The days had dragged on since their encounter with the Huntsman. The adrenaline-fueled fear that had kept everyone on edge was slowly being replaced by an overwhelming sense of boredom and frustration. After Ironwood Company had lost several trucks and too many good men in that deadly ambush, Command had pulled them back to the rear, leaving them stuck at base with little to do besides wait. No missions, no excitement, just the mind-numbing monotony of downtime in the middle of the Vacuoan desert.
Jaune had spent most of his time in the Paladin, either maintaining it or keeping watch, but today, like the others, he found himself lounging in the makeshift barracks, trying to kill time. The sandbags stacked around them offered minimal protection from the relentless heat, but at least they kept out some of the dust that seemed to get into everything.
Rumple, Humpty, and Jaune sat together, half-paying attention to the conversation Mint was trying to stir up. Mint was part of the reserves, a fresh face compared to the rest of the battered soldiers who had been through the Huntsman attack. He hadn't seen so much combat like the others, and his current obsession with trivial things was a stark reminder of how far removed from the reality of war he still was. If anything, everyone felt rather annoyed by how he acted, reminding them of who they were before they started breathing fucking sand everyday.
"Mint, you're such a filthy fucking animal, do you know that?" Rumple said, his voice dripping with playful disdain.
Mint grinned as he flicked through a series of screen captures on his scroll. "What? It's not like it bothers y'all."
Rumple shook his head, laughing. "What a sick bastard. You really taking screenshots at just the right time?"
"It's sickening how skilled he is at it too," Humpty added, though he couldn't help the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
There was footage of Pyrrha Nikos during her tournament days on Mint's scroll. The famous warrior's athleticism and sheer skill were on full display as she destroyed her opponent, seamlessly transitioning her mecha-shift weapon from sword, to spear, to rifle. Occasionally, when Pyrrha raised her arms to strike, a 'screenshot captured' notification appeared in the top left corner of Mint's scroll.
"Perfect crease," Mint said proudly, zooming in on one of the images.
"Man, Mint," Humpty said, shaking his head, "you planning to print out a cap of her armpits and jack off to it or something?"
Mint gave him an innocent look, which, if anything, only made it worse. Everyone knew he was a degenerate. Jaune felt uncomfortable since he actually knew Nikos even for a short time. It was odd seeing someone so horny for a person he had meet before.
"What a sick fuck," Rumple muttered, his face caught between amusement and disgust. "VB, can you believe this guy?"
Jaune, slouched against a sandbag, tried to ignore them. He had no interest in Mint's antics, but that didn't stop the others from dragging him into it.
Mint looked over at him with a sly grin. "Hey, VB, you meet her personally, right? What does she smell like?"
"Fuck off," Jaune muttered, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not aiding you in 'enhancing' your degenerate shit."
Mint pouted dramatically. "Bro, come on. Just tell me."
Rumple gave Mint a light shove. "Brothers above, get your horny ass out of here."
"Come on, Sir," Mint persisted, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Didn't you have a crush on Weiss Schnee? You still do, right? I got some good shit for you. Fresh from my bros at Atlas."
Jaune sighed. "I dunno. Do I?"
Mint pulled up a series of voyeur shots on his scroll, all of Weiss Schnee during one of her concerts. They weren't exactly professional-grade images, more like candid shots taken from an awkward angle in the crowd. The grainy quality didn't do much to hide Mint's questionable intentions.
"She ain't much in the chest area," Mint said with a grin, "but damn, she's got legs and ass for days."
Rumple, Humpty, and Jaune glanced at the pictures, not entirely sure how to respond.
"Man," Rumple asked, his tone incredulous, "how did you even get this shit?"
Mint shrugged, grinning proudly. "I have my methods, my good man."
"That's still a no," Jaune said flatly, leaning back against the sandbag. "Not really in the mood."
Mint frowned, clearly annoyed that his antics weren't getting the reaction he wanted. "Man, what's wrong with y'all? Did y'all got turn into eunuchs or something? "
Rumple raised an eyebrow. "The fuck do you mean, 'what's wrong with us'? You're the one acting like a horny mofo over here."
Humpty crossed his arms, his face a picture of mock seriousness. "I think Mint here needs to inhale more Vacuoan sand. Maybe then he'd understand the hardships of life out here."
Mint rolled his eyes, looking even more annoyed. "Man, y'all are buzzkills. Now I'm not even in the mood anymore." He sighed dramatically. "I was supposed to go to the Amity Festival and everything. I had front-row tickets."
Rumple snorted. "Let me guess. You were hoping to breathe the same air as Pyrrha Nikos, right?"
"More like trying to sniff it," Humpty added, earning a round of laughter from the group. "Or try to shake her hand and jack off with it. What a piece of shit."
