Danev

We'd won that day.

I still did not fully understand how, but we had.

We'd fought, we'd died, and somehow by the end of it all, the Earth Kingdom had retreated, we'd gained ground, and we were still alive. I couldn't have cared less as our artillerymen created a new line of no man's land to try and catch as many retreating Earth Kingdom soldiers as they could in those last closing minutes. It was over the minute the last Earth Kingdom soldier was too far to thrust my sword into, and only a few minutes later, the artillery had finally stopped as well. We'd won.

It was our first real victory that day. That said nothing particularly good after we'd already been fighting here for around a month to only have our first victory now, but we didn't care. We celebrated. I celebrated all the harder when I learned that of the casualties that the 62nd had suffered in that final assault against the Earth Kingdom to cut off their retreat, Fluke hadn't been among them. They'd taken their share of casualties, heavy too, but Fluke's tank had gotten out of there alive.

As such, where we were now, behind the front line for the first time in weeks, allowed to reside in the same trench line we'd made a home of, it was impossible not to be thankful for how things had turned out. We'd lost people, sure, but far less than we could have. Still, that didn't necessarily mean I was free of self-blame, even two days later. We'd lost Mi, Eejun, and Shojeh. Fortunately for us, however, most of our injured had lived to tell the tale. I looked over them now as I toured the medical tent that had been re-established in what was no man's land just a few days back. Murao's wounds showed no sign of infection, and Tosa's leg wouldn't need to be amputated.

The two of them were down for the count right now, fast asleep though it was the middle of the day. Whatever drugs they were being pumped full of, they were working. Chejuh, on the other hand, was awake, and uncomfortably conscious of his injury.

"How you holding in there?" I asked as I stopped by his cot, separated from the others in a wing of the medical tent designed for less severe injuries.

Chejuh grunted as he turned to face me, clearly fairing not quite as well as when the chief drug in his body had been adrenaline, allowing him to ignore for the duration of the battle that the artillery shell that'd exploded by him had fractured two of his ribs.

"Been better," he groaned, likely longing for when he'd been whole, even if that meant facing off against the Earth Kingdom head to head. It was a good thing for his adrenaline too. He'd saved my life more than once out there. "Guess I shouldn't be complaining though," he added as his head turned to look past me, and towards the emergency wing of the tent where two of his comrades were lying, and others too were struggling with life and death. And because I'd given the order to attack.

"I'm sorry," I said without thinking much of it. Chejuh was quick to shut me down, shaking his head as he said, "Don't be. We had our orders. Doubt half as many of us would be alive had you not convinced us to follow them."

Maybe, I thought. I wanted to believe it, of course, but still, there was that lingering guilt that, maybe, things could have gone different. That less could have died. It was funny. I didn't remember quite ever feeling this way about the Hornets back in Citadel. I'd cared about them, sure, but something about this was different.

Notwithstanding, we could have gotten it far worse. We could have been the 122nd who, from what I heard, had suffered a near total of thirty-five casualties, not all of them dead, sure, but a vast majority of them, 114th had been somewhere in the middle with roughly twenty casualties, less than half fatalities fortunately. Meanwhile, the 54th, furthest down the line and last to receive the orders to charge, had been largely spared, only losing two men through it all. All the same, we'd fared far better than we could have, and now reaped the benefits of our toils, behind the frontline for once, able to breathe away from the pounding artillery for the first time in a long time.

I nodded in response to Chejuh's reassurance, and placed a hand on his shoulder, careful not to clamp down too hard. "Let me know if you need anything?"

"Of course," he said, waving me off.

The personal considerations of the 59th infantry battalion aside, however, the day had been an objective victory for the whole of the 64th division.

That couldn't be more obvious to notice when I left the medical tent and was dead set once again in the center of the 29th's siege camp, somewhere between our old defensive line, and the new one that we'd claimed from the Earth Kingdom.

With the Earth Kingdom pushed back on our front, their satellite units had retreated as well lest they be encircled. With that, the 29th brigade had finally been enabled to get back in contact with the other brigades of the division, which was as good for us as it was for our general Deming who was dead set on re-establishing his authority over the whole of his men.

