"Life without prejudice, were it ever to be tried, would soon reveal itself to be a life without principle." - Richard M. Weaver


River ducked her head as another mortar shell exploded in the distance. Quickly, she looked up over the top of the trench and checked once more to see if she could spot the rest of her squad.

"Oh God—damn!" Chloe swore, clutching her steel helmet, "They're gonna glass the whole fuckin' town at this rate!"

The smoke of the shells and the dust of debris rose up above the silhouettes of the houses, culminating into great plumes that swept over all of Arkadia-town. This great cloud of dust, tinged a shade of dirty yellow from all the dust being kicked up, further impeded the light of the sun. It was right to say that the day had shifted to evening, despite it being only a couple hours past noon.

"Do you see them? Do you see the others?" River asked her counterpart. Chloe rose from her slump and peeked over the trench herself.

"…no, I don't see shit."

Doubts were creeping into River's heart. Chase's warning that if the pixie blonde were to fall prey to chance, then it would be her responsibility to lead; this warning repeated itself in her head, but what was she to do in such a scenario—how could she guide others to safety, what would that even matter when she had no authority to command anyone?

How was she going to protect Emilia from Sara and her puppets?

Panic was present, and suffocating. Nervous honey-brown eyes flickered erratically for a distraction to the thought of it—that Chase would perish, and leave her to take charge; it could not happen, it mustn't come true! She has to make sure the pixie-blonde is still alive, even if it costs her!

"Hey, you good?" Chloe noticed the blonde's fidgeting.

"We should go find them," River suddenly picked up her helmet and donned it, then reached for their bolt-action rifle, "We have to find them, they might need our help!"

"We ain't goin' out there," Price swiftly countered, "If Max and Vicky got any sense in them, then they're high tailing it back as we speak. We wait here until they arrive—hey, HEY!"

River was ready to heave herself over the top when Chloe reached out and grabbed the back of her jacket, pulling her back down into the trench, "The fuck's the matter with you—you wanna get caught in that shit storm out there? You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"If Victoria gets done in, then I'm done for! The others will never listen to me—I have to go check on her, I have to make sure she's still alive!" River tried to pull herself out of the taller girl's grasp, but it was fruitless. Chloe's comparative size served her well, and kept Schwartz from reaching the parapet to vault over.

And Price grew tired of the blonde's antics, to the point that she pushed River against the wall of the trench and pinned her there by clutching her shoulders, "Hey, listen to me—listen to me!"

River ceased her panic, and Chloe continued, "I know it sucks, but guess what? My squad-lead—my best friend—is out there too, but you don't see me freaking the fuck out because you-know-why?"

River blinked, wide-eyed. She said nothing.

"Because I know, for an absolute certainty, that she's not gonna get herself killed over something like this. I know that Max is going to come back, because I have faith in her to do so," Chloe drove this point home by gesturing to her head, as if to emphasize, "Vicky ain't gonna die, she's too smart to get herself killed. If I'm wrong, then you can hate me for all eternity; but know that what I'm saying is for real. If you don't have faith in them, then it's already over for you."

River was scared, but whereupon seeing the determination in those ice blue eyes of her comrade, it demanded that she reconsider. Indeed, Price was very much River's equivalent, here in this present hour—to sit here and wait for a relay of the situation was their fate. If it must be, then the pony-tailed blonde ought to find comfort here with her fellow Angel, to be stuck here and await the inevitable.

Such was River's mentality as she slowly nodded, appreciative of Chloe's support.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry."

"It's cool. Y'just can't panic in times like these," Price let her go, and gave her friend some space, "You just can't lose yourself, not here, not now."

It felt as though the bluenette was telling herself that more than she was telling it to River. The rumble of the fighting was an afterthought to this exchange of sentiments, and in their silence the echo of the guns made itself known once more.

They both looked at the thick clouds of smoke in the sky above them.

"…hey," River muttered.

