm caliber guns. Sloped armor was in its infancy on the Western Front, so this tank's unique chassis was enough to invoke Gunther's admiration. After a few more minutes, the lead truck's wheel was unstuck, and the convoy departed.

Chiara popped her head over the ridge. The blue radiators disappeared into the distance, subsumed by the fog that blanketed the immediate area. "Clear."

Fedor stood. "Blessed be Lord Commissar York. For he assured there would be plenty of enemies." His eyes glowed with a blood thirst that only those of faith possessed. "Glory in the light of the Valkyrur, I could ask for nothing more."

His ramblings caused Sorina to grunt. She had been picking at a scab of some sort on her cheek, quick to dig out the skin before anyone could get a look. "If the Valkyrur have ensured the entire world has rallied around the Republic, then our path is one contrary to fate."

Gunther's expression was quick to betray his inner conflict. One that challenged his sunny demeanor. Rubbing his cheek, he sighed. "I think I knew those guys ..." Being confronted with the reality that his deployment in the North meant shooting his countrymen left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "That tank in the middle. Those tracks mean it was Vinnish."

"Oh yeah? And why should we care?" Chiara scoffed. She kicked at the snow, causing a white puff to shower her squad. "We could've destroyed them right here!"

Fedor gave a slight nod. "For once, I agree with you. Our restraint will only leave more enemies in the future."

"Ehem!" Nikola interjected. "Commissar Ludwig was clear—"

"Yeah, yeah. No engagements until we meet the Loyalists," Chiara muttered. She had clinched her jaw hard enough to break the bone between her teeth. "We should get moving."

Nikola concurred, relieved she did not have to play babysitter. There was little doubt that screwing up royally with X-0 had instilled Chiara with a profound fear of repeating her mistakes. Nikola glanced at the map, then back up. She squinted. "Our destination should be straight ahead. There is a small lake." A howl of wind and an icy gust punctuated her sentence, causing her to shiver.

It was an odd sensation, one she found unpleasant beyond all description. Being freed from repeated adjustments had not just resulted in the breakdown of mental barriers, but also physical ones. A sudden barrage of sensations was enough to drive both girls toward greater depths of madness, even if it brought life and color back to the world.

As they crossed the frozen wastes, the squad was once again beset by snowfall. Visibility plunged and their progress slowed to a crawl. It seemed the Nordic heartland was not quite through with the interloping armies. Which meant Fedor spent the majority trek being badgered incessantly to check his pocket watch. Keeping time was of the utmost importance.

Unfortunately for her, Chiara found her cold regrouping as an intense pressure made itself known behind her eyes. She sniffled and sneezed. Gunther was quick to tease. "Honestly, boss. You really ought to take better care of yourself."

"Bite me," Chiara snarled in response. She drew away from his comradely concern about no different from a feral cat might a hand offering it food. "Why would anyone live here!? It's awful!" She sneezed again, her teeth clattering together as she tried to bring her loose fitting cape up in a way to cover her mouth.

"I agree. What kind of depraved madmen would live here!" Gunther exclaimed, amused. There was a certain perverse satisfaction to be enjoyed in the dismay his homeland caused foreigners. Chiara cast him a backward glance. During her preferred pastime of listening in on her soldiers' conversations, she had ascertained a degree of tension from the fact Gunther was a Nord. While interesting, she failed to see the problem.

Sorina mumbled, "Those who arrived first. Spoke of fertile land, not frozen tundra." She continued her self-absorbed conversation as she brought her hood over her head. "If only the progenitors knew what exquisite misery they could find."

"Hey, witchy. Can't you cast a spell to warm us all up?" Gunther asked cheekily. His answer came in a sudden burst of wind that cut into exposed skin and prompted a collective shudder. Unnerved, he secured his cap. "Point taken."

"It was an inane question," Sorina said. The purely natural coincidence allowed her to further capitalize on his superstitions by humming an unsettling tune. Both Nikola and Chiara's ears pricked up as it was the same discordant melody as the one played on the violin at Montgomery's dacha.

Nikola was not exactly interested in the discussion. Rather, she was trying to address the sense of being the odd woman out leading such a strange cadre of people. It was entirely different from X-0, where an omnipresent, paranoid hostility permeated everyone's interactions. Her new environment was wholly alien, and that made her nervous. While she would never say it aloud, she was incredibly grateful to have Chiara with her. Leaning closer to her partner, Nikola whispered, "What do you think?"

