Chapter Three - "Pyrrhic Victory"
Today is the day.
I stand with Mom, Dad, my friends and the entirety of Overwhill's student body just a little ways north of campus, towards the mountains and ranges we often use for maneuvers. The past month the range was closed off for ACTs - Advanced Career Training. Only completing Basic Career Training myself, about to head into Intermediate Career Training, no one knows what exactly goes on in the ACTs. It's classified, with the platoon-sized amount of candidates that undergo it being sworn to absolute secrecy.
From the rooftops of Naysmith and Ellestren Hall, you could hear the occasional pyrotechnic go off and hovercrafts dipping in and out of the woods not to mention active PK patrols. I recall once or twice being required to attend a remembrance ceremony for the occasional cadet who died during the ACT. Those who were wounded somehow would melt back into the student body after healing up but again, their lips are sealed.
I watch as Mom grips Dad's gloved hand. All we can do is hope to the Sun that Paulus is one of the remaining cadets to march down this road.
"They're coming!" Someone cries.
The crowd begins to stir and then the cheering and applause begins immediately. Thank Snow we're right here at the end of the road where Colonel Parangosky stands on the dais, her eyes glued to the curve in the road where someone leads the pack of ragged cadets.
That someone, naturally, is Paulus.
I've never seen Mom and Dad prouder than they are now. My friends and his friends cheering him on, he begins to walk briskly towards Parangosky's dais. He looks like hell. His face caked with mud and dried blood, tears in his fatigues, his trusty sword also caked with dried blood. When he reaches the dais he doesn't crumple to the floor, instead he tries to find comfortable standing recovery position until the remaining cadets join him. By alphabetical order, she asks each cadet how many kills did they claim.
"One, ma'am!"
"Two, ma'am!"
She goes all the way down the list until she eyes Paulus.
"Officer Cadet Paulus Rivendell," the Colonel booms. "How many kills to your name?"
"Ma'am, I claim thirteen kills Ma'am!" he barks with a grimy grin. I exchange looks with Mom and Dad. That was the highest number called! The crowd collectively cheers. If there's one thing that everyone knows about the highly-secretive ACTs, it's that the 'kill count' matters.
But what exactly did they kill? Against all convention, after school was concluded for the summer, I go to Paulus one night and press him.
"Prisoners," he answers simply. "They make us hunt and kill prisoners."
A week of orientation immediately melts into the same routine. The day begins with reveille at six hundred, PT, breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, dismissal, occupational training or club meetings, homework or rec time, night routine and then repeats.
The War seems to have kicked everyone into gear. I remember being a ninth grade cadet, constantly being smoked as a company for screwing up all the time. Now, we're constantly on time, giving our absolute all in any tasking were given. Hells, Garrison seems to have bulked up a little, PT isn't a total drag for him anymore. There are some downsides. Domita nearly knifed another girl when she tried to wake her up one morning. Apparently a Rebel scout happened upon her listening post one night on the Ranges. He was a huge man, she and Garrison had to take him down and he didn't make it easy for them.
Beatrix really takes the 'company mom' role seriously. On top of yelling at us for infractions like small talk before inspections, one day she snapped at cadet named Torres because he didn't fill his water bottle to the top, went on a fifteen mile march and didn't feel well. The NCOs didn't even have to smoke him, Bea did it herself.
"What is wrong with you?!" she snaps, waving the canteen in his face. "You could seriously hurt yourself!"
The way she acted reminded me of Dr. Rhodes the way she doted on all her patients. Bea did say she lost a couple of patients during her time in the Nut.
Callista would wake up in the middle of the night yelling "stand to!" fumbling for a rifle that wasn't there. Her disruptions would then cause everyone to jump out of bed. It seems that a lot of cadets have heard the exact command barked at them over the past year or so. It got so bad that Sergeant Floris would give her midnight sentry duty so that by the time her shift was over, she'd be sleeping like a rock and not so antsy.
There has been no progress between Randy and me. It's all forced conversation at this point. I realize that we're all pretty messed up, and the only reason why we're all functional is because we have each other's back despite driving one another up the wall.
