AN: Hey, I finally got a review! And four follows as well? Thanks! Do note that any secondary language used, with the exception of Spanish, is added with the use of translation programs. Even with Spanish, my literacy of it is iffy at best, so don't be worried in pointing out mistakes.

"Sir, Truck 1 has arrived."

I move over to where the escort party ought to be while turning on my comms. "Understood. Hold for loading."

"Aye, sir."

I reach the men, seeing that they're already walking to the truck. Two of the vanguards are helping load the armless man first, one dragging him from under his armpits and the other pushing his legs up. Mace has a hold on the other incapacitated caster, blood slightly leaking onto his armor, a macabre splotch of paint. The other two vanguards have the dead men's equipment laid out on the trodden ground.

I decided to go and help the efforts of loading the men onto the truck. I march on, stopping when I come to arms length of the two wounded defenders, the two sitting against some gabions. I reach out a hand to one of them, the one with the rusted sword. He just stares at my hand. Too wounded to get up, eh?

I kneel in front of him, then reach out. I wrap my arms around him, lift upwards, and sling him over my shoulder. He starts to squirm, more startled than in pain, but I keep my grip firm. "Keep still. Or do you want me to drop you?" He stops at those words.

I turn to the other wounded man and offer my left hand. He, having seen the situation of his fellow casualty, takes the offered hand. I pull him up, his short stature compared to my height leaving him at my waist. I act as a support, wrapping one of his arms around me, and I take the two men to the bed of the truck.

The disarmed man was already set down on one of the benches, and Mace was setting the wounded man down on the bed with the other two vanguards. I wait for them to finish, then advance and sit down my shoulder trooper on the bed of the truck, and two of the men help him get seated on the bench. Turning to the other man, I pick him up from under his arms, then I pull him up and set him standing on the truck's bed. Mace gets him situated afterwards.

I turn and see the two other vanguards carrying one of the sets of scrapped equipment from the deceased. I move ahead, nodding at the two as I pass them, and pick up one of the other sets, the gear rustling and clinking as I carry it back to the truck. I raise the load and hand it off to Mace, who sets it next to wherever the others placed the first set. The vanguards have the third set, so I'll go check on the other trucks.

I quickly make my way past the depot building, only to come to the sight of my two second-in-commands waiting for a moment. Twitchy was with them, at the side of Scars, and Roach was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. I wonder what's the occasion?

I march ahead, stopping only a foot away from the trio, and they turn to face me. I pause, wondering who I should address first, before deciding to address both my squad leaders. "R- W, Scars, all your men ready and all tasks completed?"

W glares for a moment, then nods at me. "Bombs are all set up, gear was salvaged, and all my men are on the truck, bossman."

Scars shook his head. "My marksmen are still spread out among the compound. I'll recall them."

I nod at the latter, then turn my own comms on. "All members of Squad 1, return to the truck at the gabion wall. We're leaving soon."

I could see a scattered stream of defenders and casters stagger all the way back to the first truck, while a stream of marksmen went the opposite direction and onto one of the trucks by the gate. While they marched on, I remembered Twitchy. "Twitchy, are your explosives all set up.?"

It took him sometime to answer, silently questioning if I was speaking to him by pointing at himself with a tilted head. I nod and motion with my hand for him to speak. "... y-yes. They're r-ready…" A brat and a nervous wreck, both expert demolitionists. Those bomb folk must be an eccentric lot.

In any case, the last of the men were either in the trucks or at a safe distance. "W, Twitchy, blow it."

Roach smirked, pulling out a detonator. Twitchy fumbled around his pockets, pulling out his own. At the same time, both pushed the button.

BOOOM!

The explosion was deafening, with shrapnel and debris flying everywhere. I had to cover my face from the force, dust and dirt peppering my gauntlet and my armor. A woman's laughter sounded out to my right, and some grunts could be heard from my left. A tink or two rang out when the odd bit of slag struck my form, the contact between the metals lightly ringing in my ears.