We weren't particularly upset to have him gone from our brigade's siege camp. Last we heard of his activities, he'd caused a scene with colonel Choro that had eventually resulted in the latter's forced resignation. A smart man would have said that it was on account of Choro's defeat when trying to clear the way for our brigade, but a man who'd served long enough under Deming would know that it was for the exact opposite–every victory he'd won beforehand. Choro had shown up the commander of our division by being better with him, and he would suffer for it. I wondered what the long term would look like for him: demotion, court martial, exile, perhaps execution if Deming really was that much of an idiot. No. Choro is a lord. His survival and presence is what ensures the loyalty of his men. He'd be demoted, most likely, but he wasn't going anywhere. At least, if Deming was smart, which really was the key factor at the end of the day.

Still, we would enjoy the time that Deming wasn't around and too preoccupied waving his authority in the face of every brigade that wasn't ours. It meant that he would be too busy to order us into another suicide charge, which meant we could possibly, finally, get a few days of peace and quiet. Such was the benefit of being behind the front line for once, I noticed. I imagined that the decision was likely the colonel's rather than the major general's, if the latter's past handling of exhausted units such as the 62nd was any indication. So instead of staying on the front, the previous rearguard, the 112th, had taken our place. We rotated to be the center guard, and the 42nd took the 112th's place in the rear.

It was an optimal arrangement as far as we were concerned. We kept our trench, but now had the full access of the siege camp available to us, and had a great deal of distance between us and the enemy's artillery.

I saw another tank roll past now, towing one of those massive guns behind it. The Earth Kingdom, when we'd hit their lines, had made their obvious priority to move back their artillery lest they be lost to us, but we'd still managed to get our hands on a few batteries, which'd resulted in a rather unpleasant discovery.

They hadn't even bothered to paint over our insignia while using our guns to fire on us. It begged the question, however, how the hell did they get our weapons?

My attention focused on the friendly tank passing by, likely belonging to the 240th, seized weaponry in stow, I hardly noticed comrades of my own company sneaking up behind me until a hand poked me on the shoulder and I jumped, turning to find Mykezia, Mano, Shozi, Mahung, and even Eraim of Elephant platoon.

"Jumpy today, aren't we?" Mykezia asked through both her own laughter as well as that of her comrades beside her.

In good fun as it was, I laughed too, saying, "Caught me distracted, I guess."

"Better here than out there," she responded. "Come on. Zurom's giving out double rations."

"So full rations for once," Mano added with a grin that was good to see on his face for once.

It was the brigade's way of compensating us, I guessed. In addition to the better placement on the line.

We set out for the brigade mess, located ideally close to the logistics unit, I supposed to make sure nobody over-indulged.

"Pay would be better," Mahung complained.

"Pay to buy what?" Mykezia asked in amused disbelief, to which Mahung simply shrugged. Erain was largely staying out of the conversation, I noticed, not from Dragon platoon as the rest of us were. He noticeably lagged behind the rest of us, enough to a point that I was wondering why he'd come along in the first place.

"So how'd Elephant fare?" I asked, hoping to perhaps de-isolate him to an extent.

It took him a second to realize I was talking to him.

"Good, I guess," he said. "Didn't lose many people, so…"

He didn't need to finish. In fact, it was probably best he didn't. I should have asked something else in hindsight. We were all aware that Elephant had suffered the least casualties and still accomplished their objective. Such was the benefit of a commander that didn't simply send men to accomplish his objective, but actively led them to ensure success as well as keep as many alive under his command as possible. Where Aozon had no interest in losing men recklessly, Rulaan had a very active interest in keeping as many alive as he could.

A man like that in command of the battalion, I began to wonder before thinking better of it. There was little benefit in settling on pipe dreams.

Not much more was said in the awkward silence that followed until we reached the brigade's communal mess not too long later. Ordinarily, separate logistics subunits would be established closer to the different defensive lines to allow defenders to retrieve their meals without straying too far from their posts, but seeing as how our defensive line was positioned directly in the center of our camp, far from anywhere where constant observation was required, we were expected to make the small trek to the chief logistics setup.