Jaune snorted softly, though his thoughts drifted. It was crazy how popular Pyrrha was, even among the grunts. She was practically an idol, her name spoken with reverence and awe by everyone who had ever seen her fight. Even the guy who sang Weiss Schnee's songs all the time wasn't as rabid as Mint was for Pyrrha.
Though he hadn't known her as well as he wished he could have, the memories of her felt distant
Weeks since their brutal encounter with the Crownsman Huntsman. Since then, Ironwood Company had been pulled from the front lines, retreating to the rear to recover from the losses. Half the company was dead or wounded, their squad reorganized to account for the devastation. Mint and a few other reserves had been shuffled into their ranks to fill the gaps, but the reality was grim. It wasn't just about the losses, they had been pulled out because they were shaken.
Sitting in the base, trying not to die of boredom, was the worst kind of hell for soldiers used to the chaos of battle. They weren't allowed to run missions until Command figured out what to do with them. Command didn't want the public to see just how badly one Huntsman had torn through their ranks. And now, the squad that had once been feared and respected was stuck in the back, licking its wounds.
Jaune, for his part, was exhausted. The image of the Huntsman who had killed so many of his comrades still haunted him, the aura-infused sledgehammer splattering guts across the trucks, deflecting bullets like they were nothing. The fact that they had barely survived, saved only by the Paladin was a constant reminder of their fragility. One Huntsman had nearly wiped them out, and the thought of what would have happened if there had been more sent an icy chill down Jaune's spine.
"Arc?" Mint's voice snapped Jaune out of his thoughts. "You good?"
Jaune blinked and nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking."
Rumple leaned forward, his tone quieter now, more serious. "Man, we all are. Ain't been the same since that Huntsman tore through us."
The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of their losses hanging over them like a storm cloud. They had lost too many, and for what? The bitter reality was that they were all sitting ducks until Command decided their next move.
Finally, Mint broke the silence with a sigh. "I know y'all are pissed, but we'll get our revenge. They'll send someone to take the Crown shit down. No way Command leaves us hanging."
Jaune snorted. "You have that much faith in Command?"
Mint shrugged. "Gotta have faith in something, Sir."
Rumple kicked at the sandbag he was sitting on. "Faith's the only thing keeping us from going crazy in this shithole."
Jaune leaned his head back against the sandbag, staring up at the cloudless sky. It had been a long, grueling week, and there was no end in sight. The constant waiting, the oppressive heat, and the memories of the Huntsman all combined into a suffocating weight that pressed down on him.
He glanced at Mint, who was still scrolling through pictures on his scroll, as if trying to distract himself from the reality they were all living in. They all had their ways of coping — Rumple and Humpty with their jokes, Mint with his voyeuristic obsession with and Jaune with his long stretches of silence.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the desert in deep orange and purple hues, the barracks grew quieter. The hum of machinery and distant chatter from other squads created a soft background noise, but it did little to break the tension that still lingered.
A crackle came through the radio, breaking the silence. It was Brown.
"Jaune, get to the Paladin. Command wants you in the cockpit again."
Jaune groaned inwardly, but got to his feet without complaint. Command had been on edge ever since the Huntsman attack, and now they were demanding he stay in the Paladin's cockpit, keeping watch until further notice. It was exhausting, but Jaune understood the need for caution. Huntsmen were deadly, and now that one had appeared, everyone was on high alert. The fear that another might show up was constant, and no one wanted to be caught unprepared.
As Jaune climbed into the Paladin once more, he couldn't help but feel the crushing weight of it all—of the war, of the losses, of the uncertainty of what was to come.
The cockpit sealed around him, the familiar hum of the Paladin's systems filling the air. Jaune adjusted his seat, his hands moving over the controls with practiced precision. Outside, the desert stretched out before him, bathed in the fading light of the setting sun.
It was time to patrol.
The soft hum of the Paladin's systems wound down as Jaune powered off the massive machine. He stretched his aching muscles and rolled his shoulders, feeling the stiffness from another long patrol. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the desert in a blanket of muted purples and deep oranges, but even the cooler evening air couldn't wash away the exhaustion clinging to him.
"All that shit for some family herding fucking goat, what the fuck are the retards in intel department doing?" Jaune grumbled.
Jaune hopped down from the Paladin, landing softly on the sand, which immediately began to coat his boots. No matter how much time passed, no matter how many battles he survived, one constant remained - fucking sand. It was everywhere, in every crack and crevice of his gear, in his food, even in his thoughts. He couldn't escape it.
As he moved toward the barracks, he spotted Brown standing outside, brushing his teeth. The sergeant was topless, his muscular torso covered in scars that told stories of battles long past. Brown's gaze shifted toward Jaune as he spit out a mouthful of toothpaste, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"How was patrol, Arc?" Brown asked, his voice gruff, but not unkind.
