Emerald Dream (Mecha/IC)

[Revlona]

Democratic Republic of Khalib,
200km south of Fallmorah City
March 22nd, 2387

Ensign Alexia Beurvo, 99-1

"Aright easy now, easy" A deep male voice rumbled to her as her cockpit opened and she was gently, yet still firmly, removed from straps and seat. Her eyes narrowed as the bright light of Khalibs sun assaulted them and it took her a few seconds before she could open them fully. It was then that she realized that voice was speaking again.

"Alexia, Alexia! Where do you hurt?" Her crew chief Aaron Kimble said, his wrinkled face scrunched in worry as he looked down at her, his subordinates and a coupled medics looking just as worried. He began to dab at something above her eyes, the white cloth in his hand coming back red.

"Ah right, I hit my head when I took a hit, speaking of," Alexia finally said before craning her neck to look at her combat suit now that she was on the ground. "How is she, whatever hit me was big and moving fast," She said to Kimble.

"Yeah you have a nice mark on your suits back, nothing vital destroyed or even damaged really from the reading but I'm going to go hands on and check myself, got real lucky kid, any less of an angle and whatever hit you is going clean through you and the Sic-2" Kimble said, standing up when he was sure his pilot wasn't in any immediate danger.

"Luck, the snipers buddies lit me up before he shot and it made me move, if they hadn't fucked it up I'd be a smear," She said, not happily. Kimble merely grunted in reply.

"Alright help me up boys," She said sweetly, offering her hands to the crew who were still gathered around her, they took her hands and hauled her to her feet. A groan escaped her as she stretched, her body enjoying the freedom of movement the FOB offered.

“All 99 pilots, debriefing will be in an hour. Check your data-slates for details.” The LTJG said over the radio and Alexia jumped, forgetting she was on channel still. She sighed and then a sudden memory, lost in the ambush, came back to the surface.

"Oh Aaron, better break out your paints, we have a kill!" She said,, silence meeting her words before the crew broke out into cheers, roughly patting their pilot on the back in congratulations, she smiled at them, especially when Kimble lifted her onto one of his shoulders, is face a wild smile as he bellowed to the entire FOB of the future ace.

Half an hour later she was alone, heaving her guts up as what she had done hit her. It had come all at once, the realization that what she had escaped, the swift and violent death the enemy sniper had tried to force on her was exactly what she had done to her "first kill". She had entered a room, aidens she realized in her state, and had gone straight to the toilet. What little food she had in her stomach ending up in the toilet.

She had been at that for a few moments when the door to the room opened and she looked up at her twin. "Aiden...I killed someone.." She said, the sentence wracked with sobs.

[Oblivion2]

Fire Base Gamma Six,
200km South of Fallmorah City
Ensign Petros Alexios, 99-04

Petros, having not shifted from attention to ease merely needed to turn slightly on a heel to face Josephine de Bourbon, the unit 2iC. He kept his features as composed as possible when she dismissed him; he’d hoped for an immediate debrief so he could focus on something, anything but the thoughts in his head. As it stood he’d need to go get cleaned up which meant being alone for sometime. Could he look himself in the mirror? Regardless, it was neither Lieutenant’s problem. Orders had been given so they were expected to be obeyed. Petros saluted Josephine as crisp and cleanly as the parade line, “Yes ma’am.” Was his reply, neutral and even, before he shifted and made his way out of the Mech Labs, casting a final glance at the Huscarl on his way out.

The officer’s quarters were in another part of compound, unattached to the Mech Labs. This meant going outside and for a moment the sweltering heat and the dry wind blowing up from the west was all that Petros managed to think about. That last until he entered the officers building and climate control once again battled with the incredibly arid atmosphere of Khalib. As a junior officer, Petros was entitled to the smallest sort of room available to the commissioned ranks. It suited him well enough; there was enough space to move around, a single bed that looked to have been made up recently, and a writing desk and chair with an attached computer console. Petros debated booting it up and accessing the communications network with it, but to what end? Things on Khalib were an active combat zone, which meant Virgon could censor or even block any messages he sent home to his parents. The government got rightfully touchy about the insurgents and even then, what could he say? Dear mamma and babba, I killed a man today? They wouldn’t understand. They were regular, hard working folk who had only recently managed to get themselves into what the government considered middle class. They didn’t understand fighting or military service, they’d fled Terra with their parents when they were only children after all.