Fortunately, we didn't need to go through Zurom, head of logistics. That would have taken up half of our time out here in it of itself as he checked and double-checked to make sure it was us the rations were meant to be doled out to. He had people under him responsible for doling out our rations in a way that was not dissimilar to how the Fire Sages had treated us back during their brief stint in Citadel.

We'd just gotten into the mess tent when I noticed that, already sitting there, was Fluke, at a table by himself. Convenient timing, I thought to myself as he caught sight of me and I returned the favor with an acknowledging nod. As soon as we had our meals, we were sat at the same table as him, me, Shozi, and Eraim across from him, and Mykezia and Mano to either side.

Though Fluke said nothing, the subtle flush on his face was enough of an indicator that he was glad that Mykezia had chosen the seat beside him. I resolved to say nothing, however, lest I bring attention to it. I was sure I'd have plenty of time to poke fun at him over it later.

"Full rations for you too, ey?" Mano observed, looking at Fluke's tray, looking to have only been lightly poked at for the last few minutes he'd been here.

What full reactions had entailed today had been a half cup of rice rather than a quarter of one, some venison that'd been boiled with the rice, some greens that I was partly sure might've just been leaves grabbed from the forest by our lumberjack patrols, and a side of dried fruits. It was interesting to me how just the quarter cup of rice was considered a 'half ration.'

Fluke nodded. "Mhm; giving us in the 62nd one last 'thank you' gift before totally disbanding us."

"Shit," I said, having heard rumors, but not knowing the truth of them. "So that's really happening then?"

Fluke nodded again, taking a bite of his rice that he clearly didn't have much of an appetite for. "62nd's whittled down enough, they're incorporating us into the 240th now."

"Fucking bullshit," Shozi groaned.

"Never knew when to give you guys a break, huh?" I added.

Fluke shrugged. Must've had some grudge with Chaasa or something. I don't fucking know. Relieved from command now though.

"She given a new assignment?" I asked.

Again, Fluke shrugged. He didn't know.

"Should make a request to go to infantry," Mykezia suggested. "Saw the way you fought. I didn't know any better, I'd say you're almost as good as me."

Fluke scoffed. "Almost? Frankly, I'm insulted you think you're on a level with me."

Mykezia laughed. "Don't get cocky. Really though; could use people like you in the 114th."

I was surprised that it was Mykezia making the offer. I didn't disagree with her, of course, and would have gladly had Fluke fighting with us, if anything to keep an eye on him as opposed to watching him go off on his tank once every other day and not knowing how he was fairing. I couldn't tell if Mykezia was just being nice, but that wasn't her style: being nice, I mean. The praise was honest, and earned. I wondered for a moment if Fluke's feelings might have been reciprocated, but no, that wasn't it. She seemed to just earnestly want something better for her fellow firebender.

"I appreciate it," Fluke said. "But I should stick with Gan and Gunji. Barely surviving as is. No idea how they'd manage without their gunner."

They wouldn't.

"They'll get a replacement," Mykezia insisted

If lucky.

Fluke smiled. He'd already declined. He did have a bad habit of believing in sunk costs. "Maybe another time."

He didn't mean that of course, but none questioned him. We ate our rations in relative silence but for the sounds of distant shouting deeper within the logistics unit campsite. None of us really thought to question it until the voice we were hearing identified itself as belonging to Zurom, head of logistics.

"Hell's going on back there?" Fluke asked, struggling to get a line of sight on whatever it was causing a commotion. I stood to try and get a better view as well, but could only make out Zurom arguing with somebody, likely about semantics, but not who it actually was.

"Zurom's throwing down," I said, inciting a reaction enough from the others that they too struggled to look now.

"See with who?" Mano asked.

I shook my head.

"Check it out?" Fluke asked, standing.

"Why not?" I said, pushing my tray aside. It would be there waiting for me, right?

"Gonna finish that?" Mano asked, already putting that hope to question.

"Yes!" I responded vehemently, met with earnest chuckles across the table.

Zurom was alone again by the time Fluke and I reached him, leaned over a table where he was going over numbers that I couldn't quite make out the significance of from where I stood.