"Hm?"

"I…I'm sorry, but I forgot your name."

The bluenette smirked, "Well, it's—"

"Chloe!"

Price jumped to the sound of Max's call, and received the whole of First Squad as they piled down into the trench, the suddenness of their presence surprising the two Angels in reserve.

"Maximus! You're still alive!" Caulfield found herself swept into a fierce hug by the taller girl, and protested adamantly to the treatment, "Chloe, let go—I've got to talk with Vic!"

As Max pulled out of the embrace, River informed her, "Victoria's not here. She and the rest of Second Squad haven't come back yet."

Cobalt-blue eyes widened at the realization, "They're still out there!?"

"I…we haven't seen them yet," River glanced up to the parapet, "I thought of going out myself, but your friend—Chloe—she reminded me to stay and wait for you."

"We gotta go, now," everyone surrounding Max heard her declaration as if it was an admission of suicide, because the mousy brunette was already pulling herself over the top. Determined was she to save her comrades, and throw caution into the bitter wind!

And the rest of First Squad, who had seen the same terrors that Max was adamant to throw herself back into, immediately reached for their squad-leader to pull her back.

"Oh, not again—Max!"

"Are you fuckin' crazy, don't do it!"

"Max, no—!"

"Help! We need help—!" came a cry from afar.

Heads poked over the top of the trench, and Max swung her gaze to see two figures come running towards the church. The denim-jacket of the first girl denoted Taylor, and the fluffy hair and short stature of the other gave away Emilia's disposition.

The two girls reached the trench and tumbled into it, settling at the floor and being supported by their sisters. Wheezing, Taylor cried out again, "We need anyone who can help, please!"

"What's happened, what's going on?" a chorus replied to the denim-blonde, and Christensen rasped, "We got pinned down by the mortars, and Vic's sent us back to get help—she's trying to get the wounded out, but she needs help!"

Emilia and Taylor were exhausted from running, and would need a moment to rest before they could go out again. Yet, their words had an effect upon the girls of First Squad, who found the fire of righteous compassion burn away the rest of their doubts.

Max echoed this feeling to her squad, "If you wanna stay, then stay. But to those who want to help, follow me!"

The Hero of Blackwell adjusted the brim of her stahlhelm and charged off northwards, into the fray. Immediately was she followed by Chloe, who had a blatant disregard for protocol and couldn't shy away from the thrill of the fight. She was followed by Kate, who was bound by honor to join her friends, even if it meant to storm the gates of Hell itself. Marsh was supported by her sisters-in-faith, both Grace and Olivia, and they were chased after by Juliet and her quartet of friends.

Soon enough, after exchanging platitudes to themselves, River, Emilia, and Taylor would join the fight as well, for they could not stand by and leave their sisters to their fates.


"Oh my God it hurts, I'm gonna dieI'm gonna die, oh Jesus—!"

"Stop the bleeding, get the gauze on 'im!" Steph barked over the roar of battle.

"I'm trying—!" Sam called back, trying her best to apply the roll of gauze on the wounded man's arm. Steph did her best to help keep the militiaman calm and held onto his shoulder, "You're all right, it's gonna be alright, just don't look at it—!"

The snap of stray rounds whizzing overhead made Steph flinch, as she and her partner busied tending this wounded militiaman.

Militiaman, more like militia-boy. The poor kid was only twenty years old, separating their difference in age by just two years' time.

A stray round had struck him in the arm, more specifically in the brachial artery. He had trouble trying to stop the bleeding, and soon found himself in a panic struggling to stem the blood oozing from his arm. By the time Steph and Samantha had reached him, his battle buddies had passed a tourniquet and left him to clutch at his arm, believing him to be already doomed from blood loss and afraid the Reds would assault their positions at any moment.

Much like what they were doing now.

Another mortar shell impacted the ground, causing Sam's hold on the roll of gauze to nearly slip. The shivering brunette blinked away the tears threatening to obscure her sight, and wrapped the wound tight enough to secure it.

