Part 16: Why I Push Forwards

"Haah... Haah... Haah..."

Richardson's breathing was fast and shallow, air hissing past her teeth as her heart's pounding filled her ears. The MP40's barrel was too hot to touch, its supply of ammunition more than half exhausted. It was all the gosta could do to keep up with Schuhart as he shuffled along a sidewalk thickly cluttered with corpses, abandoned cars and the tattered remains of dozens of tents.

A bolt of bright purple energy hissed past the arms dealer, melting a new hole in a tent already on the verge of tearing to bits. Looking ahead, Richardson saw an Arume in a black bodysuit with matching gloves, hip boots and sunglasses emerge from behind a truck. In the next instant the girl's employer whipped up his own weapon and delivered a burst which raked the woman from waist to throat. She fell, limbs going slack as her clumsy pulse rifle clattered against the ground. Schuhart threw a quick glance behind himself as he resumed his advance, smoke wafting from his rifle's flash hider. "Who's a one-eyed cripple now, maggot?"

Captain Isobael said nothing. She was busy trying to keep a grip on her own pulse gun, moving in a permanent half-crouch in hopes of offsetting the visibility of her white uniform. The look on her face spoke loudly enough: What in the name of the first mother am I doing here!?

"One o'clock!" Popopopopopopoomph!

Schuhart hustled towards the truck, reloading on the go. Isobael ran after him, ineffectually firing from the hip at the enemies across the street while Richardson and the others dropped to the sidewalk. The gosta performed a belly crawl until she was situated behind the cold body of a middle-aged man, lying facedown with three charred holes in his back.

Pewpewpewpewpew!

Pah-pah-pah-pah-pah-pah!

Boomph! ...Boomph!

"Never fails," the scarred cyclops grunted. "The villain always keeps his diehard elite mooks in reserve until everyone else is used up." Popopoomph! Popopopopoomph! Popopoomph!

Richardson still didn't fully understand what Uncle Roland's educational narrative had to do with anything, or why she was expected to pretend that these people hadn't been trying to kill her a half-day ago, or even why she'd felt so sympathetic when she watched a frail Arume fall onto her hands and knees, seasickness with a dash of radiation poisoning forcing her to violently retch even after her stomach was emptied. What Richardson clearly understood was that right now it was imperative for her to do her utmost to make sure everyone got to the rally point alive.

"Clear up!"

"...Clear down!"

Schuhart waved. "Keep moving!"

Leather and nylon straps dug into the girl's shoulders as she scrambled back onto her feet, fumbling with the submachine gun's magazine catch. Reload whenever you get a quiet stretch, Uncle Roland had said during training. Being caught half-empty can get you killed almost as easy as being caught all-empty. The rifle on her back and the pistol on her hip hung heavy as she caught up with her benefactor and his unbelievable ally. On her tail were Sauer, newly issued a .30 caliber Browning machine gun, and then a procession of ammunition bearers.

At least they hadn't lost anyone yet. So far, so good.

Hours earlier.

"...And that's the 1914 Christmas Truce in a nutshell." Schuhart eyed his audience expectantly. "Any questions?"

The Arume commander cleared her throat warily. "I'm not sure I see the relevance."

"Just think about it," said the arms dealer casually. "But hark! I hear a helicopter."

Just as he said, there was a faint whupwhupwhup audible in the distance. Sauer took advantage of the remaining time to pose a question: "Uncle Roland, what happened to you?"

Schuhart shrugged. "I dove into a crater that turned out to be already occupied."

"And the en – the other person?"

"Back there somewhere." The man replied, waving towards the triage area. "He's probably waiting to find out whether superior sky eye medicine can save his incisors... That reminds me, I should introduce you. Girls, this is Commander Spiegel. Commander, these are Richardson, Sauer and Harrington." He looked to the freshly arrived Arume. "And you two..?"

"Isobael," answered the bruised one stiffly. "Captain, First Subset, Fourth Section, Second Fleet Land Operations Battalion."

"Ferenil," the second added quickly. "Mobile platform operator, same unit."

"Right, now we all know – oops." Schuhart stopped to unclip his shrilly ringing satellite phone. "I gotta get one with a better vibrate mode... Ja, hallo?"

Renaril briefly wondered if she'd gotten the wrong number. "Uh... Schuhart, is that you?"

"Ja. Was willst du?"

The alien officer took a guess at his meaning and pushed onward. "I was wondering if... I mean..." Come on, get it together! "Would you let us evacuate our casualties by air? I know your own wounded need attention, so it's better if I don't burden you with ours, isn't it? I'll only send unarmed transports, of course."