Chiara surmised their discomfort with a single word. "Weird." She shivered and crossed her arms, a flare of resentment bubbling forth into a deep scowl. She hated the return of sensations, especially the vibrant colors that were now blinding to the point of causing migraines. Quietly, despite her reservations, she admitted, "It is kind of nice. To work with people."

An odd statement. They usually worked on their own, and when they lead troops, it was with defined boundaries. So it was understandable that Nikola found herself disturbed, but ultimately in agreement. Her eyelashes laden with snowflakes, she said. "This would be an easy mission with the Magnus."

"Hmph, yeah right." Chiara snorted. "It's not like we could use it for support." She spoke with venom. As far as Chiara was concerned, it was time to excise the tumor of X-0 from her past. Her time with Belgar did not need to define her new quest to prove her merit to the Commissariat. "All we need is our Dunkels. They kill as good as any cannon."

Nikola bristled at this newly asserted independence. "Not by themselves. Lord Belgar provided us with much needed direction." She was not prepared to condemn their only father figure so candidly. Sure, he was not perfect, but he adopted them in when no one else would.

"Here, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Chiara sneered; "did you miss the memo? We failed, he left us to die."

"You." Nikola corrected and immediately winced, regretting saying that at all. But she still doubled down. "He left you to die, Chiara."

Chiara reacted predictably; she gnashed her fangs like a beast, "Hey, dumbass! How long do you think you would have lasted without me!?" Chiara reached forward roughly, grabbing hold of her partner's arm and jerked Nikola around. The entire squad came to a halt. "If I hadn't been there, that blonde bitch would have let you bleed out like a pig. Where was Lord Belgar?"

"Ugh, your breath reeks." Nikola said, pulling her head away.

"Don't change the subject." Chiara tightened her grip. "You said you were glad I disobeyed orders. Were you lying?"

Nikola found her heart had comfortably lodged itself at the base of her throat. She swallowed awkwardly and shook her head. "No…" In any other situation, she would have jammed her knife into the stomach of Chiara. Instead, Nikola grumbled, frustrated, "Can't you just show a little respect? Lord Belgar raised us."

"Yeah, and then decided to retire us." Chiara spat back. "I am glad he's gone."

They remembered that there were three others present, when a noise pulled them from their little familial argument. Fedor, Sorina, and Gunther stared at them all with glassy-eyed expressions. Upon being noticed, Gunther joked. "Mom and dad are fighting again…"

"Quiet you," Nikola and Chiara snarled suddenly on the same side again.

Fedor offered a bit of refined wisdom. "Your past is irrelevant to our task. Put it aside or we are all in danger."

Despite her disappointment that a fight was not in the cards, Sorina agreed. "Save the mutual bloodletting for when we can revel in it."

Embarrassed, both girls tried to save face. With Nikola nodding. "Noted." She then hissed. "You are so dead."

"Not if I get you first," Chiara growled.

With the matter settled, the squad was back on track. At some point, a new debate took center stage as to whether Gunther would let Sorina shoot an apple off his head. A question he could only so readily refuse. Gambler or not, he did not trust her to shoot the apple.

"Say, Trofim. You are a Nord. What are your thoughts on all this?" Fedor said, interrupting their unhealthy game of cat and mouse.

This particular question surprised Gunther at first, but he figured it was a long time coming. He had seen the side-eyed glances the other men had cast his way at camp. "Uhh, I suppose it was only a matter of time. I haven't been home in a while though, so maybe something changed."

"The desire for self-determination is hard to ignore," Sorina clarified; "when The Lord of Crows turned his gaze elsewhere, the Blue Rose seized the moment."

Gunther was uncertain if her tone was one of disdain or not. Sorina was one of a handful of Kriegstotcher's ranks that insisted upon using religious ovations toward the Lord Commissar. Gunther had seen the small shrine she built in the barracks. "Hmm, well, Papa always said that the Empire's hold waned with each passing winter." He shrugged. "The Rose just needed to survive."

Since integration, the Blue Rose, unwilling to suffer Fhirald's fate, had waged a valiant protracted struggle against the occupying Imperials. It was no secret that they modeled their methods after the Darcsen Liberation Movement, and often targeted governing officials in order to disrupt the rule of law. Fedor was introspective about the situation. "Doesn't help the Nords have their own faith. Provides a sense of unity that other regions lack."

Sorina's lips twisted, her sights set on their commanders. "Maybe so. But I'd wager it was because those in charge of imperialization policies lacked the stomach to do their duty."

Chiara bristled and turned to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hmm? Nothing," Sorina said with an unsettling little smile that briefly showed her teeth. Faint sparkles of blue were visible against white bone.