Jaune shrugged as he approached, glancing back at the Paladin. "Same old shit, Sarge. All we're doing is showing the Vacuoans how big our dick is and how we'd slapped them with it if they fall out of line."
Brown raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall of the makeshift barracks. "You're not wrong. The Paladin's enough to make them think twice about messing with us."
Jaune kicked at the sand, frustrated. "But for what? What the fuck are we even fighting for?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Brown stared at Jaune for a moment, as if gauging how deep the young soldier's frustration went. Finally, he sighed and spat again. "You know the answer to that, Arc. We're here to secure SDC assets."
Jaune shook his head, his voice rising slightly. "And where the hell have we been doing that? Where are these SDC assets? All I've seen are villages full of people who hate us and endless fucking sand."
Brown remained calm, his tone flat as he responded. "In the mind of the SDC and Command, that's how we secure their assets. We lock down the entire region. Control the land, control the resources. That's the game."
Jaune let out a bitter laugh. "That's such horse shit. We're dying out here for what? To keep some rich assholes in Atlas happy while we bleed for them?"
Brown didn't argue. He just shrugged, his expression hard and resigned. "That's how it is. That's how it's always been."
Jaune leaned against the Paladin, his frustration boiling over into exhaustion. "Yeah, well, it's a shitty way to live."
Brown ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, looking up at the stars that had begun to appear in the night sky. He was silent for a few moments before he spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Look, kid, I get it. None of us wants to be here. But this is the hand we've been dealt. You think I'm not pissed too? You think I don't wonder what the hell we're really doing here? But you don't get a choice in this. None of us do. We're soldiers. We follow orders. That's the job you signed up for."
Jaune stared at the ground, his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue, to yell, to do something to vent the growing anger inside him. But he knew Brown was right. They didn't have a choice. They were just pawns in a larger game, and the people pulling the strings were far away in Atlas, safe and secure, while men like him and Brown risked their lives in the desert.
Brown pushed off the wall, tossing his toothbrush into a small kit nearby. "Get some rest, Arc. You've been in that damn Paladin all day that your head's been cooked and you start nagging like a bitch again."
Jaune nodded, but before Brown could walk away, he asked, "Do you ever think about what it would be like if we weren't fighting for this? If we weren't just… here?"
Brown stopped, turning back to Jaune with a tired smile. "Every damn day, kid. Every damn day."
With that, Brown walked off, leaving Jaune alone with his thoughts. The wind picked up slightly, kicking up a small cloud of sand that swirled around the Paladin. Jaune leaned his head back, staring up at the night sky. The stars were beautiful, distant and cold, indifferent to the struggles of men.
Inside the barracks, Jaune found Rumple and Humpty lounging around as usual, their attention divided between a game of cards and idle conversation. Mint, the new guy, was flicking through his scroll, probably looking at more of his weird collection of pictures everyone knew he was spending time on the porta-potty.
"How's our grumpy pilot doing?" Rumple called out as Jaune entered. "You ready for another round of 'who can shoot more sand rats tomorrow?' Oh, didn't shoot anyone at all?"
"Nope. More retards that can't understand the situation they are in," Jaune sighed, dropping down onto one of the bunks. "I'm exhausted."
"Yeah, well, welcome to the club," Humpty said, not looking up from his hand of cards. "We're all tired of this shit. Command's got us running around in circles."
"Bitch please, you've been sitting your ass all day."
"And it' terrible," Rumple yawned. "It's making us Rusty."
Mint, always eager to get in on the conversation, glanced up from his scroll. "Yeah man, at least you get to ride around in the Paladin. That thing's a beast and you can have fun with it.."
Jaune grunted in response, but didn't engage. The truth was, he was tired of the Paladin too. Tired of being inside of that cramp space, tired of the endless patrols, tired of everything.
"Hey, VB," Mint said, leaning forward with a grin. "You ever think about what to do leaving this shit behind? Going somewhere nice? Maybe visiting Vale or something? Can I like… come with you or some shit like that? You know?"
Rumple snorted. "You still hung up on that? Let it go, man. She's a celebrity, and you're a degenerate. And it's not like VB stayed a month in Beacon. I doubt those guys he meet would still remember him."
"Yeah, so stop dreaming," Jaune said, crossing his arms.
Mint laughed. "Doesn't hurt to dream, right?"
Jaune tuned him out, his thoughts drifting back to his conversation with Brown. The sergeant had been right, of course. They didn't get a choice. But that didn't make it any easier to swallow. They were out here, risking their lives for a cause none of them believed in, for a company none of them cared about.
He lay back on the bunk, closing his eyes. The sounds of the barracks faded into the background as his exhaustion finally caught up to him. The sand, the heat, the endless questions of why — it all weighed on him like a heavy blanket.
But despite it all, despite the anger and the frustration, Jaune knew he would keep going. He had no other choice. It was his choice.
