She shifted, tossing and turning in her sleep. Images of the past flooded her mind, assaulting her senses. The sound of screams, the feeling of her racing heart, the pure fear she felt. She remembered the sight of the men in dark-blue uniforms, the rifles aimed at them and the pure, unadulterated distress that permeated the room. She knew two men dragged someone out first, tossing her outside. Those same two men repeated the process three more times.
She had run to the door to try to stop them when a figure only slightly taller than she was appeared last. "Leave them alone! Please! They did nothing wrong!" She had begged, a stupid little child she was. Those men didn't care anymore about what they were doing, clear as day to her when one of them blunted her run forward with the buttstock of his rifle. The bruise that she'd received that day didn't hurt nearly as bad as seeing them... Seeing him get thrown onto that truck.
She wept, wailing, crying out his name and reaching out for him, this part of the dream being a blur, either due to the tears or due to her mind's own desire to forget it, as her father grabbed her. He whispered to her, "It'll be alright, baby-girl..." As he bounced up and down, "... It'll be alright... We'll figure something out..." and they watched the soldiers scoff. One of them gave them a warning, stating something about her father's 'position saving his behind from the same fate for this kind of treason'. Yes, treason. It was treason to defend your family friends in the eyes of these people.
She wasn't sure if her father had meant they'd figure out a way to help their family friends, or if he meant that they'd figure out some way to cope with what had just happened. She did find out it was the latter, sadly enough. She still felt a pit in her stomach as she watched the men board the truck and it, drive away with all the other Colorata in the neighborhood, children, men and women. And she wept and wept. For days on end, she had wept after that fateful day. The day her best friend and his amazing family had been taken away because of a bunch of idiots in their high ivory towers deciding it was a good time to do such a nightmarish feat...
"Help!" Her best friend's face appeared in front of her suddenly.
She woke with a start, staring up at the white ceiling of her room as her heart raced. Her pillow was wet and her eyes had a thin layer of something dirty on them. The bright sunlight from the outside almost blinded her when she opened her eyes. Her throat and mouth were dry. She licked her lips and coughed. She had cried again in her sleep, she thought as she scoffed at herself. Picking up the glass of water from the stand next to her bed, she watered her lips first, then downed half the glass in one go.
Moments later, she buttoned up her uniform's collar, already done readying. She had brushed her teeth, washed her face and made sure she looked at least halfway presentable before going to her job. She looked at herself in the mirror, then scoffed and tugged at her collar and matted down her short silver hair with some water and with a brush, to straighten out any stray hairs that poked out. Then, she put her peaked cap on, neatly arranging it on her head.
She nodded to herself and retrieved her bag, hefting it over her shoulder, then descended down the stairs, eyes locked forward through the lenses. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking out the archway windows toward the sprawling metropolis that was the capital city of her home country, before turning and marching down the halls, her dress shoes clapping against the tiled marble floor.
Passing by a wider archway that led to the living area, she greeted a figure sat on one of the couches, "Hey, mom."
"Ah, going to work, dear?" She asked, eyes poking out over the couch's backrest. The woman was not even middle-aged. She was barely in her mid-thirties and wore a smile as she watched her daughter go, though her own sunken eyes told the girl her mother had had a similar dream, a semi-common occurrence for both of them, one that happened during every Sunday.
"Yeah. Dad already left?" She asked, turning to face her mother.
"You know him..." Her mother smiled. She had much longer hair than her, hair which she was taking care of with a brush. On the round table with a black marble top beside her were her glasses, a common denominator of the women from her side of the family, as it seemed, and the remote to the television. Her family was well-off, indeed, because of the job her father still possessed, even after nearly eight years and multiple attempts at defiance toward the Government's policies.
She sighed, then chuckled, "Yeah, I do..." before arranging the cap on the top of her head properly, "Well... I'll see you, mom."
