Just as the crackle of flame lulled him to sleep, it also rouses him from slumber.
Altare Regis opens his eyes and beholds a high, unfamiliar ceiling above him. Propping himself up with a grunt, instead of his hands meeting the cold steel belly of his defeated tank, they instead sink into the warm and cushioned bed under his aching bones.
"...A dream? No, I'm dead, aren't I...?"
Flickering eyes scan a clean, spacious, and homely room. Beyond a hazy gaze lies oaken panels that line the ceiling along with walls of pristine, polished stone. Royal blue curtains hang parted by the windows framed with wrought iron while candle chandeliers hang from the ceiling and illuminate the space with a bright glow.
' What the hell is this place? I didn't think I'd feel something like this again. Not after I got thrown in the joint. '
But if there is something that truly catches Altare's attention, it's the warmth of the place. Warmth that doesn't come from the radiator of a sputtering tank engine.
He hears the soft, placid crackle of wood burning in a hearth, gently breaking the silence of the room. Curious, Altare tries to sit upright, but he cannot muster the strength to rise all the way through. All he manages to do is lift his head and thrash about on the bed.
"Argh…" He growls.
It's at that time that he feels the bandages wrapped around his body. They stay snugly bound to him despite his clumsy thrashing. He brings his bandaged hands up to his face, studying them.
' Whoever did this knows what they're doing. They didn't use the cheap stuff either. '
Altare's green eyes sweep the room. He sees another figure there in that pristine room - 2nd Lieutenant Ollie Kureiji. The lieutenant has her back turned to Altare. Her olive green Elysian officer's uniform sticks out like a sore thumb in the royal blue tones of the room. Moreover, the lieutenant faces the painting hanging over the crackling hearth.
' That's the Empress of the Pavolian Empire isn't it? Reine Pavolia. '
Altare's jaw drops.
What sort of face could Ollie be making? He could only wonder.
Altare's bed creaks. Ollie cranes her head back to face him.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Corporal Regis." The lieutenant remarks, "You're not getting rid of your chains that easily. Not when there's a war to be fought."
"I wasn't counting on it, Lieutenant." Altare snickers, but he winces in pain, "Argh… damn."
"Don't push yourself too much, kid. You looked like shit when my Section B found you. It's a miracle you didn't bite the dust there and then." Ollie puts a hand on her hips, glances around the room and grins, "Thanks to your efforts, we captured the objective days ahead of schedule."
"Captured the objective…" Altare starts. Then, his green eyes shine, "You mean, we're in the Manor House?"
Ollie nods. She saunters over to one of the windows and parts the royal blue curtains further.
Altare follows Ollie's gaze out to the snow-swept courtyard of the Manor House. He sees Elysian soldiers, men with the PCAP patches on their army-issue winter coats, taking down the royal blue Pavolian flag from a metal pole, replacing them with the flag of Elysium.
"The Starfall Banner marches on." Ollie hums, watching the Elysian flag rise up the flagpole, "We're opening up a new front and getting closer to Xenokuni City. The Brass didn't think we could do it. No surprise there, but we have." She scoffs, "Now, the Regular Army wants to use the Manor House as their new Field HQ."
"I guess I shouldn't get used to this soft bed then." Altare quips.
"Heh." Ollie chuckles. "We'll be roughing it out in the snow again soon enough."
"Why am I not surprised?" Altare chuckles.
"The Regular Army's a week out from here. Captain Hakos will be accompanying them with the 'civilized' half of her company." Ollie smiles, "Until then, the Manor House is my PC platoon's responsibility. Enjoy the fruits of your labor while you can, Corporal - and rest up. I need competent tankers of your stripe for what comes next."
Altare slowly sits upright and gives Ollie a salute. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
Ollie returns the gesture and pulls up a blue-cushioned wooden seat to Altare's bedside. She sits down and faces the bedridden corporal.
"You really put on quite a show in the forest path." Ollie chimes, "Three Panzer III destroyed and fifteen Pavolian KIA." Her shimmering eyes turn towards Altare, "But I understand that that was your handiwork."
Altare lowers his eyes.