What about Bertrand LaFleur then? An incredible pilot, the son of a viscount, handsome, rich, and Petros’ best friend. They’d gone through the academy together and it was only by Bertrand’s intervention that Petros had managed to become a competent pilot at all. He was also the reason Petros’ left hand was made of modern titanium alloys rather than flesh and bone. A fight turned into an industrial accident, which had left the young noble scion repentant and guilt ridden. Petros had never held it against him, and that had allowed them a rather unlikely friendship. But the young Greek couldn’t call him. Bertrand too had been deployed, and for security reasons he hadn’t even been allowed to tell Petros where he was going. That likely meant he was under a communications black out too.

So that left no one. He didn’t know his squad mates well enough to even dream of approaching any of them with this. He didn’t even know what words he could choose, let alone what sort of reaction any of them would give him. For all he knew, everyone with kills today was handling it just fine and Petros was the only one emotional about the whole thing. These thoughts raced round and round in his head as he stripped out of his flight suit and slid it into a chute that would take it away for laundering, Rank had its privileges after all. Petros strode to the bathroom and turned the shower on. As he did, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. Sharp facial features and a slightly hooked nose. Thick, wavy hair that did it’s best to be unmanageable, a lean body that he hardly seemed to recognize, punctuated by the glinting steely hues of his prosthetic hand. He detached it with a faint groan, setting it down along the edge of the sink. He ran his fingers along the clean lines of the stump and sighed before slipping into the shower and letting the heat roll over his shoulders and head.

Mechanically he began to wash himself with his good hand. He started off steadily enough but as his thoughts consumed him and the sound of his axe crunching into the torso of the enemy suit played louder and louder in his mind, he began to slow, until finally he stopped and with his head against the tiled wall of the shower, began to sob quietly. He was alone, far from home, and he’d killed a man. Was he still a good person? Could you still be a good person after you’d killed? He didn’t know and that uncertainty was the worst part of it all. The tears ran down his face, hot and angry as the phantom sensation of pain blazed out of his missing left hand. Even his body was in turmoil.

It was some minutes before Petros managed to get a hold of himself and finish showering. He took especial care to wash his face off well and get the puffiness from his eyes. He’d succeeded and by the time he’d gotten on his fresh officer’s uniform and pinned his rank insignia to his collar there was no sign he’d been crying at all.

He found the conference room easily enough in the administrative wing of the main building. It was arranged in a circular fashion, so a speaker could stand in the middle and operate a holo projector and go over any kind of mission details they deemed necessary. It was smaller than an Academy class room, maybe built for twenty or thirty at the most. Petros, a few minutes early, decided to claim a spot for himself along the left hand side of the room, along the middle set of benches. He wasn’t feeling particularly up to being noticed as he sat there and lightly drummed his metal fingers on the desk top without any thought or rhythm.

[Parcia]

FOB Gamma Six
200KM South of Falmorah City
Warrant Officer Grade 2 Bigsby, 99-03
Mech Bay 3

He watched the sun near its peak perched atop his Raven II as Clara went about resetting and calibrating his fire control systems. He held a smoldering cigarillo in hand, taking a puff and watched as the smoke drifted in to the air. It had been a gift from his Father. "For when you get your first taste of war, savor it, remember it."

Had killed people today. Fought tooth and nail with another human being in a mech not much smaller then his. He acted on instinct and training, and nearly died more then twice and in the end watched as his enemy's reactor cooked off and flooded his cockpit with sun hot plasma and it was all due to him. Bigs came to the conclusion he had a taste for battle. The blood pumping in his veins, the feeling of flying above entire blocks and painting targets and launching smart munitions and firing his guns in anger. He also came to the conclusion he loathed war. The destruction, the wasting of human live, the suffering. He found he had no problem with ending his enemy when they fought, but loathed to see fellow humans suffer for the actions of so few driven mad with ideals and zealotry.

He took another drag of the finely aged tobacco and looked down to his other hand and stared as is shook like a leaf in the wind. It had been shaking since they had disengaged and hadn't stopped. His father's words hung in his mind. He had been a colonial Marshal before he met his ma and started the farm, and had put down more then his fair share of bandits and criminals with his service weapon. That same snub nosed .38 sat snugly holstered in a leather ankle holster just above his right boot.

He got up and jumped down in to the service crane that Clara has used to ascend to his cockpit and made his way to his barracks. He had wet him self at some point during the fight and rather not sit in on his first combat debrief with smelly BDUs.

Not being an officer, he didn't have the luxury of fancy accommodations and instead had shacked up with his pit crew in their barracks, which were just a smaller off section of the Motor pool tent. After claiming a spare rack and throwing his sea bag on to it he went about changing in to fresh pants and briefs before turning back to the conference room, the now doused cigarillo in his ear.