The subject of every conversation be you in Alpha or Beta Company is ACT training and the Games in general. With the Rebels all but cowering in the bowels of D13, all the news ever talks about is the fact that the Capitol must compensate for the fact that the Quarter Quell was cut short this year.
"Will you host a Hunger Games this year, Caesar?" PBC's Marceline Devereaux asks the Master of Ceremonies.
I'm in the mess hall now, eyeing the gigantic holoscreen with my fellow cadets. Every day we've been watching the news like hawks. Actual war developments we don't even give a flip about anymore. It's the Games, the Games the Games the Games.
"I haven't heard anything yet." Caesar replies. He's a liar. The other cadets and I even jeer his response. He's the Master of Ceremonies, obviously the man knows something.
Marceline scoffs, gazing at him with those piercing blue eyes of hers. "What a lie."
"I'm serious!" he says, expression jolly as he raises a hand in surrender. "However I should say that President Choudhury knows very well the mood of Panem as it is currently. It just seems that we need to finish what's on our plates now."
"So am I safe to say that you stand with every Capitol-abiding citizen of Panem when we say that a make-up Games is needed?" Marceline asks, leaning forward in her chair with a crooked brow. "Ninety-nine point nine nine percent of respondents to our polls want this."
"Of course Marceline, I'm right there with you all!" Caesar replies with a cackle. His face falls as he crosses one slate pant leg over the other. "I know Claudius would be too."
"They have to host a Games now." Domita says. "They wouldn't let the anger fester for months longer."
"But what about the ACTs...?" I wonder aloud. "That takes months to complete."
Garrison downs his bowl of cereal. "They have hosted fast track courses..."
"Who says the male and female spot will be Overwhill cadets?" Callista interjects. "You know damn well they'll be reserved for rebels."
The table stills at her words. It makes sense. Apparently the jails are overflowing with Rebel kids just waiting to be reaped. They could probably reap Rebel children for a decade. Who needs Careers when you have child rebels with just enough combat experience to put on a good display?
"Not to mention we still have a nuclear-capable rogue-district to deal with," Randall adds. "And don't forget we have Fire Bitch and Lover Boy to deal with as well. We just need to wait and see."
I play with my oatmeal, taking bites every now and then. I hope they hurry up and make a decision. Pre-selected rebels means no volunteering and no volunteering means no doing good by my folks and not doing good by them means I'm the lone weakling left behind because I didn't act quick enough.
Everyone has 'their thing'. Garrison made up for his scrawniness by being a whizz with a bow. Randy is pretty handy with machetes, kukris and the like, though with his eye, who knows now. Bea favors poisons and traps, Callista loves her swordsmanship and Domita could kill someone from across the gym with her knives.
I consider myself a jack of all trades. But if I had to nail down a specific skill, it would have to be close quarters fighting following the principles of Peacekeeper Martial Arts or PKMA for short. It's a dirty fighting style, utilizing every aspect of the fighting space be it your body, the knife in your hand or the brick on the ground. Besides a gun, it's the only way to compensate for the rabid mobs, which often have no weapons but their fists, wanting to waste a PK by any means. Sergeant Floris is our instructor for PKMA. Like the rest of us, she's stripped down into her utility pants, black tank top and protective headgear with a visor of the eyes. A black belt with three stripes dangles on her waist.
Where her mother, Atala Floris, instructs tributes in the Capitol, Claudia Floris instructs us here.
"You ready for this, Rivendell?" she asks me.
From the other side of the mat, I nod as I adjust my mouthguard and raise my gloves. A green belt with one stripe is secured to my waist. This was my bread and butter. If this fight were real, I'd be wearing punch daggers instead of gloves.
"Ready as I'll ever be." I say. On all sides, we draw a decent audience of gawky cadets, my friends included. Domita grins like an idiot. Bea looks nervous.
We go girl to girl for one whole minute. Tentatively, the Sergeant and I inch our way toward the center of the mat before punches are thrown, grapples are made and counters are made in return.
She hooks with her left and I duck, going low as I send two rapid jabs to her abdomen. As she staggers backward, I go for a right hook, crying out in surprise when Floris captures my arm and throws me forward, planting me on the mat. I immediately counter by spinning my body clockwise, my feet catching hers as she crashes to the mat, cussing harshly. I follow up by attempting to stomp her head, only for Floris to roll away just in the nick of time. She recovers to her knees and then fully upright, flashing her blue mouthguard as she smiles. The crowd begins to applaud.