"Jawohl, Gruppenkommandant."

"I – I'm sorry, I can't understand that."

"I'm probably doing it wrong anyway. Unarmed transports are fine, anything else?"

"Nothing here," Renaril replied. "I should warn you that Colonel Kang has gone to join the first flight down... I think she's very upset about what you said."

"Thanks for the warning. Any progress in Yuen Long?"

"I haven't heard anything," the Arume admitted. "Let me get an update and I'll call you back, all right?"

"Good thing I opted for the premium service plan," the arms dealer remarked dryly. "Oh, got anything more to say to Spiegel before I go? She's right here."

"Not now. Maybe when I call again."

"Nun, auf Wiedersehen." Schuhart disconnected, directing the others with his free hand. "They're gonna land right in the street here," he barked, raising his voice as the din of rotors threatened to swamp him. "Everyone get ready!"

Turning around, Richardson found that a mixed group from the triage space had arrived to help. In the next moment a powerful downdraft struck and then all she could hear was the endless WHUPWHUPWHUP over her head. Craning her neck, she saw the aerial machine descend: a fat-bodied thing – covered in mottled green and brown paint above, white below – with a long tail boom extending from high in the rear. It settled onto its tricycle undercarriage with unexpected grace, side doors sliding open as the other onlookers surged forward. The gosta followed them, their white hair vigorously mussed by the mechanical wind.

"The Fragaria must be at the bottom by now," Renaril observed glumly. "How did it sink so fast?"

"Assuming no critical design flaws turn up," Eripol speculated, "my guess is that its damage containment structures were overwhelmed by stress cracks from the bomb's pressure wave. Thousands of little ruptures letting water in everywhere... We're lucky so many survived despite that."

"Yes..." Renaril watched the orbital image feed update, revealing one of Schuhart's helicopters skimming over the water. It was a Russian Mi-8, according to Kang: able to rescue two dozen Arume in one run and go back for more in mere minutes. That news offered the glimmer of hope which the group commander desperately needed.

"Broken leg? We can fix that." Schuhart scooped an Arume up in his arms and marched towards the triage center, encountering Richardson heading the other way. "This one's the last for now," he called. "Stick with me." The gosta followed him, marveling at the great discrepancy in size between the man and his passenger. Her enemy looked so helpless, so childish even, clinging to Uncle Roland's vest with eyes shut and teeth clenched. "Almost there," he assured her. "Just hang on – the airlift will be here any minute."

Richardson waited until Schuhart had set the Arume down on top of a disused crate and caught the eye of a passing medic. "Uncle Roland, you said none of... none of us were lost, but what about the others?"

"Nereus and Daemon came through with cuts and bruises. Woodpecker has effectively lost a leg from the knee down, plus some fingers. Karan got a five-fifty-six through the arm, but he'll be okay... It's Camilla who won't be."

"What happened?"

"She got cornered by a grunt with a flamethrower – burns all down her left side, and her arm will have to be amputated at the shoulder if she does survive." Schuhart's expression tightened. "The guy was laughing when he lit her up."

"Ugh!"

"Doesn't look like he's laughing now, though." The scar-faced one pointed to a soldier near the middle of the triage. Richardson must have walked right past him earlier without noticing: his bloody hands were pressed over his middle, trying to keep his entrails from spilling out of the long gash in his belly. "KK got to him first."

The gosta shivered at the spectacle. "Oh..."

"Come on." Her 'uncle' turned his back on the patient. "We're just getting in the way here." He began to walk back towards the open street, his student numbly trailing. "Let's go help the sky eyes up on hiiiiiiigh... It's myyyyy occupation: let's not think too much about moralityyyyy... I'm just a bad guyyyyyyy... Yes, everybody knows I'm just a bad guyyyyyyy..."

"Uncle Roland," said Richardson awkwardly, "isn't it wrong to sing at a time like this?"

"Anything to take their minds off the painkiller shortage... A certain junta's got no cash to payyyyy... Small banana nation: how shall we – "

"Roland!" Heads turned as Keiko jogged up the street. "Roland, we have a problem!"

"Fascinating," the arms dealer replied sardonically. "Please do elaborate."

"Knock it off," the giantess snapped. After a worried glance at Richardson, she leaned in and whispered in Schuhart's ear.

His demeanor changed in an instant. "You gotta be kidding me... Okay, take over here. I'll handle the cleanup."

Richardson gave Keiko a puzzled look as Schuhart strode away. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it," Keiko said curtly. "Here comes the first airlift. Ready to rock?"