He elected to take a spot next to Petros, giving him a curt salute and taking a seat and awaited for it to begin.

[Caltharus]

Ensign Elija Kalnieks

Contact with the enemy reinforcements was lost almost as swiftly as it had come. With the radar signals lost and no visual the team had no choice but to retreat from the now mobile suit wise secured town. As the adrenaline of combat winded down Elija couldn’t recognize how he felt. On the one hand he was relieved, the stress of real combat leaving his body in a series of heavy sighs, on the other he felt almost sad that the engagement had taken so little time – partially because of his late arrival.

When the 99th begun their trek towards a newly set up FOB couple hours away, Elija took his Arbalest to their left flank, keeping an eye out despite being technically disengaged. His mind though was elsewhere. Stress turned to excitement as he went through the events in his head, his first combat drop, the ambush of the ambushers and perhaps even his first kill. That would certainly be something to be proud of. Finally, something to show that he was cut to be a mobile suit pilot, despite faring quite averagely back in the academy.

In addition, he had been able to avoid any oncoming damage from their enemies, though big part of that was him being late from the initial contact and contributing only some flank safety to the Gotterdammerung. Yet he found himself imagining himself as some kind of untouchable animal moving swiftly avoiding danger while sending out missile after missile towards their foes. These kinds of thoughts were naïve, but he couldn’t help himself.

Time seemed to fly by on the way to the FOB, with Elija deep in thought. Only when arriving he snapped out of it and drove his suit to the berth allocated to him. It required quite some attention to drive through the FOB gate avoiding any collisions with the tents and container barracks laid around, making Elija thank his luck that he wasn’t driving the 30 meter tall heavy fire support mech that walked before him.

Docking at the berth he jumped out of the cockpit only to be met with Barclay, his head engineer and the rest of the team.
“How was it?” The head engineer asked.
“Something else. Don’t really know how to describe it. Like training but with more stress I suppose”
One of the other mechanics shouted “You get any kills?”
“Not sure really. I had a couple of missile locks and managed to send HEATs their way but don’t know for sure”
The answer received some approving muttering from the crew, before Elija continued:
“Now lets see about that missile bay door”

With the whole team working around the left shoulder of the mech the cause of the problems was soon found. Worn power transmission cable that would have to be fixed, a testament to the strain that mobile suits put on their parts. As work begun Elija barely even noticed most of the other pilots leaving to do whatever, being almost entranced with watching his engineers do what their did best, himself helping when able and asking questions about the specifics almost constantly. Though he did enjoy engineering and understood his vehicle better than most, he was no expert, but eager to learn.

He had almost forgot about the debrief with the fuss around his suit, realising it just in time to make it. Only hastily cleaning oil off his fingers Elija made his way to the conference room. Walking to the nearest free chair, the one next to Warrant officer Bigsby, he nodded and sat down.
“Well spotted”

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

FOB Gamma Six
200km South of Falmorah City
Mech Bay 5
Co-Written by Sotoak and I

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" Mihaly stomped on the ground with fury as he exited his damaged mech that had to be carted all the way back to his FOB. He ripped off his flight helmet in a single stroke and let it hang off his vest by the oxygen nozzle as he took in the blasted air of this arid planet. Blood was running down the side of his head from some sort of head wound he had taken back there.

One of the technicians came to him with a pad off some sort but with a furious look on his face Mihaly waved the man away as he went to examine his mech. The leg had been hid badly at the knee and it torn off. It was lucky it hadn't hit the joint itself or the damage could have been deeper and much worse of it opinion. Nothing fatal, something to get up off his arse and learn. Even the greatest of those her adored always had moments where they failed. The difference and what made them true aces was how they recovered and never let it happen again.

Still it stung as he slammed the side of his fist against the damage part of it's thigh not out of frustration but of concern as well. He had to admit that while he say his Mobile Suit as nothing more then a tool for him to achieve glory, Mihaly had grown some sort of attachment to it. Something beyond his dream.

"Dammit," he muttered with his forehead resting against the metal.

And there standing, with crossed arms and a queer look plastered on, was another pilot.

"99-10" was what the tags told him.

Her green eyes seemed to be observing him for something, but once he turned to her, they seemed to have had shifted in focus. Elsewhere, but still close as before. "Yo." It was the kind of vague greeting she gave to her, one that she was accustomed to, when greeting others; though this time it seemed, there would be a little something more in this conversation Maya was striking up, "Busted it something fierce, hmm?"

The way she phrased it, it was like there was an "I told you so." Hidden behind those words. "I guess you aren't getting out in the field anytime soon, heh." Did she have to state the obvious? This would've been known considering the state of her fellow pilot's mech was in, though it seemed as if she was trying to get him into talking some more with her somewhat provocative words.