"Heya, Zurom," I greeted him.

He looked over his shoulder to see me, and I wondered if he recognized me from the times that I'd interacted with him on Aozon's behalf.

He did instantly.

"Staff sergeant Danev," he said first to me, then, "Private Fluke. "114th is stocked past demand for resupply and your lunchtime ration has already been logged. Same goes for you, private. If you have any complaints,-"

"Spirits, Zurom," I interrupted him. "Not here for any of that.

"If you're not here for concerns about logistics, then tell me what you're looking for and I'll direct you to somebody who can help you."

"I'm not here for anything, Zurom. Relax." He was noticeably on edge, and it seemed that he needed a clear reminder of that to begin to settle down.

"Hell got you so worked up?" Fluke asked.

"Asset allocation requests that go through logistics are to remain on a need-to-know basis not to be discussed with common soldiery."

"Somebody making a logistics request?" I asked, forgetting that he'd just told me that he couldn't tell me. However, something seemed to click in Zurom's ever-racing ind that allowed him to realize that a request not yet completed didn't fall under the realm of that which he couldn't discuss.

"Tried to," he said. "Claimed that division command had surrendered the 62nd's remaining tanks over to him."

"They're asking for our tanks?" Fluke asked. "Who is?"

Zurom turned his head to look in the direction of the subject in question, talking up a storm. Something about him, his general size, on the rather large end, felt familiar. "He's over there," Zurom said. "He didn't have the proper documentation to get the request through me, so now he's trying with my subordinates. It's ridiculous. If I don't have the authorization, they do not. My logistics clearance is A1; ensign Zariel only has B3 access. The most he can do is file a request that will still go through me, which, admittedly, is proper procedure, but still won't be enough to…"

Zurom's voice trailed off in my head as I focused my sight on the man talking to this ensign Zariel. Something about him was very familiar. And then it struck me.

"Shit," I said.

"What?" Fluke asked.

"I recognize that man."

"The one talking to the ensign?"

I nodded.

"He one of our commanders? I don't think I recognize him, at least not in uniform."

"He's not military," I said. "He's corporate. Nesaim Meizha."

"Corporate or not," Zurom chimed in again, "he needs proper documentation to get a request through."

Fluke paused, his eyes now settling on the man in a new light. "That's him?" he asked, knowing that name if not the appearance. Nesaim Meizha,a Fire Nation businessman whose convoy we'd ambushed in Citadel, whose security had tried to kill Fluke, and who had ordered Captain Zar'un to slaughter my people. "What the hell is he doing here?" Fluke asked, his voice hardening.

"He's requesting the handover of unused tanks from the 62nd," Zurom said, oblivious to the greater context of what was going on here. "He claims payment was already made and showed a valid receipt, but the transaction itself is not valid as it lacks proper authorized documentation."

I supposed we were going to find out soon enough. The ensign that Nesaim was talking to stiffly saluted and ran off, inciting the businessman to again walk in our direction, my eyes following him all the while, even as Fluke's wisely traced back to the ground.

"I'm giving you a last chance to be the one to assist me," he said to Zurom in a voice of growing agitation, ignoring Fluke and I entirely.

"The 62nd armored brigade is currently undergoing reorganization and reintegration," Zurom started in a monotone voice that rang of tedium that likely emerged from the fact that this was far from his first time saying these exact words to this exact man. "Equipment cannot be reassigned until personnel reallocation is logged as complete, and even then, handover of military assets to civilian personnel requires proof of correspondence with adjacent command, a bill of transaction, and a proper receipt of exchange."

"The purchase was made through your division commander, imbecile," Nesaim said. "Your brigade colonel is on his way now to confirm this."

"He will just say the same thing," Zurom said, making no note of the insult that'd been delivered to him, if even he noticed.

"We'll see to that," Nesaim said, standing his ground. He was going nowhere, waiting for this supposed backup to arrive, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him all the while. If I wasn't 100% positive before, I was now. It was him, even uglier in the light of day than he'd been that night when he'd ordered those soldiers to kill my people. What the hell is he doing here? I still wondered. Why buy used Fire Nation tanks? Where's the profit?