The gosta hadn't even noticed the Arume craft approach, so silent was its flight compared to the bumbling intrusion of the helicopters before. It settled on the same part of the street which the forime machines had occupied, deploying a ramp from its tail. The first Arume to disembark wore the same style of boots, gloves and visor as Isobael: upon spotting Keiko, she saluted stiffly. "We're here for the sick and the wounded."

The tall woman nodded. "Back there," she said, waving behind her. "Anything you need, just ask."

"...Thank you." Signaling the procession which had assembled behind her, the alien officer marched across the street. Keiko looked set to follow along when a forime woman came down the ramp. Though Richardson had never seen her before, the girl instinctively knew by the clothes and bearing that this must be Kang Li.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

Schuhart's cousin shrugged. "If you're looking for Roland, you just missed him."

Kang stalked towards her, teeth bared. "Where is he!?"

"Easy, sister." Keiko folded her arms. "I think you'd better take a deep breath and – "

"WHERE IS HE!?" Richardson reflexively covered her head at the unexpected shout. When she reopened her eyes, Kang and Keiko had come to blows.

The feeling of mesmerizing horror came back to her as she watched them battle. She better understood now why Uncle Roland spoke of Kang with such respect: the soldier was fast and agile, deflecting her opponent's punches and kicks or evading them entirely. It was obvious, however, that Keiko had earned his trust no less than her rival, as she intercepted Kang's own attacks with almost no effort. When Kang did finally land a glancing hit, Keiko simply shook it off and kept going.

After a few seconds, Kang upped the ante with a rapid volley of strikes. Keiko danced just out of her reach, then tensed and catapulted herself into a twisting leap. Powerful bodies clashed again: when they parted, the buttons on Kang's shirt had been torn away. One side of the garment hung off her shoulder as she and Keiko circled, each searching for a fresh opening. Pressing her advantage, Keiko struck hard. Kang fell, only to somersault back onto her feet. The rest of the world seemed to stand still as their fight rushed on, two fierce woman striking, blocking, charging, dodging –

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEE..!

The combatants broke apart, withdrawing in a flash as the broad side of a pale blue pickup truck plowed through their sparring ground. "What..?" Kang gasped. "You!"

Schuhart leaned out of the driver-side window. "Here," he grunted, extending a hand. "Have a safety pin." While Kang did her best to put the front of her shirt back together, he opened the door, swung his legs out and started to put his brace on. "Got something you need to see," the man added grimly. "In the back."

Renewal of curiosity prodded Richardson forwards. What had Uncle Roland brought? Had they gotten Benacirael? As she came closer, Kang leaned over the truck's rear bed and pulled back the tarpaulin which covered its load. The gosta heard an exclamation in a foreign tongue. "...How did this happen?"

"The local volunteers," Schuhart replied flatly, walking around to the back. "We organized them into ten-man sections, each led by one of our own people. Averkin got hit early on, and his section panicked and ran. Losing him was bad enough, but they... they stumbled across the wreck of one of those fliers from the carrier. The crew probably thought they'd be safe if they surrendered immediately." There was a dull bang as the tailgate fell open. "I guess the deserters were feeling vengeful."

Grasping the top of the truck's sideboard, Richardson boosted herself up for a good look. There were three Arume lying on the cargo bed: all naked, with their wrists tied behind their backs. The crude nooses of steel cable still tight around their necks and the agonized expressions frozen on their faces made it plain that their deaths were neither quick nor merciful. Beside them was a loose pile of Mosin-Nagants and ammunition pouches, presumably confiscated from the perpetrators.

The girl was trying to think of something to say when Kang spoke again: "Did you inform Renaril?"

"Haven't had a chance yet," Schuhart admitted, taking out his satphone. "I'll do it now, unless you think I shouldn't."

"No, go ahead."

"Okay." The arms dealer dialed the number and put the handset to his ear. "Group Commander, it's me again. You're not going to like this..."

"...I see," Renaril sighed once Schuhart had finished. "Thank you for telling me."

"Not much else I can do right now. We'll turn the bodies over to Spiegel, of course."

"That would be good. What will you do about the offenders?"

"Don't know yet. You want 'em for murdering those Arume and Kang probably wants 'em because they're Chinese citizens... I wouldn't mind thrashing 'em myself, either."

"Why?"

"Unlikely as it may appear, we are in fact professionals. We have rules of engagement and standards of behavior, and all the volunteers agreed to abide by them when they signed up. I don't like people who do these things and think they can hide behind me."

"I understand," said Renaril, hoping she really did. "As for our position on the deserters... I think it would be best if you settled that as quickly as possible."