"Yes, Lieutenant. My crew panicked when the Panzers came rolling out the forest and took out the rest of the platoon." Altare recounts, "They beat me and left me for dead."
"I figured as much." Ollie snorts, "Your gunner and your driver were torn to pieces by Pavolian machine guns. If it weren't for their dog tags, we wouldn't have been able to identify those bloody messes. Their own mothers wouldn't be able to tell who was who."
"I see…" Altare turns to Ollie again, "And what about the loader?" His lips twist sourly, "The baldie."
"Unaccounted for." Ollie answers. A frown forms on her lips, "There was a trail of blood leading into the forest. A battered boot too, but no luck." She turns to the painting of Empress Reine over the hearth, "But he couldn't have gotten too far. Not this deep in the royal blue."
Altare falls silent.
' Good riddance. '
"Ten Elysians died and two Stuart tanks were lost taking this objective. One tanker MIA too, and that's just from your salient. Shit like this happens everyday." Ollie states, sinking into her chair and glancing out the window to the Elysian flag, "Elysium might not consider you and the other convicts of the PCAPs as Elysians - or human beings - but I do." She clenches her fist, "The sooner we can end this war, the better. For everyone."
"We're one step closer to winning, though. Aren't we?" Altare asks.
"Not close enough. Ollie comments. "But we might have a chance to change that." Her eyes turn to Altare, "Are you well enough for a mission briefing, Corporal?"
Altare props himself up and eases himself to sit upright, facing Ollie squarely.
"That's what I like to see." Ollie smiles.
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Lt. Kureiji produces a briefcase and sets it down on her lap.
"Captain Hakos was impressed by your actions clearing the path to the Manor House." Ollie starts, facing Altare, "So, while you were in dreamland, you were chosen to be part of a big rescue mission we're mounting. I vouched for you too." She pops open the briefcase and rifles through it. After a while, she passes a folder of papers to Altare, "Those are the mission details. Study them well, just like you did with the M3 Stuart manual."
"I'm stuck to this bed, ma'am." Altare jokes, "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Heh." Ollie scoffs.
Altare takes the folder and scans through the papers within, flipping through each one. Then, he finds the file of the target and her photograph.
"Lieutenant Amelia Watson. Elysian OSS." He recites, reading through the file, "Hoh. They stole a Pavie Stuka and escaped on that!?"
"Among other things, apparently." Ollie crosses her legs and leans into her seat, "Her partner, Lieutenant Gawr Gura, insists that Amelia Watson's carrying some top secret Pavolian papers - intel that will really turn the tide of the war in our favor."
"That big?" Altare gasps, "What kind of intel?"
"If only we knew, Corporal. Lieutenant Gawr is skilled in many things, but the Pavolian language ain't one of them. She never got the chance to understand their contents. Lieutenant Watson does." Ollie heaves a sigh,"The problem is that the stolen Stuka, along with Lieutenant Watson and the intel, crash-landed further North from here."
"North?" Altare furrows his brow, "North from here's Xenokuni City, isn't it? Across the Emerald River."
Ollie nods.
"Looks like the geography lectures of the Military Academy stuck with you." She starts, but a frown then grows on her lips, "Lieutenant Watson recently made contact with the Xenokunian resistance. She's hiding with them on the outskirts of the city - near the old baseball stadium, but the local garrison tightened security after the plane crash. She'll need divine intervention to get out of there."
"Divine intervention with 37mm guns and treads." Altare quips.
"Exactly." Ollie winks, "We're gonna need a home run to take that field, and you'll be batting for us, Corporal." She lays her hands on her lap and adds, "I was based in the Xenokuni City garrison before I defected to Elysium, so I know a thing or two about the city's defenses."
"That's reassuring." Altare comments.
"Thing is… I'm worried about two things." Ollie explains, "First. My commanding officer was Kolonel Moona Hoshinova. A Colonel, based on our ranks."
Altare interrupts, "You're fighting your old boss?"
"I'm a defector. It was bound to happen sooner or later." Ollie shrugs, "She's a stern woman who doesn't miss a beat. Going up against her is gonna be tough, but Moona's not the one I'm worried about the most."