Nesaim, at some point or another, noticed my gaze, and so turned to face me. I thought for a second that he might recognize me. We'd been face to face with each other that day after all. However, I realized, even if I had looked remotely the same as I had then, at least thirty pounds skinnier, back in rags as opposed to a Fire Nation soldier's uniform, I doubted he would have even bothered to recognize me. As such, he only asked, "Fuck are you looking at?"

I turned away, not about to press my look however.

Soon enough, colonel Eemusan was on the scene, asking, "What's going on here? Oh-"

He recognized Nesaim, I realized, proud of myself for being able to notice his reaction. I wondered how much less time it'd taken for Fluke to make that same connection.

"Colonel," Nesaim said with a noticeable smugness. "Your logistician here doesn't seem to be aware of our arrangement."

"If there's an arrangement," the colonel said, "It's not one that I know about."

"Well, your boss does," Nesaim said, holding out the supposed receipt. "He's the one who authorized it."

So our commander is selling our own equipment to a passing businessman for what? A quick few gold pieces? But that begged the question, who's Nesaim selling it to, if he is at all?

"I already told him," Zurom chimed in. "The 62nd armored brigade is currently undergoing reorganization and reintegration. Equipment cannot be-"

"Thank you, Zurom," Eemusan cut him off, likely knowing the logistician enough that a long-winded explanation was at stake. He looked back up from the paper to Meizha. "What the hell is this, Nesaim? How long you been poking around our lines?"

"I only got to your brigade's camp yesterday? I've been with the rest of the division before then. So glad to see you're on speaking terms again."

"No thanks to you," the colonel said through a grimace. "So how much is Deming making out of it this time?"

"Oh don't worry about that. You'll get your cut."

"I'm not-"

"Oh right," The Meizha man said through a grin, cutting Eemusan off. "'You're not interested.' So are you going to continue to hold me up?"

There was a pause. Deming wasn't around anymore. The camp was back in Eemusan's control. He had the power here. He could have gone so far as to order the man to be apprehended and held in custody if so he pleased, but then what? Eemusan only had power so far as the perimeter of the 29th's brigade camp extended, but beyond that, nothing. Not compared to the man he faced down, and he saw that.

Eemusan turned to look at Zurom, sighed, and said, "Give him what he wants."

"But sir. He doesn't have-"

"I'm ordering an override! That's direct officer and indirect senior officer directive, enough to override logistic decisions not marked for interest by superior command structures." He knew precisely how to speak Zurom's language, which made it all the harder now for him to use it against him.

Zurom nodded, and saluted, saying quietly, defeated, "Yes, sir."

He stalked off, knowing more than well enough what his job entailed now.

"I'll have men transport your equipment," Eemusan said to Nesaim. Your equipment. Those words echoed in my mind, just as unsettling to me, an outsider, as they were to the man who'd been forced to say it.

"I'll be awaiting them," the Meizha man said. "It was a pleasure doing business with you." He offered a hand for Eemusan to shake, which he did. What other choice was there after all, and soon enough after, finally, he was gone.

It was only then, all of that aside, that the colonel finally noticed Fluke and me, two lowly soldiers, having observed that all. He didn't even stop to ask how much we'd seen and/or understood. He was just as keen to forget about all of it, and so instead only said, "What are you doing here? This isn't your post, is it?" He looked at me first. "What unit are you?"

I saluted, being addressed by a senior officer, and replied, "114th, Dragon platoon, sir!"

"Then get back to your post," Eemusan said. I obliged, turning to leave, and Fluke began to follow until Eemusan asked him, "And you?"

Fluke spun on his heel to face the officer and saluted just as I had, responding, "I belonged to the 62nd, sir! 3rd platoon! I'll report to the 240th right away!"

"No," Eemusan said. "You won't. Your platoon still has standing orders. Report to your platoon at once. You're to be debriefed this afternoon. Best get heading there. Dismissed!"

Wait, what?

Fluke looked at Eemusan, now turning to leave, then back at me in equal disbelief. Already? And for the 62nd? A unit that was practically already defunct?