The dust settled, and the battery made for a ruined monument at the center of the outpost. I could see a few troops that hadn't made it to the trucks yet duck for cover or flatten themselves against the ground, hands braced over their heads or necks. Scars and Twitchy stood to my left, former covering his head with his arms, the latter taking cover behind his squad lead's form. W stood by my right, her laughter dying down to the occasional giggle. A brat and a maniac, the perfect combination of traits for a problem child.

I dust my shoulders and legs off, grateful that there were no sandy deserts in Kazdel. That would've been an absolute pain to clean afterwards. A soft masculine voice came over comms. "Good job. Exfil to Rhodes Island."

I turn to the trio. "You heard the Doctor. Get on the trucks."

…..

I made my way to the control center, sanguine marks trailing where I tread. I can't help but feel pity for the janitors, they'll have to clean a mess made of blood. Too often does such a foe appear after a bout in the fields, especially so when one carelessly marches through the aftermath.

I enter the center, making sure to avoid any busybody, and stand before the Doctor. He holds a thermos in his right hand, and a pack of instant ramen noodles lays on a table near him. He turns to face me, and I salute him.

He nods. "Conscript. Good work out there. How many men were lost?"

I ease off my salute, reaching for another pouch on my hip, and take out five dog tags. "Nine casualties in total. Five dead, four more too wounded to fight."

He nods, taking the dog tags in his free hand. "Nine out of forty. Not perfect, but better than expected, especially with Sarkaz."

That was some odd wording. "Was this some sort of evaluation or test?"

He nods again, mask staring at my visor. "Yes. You've displayed your expertise in combat, but your abilities as a leader were never tested."

I can't help but pause, my hand fidgeting with my pouch. He noticed. "Is something the matter?"

My hand reaches over and rubs the back of my gorget. Damn dirt got under it. "It's just… Why did Babel feel the need to test me? I'm just a Sarkaz mercenary, mere cannon fodder for the cause. Why would the leadership capabilities of a grunt be important enough to evaluate?"

The Doctor hums, placing the dog tags in a pocket. He shrugs. "Sarkaz mercenaries still need figures to lead them, and Babel operators are a separate force entirely with a diverse range of races. The mercs respect strong Sarkaz the most, you're a strong Sarkaz, the rest is simple." He waves a hand at me. "Don't worry much about it. In any case, you're free to go."

I salute, turn on my heel, and march out of the control center. My dorm room is especially appealing, now that I've run through a small gauntlet. Fucking hell, I'll have to clean my boots of all this muck, too. It's getting everywhere, and I already feel bad for the clean up crew on deck. Not to mention the blood on myself, nor that on my polearm.

I walk through the empty hallways of the landship, making another trail that'll need to be cleaned later. A few times I see people in the halls, but most either enter some room or go through an adjoining hallway. The other few either completely ignore me, or greet me with a silent wave. The latter's action, of course, is mirrored by myself. Only one interaction was unique.

A short Liberi woman stands before me, her pose rigid and upright, her right hand saluting. She was a short woman wrapped in a blueish cloak, and her gray hair was braided and laid over her shoulder. Her eyes had goggles placed over them. She spoke, her voice firm. "My respects, Vieux Vanguard."

I froze, fist clenching at the title. Poor girl mistook me for one of those fine gentlemen. I turn and shake my head at her. My visor hides my somber smile. "I am sorry, but I was not an Old Vanguardsman. Either way," I righten my posture, switch the hand holding the poleaxe to my left, and salute with my own right hand. "My respects, Jeune Garde."

She recoils, as if struck. "W-what? But, you are the Columbian Knight, the antlered titan of Emperor Corsica!" She crosses her arms. "How could you not be an Old Vanguard?"

I chuckle, and my smile widens. "I had no idea I was so famous. But, how do you know I am that man? For all you could know, I am just some old and tall Elafian merc that wears full plate armor."

She lets out a frustrated noise, her hackles raised. "You know Gaulish. You know about the Old Vanguard. And most importantly," She pointed at my chest, "You have a Gaulish crest on your breastplate. The cloak hides it, but I saw it when you moved."

I let out an amused huff, removed my cloak, and let it rest over my left arm. Just as she said, my cuirass had an old and weathered crest on it, showing an eagle framed by a laurel wreath. It indeed was one of the symbols of Gaul, used before the Empereur adopted his iconic coat-of-arms, and was an old gift for when I served.