She rifles through her briefcase again and brings out a newspaper in Pavolian print.
"This is something we found when we cleared the Manor House. It's two days old." Ollie explains. She passes the newspaper to Altare.
He takes the newspaper and flips through the pages, but he can only make out a few of the words.
" D-divis… tang… " Altare stamers, fumbling through the Pavolian.
" Divisi tangki ke-101. " Ollie corrects him, speaking Pavolian fluently, "The Pavolian 101st Tank Division's active in these parts. They're bad news."
"How so?" Altare asks.
Ollie snorts.
"The 101st is essentially Empress Reine's private army - the crown jewel of the Imperial Bodyguard." She points to the picture of a woman in the newspaper, "She's the one I'm worried about the most. Point number two."
" Kapten Zeta Vestia." Altare reads the caption.
"Pavlova's greatest tank ace." Ollie promptly adds, "Name any major tank engagement that Elysium has lost these past eight years and I can bet that Zeta Vestia's had a hand in it." She clicks her tongue, "And it's not just 'cause she's a great tanker, which she is. She's incredibly good at setting up ambushes and spreading disinformation."
Altare turns towards Ollie with a sharp gaze, "Just like our intel about Manor House?"
"Looks like it, yes." Ollie sighs, "And the top brass fell for it, hook line and sinker. Us grunts just have to soldier on and deal with it. Which we did."
"You sure that this Zeta gal's really behind all this?" Altare asks, "Sounds like Pavolian propaganda to me. They like to toot their own horn a lot."
"So does Elysium." Ollie counters. She opens her mouth but stops herself halfway through and shakes her head. After a short pause, she faces Altare again, "Listen here, kid. I saw what Zeta does with my own eyes. She's the real deal - like a cat on the prowl, dancing to her own tune. Her raids on Elysian positions were vicious and brutally effective. Elysian Shermans - our medium tanks - melted like butter because of her actions. Kolonel Hoshinova, her superior, couldn't touch her, ranks be damned." She leans towards Altare and explains, "She's the reason why Pavolians - and now Elysians - call their tanks 'HaKu'."
"' Harimau Kuching'. Monster Cats." Altare guesses.
Ollie nods. She looks straight into Altare's eyes, "Do not underestimate Zeta Vestia. Between Kolonel Hoshinova and Kapten Vestia, we've got our work cut out for us if we're gonna rescue Lieutenant Watson. Take every precaution against them, Corporal. No half measures."
A bead of sweat drips down Altare's brow.
"O-of course, Lieutenant." He lowers his eyes to his bandaged hands, "But after the last engagement, I don't exactly have a crew anymore. You're not sending me out to battle alone, are you?"
Ollie smirks.
"About that. I've started to make arrangements." Ollie reveals, "I'm still looking for a loader and a gunner, but I've already got a driver for you." She pulls back the sleeve of her olive green jacket and glances at a wristwatch, "He should be coming here any second now."
Suddenly, a knock on the heavy oaken doors draws their attention.
Ollie grins, "Right on time."
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"Madam Lieutenant?" A deep, genteel voice comes from the other side of the door.
"C'mon in." Ollie answers.
With that, the oaken doors open. A soldier, an older, bespectacled gentleman with long locks of straight, gray hair with black streaks, enters the room. His olive green uniform is neat and, aside from off-color patchwork and the sheen of melted snow, pristine. The unit patch on the sleeves show the Elysian chains crossed over a shimmering emerald: the symbol of the Elysian PC units.
' He's a convict too, huh? Someone this dignified? '
The tall soldier pushes a trolley loaded with china that clink and rattle placidly. When he does, the aroma of freshly brewed tea and the fragrance of some kind of broth fills the room.
' What a lovely smell… Reminds me of home. '
The soldier, even though he towers over Ollie, exchanges salutes with the lieutenant. He then pushes the cart towards Altare's bedside but stops again to give Altare a salute too.
"Corporal Regis, sir." He speaks with a low yet jovial voice.
Altare, not knowing what to say - or even what was going on - simply returns the salute.