Myself? I sigh, feeling the weight of life ease off of me just a tad. It felt good getting it out.
"Not bad Rivendell. You'll be a brownbelt by December." Floris comments as she turns to the crowd. "Take a seat. Who's next-"
"I'm good Sar'nt..." I reply, shaking my head. "Send me someone else."
Despite my cheek aching like a bitch as well as a few sore spots throughout my body, I still felt ready for round two.
Floris grins, shrugging as she points to Jorge Mendoza, one of the larger boys in my platoon. Fat-faced, pocked with acne, buzz cut. "Mendoza, take her. No holds barred."
The men from the highway flash through my brain. I suppress them, shaking my head free of their faces as I knock gloves with the oaf in front of me.
"Good luck, Rivendell." He sneers. I offer a curt nod in return.
"During a routine patrol or even in the Hunger Games, your opponent won't always be a woman." Floris explains. "Remember the female combat doctrine, Rivendell. One minute begins...now!"
Mendoza is on me in an instant, his fist raised in a right hook. I sidestep out of the way before he could get a hit in, causing him to nearly topple Domita, Bea and the others as the momentum carries him past the mat. My feet are no longer firmly on the ground. In fact they're barely touching it as I 'hop' on the balls of my feet, my fist in front of me at the ready as Mendoza comes barreling back towards me.
He feints with his right hook, sending a left jab towards my gut. It connects and I cry out, only to deflect his right hook and launch a left hook of my own into his face as hard as I can.
He's stunned for a moment, only to shake it off and lunge toward me. I wasn't anticipating it and we both go down.
"Whaddya gonna do now, Rivendell?" Mendoza pants.
His body is pinned up against mine and it all comes flooding back. Their breaths, their grunts. I'm panicking now, screaming like a banshee mutt as my vision flashes white from his punches. It's over within seconds as he clambers off of me but it's the fact that it happened. Shivering, I Ignore the gawking faces of my fellow cadets while I clamber onto my knees.
It's over...It's over. Those men are dead and you're at school. No one is here to hurt you.
That fear turns into anger when the oaf Mendoza basks in the customary applause. I clamber onto my feet, spin him around and launch my knee into his groin, relishing in the winded cry he bellows out while he crumples to the ground. The cadets exclaim in shock. Those who are in the know, my friends, frown.
"Rivendell, what the fuck?!" one of the Corporals barks out.
Sergeant Floris has an odd look on her face, a far cry from the anger I expected. She must be in the know. "Rivendell, kit off and clean yourself up, you're done here for the day."
I'm excused from PE class. Apparently I'm invited to speak with Commandant Rudiger over at Ravinstill Hall.
The Academy Orderly Room is a hive of activity. I would expect nothing less from a school that has to juggle four entire companies worth of staff and students, even though each hall, Naysmith, Overwhill, Ellstren and Rivendell, had their own OR. I'm met by a kind, older Chief Warrant Officer by the name of "Chou", who points guides me across the various desks and secretaries manning them until we reach an area cordoned off by polarized glass. "Brig. Gen. G. RUDIGER - Commandant" is stenciled on the sliding door. CWO Chou presses the door chine and it slides open, prompting her to gesture me forward.
When I enter her neatly decorated office, I snap a salute to the Commandant who sits behind a mahogany desk emblazoned with the seal of Panem. At the corner of my vision, I couldn't help but notice that Lt. Rhodes is here as well, sitting off in the corner.
"Good morning, Ma'am." I say aloud, nodding toward the Lieutenant as well. "Doctor Rhodes."
"Good morning, Zenobia." the Commandant chimes back, gesturing to the two armchairs before her. "Please, take a seat."
Perturbed by the use of my first name rather than my rank or last name, I sit down on one of the fancy armchairs. I have an idea on what my doing here is about, but I ask anyway.
"You asked to see me?"
"We heard about your accident today in PE," Dr. Rhodes says. "It's purely coincidence but today's topic ties in all the same."