Chiara was about to press for a more satisfying answer but for once decided against it. She rolled her eyes and dropped the conversation. Nikola lamented, "At least things were simpler than." They reached the edge of a slight decline and she raised a hand. "There."

She nodded at a small encampment that was almost invisible to the backdrop of the snow. Two tents, hastily constructed, lent to the idea the Loyalists were still on the move. Once closer, the squad stopped when several armed men revealed themselves from concealment. These Loyalists wore white shawls that helped to disguise the mixture of various uniforms. Their weapons were relics of local armory stockpiles of varying quality.

Nikola knew what they expected. Calmly, she pulled out a brass medallion and held it in her palm toward them. On its face was an etching of a crow perched on the hilt of a sword. "The Northern wind blows again—" She spoke in a cold, measured tone as rehearsed with Karl.

The leading loyalist squinted at the metal, then lowered his weapon. "—and the light of the Valkyrur will rise high," he finished. "So you are the Imperial soldiers we were promised." He sized up Nikola and Chiara. They were noticeably smaller contrasted with the rest of their squad. "Not what I expected, to say the least." The man twirled his blonde mustache, curiously eyeing the group in front of him.

"I am sure." Chiara said unamused. In an effort to be taller, she stood on tiptoes.

Less worried about perception, Nikola stepped closer. "Are you Casper Ulf?" While her eyes remained on the mustached loyalist, she subtly scanned the other men present. It was hard to gauge their fighting potential, and it was a wonder how useful they would be in combat.

"No. Captain Ulf was ambushed outside Lowerholm three days ago," The mustached loyalist said. With a jerk of his head, he meant for them to follow.

He led them back to what constituted an encampment. It was in a poor state, with many of the loyalist partisans present with visible wounds. Assumedly a result of the early skirmishes that sparked the war of secession. Several other men present wore distinctive dark azure-toned armor plates and carried themselves with a refined discipline common in veteran corps. Marines. Different from those of X-0, these marines were from Nordic divisions known for their ferocity.

Two Imperial light tanks were present in the center of the encampment. Both had front-mounted turrets that had visible scarring, with visibly warped barrels suggesting near constant use without time to be repaired. Both engines hummed softly. The Loyalists intended to be ready at a moment's notice.

"Grim bunch," Gunther said. It was an accepted fact that interior garrisons all across the Empire were drastically under-supplied. The mustached man entered the center most tent, Nikola, Chiara and Gunther followed. Sorina opted to remain outside, claiming she found enclosed spaces unpleasant. Fedor struck up a conversation with a nearby guard, if only because he was curious about the local interpretations of Yggdism.

Inside the tent, a portable ragnite sat in the corner, a single red wire attaching it to a dangling light bulb that lit the space. In the center was a large table, with a map unrolled on top. The mustached loyalist placed his helmet on the table and said, "I am Major General Otto Halvard. I am the leader of this garrison." A palpable exhaustion hung on each word as he spoke. He tossed his rifle onto the table next to his helmet. It clattered against the wood. Otto pulled up a chair and sat down, putting his feet up on the table. He looked the girls up and down again, narrowing his blue eyes. His face was deeply wrinkled and looked aged past his years. "The Commissar said nothing about sending children."

"And Commissar Ludwig said nothing about working with a fossil," Nikola said, crossing her arms, unimpressed; "let's speak frankly. What is the situation?" She did not care for the political musings of an old man. Her mission was to contact both Otto and Ulf. Since Ulf was missing, it stood to reason they needed to find him.

Otto stared back at her. For such a small girl she projected the image of a command, and when his eyes darted to Chiara, who was already champing at the bit like a beastly hound, he decided to change his took his feet off the table and sat up straight. "The situation? Bleak," his bushy mustache quivered, and he continued, "Volunteers from Castledon were bad enough, but we now have to contend with the Federation's advisers who are hastening our brothers' reorganization efforts." Otto thought for a moment before adding. "My scouts have also reported a well-equipped detachment of Vinnish soldiers near Tolna.

Nikola and Chiara looked at each other. Gunther glanced up for his pack of cigarettes. "We saw one of Vinland's tanks. You think they are creating a cause for an invasion?"

Otto pulled on his mustache thoughtfully. "Isn't that kind of information your department?"

"We just got here," Chiara said, "Though it won't be hard to find out." Her hand fell to her knife, making it clear how she planned to get answers.

"Hmm. Let's try to avoid expanding the conflict just yet," Otto said, choosing to err on the side of caution. "It is a safe bet that something is coming."

"What makes you think so?" Nikola asked. She was getting the impression Karl may have withheld the true extent of the situation on the ground. But she could not understand why, or to whose benefit doing so would be to.