"This is Private First Class - PFC Vesper Noir." Ollie introduces, standing beside the taller man. She tiptoes to lay her hand on his shoulder, "He's my orderly - my aide, if you will. He does everything from fighting to driving to cooking. A true aide-de-camp."
"Oh, like a batman?" Altare comments.
"Ah, you're familiar with that term." Vesper smiles, "As expected of the top cadet of the Military Academy. Yes. I am Lieutenant Kureiji's batman, but I won't be for long." He lays his hand over his chest and nods slightly, "When the operation to rescue Lieutenant Watson begins, I humbly ask for the honor to be your tank driver and your second-in-command."
"If Lieutenant Kureji's vouching for you, then I'll be honored to have you on the team." Altare answers firmly.
Vesper's smile widens and he speaks, "You have my thanks."
With that, the older gentleman starts ladling the soup into the bowls: one for Ollie, one for Altare and one for himself.
"Xenokunian winters are especially bad at this time of year, so good tea and good food are in order." Vesper speaks, handing Altare his bowl as well as a spoon, "The Pavolian defenders had a lot of good meat in storage, so I made a South Elysian stew."
"South Elysian…?" Altare hums, regarding the stew in his bowl, "Oh wow, that's a lot of meat." He takes a spoonful of the stew and savors it, "And that broth is something else!"
"I boiled the bones to get as much flavor as I could." Vesper explains, "A balanced portion of meat, grain and vegetable. Then the canned tomatoes bring it all together."
"Mm…!" is all Altare could reply before he starts wolfing down the food.
"I told Vesper here to cook as much of the meat as he could for our PC units before the Regular Army gets here. They're not gonna give us a sliver of this good stuff when they get here, I assure you." Ollie chimes in, eating her own bowl of stew "They snoozed, so they lost. To the victors go the spoils of war."
"Hear hear." Altare raises up his bowl like a glass for a toast. Ollie and Vesper raise up their bowls too while they eat together. It's not long before Altare asks for seconds.
"Golly gee, is there anything you can't do?" Altare asks the older gentleman.
Vesper points to Altare's bandaged hands.
"I was also the one who did your bandages." Vesper reveals, "I'm not a Regular Army surgeon, but I know a thing or two about first aid."
Altare raises up his bandaged hands and chuckles.
"This is better care than the shoddy patch-ups I got at the Penitentiary. Believe me." He smiles, "I appreciate it."
Vesper lays a hand over his heart and nods, "It is my pleasure, Corporal Regis."
Ollie folds her arms and watches the exchange with a smile on her lips. She nods to herself and interjects, "Vesper here will help you complete your band of merry men too."
Vesper adjusts his glasses and smiles, "I already have a shortlist of candidates ready, sir. For your approval, of course."
Altare scratches his cheek, "Being called 'sir' is gonna take some getting used to, Vesper."
"What would you like me to call you?" Vesper asks.
Altare pauses.
"Ragu- I mean, 'Altare' is fine." He answers.
"'Altare' it is." Vesper smiles.
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Over the next few days, Vesper's visits would become part of Altare's limited routine. He comes by thrice a day, bearing breakfast, lunch and dinner. Vesper would check on Altare, replace his bandages and update him on the search for a new tank crew.
During this time, Altare and Vesper would speak easy, talking about anything and everything under the sun: from the eccentricities of Xenokuni Province's mountainous geography to the difference of equipment of PC units that of from the Regular Army - and from the Pavolian language to Hegelian dialectics. Altare doesn't quite understand everything Vesper says, but their spirited chats never fail to lift his spirits.
With every meal, every cup of tea and every conversation, Altare's condition improves. His gaunt face starts to fill in. His pale skin gains some color. He even gains the strength to get up from bed on his own to pace around the room with Vesper's help at first - then without.
By the third day, after the morning reveille, Vesper starts going around the Manor House - and their lively conversations continue, talking and exchanging ideas like they were walking on a university promenade.
"Hold on, hold on, Ves!" Altare laughs, calling the older man by a nickname now, "You mean to tell me that you're a professor? You taught Anthropology at the University of South Elysium?"