If Fluke was looking for answers from me, he would get none, but the realization was clear to both of us. His day was far from over.

Fluke

Exactly as Colonel Eemusan had promised, there was a briefing that afternoon.

I hastened to get there in time, quite literally running into Gan as I approached where the "masses," if even it could be called that, of the rest of the 62nd was gathered.

"Briefing already started?" I asked.

Gan shook his head. "Starting right now."

"When the hell they announce this?" the news certainly having reached me on short notice.

"Just 'bout a half hour ago."

And it was already beginning. On just how short notice is this all? I wondered, looking at the other soldiers of the 62nd gathered around me.

"Guess the others are running late too then, huh?"

"These are the others," Gan corrected me. "Rest have already been reassigned to the 240th."

There couldn't have been more than three dozen men here. "You're kidding me," I said in disbelief. "We're just a platoon."

"62nd platoon now."

"What fucking assignment are they giving us?"

Gan shrugged. "No clue, but we're it."

"Gunji?" I asked, not seeing him here.

"Sleeping."

"What the fuck," I said, more as a statement of disbelief rather than a question of it. It was what I'd come to expect of the kid, bullshit both on the field and off of it. I found an ideal position that afforded me a look at general Chaasa as she found her position in front of us with three guards by her side, her fellow tankers I suspected.

I'd made it just in time.

"62nd!" she said aloud, far too loud for a mere platoon, perhaps still thinking it was an entire armored brigade she was addressing. Not anymore. All the same, she had our attention. "I know many of you are wondering why you haven't been reassigned like many of your comrades, but that is because we who remain have been given special orders. They come from the division command itself."

Those last few words were almost spat, enough to a point that it was becoming clear to me that she had her own personal feelings about this assignment and her orders, none of them positive.

"As you all know," she continued. "Thanks to your efforts, the Earth Kingdom here has been driven back further away from our position, opening up contact once again with the other brigades of our division. However, in spite of your victory, this has only made us aware of another problem, one far greater. Similar to the Earth Kingdom bulges dividing our ranks, a similar one has been reported by the rest of the division to exist between us and the Dragon's host. This one is far greater, fortified, and not temporary. An Earth Kingdom stronghold exists between us and our allies under the command of the Dragon of the West, and it's up to us to help destroy it."

Surely she's not expecting our platoon alone to do that, right?

"The 62nd's final assignment is simple–to circumnavigate Ba Sing Se, and reach the Dragon's Host from the North."

Right, of course not.

"Our route will take us past the Earth Kingdom East coast, through the Aikou mountain range, and to the Dragon's position from the North, bypassing the threat between us to the west."

So we're to go around the entire city. What of the threats there? To the west and north? I hardly imagine all of it is uncontested.

"She really think we're just gonna waltz right through?" Gan asked next to me, the exact same questions apparently on his mind.

"We will be navigating as a scattered column, within flare's distance of one another. This is to minimize chances of a catastrophic ambush."

Well, she's considering that much at least.

"Our journey, set to begin tomorrow morning, is designed to last three days, reaching 3 separate checkpoints. The first," she said, now referring to the map behind her, "is the town of Ceheng, at the end of the Majia river. Thanks to the Eastern Fleet, it is a ruin now, and so we should anticipate little resistance. Checkpoint 2 is a Fire Nation supply outpost in the Taizigou area, run by the fleet. There, we will resupply with fuel in preparation for our last stretch, which brings us to checkpoint 3, the Dragon's Host itself, beyond the mountains. Each checkpoint is to be reached by day's end, and left by morning, with or without the others of your platoon."

And just how many of us are expected to make it that far? She's already considering the casualties, isn't she?

"Loaded into each of your tanks," she resumed, "is an encrypted message for you to deliver to the Dragon's Host. These messages contain details about attack patterns that will be vital to assist in launching a two-pronged attack against the enemy's position, opening up a clear route for us to finally bring the war to Ba Sing Se, and topple their walls."

We each have a copy of the message. Only one of our tanks needs to make it to the end.

"Spirits," Gan said, realizing it too.

"Only one of us needs to make it."

"This is a suicide run."