"Take care, hon... Oh, wait!" She staggered, almost tripping over herself as she stood up. She grabbed an insulated bag and ran up to her in nothing but her slippers, then handed her the item. She explained, "Your father forgot his lunch. If you can drop it off before you go to... Well, to do your job as a Handler..." and she offered another smile. The girl rolled her eyes, still smiling.
"Of course. We really need to tape sticky notes to his eyes when he wakes up so he doesn't forget this stuff," She quipped, which got a short laugh out of her mom that she echoed. The two women waited for a moment in an odd silence, before her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently, surprising her just a little bit. Her mother now looked at her with glimmering hope behind her eyes.
"We're so proud of you..." She said to her. The girl felt a tinge of joy in her heart.
She smiled back and said, "I love you, mom... Gotta go, before general Karlstahl gets antsy about one of their handlers being missing."
"Of course. Go on," Her mom nodded, then went back to her sofa and said, "Don't forget about giving your father his lunch!"
"I won't! Bye!" The girl then said. She slipped the bag with the lunch into her purse and marched outside, onto the crowded streets of the city of Liberté et Égalité. Translated from ancient Alba language, it meant 'Freedom and Equality'. Two things the country, the Republic of San Magnolia, lacked horridly in reality. Despite the surface image of a civilized nation whose people enjoyed a high standard of living, things were hidden behind the surface for a lot of the population. Things that could, hopefully, bring down this horribly disfigured mess of a 'Democracy'...
She sighed and silently thanked the gods that there was no such thing as a thought police, lest she be thrown in jail for just thinking against their narrative.
The young woman passed by one of the many restaurants in the city, seeing it occupied for breakfast service. Past her fellow Alba, she saw the Main Boulevard of the city, a twelve-lane, two-way main road with plants and other various dividers meant to beautify the place, as well as streaks of cables for the cable cars and old buses that travelled to and fro. In the distance, there was the massive structure of the Presidential Palace Luñe, once the opulent location where the former kings and queens would have resided. It was the Nerve Center of the Republic.
Marching down the boulevard and taking a right, the girl came upon the imposing, but not-as-grandiose Palace Blancneige, the military command and coordination center for the defense of the Republic of San Magnolia. A smaller palace that presumably served as an estate for the family that it may or may not have been named after, the Palace now housed the strategic and military officer cadre's training center and the Handler Decks.
She paused, looking up as the loudspeakers of a massive television system boomed overhead. She looked up, to see images of the Republic's Coat of Arms and the flag weaving in the wind. A window appeared, taking up the entire screen, with clearly fake images of quadrupedal machines with one baleful, scarlet eye marching in row, their 57mm anti-tank guns all perfectly lined up.
The window became smaller, going to the top right of the screen, only to be replaced by the face of a woman clad in a San Magnolia female uniform of the Army. She had a mole under her eye and an insufferable smile, her picture-perfect face framed by her wavy, long silver hair. She spoke with a mimicked joviality behind her otherwise robotic movements, "Greetings, citizens of the great Republic of San Magnolia! Today marks the eighth year of our war against the vile Giadian Empire and their autonomous drones, the 'Legion'. Reports from the battlefield, as usual, show no human casualties as our glorious and superior autonomous Juggernaut drone force, created by the Republic Arms Industries, cross cannons with the inferior designs of the enemy..."
The girl scoffed and marched inside. She'd heard enough of that bullshit rhetoric to last her a lifetime. She entered the Palace Blancneige, hands wrapped around her bag's strap and a face of stone as she looked around. Some of her fellow soldiers maintained some professionalism, their uniforms neat and tidy, but even they were slackers. Others, like a specific group of drunk asshats sat on the couches in front of a TV every time she walked in, were a particular pain. Because of them, lives were being lost.
As she steeled herself to have to walk past them, into the Great Hall of the Palace, where a vaulted ceiling with archways supported by marble pillars like those of ancient times resided and where she'd have to slot in her magnetic ID Card to be allowed to enter through the gates, she felt a hand clap onto her shoulder. Slightly startled, she turned so fast that her glasses nearly flew off her face.