The next day began like any other. The morning sun was already scorching the sand, casting harsh light over the base as soldiers went about their duties. Jaune was back in the Paladin, powering it up for another day of patrols. His body was sore, his mind still fogged from lack of sleep, but he pushed through it. Routine kept him moving.
As the Paladin's systems roared to life, Brown approached, his face shadowed by his helmet. He gave Jaune a nod, checking in before the day's patrol began. "You good, Arc?"
Jaune looked out at the desert stretching before them and nodded. "Yeah. Same shit, different day, Sarge"
Brown chuckled. "Ain't that the truth?"
Jaune powered down the machine after another grueling and sleep-inducing patrol. The thick, unyielding heat of the Vacuoan desert clung to him like a second skin, the familiar discomfort gnawing at his patience. He stretched, feeling the strain in his muscles from hours spent confined in the cockpit, but there was no relief from the fatigue that weighed on him. None of the caffeine pills too which he plans to steal a case off.
As he stood up from the Paladin's seat, ready to hop down, something caught his eye—movement on the horizon. Jaune paused, watching as several large shadows loomed in the distance, blocking out parts of the already setting sun. His pulse quickened.
Atlas airships.
The kind that seemed to blot out the sky with their immense size. Their sleek, metallic forms floated effortlessly above the base, casting long, imposing shadows over the barren landscape. The ground below shifted with renewed activity as the airships descended, delivering fresh troops, trucks, and supplies. Among the newcomers were two more Paladins, their towering frames moving into position behind the convoy of vehicles.
Jaune stood in the Paladin's cockpit, leaning on the edge of the hatch to get a better view of the spectacle. The air was buzzing with a sense of change, a new energy that had been absent since the Huntsman attack. Below, the soldiers moved with purpose, unloading crates and equipment, and directing the new arrivals.
And then he saw them — Huntsmen.
A small team stepped off one of the airships, each of them carrying their unique weapons with the same confidence and precision that Jaune remembered from his time at Beacon. They were dressed in the crisp white and blue uniforms of Atlas, their armor gleaming in the desert sun. Unlike the grunts, these Huntsmen looked every bit the part of elite warriors, their presence demanding respect and awe from the moment they set foot on the ground.
Behind them, a commander followed, directing orders with swift, deliberate gestures.
Jaune watched them for a long moment, a knot tightening in his stomach. He wondered if things were finally about to move, if this surge of reinforcements meant their mission was about to change, that they'd be going on the offensive rather than sitting around and trying to survive the desert heat.
But deep down, Jaune knew the truth. Change was unlikely.
Their company had been resting and recovering since the Huntsman attack. They had been reorganized, patched together with whatever reinforcements Command could spare, but they weren't here for anything new. They were probably going being sent out again to some bumfuck town in Vacuo. Another mission, another "secure-the-area" operation for SDC assets. It didn't matter how many new soldiers, Paladins, or Huntsmen arrived, it was still the same endless game of waiting, surviving, and protecting territory for people far removed from the blood and sand.
Later that night, as the camp settled into its usual rhythm of watch shifts and quiet conversations around the barracks, Jaune found himself leaning against a stack of supply crates, staring into the empty distance while chewing on the caffeine pills he stole out of the quartermaster's stash.
Jaune looked out into the darkness beyond the camp, his voice dropping. "What the hell are we even fighting for?"
The question wasn't new — it had lingered in Jaune's mind for a long time, gnawing at him in the quieter moments. But after everything they'd been through and the lives lost, the endless grind of desert patrols, the constant feeling of walking a thin line between life and death, he needed an answer.
Brown walked up, tossing his cigarette away. "Arc, we're shipping out again soon. Coastal mission this time."
Jaune blinked, surprised. "Coastal?"
"Yeah. Lower coasts of Vacuo. Some new area we're supposed to secure. SDC's got their eyes on it, so we're moving out." Brown's tone was matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing nothing more than routine paperwork. But Jaune could sense the weariness beneath it.
"More of the same, then," Jaune muttered, shaking his head.
Brown gave him a tired smile. "You know it."
The next day, the camp was a whirlwind of activity as the convoys prepared to move out. Jaune found himself back in the Paladin, powering it up for their next mission. As the Paladin's systems hummed to life, Jaune glanced out at the next convoy forming up which was going in a different direction.
The new troops, the fresh Paladins, and the team of Huntsmen — all preparing for what was probably just another routine operation, another attempt to secure ground that had already been fought over a thousand times before.
Brown passed by the Paladin, his helmet already on, and gave Jaune a nod. "Arc, are you ready?"
Jaune nodded, gripping the controls. "Yeah. Let's get it over with."
With that, the convoy rolled out, dust kicking up behind them as they made their way toward the lower coasts.