"We leave at sunrise tomorrow!" Chaasa said, not daring to open the floor for questions. "Dismissed!"

And there they were, our orders. The lieutenant colonel was the first to leave, and I understood why immediately after.

"Is this some kind of fucking joke?" I heard private Daiming ask from the crowd. "This is a suicide run!"

"So is every other," Sheshin said, a firebender from Citadel. "Does it matter? We survive it like all the others, light on your feet, and pedal to the metal."

He wasn't wrong, about the first part at least. If anything, orders as insane as these were more a symbol of continuity within our armored unit than everything else. We'd learned what to expect long ago on account of whatever petty rivalry Deming seemed to have with Chaasa, or unexplained hatred. And once again, we would be the ones to pay the price for it. Damnit.

"We should," I started, trying to figure out how to continue. "We should let Gunji know."

Gan gave me a hopeless look, as though there was no point in doing so, and perhaps he was right. All the same, however, we owed it to ourselves more than to Gunji. Maybe, just this once, he would hold his shit together, and we wouldn't need to die for him when tomorrow morning came. It was a miracle he hadn't gotten us killed already, and that sentiment was the one that dominated both Gan and me as Gunji woke to the kick of Gan's studded toe to his stomach.

It wasn't a hard one, at least, not as hard as those deliberately meant to was just enough to serve as an excessively rude wake up.

Gunji woke instantly, eyes wide with fear upon seeing us, already anticipating the worst. I'd never had somebody look at me that way before, I realized. Scared. No, I remembered. I had. I remembered the Earth Kingdom soldier I'd put out of his misery, equally helpless, but no, he wasn't scared. He'd already accepted his death, and I'd simply helped him to hasten it. With Gunji however, that was something different, and I didn't know how to feel about it.

"Wake up," Gan said, little more than a grunt. "We have an assignment."

"For right now?!" Gunji asked, clearly terrified by the thought of being thrown right back into things.

"No, not for right fucking now. Tomorrow morning. We're headed out. 62nd has one last assignment for us."

"What is it?"

"Why do you fucking care?"

I cared. I cared enough too that if Gunji cared, that was a start at least. I wouldn't dismiss that. "We're going around Ba Sing Se," I said. "We're going to meet the Dragon's Host from the north to deliver a plan of attack so we can finally get to the wall."

"Why…why not just send a messenger hawk?"

"Because they're migrating south for the Winter," Gan said, obviously sarcastic. "Because the Earth Kingdom's shooting them down, retard, so we're going instead, us and the rest of what's left of the 62nd. Chaasa's expecting heavy casualties."

"What…what do you mean?"

"What I mean," Gan said, getting on a knee to face Gunji eye to eye without anything between them, "is that tomorrow is going to be the worst fucking day yet, and I am not going to let you get us killed. You've done your damn best to get us killed a half dozen times before, and I'm fucking sick of it. Nobody will notice if we come back without you."

"I'm not…I wasn't," Gunji's eyes darted to me, looking for help as I was the lesser of two evils, but I would not intervene. Whatever Gan was saying, trying to prove, I knew he was right. Gunji would get no help here from me.

"Think about this way," Gan said, interrupting Gunji. "In four days, you're not going to be a problem anymore. Either you shape up, or we leave you out there, and if we're feeling gracious, we kill you first, but it makes no difference to Fluke or me, because one way or another, you are not going to be an issue anymore." An ultimatum if ever there was one. "Is that clear?"

I couldn't see if Gunji was nodding his head in agreement, or just shaking from the fear, but one way or another, Gan had made his point, and so he stood. "Orders are to leave at sunrise," he said. "Oversleep again, I cut off your eyelids."

And so he left, leaving only me, and Gunji, the boy who, even after a month here, still hadn't learned. When will he?

In the next four days, I knew. He would either learn in time to save his own skin, or he would learn with Gan's knife to his throat, making that last final cut, that excuses wouldn't suffice anymore. One way or another, he would learn, and I just hoped for his sake that it would be in the former of the two ways.

I left him behind there, the fear of the spirits in him, and prayed it would be enough. Because if not, then nothing would be, and after then, whatever may come, he would no longer be our problem.