Nearly. She caught them in time.
A beauty of an Alba girl with longer hair than her stood in front of her, clad in the cleanest uniform of the lot(Even cleaner than hers), and greeted her happily, "Mornin', Rita."
"Hey, Lena," Captain Henrietta von Penrose, also known to friends as 'Rita', greeted Lena warmly. In front of her sat Major Vladilena Milizé, the youngest to ever achieve that rank in the military, only being sixteen years of age as of right now. Rita herself was around seventeen, just recently having turned that age. The two of them had met in the Academy and grew to be close friends since.
"You okay? You looked a little troubled when you walked in," Lena inquired.
Rita nodded, "Yeah, just... Had a nightmare."
"That's the third one this week," Lena stated, crossing her arms to her chest, "You ever gonna tell me what they're about?"
"Sorry, Lena. It's personal..." She replied, then said, "Let's go. Gotta get dad his lunch before we go in for our Handler duties," and, immediately, Lena seemed to go from a questioning wannabe police investigator to a smiling kid in a candy store. Of course, to nobody's surprise, seeing as her father and Lena got along incredibly well. The two scanned their cards on the gates, then marched past the blubbering, drunk messes that were the famed Drunkards of Blancneige, before climbing up the massive marble stairs and to the second level of the Republic's Military HQ.
Taking a left, the two girls continued their walk, with Lena noting, "I hear you're getting promoted to the same rank as me."
"The General finally decided to put me up there?" Smirked Rita. Lena nodded, to which the first of the two chuckled, pushing her thick-rimmed glasses onto the bridge of her nose and replying, "Well, I'll be sure to thank him and the Chiefs of Staff properly for the honor bestowed upon me... Does your mom still ask about you quitting the Military to find suitors?"
"Yeah," Lena huffed, "It's getting annoying..."
"Least you aren't in my situation," Rita replied, "Dad and mom found it funny to put my face and name on a dating ad... God, the mail I get..."
The two girls looked to one-another, then both burst into a friendly laugh as they marched past fellow Alba officers and past the arched windows of the first floor. The two then entered the messy Research and Development section of the Republic's HQo. There, they found a man clad in the military uniform of the Republic, with a white labcoat draped over it. On the left breast pocket, was the identifying tag.
"God dammit, I lost that file again..." He murmured, slightly worried, "Maybe Jérôme won't mind it... It wasn't nearly complete enough..."
The man still looked good for his age, some would think. Rita didn't really care. He was her dad. She cleared her throat, taking his attention from the workstation. He had grown a stubble beard, compared to his more youthful self and he, too, looked absolutely and totally haggard, just like his mother. However, he had driven himself forth for the sake of his daughter.
Josef von Penrose offered a warm smile to the two girls, turning toward them and preparing himself to hug them. Rita, however, maintained the composure of a military woman, offering the man a salute worthy of the Colonel's rank pins on his collar. She said, "Colonel von Penrose, sir. Captain Henrietta von Penrose and Major Vladilena Milizé, reporting prior to duty hours."
Lena also saluted, though she was smiling and definitely stifling a desire to laugh. These two always had to play and joke around like that, she thought. It was an enjoyable sight and a reminder of her own father. Taking a more serious demeanor and playing along, Colonel Josef hummed, straightened up and saluted, "At ease, Major, Captain. Glad to see you both. What news do you bring from the frontlines and home front, respectively?"
"Nothing new developing, sir," Lena replied, through forcing down the laughter.
"Similarly here, sir," Rita maintained her composure better... Until she didn't.
All three of them finally let out the laughs each had been containing, a long session of laughter together that culminated in them almost being unable to stand. Josef smiled fondly at the girls again, setting aside whatever he was holding in his hand(Presumably a tablet, going by what Rita was seeing on it) and said, "It's always a highlight when you two visit me."