"You are a sharp one, Petit Garde. You're right, I fought for Gaul in her darkest hours. However, even then, I never became one of the Old Vanguard. That was meant for true bastions of Gaul." I paused for a moment. "But how do you know about this? Gaul has become forgotten over the decades since it fell, and apologies for the assumption but you don't seem to be of an old sort like myself."

She perks up, standing at parade rest. "My grandparents were soldiers during the Battle of the Four Emperors. Grand-mere always spoke about the last great charge of the Grande Armee, and Grand-pere spoke about stories of the Knight from Columbia. The few veterans that they knew would tell me about the antlered titan charging through the Leithanien army, clad in full plate and wielding a polearm as tall as a Steam Knight."

She looked up, her short stature making her look like a girl staring at a parent, and I thought I saw a glint come through her goggles. "You fit the description to the letter. The crest just confirmed it."

I can't help but let out a short laugh. For this to happen here of all places. I have to hold out a hand to stop her from any possible indignant reply. "I'm sorry, I mean no disrespect, it's just… For Babel– for Kazdel to be the place to find a Gaul is almost absurd. But you have my thanks, for remembering those times. And your family has my utmost respect, few Gauls made it out of there free or alive."

She nodded in thanks, but looked ready to say something else. She stopped herself, but I just watched her and tilted my head. Finally, she spoke her mind. "Would you be willing to tell me about that time? About the Gaulish War?"

I was about to simply agree, but an idea came to mind. "Hmm… Would it be fine if another person heard it with you?" She nodded. "Alright. Do you only want to hear about the Gallic Wars, or would you also like to hear about some of my times before I joined Gaul?"

She paused, right hand rubbing the back of her left. "If I had time, I wouldn't mind hearing about them."

I simply nod. "Very well. I'll ask the other person what they think about it, but be assured you will at least get to listen to my times in the Gallic Wars." She gave a thumbs up, and I pulled out my phone. "Could I get your contact information? It'd make letting you know easier." Another nod, an exchange of information, and I had a new contact saved to my phone.

I put away the device. "Well, it's been good meeting you, but I must clean my boots. Dried blood is a terrible foe of mine." I reach out my hand. "Codename Conscript."

She clasped it. "Codename Pith. I'm glad to have finally met you, Conscript."

We part ways, and I continue on to my room. The rest of the way was quiet. The halls were truly empty, and the only sounds I heard were of my plates clinking against another and my boots making footfall on the floor. Finally, I reach my door, open it, and enter my room.

My compact room had few things, as expected. The walls were of a gray color, and the floor was the same as the rest of the landship's. A simple calendar was pinned to the wall, and a desktop was on a desk to the left wall. A bookshelf stood in a corner on the left of the door. The bed was in the right corner of the room, and a table stood to the right of the door.

I entered, placed my cloak on the table, and set about to remove all my armor. A nice shower would do greatly after such action, no?

ReKn0wKn1ght: Yeah, I kinda fucked up with the races and saw them as nationalities instead of being... well, races/species, y'know? But hey, it's also quite accurate for us Americans as well, as we are one of the most mixed of breeds in the world. I'd know, my mother looks like a pale Spaniard, my father looks like a bonafide Mestizo, and everyone thinks I'm some adopted Chinaman. Who knows, maybe HG reveals that it's more common in Columbia than in other countries? I mean, they did have that "hot dog" lore. I'd be more surprised if the cats/birds and the dogs didn't mingle after that.

Alright, do help me with one thing folks. I got the alternative canon for this fic that Pith's Grandparents were veterans of the Battle of Four Emperors, with them both being around 18 and having kids shortly after. Pith's parents then grow up and have her in 1057, and her combat experience of 18 years at the time of this fanfic (probably around 1091) includes her life since the Cyr Military College up to the Kazdelian Civil War, ranging from her during age 18-36. Does this make sense, or would it be more fitting for her parents to be the veterans of the Battle of Four Emperors? For the record, I'm basing this off her in-game file's statement of 24 years of combat experience, an accumulation of her experience up to 1097, hence the loss of six years for this fanfic.