Staring straight into the girl's deadened, periwinkle eyes, Otto spoke in a measured tone, "Twice now, my shocktroopers have been attacked." He put both his hands together, never breaking eye contact, and Nikola shifted uncomfortably under the eyes of the tired old soldier. "The survivor insists it was a single woman, and that she was aglow in a beautiful blue light."

Nikola and Chiara jumped grabbing hold of each other, "Blue light!?" Immediately embarrassed by their shared reaction, they parted. Nikola pretended to be aloof while Chiara stared at the ground.

Gunther moved up next to his commanders and asked, "Ring a bell?" The only blue light he was familiar with was ragnite engines, and he was fairly certain they did not wipe out squads of men. Usually, at least. They did like to explode on occasion.

Ignoring him, Chiara leaned over and whispered, "Nikola, Commissar Ludwig never said anything about a Valkyria."

"Neither did the reports," Nikola hissed.

Both Gunther and Otto were staring at both girls with varying looks of concern. With a raised eyebrow, Otto said, "Something we should know?"

Knowing the importance of concealing potentially top secret information, Nikola looked at him blankly and said, "Probably nothing." She patted Chiara's back. "Radio in an update to Commissar Ludwig."

Chiara nodded, and in a quick move, grabbed Gunther by the jacket. "Come on, giant." He did not protest as she dragged him out of the tent.

Nikola turned her attention back to Otto. "Commissar Ludwig has also instructed me to take down a list of supplies your army needs." She reached into her pocket, removing a small black leather journal, which she had been using to catalog her thoughts. The front of the book also served as a place to scrawl notes for their mission.

Otto took a few minutes to ruminate on the strategic situation. His forces had been driven from every major population center. On the map, the Loyalists controlled only the Southernmost sliver of the country. So they were wholly reliant on Imperial aid to stay afloat. Thinking aloud, he said, "More armor, and the ragnoline to move it."

Nikola scratched down his request. This affair went on for some time, with Otto often remembering something he had forgotten, causing Nikola to sigh impatiently at the old man's unreliable mind. When he finished his requests, Otto said, "Although weapons are secondary to getting Ulf back." He like many Nords held the captain in high regard and believed his presence would bolster morale.

Pocketing her journal, Nikola said, "And where is Captain Ulf now?

"Our brothers are taking him back to the capital for trial." Otto stood up and leaned over the map. He pointed at a red circle on the outskirts of Lowerholm. "We believe they are holding him here. It's a military encampment."

"Do you know how many men are defending it?" Nikola asked, moving her hands to the crossbow that was hanging around her waist. She licked her lips at the prospect of some proper destruction. A rescue mission would help prove her and Chiara's merit as well.

Her candor caused Otto to furrow his brow. "Unclear. Could be a few hundred or a few thousand." All he could know for certain was the Republicans possessed a manpower advantage but lacked in leadership compared to the Loyalists.

"Consider him rescued," Nikola said, pivoting on her heel abruptly.

"Wait—you can't be serious," Otto said, startled, somewhat amazed at her readiness to rush off into battle.

Nikola stopped at the entry to the tent and said, "Strike fast enough, and the enemy won't have time to react. Then all that matters is pulling out before you have to take responsibility." She had entirely misunderstood Klaus's innuendo for actual strategy, and Otto raised his eyebrows, curious about her implication. Before leaving completely, she poked her head back in. "We are going to need a tank." Otto gave her a nod.

Stepping outside again, Nikola found Chiara who was already on the radio yelling at Karl, "What do you mean classified!?" She barked into the receiver. A helpless Fedor sat at her feet, entombed by radio cables that were wrapped tightly around his upper body. He was in a meditative state, ready to join the Valkyrur as Chiara continued to pace back and forth.

Nikola gently tapped Chiara's shoulder, and the girl jerked around. Nikola held out her hand and Chiara handed the receiver over to her. "Commissar Ludwig. This is Agent Graf," she said, mustering a professional tone.

The radio crackled for a moment, and then Karl said, "Nikola? Give me a full report." She complied and unknowingly repeated everything Chiara had already told the Commissar, who was actually taking notes. On the ground, Fedor now found himself dragged around in circles as his small commander repeated her partner's mannerisms.

After repeating what Otto had said about the sightings of a woman and a blue light, Nikola pressed for answers, "Were there any reports about the presence of a Valkyria?"

Aside from the static, there was total silence on the other end of the line. She looked around, assessing if the weather was interfering with the connection. Karl's voice filtered through and he curtly said, "No." There was no denial of the existence of such beings, but she could tell he was withholding information; "do not let the testament of one shell-shocked soldier interfere with your mission."