"Trust us, dad, same here," Quipped Rita as she approached and hugged her old man. He hugged her back for a few seconds before both separated. Rita then fished through her purse and pulled out the bag with his lunch, extending it to him. Confusion swept across the man's face for a moment, before embarrassment replaced it. He let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, while Rita said, "You're really forgetful some times."
"Yeah, sorry..." He said, then opened the bag. Chuckling, he said, "Poutine, of all things... And it's still hot."
"You know mom. She sees a recipe, she has to try it. Got this off some pre-war Waldian Cookbook, I think."
"Don't I know it," He chuckled, then looked to the two and said, "Want to join me? She made a pile of it..."
"Sorry, mister von Penrose," Lena said, slightly saddened, "We have our job right now. Our squadrons are prepping for a patrol in their respective Wards."
"It's fine, Lena," He nodded, "I get it. All of us have work to do... And I have a file to find and send to general Karlstahl, else he may just have my behind on a silver platter."
Josef had always been a forgiving type. And a forgetful type, too, considering the fact he was missing a probably-important file for the definitely-important commander of the Army and leader of the Central HQ General Jérôme Karlstahl, family friend of both the Von Penroses and the Milizés. Sure, the Old Man was forgiving and kind, but even he disliked if mistakes happened to often.
"Well," Rita sighed, "We'll see you post-ops, dad. Make sure the next Para-RAID update comes soon... Been having some complaints from one of the other two serious Handlers about it," and she waved goodbye. She and Lena departed, leaving the man to his own machinations. Rita's heart did sink once she saw the mess of the Research and Development lab, but, alas. She knew her dad had some moments where his mood got the worse of him.
As the girls entered the long corridor where the Handler control rooms were, Lena turned to Rita and said, "So, see you at the RnD Lab for some pastries later?"
"Yep," Rita nodded. She smirked and said, "Take care, Handler One."
"You, too, Handler Two... Let's bring our people home alive, yeah?" Lena offered her hand. Rita looked at it, smiled, then shook it firmly. Both of them slid their access cards on their respective rooms. Said rooms were all alike. A small control area with four screens placed in a 'reveres T' in front of a comfortable Handler's command chair. Each screen monitored something, with the left being the status indicator for the 'Processors' of the Squadron.
Rita wrinkled her nose at the term. 'Processors' referred to the Colorata operators of the standard-issue Republic feldreß, the M1A4 Juggernaut. To the right, Rita had customized her screen to show the status of the mechanoids themselves, alongside a comprehensive blueprint of the machines. Armed with 57mm cannons, with armor so thin it may as well have been just a sheet of metal and with a specialized sensor suite and either two MGs or two High-Frequency blades attached to the front, the quadrupedal mech of the Republic was...
Lackluster.
The only thing making it somewhat viable were the Processors, few of which were currently veterans. This was the most youthful generation of Colorata still alive in the 'Unofficial Eighty-Sixth sector' of the Republic... The top and center screens, meanwhile, displayed topographical and local information, as well as a map of the battlefield that tracked enemy numbers and the location of their units via the use of specialized ground-oriented RADAR systems with IFF tag scanners.
Of course, right now, the screen was black. Rita sat down, setting her bag aside, then turned on her console. She pulled a choker with an electronic ball on the back and matching the colors of the Republic. Tying it around her neck, with the ball touching the back of her neck, Rita voiced, "Para-RAID, activate. TARGET:PREACHER squadron, leading Processor, Black Mark."
The system connected, with the stream of information powering on and showing that which Rita sought. On her left, the information about the Squadron itself appeared. Listed on top as the command name, 'Black Mark' was the leader of the Squadron. Her name was black writing on a white background, like about two-thirds of the Squadron. They had lost a good chunk of people during previous operations, but multiple previous operations.
"Handler Two. Nice of you to join us on this fine-ass day," Quipped the girl behind the com system, the whirr of the Juggernaut's poorly-optimized leg hydraulics and roar of the engine filling Rita's ears. She was a snarky little one. Rita smirked as she heard her say, "Was the tea party fine, or should we expect you to be a bitch today?" which was a good sign they still liked her.