"Good, you're good!" Sam called out, and quickly the two Angels made to hoist the stretcher up.

Bloodied fingers gripped the handles, and together they hoisted the boy up—

—and fell right back down as Steph's boot slipped in mud, the tumbling making it even worse for the wounded soul as he rolled onto his bandaged arm.

Chaos surrounded them. The two girls grit their teeth as another burst of lead smacked against the earth and zipped through the air. One of these rounds found its mark on another militiaman in his dugout, the round penetrating his helmet and tumbling viciously through his cranium. The force of the bullet striking the head then took the rest of the body with it, collapsing right atop where Sam had crouched to adjust the wounded soldier on the stretcher.

"Oh fuck, fucking fuck—!" Sam cried, frantically pushing the dead man away. Her hand got caught on the strap of the corpse's plate carrier, and when trying to pull it free, she had twisted the body and got a look at its face.

Eyes widened, catching onto every detail. There'd been enough force behind the round to cause a split in the skin, and a spider-web fracture in the skull, converging at the point of impact.

The eye had been turned to sludge, and there was churned up pink and grey matter in the midst of the hole. The other eye stared back at her, unblinking. And Sam could feel this promise be assured, that she too would come face-to-face with a gruesome death, much like this cadaver clinging to her arm. Seeing this, and smelling the tang of blood, the rage of battle crushing her ears—the overload of stimuli sent Samantha into a shock. Nothing could be done, except to bear witness to this horror made manifest.

"Sam—!? Sam, snap the fuck out of it, I need some help!" Steph cried out, but her partner couldn't look past the human soup, not even to pull herself free. Samantha was caught in the snare of Death, and couldn't look past the black veil.

That is, until a figure stepped past Steph and the wounded soul, who still grieved for mercy; and it was Victoria who rose her voice over the roar of the guns and bellowed to the frozen brunette, "Myers, get up!"

Chase wasted no time, immediately pulling the girl's arm free and letting the body fall to the trench floor, face-down. Again she shouted, "Get the fuck up, move!"

Victoria smacked the backside of Sam's helmet and jolted her from her reverie, and suddenly the brunette was in a panic, slurring her words. The crashing of another mortar shell beckoned them to crouch, and again Victoria's voice carried through, "Get out of here, I'll take over!"

Myers immediately rushed for the exit out of the trench, and Victoria moved to fill her spot. Only now, after all these disruptions, did Steph and the pixie-blonde hoist their wounded cargo up on the stretcher, and with some careful maneuvering they carried the poor soul across the avenue, past the congregation of Angels from First and Second squads attempting to pull more wounded from the front line, then down the street and eventually to the church.

The militiaman would not be stabilized until two hours later, after having to find enough blood donors to account for the loss of volume sustained.


Her shaky hand reached up and took off her heavy stahlhelm, placing it down on the polished stone floor. Her other hand brushed through short blonde bangs. Kate sighed.

Sweat gleamed from her forehead. Her eyes were droopy, and looked no further past where she sat than her muddy boots. The pungent smell of body odor caught her nose from time to time, and with agitation she realized it was from herself.

"How're you holding up?" a voice asked, passing the few feet of distance between them. The interior church column and the angle of the light shaded most of their features, but she could make out the mousy bob of brown hair, and the glint of blue eyes.

"I'm okay, Max," Kate replied, and adjusted her spot against the wall, "…just, tuckered out."

"…me too," Max concurred. The mousy brunette glanced around, and noted the current state of her squad. Juliet and her friends were laid out and trying to get some sleep. Olivia was reading a book of hers, and Grace was staring up at a glass mosaic, which depicted the sacred heart of Jesus Christ. Chloe lay beside Max, and had a jacket draped loosely over her as she slept. Price's rucksack had become a sufficient substitute for a pillow, and Caulfield noted how peaceful her best friend looked when in slumber. A heavy sleeper Chloe was, and Max found herself wishing she could be as carefree in her dreams as here, in reality.