Chiara was now listening to the conversation to. Her ear was close to the receiver, as she kept clinching and unclenching her fist. Some things never changed, it seemed. Nikola bit the bullet. "Understood." She moved on to the new order of business. "Commissar Ludwig, I am requesting permission to conduct a rescue operation to free Captain Ulf."

Karl considered her request only briefly. "Approved. Get it done."

"Seriously?" Chiara blurted out, having expected some sort of bureaucratic answer.

"Lord Commissar York expects improvisation once in the field," Karl said bluntly; "next time, do not bother to ask. You are agents of the Commissariat now, act with our Empire's interests at heart." There was silence over the line again, but then he added, "But I should not need to remind you. Under no circumstances should you allow yourselves to be captured."

"There will be no failures," Nikola said monotone, unnerved to invoke similar language to X-0.

"I have complete faith in you." Karl cut the line. Nikola returned the receiver to the hook on Fedor's radio, and fearing for his life, he scrambled to free himself from the cord.

Gunther looked from Nikola to Chiara. "New orders?"

Nikola rolled her shoulders and then cracked her knuckles. "We going to teach the Republicans a lesson about screwing with the Empire." Her small size did little to subtract from her intimidating aura.

Chiara exploded right there, giving an excited yelp. "Alright! We are going to butcher them!"

Fedor was equally pleased, though muted. He freed himself from the cocoon of wires. "Glorious." He checked the firing mechanism of his machine pistol.

"And enemy strength?" Sorina asked, not out of caution but out of a desire for many opponents.

"A whole encampment," Nikola said flatly. Chiara gave another passionate cry at the suggestion; she was glad the mission would not be a total bore.

Gunther chucked softly. He found Chiara's enthusiasm endearing, even if he was less than eager to rush into combat. "I always did like long odds." He slapped his pack of ammunition. "Just remember. I only have about two hundred bolts in here. Be sparing, or at least be accurate."

Checking her own ammunition, Sorina said, "Thirty bullets. Good enough." For reasons unknown to the rest of her companions, she traveled light.

"More for me to kill!" Chiara roared, punching her fist together. She quivered with a sadistic bloodlust that invoked a quality that did not occur naturally in nature.

Deciding to encourage her, Gunther said, "Well then, how about a wager, boss? He tapped his rifle. "I bet I can kill more men than you."

Chiara stopped moving and, suddenly serious, turned back looking at her cheeky subordinate. "You? Is that some kind of joke?" She cackled hysterically. Gunther continued to smile innocently at her, so she became sober again. "Fine. If you lose, I will make you run extra laps back at camp." She flashed a crooked, toothy smile.

"Alright. If I win, you have to give me your officer's rations for a week," He said.

Nikola, not one to be left out of a competition, interjected. "What a pointless bet. Because I am going to kill more than the both of you."

Fedor narrowed his eyes. "By the grace of the Valkyrur, I will prove how deluded you all are."

"So says you…" Sorina said, her motives vague as ever. They were soon debating what the stakes should be on who could kill the most enemy soldiers.

If Nikola and Chiara killed more, the rest of the squad would have to run extra laps around the base camp. If Gunther, Fedor, and Sorina won, they would feast upon officer's rations for the coming month. While if Nikola and Chiara won, the unlucky three were going to be subjected to the worst training regime they could concoct.

Otto walked up to the party in the company of about six men. He waited patiently for the party to iron the terms of the bet, then said, "We will offer support to cover your retreat." He pointed at one of the light tanks. "If any of you can drive it, it's yours."

Everyone turned to face Gunther. He held up his hands and said, "I failed my trials twice."

"You don't have to drive it. Just go fast enough to smash in through their front door," Chiara said, stringing her crossbow. They finished packing up and double checking their supplies, then boarded the tank. It was a tight fit for the light tank, but soon enough, the sound of the ragnite engine off in the distance signaled their leave for Lowerholm.

Back at camp, Karl pushed away from his desk and stared at the headquarter's ceiling introspectively. His eyes were heavy, as despite trying to catch a few winks, none ever came. Was it guilt that troubled him? A sense of pity that was gnawing away at his steely nerves; he found the fate that awaited his agents grotesquely unfair. Especially given Montgomery's paranoia was now undermining the Commissariat's ethical foundation.

Any attempts to persuade his boss to see reason had proven futile, so Karl had opted to change his approach. A successful rescue of Captain Ulf would do a lot of support in his case that Nikola and Chiara still could be valuable assets for their motherland.