"I'll talk to the good colonel, then. There's been no sign of Benacirael yet, so that's all from me."

"Ah." The Arume took a few deep breaths. "Regrettably, I too must tell you something you will not like..."

In all honesty, Kang had expected much worse than this. Hopefully the lynching would prove to be an isolated failure of discipline, but she'd have to wait until Schuhart got off the phone before she could ask. Since he didn't seem to be reaching the end of his conversation, the colonel drew the tarp back over the corpses and headed for the triage center.

"Yo." It was the large woman in fatigues whom she'd been fighting just minutes ago, walking in the opposite direction with a wounded man on each arm. "We need all the help we can get here."

"Ah... Yes." Seeing a third man doing his best to support a fourth as they staggered out of the alley, she closed in on them. "I'll take this one," she said to the beleaguered soldier, shifting the weight of his companion onto her own frame. "Can you make it on your own?"

"Yeah... I mean, yes, ma'am." He affected a salute with the arm that wasn't wrapped in bloody bandages.

"As you were." Kang escorted the patients up the ramp into the transport, following her rugged opponent.

They were met inside by a bossy Arume in a white smock and thick gloves. "All low-priority patients to the front," she ordered. "Hurry it up."

"Nice bedside manner, Doc." The giantess carried her wards to the end of the cabin and set them down. "Put yours here, Colonel... That's it, now for the next bunch."

"Yes," Kang agreed, returning to the exit. "By the way, you are..?"

"That's right, we haven't been introduced... I'm Keiko Kovalchuka, Roland's cousin. You could say I'm the XO in our outfit."

I certainly picked a good person to start a fight with, Kang thought wryly. "I apologize for my behavior – "

"Nah," said Keiko casually. "You just needed to blow off steam. I had fun, too. We should do it again sometime."

Keiko resembled her relative in more than just looks, the colonel decided. If she was as good with a gun as she was with her fists –

"KK, Colonel, over here!" Schuhart was waving at them. "Renaril doesn't want to deal with the deserters right now," he went on once the women had joined him beside the truck. "But she does want to know how fast we can organize a joint operation."

"Joint operation?" Kang repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I'll summarize." Schuhart cleared his throat. "The relief unit which Renaril sent to Yuen Long has been taken hostage by renegade elements of the Second Fleet's Ninth Shield Company and Third Loyalist Battalion... One's an Arume internal security unit and the other is a second-layer collaborator formation. Apparently both of them have more combat experience than the assault troops that were allocated to Spiegel. They also have Harold Hyman advising them. So far they're only demanding to speak to Benacirael, but that's probably a ploy to gain time. Bottom line is, the group commander wants this dealt with promptly and she's willing to pay us for our help."

"Hyman, huh?" Keiko cocked her head. "Did you tell her we've run into him before?"

"I mentioned it," Schuhart answered. "Colonel, Renaril wants you to take charge of the Arume troops in this zone. KK, you round up the usual suspects and see what we can still use. I'm going to run back to the office and swap out some of my gear. You want anything from the locker?"

"My AR-Ten, my Gepard and the chrome Desert Eagle would be swell, thanks."

"Mine again? What's wrong with yours?"

"Nothing, except that the ammo costs more than I make in a week."

"Yeah, yeah." Schuhart climbed into the truck's cab, stuffing his bad leg in without taking the brace off. "Colonel, you want anything while I'm stocking up?"

"She can use my spare SOPMOD," Keiko cut in. "Off with you, boy."

Schuhart nodded. "I'll be back in a few, then... And Colonel, sorry about what I said earlier."

"Curious," Kang mused as the truck rolled away. "If you hadn't told me, I would have thought you were more like brother and sister."

"You're not the first to say that," Keiko replied. "...Hey, did he just drive off with the bodies?"

"Yes."

The giantess frowned. "He'd better bring them back... You wait here a minute, I'll run down Spiegel and Isobael for you."

"Thank you." Left alone, Kang watched as the last of a procession of levitating stretchers was guided into the belly of the transport. Feeling a presence at her elbow, she looked down to find an Arume in civilian clothes gazing up at her.

"You are Colonel Kang, who is Uncle Roland's friend." No, not an Arume – a gosta.

"Yes..." The soldier blinked. "Did he order you to call him that?"

"No," the girl said solemnly as the transport lifted off. "We chose it."

"I see... Then, what is your name?"

"Richardson." The gosta seemed very proud. "He gave us all names, because we only had numbers before we came here."

Kang had told herself that it was best not to become involved in the gosta problem, but how could one remain detached when the 'problem' manifested in such a form? "That's nice," she offered, sitting down on the curb. "Is Uncle Roland kind to you?"