"What? You don't believe me? I was an Associate Professor, actually." Vesper adjusts his glasses, "I was on my way to becoming a full-tenured professor too. Man, those were different times. When I actually had a future."
"What happened?" Altare asks, "What's someone like you doing out here on the front lines."
Vesper pauses, stopping in his tracks. He brushes off the snow from a stone fence and leans forward onto it.
"The war happened, young man. You went to the Military Academy so you didn't see the transition. They would have been preaching to the choir." Vesper speaks, looking up at the Elysian flag fluttering in the wind, then far out to the Xenokunian forests, "The Elysian government told the university to get our nation's kids to 'rally around the Starfall Banner' at all costs or they'd cut our funding." Vesper heaves a sigh, "I didn't want a part of it, so the university threatened to kick me out. Then I attended one too many anti-war rallies."
"And that's how you ended up in the joint." Altare guesses.
Vesper nods. While he does, Elysian jeeps and trucks flying the colors of the Regular roll through the idyll driveways. The clink and rattle of heavy machine gun ammo belts break the silence until the jeeps turn a corner out of sight.
"It's funny, really. The cruelty of this world." Vesper frowns, "I wasn't afraid of fighting our government's tyranny by going to jail. It was a small price that I was willing to pay. But then, the government slaps treads and a 37mm gun to my prison - and I end up fighting the war anyways."
"The Starfall Banner marches on." Altare sympathizes, "By hook and by crook."
"At least i'm serving under Lieutenant Kureiji." Vesper adds, "Despite her name, and where she came from, she's one of the sanest people in this battlefield. Don't let the top brass tell you otherwise." He watches the Regular Army troopers marching with their rifles and saluting the Elysian flag while they pass by, "Everyone else wants to see the world of their enemies burn. Lieutenant Kureiji just wants this to end."
"She's not alone, Vesper." Altare reassures, "The sooner we end this war, the better. No one wins in wars like these. Only death."
Altare's words bring a complex smile to Vesper's lips.
"Well said. If you had been one of my students at the university, we would have gotten along." Vesper notes.
"Then we both would have gotten arrested for protesting the war!" Altare jokes.
Vesper stops. He tries to stifle a chuckle, but fails spectacularly. He bursts out into laughter that echoes throughout the Manor House. Altare starts laughing too. The Regular Army soldiers turn towards them, barking at them to shut the hell up - but the two men don't care. Their breaths fog up the cold dawn air until the sun finally rises.
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"By the way, Altare." Vesper starts, "I was on my way to meet with some of the candidates for our tank's crew. Would you like to accompany me?"
"Hmm…" Altare hums. Then, he shrugs and smiles, "Sure. Why not?" He chuckles, "Better than having to read through the loudtenant's mission briefing for the hundredth time!"
"Indeed!" Vesper agrees.
The two men take a turn on the snow-swept courtyard of the Manor House when frantic whistles reach their ears.
FWEEEEEEEEET! FWEET-FWEET! FWEEEEEEEEET!
"That's not part of the reveille, is it?" Altare notes.
Suddenly, the men hear brisk footsteps crunching through the snow. They turn around and see a soldier, a man with shoulder-length, blond, purple-accented hair and sharp ear-piercings sprinting at full tilt.
"Outta the way!" He cries, zipping past Altare and Vesper.
When he turns another corner, though, Altare catches the PCAP patch of the chained emerald on his olive green coat. At the same time, one of the boxes falls from his grasp.
THOK!
The box lands on the crunchy snow with a dull thud and tumbles, spilling its contents of Pavolian ' Fowlboro ' premium cigarettes and 'PlayBird' gentlemen's magazines by Altare's feet.
"Fuck!" The man curses. He glances at Altare and Vesper but decides to run off with his last box in tow.
Then, a pair of Military Police come running after the man, blowing their whistles and swinging their batons.
"Who the hell was that?" Altare muses.
Vesper frowns.
"That was one of my candidates for our loader." The older gentleman furrows his brow and adjusts his glasses, "Private Magni Dezmond."
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-TEMPEST-