"Expect the bitch, Black Mark," Chuckled Rita, then she looked at the map as the squadron also let out a series of giggles. The squadron advanced in a wedge formation past the first CP, so she was good to track them. She spoke to them, "All Preacher units, I'm pinging contacts due North North-West of your position, counting about a dozen unknowns, moving fast. Care to slam into their flanks, or do you wanna hit and run this one?"
"I think we'll take the Hit and Run. All units, this is Black Mark, divvy up into teams of three. prep to hit the targets fast and hard. May just be Ameise this time."
"Like it's ever gonna be that easy," Murmured Rita, watching as the red dots continued closing in for contact with the squadron. She took in the arrangement of the three-man teams and said, "Section Three, lead:Gallow, adjust to the right by thirty degrees and move for five hundred meters, then adjust left by thirty. You'll slam into their exposed rears..."
"Sections one and two, Black Mark and Red Eye leads, dispersal of fifty meters and flank around via the left, turn twenty degrees and then twenty degrees back right after two hundred meters... We don't know if they brought artillery this time or not," She then ordered, watching as the group moved, "Section four, lead:Dawn you're overcrewed, so go down the middle... Meet our contacts head-on and leave the flanking teams some time to kick'em from behind, would you?"
"Roger!" The Squadron replied.
She heard the rumble of gunfire and watched as the first enemy contacts winked off the detection. Lena had been kind enough to lend her 'The Art of War' and 'Modern Armor Battle Tactics' for books regarding her training. All else, she'd learned through wargames at school. She grinned as she watched a multitude of contacts wink off the screen again. Minute by minute, more and more of the enemy's units disappeared.
She hummed, then leaned back into her chair, listening to the team communicate...
"Gallow, targets down on my side."
"Roger, Gallow. Dawn, gimme some cover."
"Right behind ya, boss."
"Ameise reinforcements... Huh. No Löwe this time?"
"Wait... Oh, shit! DAWN, LOOK OUT!"
"What-OHNO-"
Rita straightened up in her chair, her heart winking off as she heard the thunderclap of a shell slamming against the tin body of the machine. To her left, Dawn's name plate turned black. She swore to herself, then looked on the map to see the new reinforcements arriving. One slower-moving target, five more Ameise. She grit her teeth, then said, "Black Mark, redouble your efforts and take that bastard out..."
"Way ahead of you, Handler Two..." She replied. Rita could feel the girl's hatred through the Para-RAID device. The five Ameise winked off, but not before another of their Juggernauts was blasted by the Löwe. Rita berated herself, having expected the new contact to appear but not preparing a contingency for it. She watched the remains of the Squadron wrap around the damn thing like a noose, the roar of 57mm guns filling her ears, rage filling her heart. Rage at the enemy for doing what it did... And rage at herself for what had happened.
She watched the Legion tank's symbol wink off, then sighed and said, "Mission accomplished, Preacher... Return to base. I'm sorry..."
"Mhm..." sighed Black Mark, "Be seeing you, Handler Two..."
The connection cut and Rita leaned her head back against her chair, then wiped her face with her hands, feeling the frustration welling up in her heart, mixed in with a heart-sinking sadness. Two more, dead. Two more kids, probably her age, gone. She stood up, grabbing her items and removing her Para-RAID Device, before stepping out of the room. To her right, Lena seemed in... About the same state.
"How many...?" Lena asked, her eyes welling, a little red.
"Two... You?" Rita replied. The girl raised two fingers as well. She sighed, then arranged her cap, stating, "Sorry..." before stopping as she saw a young ensign approach them. He handed the two of them orders, to which she opened the orders and read the file. She hummed, looked to Lena and said, "The General wants to see us..." before nodding to the soldier.
The two looked to one-another, then marched forth toward Karlstahl's office as night began to set. Knocking, they heard the man reply in a firm voice, "Come in," and stepped into the decorated man's office. Short silver hair, a silver stubble and scars adorned the chiseled face of the tall general. He arranged his uniform, watching as Lena and Rita filtered in. Both girls quickly lined up and crisply saluted, to which he saluted back and stated, "At ease."