Victoria's squad were further down the column, in much the same manner as her squad. Chase had passed out from exhaustion once they had been able to pull back from their positions and to the church. The militia also had to retreat to defend Cedar Avenue from any further attacks by the Reds, and this meant the fighting would come closer to Arkadia and the Angels trying to perform their task.

A task which had fallen short of its hopeful mark.

They had pulled out eleven wounded militia from the front line. Whatever praise they received came from the muted whisperings of the men laid out on their stretchers, and the impersonal platitudes given to them by the nurses who'd taken the wounded afterwards. Not that the girls cared much for this praise.

They had seen other militiamen carry their downed comrades back on their own. When the Angels requested to help, they were summarily rejected, the soldiers' reasoning being left unsaid.

They had seen the bodies of militiamen that didn't make it out, lined up in body bags outside the church. Nobody disputed that it was more than eleven.

Every half-hour, a single truck would come by and park on the avenue separating the church from the office buildings, where the wounded had been moved to receive treatment from the surgeons and their equipment. If one were to bear witness to this lone truck, they would note its large bed in the back, and the two tired, weary men that occupied it. They would say nothing as the body bags were carried up and laid out in the truck bed, one at a time.

They say the dead are buried in Arkadia Park, over by the south side of town. A makeshift ditch had been supposedly dug, and the corpse-men would lay the bodies until they stacked five feet high. This was spoken in hushed whispers from the militia rotating in and out of the southern line, but none of the Angels bothered to see if it was true.

They were simply tired. Exhaustion drove their minds to wander of trivial things. Matters solved by convenience were now great ordeals to be taken care of. The burden of it all was too much to consider now, when all they could imagine was a long and peaceful rest.

Kate's silver eyes glanced up from her muddy boots, and eyed her squad-leader. Max didn't give any indication of being exhausted, but there was reason for this.

"…Max."

"Hm?"

"…how are you holding up?"

It was the hesitation that made the blonde concerned. Max was not the lying type, and she was bound by the pact of friendship to speak the truth and nothing more—so this shy look Max had, the way her thumbs brushed against each other as she fidgeted, it spelled out trouble in her heart.

"…remember when you saved me, out there?"

Kate nodded, and Max continued, "I thought that it was over for me. I thought I was done for—that I'd be torn to shreds. And…I remember falling to the ground, and feeling like my whole world was crumbling around me, and that I should give up."

"…it wasn't right," Max mumbled on, a nervous hand brushing through her bangs, "I knew I wasn't meant to die there, that it wasn't right. So, I begged to the Lord, I asked him to spare me from evil—and that's when you saved me."

Kate smiled, as if vindicated, "It seems that he looks out for all of us, doesn't he?"

"I'd believe it," Max nodded, then sniffled, "but it'd be nice if he had done something about the ringing in my ears. Couldn't think straight for a bit afterwards."

"Is that why you charged back into the fire?" another voice joined the conversation. Olivia closed her book and teased her squad-lead, "Y'know, if I didn't know you barely avoided getting exploded to bits, I'd say you're wanting to get blown up."

"Nah, I've just got guts," Max swiftly countered, and Kate snickered as the quip. Olivia could only sigh at such a prideful resolve, "I swear, the both of you are the craziest people I've ever met."

"You should see my dad," Max replied, "If he's got an idea in his head, he'll act on it. I've seen it myself—he once tried to tussle with a bear by using a push-broom."

"Tall tales!" Kate joked, "Lies and deceit!"

"On my left pinkie toe, I swear it!" Caulfield declared. The others found it too good to be true, so Max explained her father's bravery, however foolish it was.

Off in the distance, though dimmed by the stone walls of the church, the roar of the guns continued unwaveringly. But it was fine to these Angels, for it was now their lullaby to fall asleep to.