"Very kind." Richardson also sat after a few moments. "He told us about you."

My reputation always seems to precede me. "What did he say?"

"He said you are a good person." The girl wasn't looking at her any more. "But how can a good person be on the side of the Arume?"

For several seconds Kang merely sat and pondered. "I don't know if I can explain it very well," she finally began. "My country is in a lot of trouble now. Our leaders are selfish and incompetent, parasites who feed on the people while everything I have fought to protect is let to wither away. The people have no will to do anything about it... Most of them simply believe the lies they are fed, or else they have forgotten why the People's Republic exists at all. This isn't the China my father's grandparents worked so hard to build." She smiled wanly. "You should ask Sch – ask Roland about the Long March some time, he's a better storyteller than me. As for the Arume, the truth is that I was very suspicious at first... Since then I found that some of my fears were correct, but I also found my own 'good person' among them. One alone cannot make much difference in this large country... but two might be able."

"So there can be good people mixed among bad people... and also bad people mixed among good?"

"That's right."

Richardson's wide, curious eyes met Kang's dark ones. "Were those deserters bad people just because they were frightened and ran away?"

"..."

"I don't really understand," the girl confessed. "It seemed like killing those Arume was what made them bad, but we have killed a lot of Arume too..."

"I see now." Without consciously choosing to do so, Kang gently put an arm around the gosta's shoulders. "There's still a lot for you to learn... You see, killing someone who is trying to kill you is not the same as killing someone who is helpless." I can't believe I'm saying this! "And in war, simply killing your enemy usually isn't the most important thing. Sometimes it isn't important at all."

"But... what does that make Uncle Roland? Good or bad?"

Explaining the futility of a binary good-bad worldview would probably confuse the girl further, Kang decided. "The Roland who fought beside me was definitely a good person," she declared, "but the Roland I see now... He's not the same man. I thought he had changed so much that he became someone else, someone who is bad all the way through."

"That is why you were so angry?"

"Yes... All I could think of was how much I wanted to hit him." The elder female shook her head. "But after being near him for a few minutes, I saw the old Roland start to reappear."

"So what are you going to put in your official report?"

Renaril wished she could pretend she hadn't heard Eripol's question. "I'll worry about it when I write it," she growled.

"Two new transmissions," Negadael announced. "One is another complaint from the IAEA, the other is from the renegades."

The group commander perked up slightly. "Plain text again?"

"Yes, ma'am... They're demanding that we recall the covert units operating inside Yuen Long."

Renaril's eyebrows arched. "We have covert units in that district?"

"Maybe Schuhart does," Eripol suggested. "Want to ask?"

"I suppose we'd better – hm?" Renaril turned her head at the sound of the door chime. "Who is it?"

"Aha." The door opened despite being nominally locked. Beyond it stood a stern-faced Arume in a flowing cloak. "So this is where you've been hiding."

Negadael and Eripol both jumped out of their chairs, saluting stiffly. "Senior Counselor Daebaril..!"

Renaril gulped. "...Hi, Mom."

"I see everyone is here," Schuhart observed, climbing out of his vehicle. "Did I miss anything?"

"No," said Keiko. "We were just starting."

"Great." Reaching into the cargo bed, the man produced a Colt carbine fitted with enough accessories to pass for a Mattel display. "Here you go," he said, handing it to the colonel. "Let's see now... This is for KK," he went on, producing an old ArmaLite automatic rifle. "And these too." Out came a humongous sniper rifle and a slab-sided silver handgun, followed by an old belt-fed Browning. "That's for Sauer... Richardson, these are for you." The girl stepped forward to receive her presents: a vintage Luger and a Mauser carbine with a fat cup-shaped device clamped to the muzzle. "I'll explain them in a little while – just let me get my own stuff squared away."

The Arume and gosta present watched incredulously, the rest less so, as the arms dealer slung a Heckler & Koch with a telescopic sight across his back, strapped a sawed-off Remington to his thigh, holstered a long-barreled and obviously custom fabricated pistol under each arm, tucked a pair of Colt .45s into the back of his pants, crammed a pair of Browning Hi-Powers – one of them intricately engraved and gold plated – into the front of the same, affixed a Taurus and a Steyr to the front of his vest with Velcro strips and finally crammed every pocket, pouch and loop on his person with the magazines for this assortment. After taking a moment to adjust the position of the Mauser broomhandle he'd been carrying all day in its snug wooden box, he clapped his hands. "Now, shall we get cracking?"

Kang had to smile despite the circumstances. "Welcome back, box-cannon man."