"Sir, major Milizé and captain Von Penrose, reporting for duty," Lena stated, "As ordered."
"Welcome," Karlstahl said. He motioned to Rita to close the door, which she did, and he smiled, "There. Now, at ease properly, both of you. Won't have you acting like this around me."
Lena smiled, "Happy to know that, Uncle."
He nodded, "How go the operations?"
"Dandy," Rita sighed, "Lost a couple more units each."
"Hm," Karlstahl sighed. He knew it was best not to comment on 'letting go' for now, seeing as he was looking at the two most avid Colorata rights supporters out there. He wanted to change that, but knew he could not easily sway the two. He chose, however, to let them be, stating, "I understand. However, there's news for both of you... Henrietta, as I'm sure you are aware..." He pulled out a box from one of his drawers, "You have received a promotion... As much as I'd like to hold a big ceremony, you know how things are."
Rita waved it off, "It's fine, General... I don't like big festivities anyway..."
He nodded, then waved her forward. She complied, taking two steps forward and saluting as the man removed the Captain rank pins from her collar and epaulettes, before slotting in the Major's golden Leaf symbol in and the epaulettes specifically designed for the rank. He saluted, then said, "Welcome, Major von Penrose, to the same rank as your friend."
"Thank you, sir," She replied with a nod. He motioned to her to rejoin Lena, then sat himself down and pulled two more things out of a drawer. Two files, specifically.
He said, "I'm aware you received your copies, but let me say it to you in person... Ladies, you both have served exemplarily as Handlers for the Juggernaut Corps. You've done more than can be asked of you. As officers, you'd usually have a right to retire at this... Well, rank, not age. You've served your time and proven to be quite proficient at what you do... Can't you just give up?"
"Sorry, sir," Rita started.
"No. Not until our goal's complete." Lena finished.
The two had a look of determination unmatched in their eyes. A look which the man knew all-too-well from previous, similar talks. He rubbed his face, then sighed and said, "Very well. Then," He motioned to the files, "I don't think you got to read them fully before coming here, so let me give you the short of it. You are both being reassigned to new Squadrons... Top-of-the-line Frontline squadrons..."
"Lena," She looked to the girl, "You will be commanding Brísingamen Squadron, Eastern Front, Second Ward."
"Sir," She saluted.
"Rita," The man said, looking to her, "Taking into account your... Unorthodox... Tactics, that you seem to be passing onto Lena as well, you will be assigned the elite Spearhead Squadron, First Ward of the Second Front," which garnered looks of surprise out of both girls. Spearhead was a familiar name among Handlers. Several former Spearhead Handlers had committed suicide some time after getting the squadron, while others had been driven to insane, mumbling messes. Few who made it semi-sane out of the ordeal retired and said they wouldn't lead another squadron again.
And then there were the legends of the famed 'Undertaker'.
Jérôme smirked, though he concealed it behind his hands, which were laced together in front of his mouth. Though in the back of his head knew that he'd get a long, tirade-filled visit from Josef, he didn't really care. If it meant getting at least one of the two driven equalists out of the Army and back into civilian life before they hurt themselves... Well, there was still the risk of suicide, but... He spoke, confident, "You seem concerned, Major von Penrose. Think you can't handle a supposedly 'cursed' squadron? I can put you down for retirement if you may consider it too much."
Rita knew she shouldn't back down. Not from a challenge like this and not from someone like Karlstahl. She cared for the man like he was her own uncle, just like Lena did, but she knew he was a shrewd, cynical man when it came to his own views of the Republic. A hypocrite in all but name, taking into account his views on serving this damned, rotten country. She knew he wanted her out of the Army alongside Lena. That was not going to happen.
"No, sir," She replied, then saluted, "I can handle them. Who cares about ghost stories...?" And she flashed a confident grin.