"We have seen tremendous losses over the past year, two years." Rudiger adds. "A lot of cadets have seen losses to their families. You included. A lot of them decided to pack up and head home. You too have a home and you could've left, but what's a home without people to fill it? Your Mom and Dad were good people, graduated the same year as them."
"So I hear, ma'am." Dad would never let us live it down that he knew the Commandant. Apparently she was quite the joker. Not anymore it seems.
"The Lieutenant here was just telling me about the accident and your inspiring recovery." She continues. Lt. Rhodes nods with a soft grin on her lips. "I've also kept in touch with your company commander and you seem to be doing well all things considered."
"I have my friends to thank, otherwise I would be..." I shrug, shaking my head as I let out a heartfelt sigh. "I don't know where I would be. My home is here now, Ma'am."
"Yes, Cadets Wilson, Baines, Ryder, Forge and Pilsner." Rudiger replies with a nod. "All are exemplary soldiers, aside from their famous last names. I just wanted to say that we're here for you as well." She hands me a letter stamped from the puzzle palace - The Citadel - all the way in the Capitol. "Here, please read this from top to bottom."
I slowly tear into the envelope and read its contents. Apparently I'm to be paid a lump sum for the loss of Mom, Dad and Paulus. All payments toward housing are waived, so the family home is mine to keep. I have so much money I don't have to worry about much for a while. And because I'll be busy peacekeeping, it's not like I'll need the money.
"It's good that you continue to keep active within the Academy," Says Dr. Rhodes. "You're still my patient, Zenobia. I'll gladly support you here and beyond if need be."
"Lieutenant Rhodes will continue to keep an eye on you. Your pay as a cadet is being increased considering your situation. If you need anything from me at all..."
"I wish to be added onto the ACT program." I blurt out, very much aware of my ignorance. One doesn't just ask to be put in the ACT. You're selected. Dr. Rhodes appears unnerved by my wanting to join the ACT program. I ignore her. I thought she was all about my 'self-development' and 'healing'?
Instead of being reprimanded, the Commandant smiles from ear to ear. "I imagine you'd make a superb tribute, given the circumstances. But we haven't heard anything yet. When we do, I'll make sure you're the first cadet loaded on."
Dr. Rhodes grins, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "If she thinks that'll help her...then I'm here for her every step of the way."
The next morning, we're in civics class going over dead presidents and their accomplishments when the classroom's HV turns on unprompted displaying the words "PLEASE STAND BY" below a PBC news seal.
"Attention staff and cadets," Commandant Rudiger's voice croons over the PA above the class exit. "Please wait out for a very special war development."
I immediately feel a tingle inside me, lifting my head from notes to meet the eyes of Callista who quirks a brow and grins. The class explodes into chatter so loud one would think we're on The Terrazzo.
"Are they gonna kill Katniss?!"
"It's probably another pocket that finally decided to give up."
Our teacher, Vulkov, a young Lieutenant fresh from the Ravinstill Military College, orders us to settle down and shut up.
"Baines, get the door," he orders. "And hit the lights while you're at it."
Lt. Vulkov's by-the-book attitude can't hold us. Just as Bea sits down, the newscast begins. "A PBC NEWS REPORT: VICTORY DECLARED - REBS QUIT! Voiced by: Marceline Devereaux"
They haven't even said anything worthwhile yet and the entire classroom bursts into cheers. I watch as the screen cuts to images of what appears to be a bunker entrance into Thirteen bombed open so that it resembles twisted steel rather than a million ton blast door. In a single file line, Rebel troops are herded out of their little cave under heavy Peacekeeper guard. Their gray jumpsuits are soiled, their faces caked with grime. Some shield their eyes as if they haven't seen sunlight their entire lives.
"You've heard right. As of twelve o'clock, eastern region time the last of the Rebel hordes, trapped in their District 13 hovel, have officially surrendered to the Capitol's First Army, lead by the steely General Rommie Thread.
There are a hodge-podge of gray jumpsuits and normal everyday wear, denoting that they willingly fled their districts to join these criminals. I find it quite sad that some in the districts believed in Katniss's lies so bad they decided to seek refuge at its source.
Look at them now as our noble Peacekeepers guide them out of their lair. Their ghoul-like faces, void of any Vitamin D, appear totally downcast as their warped version of a so-called "free Panem" fell flat on its face.
So foolish, their rag-tag ideals. With their so-called 'mockingjay' Katniss Everdeen, caged, did they honestly think they could destroy the Capitol - the bastion of peace, order and normalcy?
Instead of accepting multiple attempts to offer a Capitol-led ceasefire, so-called 'President' Coin decided to endure a three month siege in which thousands on either side of the aisle perished.
In the end, for the first time in decades, the national banner flew on the tallest point of Thirteen. No one can withstand the might of the Capitol.
Some of you may be asking, "What of the conspirators who plotted to tear this nation apart?" Well obviously, they decided to take the coward's way out. Although we don't have physical proof, as there are literal thousands of Rebels in need of being processed, it appears that Alma Coin, Plutarch Heavensbee, Haymitch Abernathy, Beetee Latier and others have committed suicide deep within the bowels of this Rebel lair.
Who could blame them, really? Capitol justice is unrelenting.
And now, as you can see your Boys and Girls in White gather around the desolate bunker, wave their helmets in the air, pop bottles and let out cheers that rattle the earth. On this fall day, the so-called 'rebellion' is finished.
I can only hope that our victory here today will allow us to grow as a nation. As the late President Snow said, "There is many a thing to fix in a home. That doesn't mean the foundation needs to be burnt down."
We'll have more news sent your way when we have it. Until then, reflect, celebrate and mourn the losses we had to endure to reach this point.
This is Marceline Devereaux, PBC News, District 13. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever."
The national anthem blares aloud, displaying footage of Peacekeepers on various fronts and loyal citizens doing their part. Callista cackles like an idiot, launching onto her chair so that towers over the rest of us.
"We fucking won!" she cries in her shrill voice, pumping her fists as she continues to howl with laughter. "We won we won we won!"
The room quite literally shatters with cheers. I feel frazzled, my ears popping and my world literally shaking as everyone in class jumps to their feet and tosses their berets into the air in jubilation. They bound so hard against the tile I fear that the foundation of this building will give way and we'll all fall into the next floor! But it doesn't happen, and I'm left observing everyone's reactions.
Lt Vulkov lights up a dart, a grin on his lips. Our TA, a nice Third Lieutenant by the name of Kennedy must've slipped in during the initial cheer and shares one with him. We're not allowed to smoke here but who's keeping track with the news just being broken?
Bea spins me around in my seat, eyeing me with a knowing expression as she places her hands on my shoulders. She gives me a hug and my stomach becomes hot and tears begin falling from my eyes. She joins Callista, hugging and kissing her on the cheeks. We're celebrating, no one notices the way they hold each other and laugh.
Domita, gripping Garrison by the collar, kisses him so hard that they lose balance and collapse on the ground. They're an odd couple.
As I continue to silently chuckle to myself, I turn my attention to Randy. He has a sad smile on his face, his tunic is unbuttoned as he leans back in his chair and sighs. Ever since orientation week, he's been a little out of sorts. Hells, I've been out of sorts - a lot of cadets are. But Randy is my focus. Clutching my chair to my bottom, I scoot past our jubilant classmates and plop myself down beside him. I gently slug him in the shoulder, grinning as he returns the gesture.
I say into his ear, "You had a large part in this."
"Not really." He replies as he leans towards my ear as he gently moves my hair aside. The visions are starting to become prominent again but I allow him. "I wish your folks were here. They should've been here to see this."
He pulls away so that his eyes level with mine. He's too good. Too good for me. I offer him a somber grin, glancing up at the ceiling in an attempt to fend off the tears and save face. But it's no use.
"Me too." I say loud, turning to watch as the class begins to finally settle down. "Me too."
The truth is this 'victory' is bittersweet. They should've been here to see this day.
Too bad you didn't fight hard enough, if at all.
Coming up Next...
Callista leaves Bea's side, collects a jerrycan and one by one, collects the gang together. I watch as the five of them make their way towards me, each with posca-induced grins on their lips.
Callista gives the jerry a little shake. "Hey Riv, how about we take this party upstairs?"
I simply grin in response.