It was Maya Hiraoka, pilot of that pale, crimson-highlighted Uhlan mech, which as of the moment, was being repaired for minor damages; it hadn't seen much action back then, during the fight. "So, wanna commiserate or something?" And so the conversation was opened from a one-sided observation into a two-way talk between pilots, "Everyone's processing a lot of shit as of the moment, and as for me, guess I'm just feeling like talking about it to someone, something deep or something quick, I dunno."

"So what's it gonna be, Baron-man?"

What type of person used such a vocabulary? Mihaly internally scoffed as he heard her speak. The fact that he had to tolerate the damage to his Mobile Suit was enough now there was this girl who spoke to him in such a unprofessional manner.

"One could say it was something fierce..." Mihaly tried to hide the venom in his voice but some of it got out.

His hand clenched into a fist to tight that if he hadn't been wearing pilot's gloves she could see his knuckles turning white. "Unlike pilot's bound to this earth, modifications can be made to my Mobile Suit to enable it to still be capable to fly. With only one leg thruster balance is compromised but something that can be compensated for."

Maya. The edge of his lip twisted. He remembered her. The Runt. Something that he wouldn't have even have spared a thought on if not for her approaching him now with such an attitude.

He would have brought up the name of his family, barons in almost every industry, but he had sworn to never use their name for his gain. His achievements would be his achievements solely. No one else could touch them.

"Go on. Speak." he said simply as he turned around to look at her. He was a brunette with spotted freckles on his check with a curved nose that seemed to look down on her.

She scrunched her nose slightly, Mihaly was particularly prickly, but considering the state his mech was in, that was pretty much a given. And so she trudged on, "Just wondering about something, first kill's never easy they say, and yet here you are." She gestured towards him with her hands, "Standing there, with that aloof air around you." She was getting at something, but it seemed as if she wanted to prolong this as much as possible, playing a balancing act between his annoyance and patience.

The line was thin, "Feh, I would know." She had gotten here tiptoeing on thin lines, what was another addition to her list at this point.

"Guess I'm just curious about it all, how you're keeping it all in." Both mentally, and physically, as her stomach earlier would attest, "It's in the job description- killing and all that- but, actually doing it, then realizing it, strange feeling, y'know?" She wasn't this talkative in the early days of her training, ever the recluse that she was, but she came out of that shell in the latter days of that time, and perhaps extremely so after what had just transpired earlier.

She took a long glance at the damaged Mobile Suit in front of them, the leg had been torn off, likely by that rifle shot she had heard earlier. She turned back towards him, green eyes meeting amber ones, "I'm guessing distraction works, there's a bloody mess to fix right in front of us after all." Her thoughts wandered off to the announcement earlier, and what was to come in an hour, "And an even bigger mess after that."

Her gaze turned thoughtful, "Eggs, the lot of us are." Every single pilot, every single one, "Wonderin' just how long it'll take to crack em."

The SU-30VF stood, a silent guardian amidst an ambience of buzzing welders and whirring gyros.

"I didn't feel anything as I killed that pilot," he said casually as if he was discussing the nature of the day's weather, "I don't really see the point of that. A kill is a kill. When animals kill each other in the wild they do so for a purpose. They do not regret, they do not cry over it, nor do they obsess over a single kill. It's not sociopathy, it's just the way war works. People live and people die, that's all there is to it."

He scratched the back of his head as he looked up at his Mobile Suit. The technicians were now withdrawing the blood, dripping with blood. Some of them looked a bit pale realizing the chunks of meat that were still attached.

Mihaly had to admit it was quite the sight as he committed it to memory. His first kill.

"One less hostile Mobile Suit pilot for the Kingdom to worry about. Making my first kill was something I was anticipating during training. It was more... I wouldn't say satisfying but... cathartic to be honest. Like everything that I got coming to me I finally have. In a way I can't stop thinking about it even if it was a mistake I made that ended up in me being forced to request assistance."

"Such is the nature of war."

There was some strange levity to be had at the fact that, in a sense, the knight had returned to the battlefield, adapted to this stellar day and age, and all the strange things knights had with them.

When Mihaly began with his catharsis, she couldn't help but listen intently. "Guess you could say it was like an itch that was bugging you for quite some time, and now, finally scratched. Just can't stop thinking about it, no?" She nodded sagely at that, she knew quite a bit about itches after all, "Can't say I can relate, I was on the back covering the lot of you's asses, all the kills I've been doing were just insurgents on the ground."

Now there was a thought, that it would've been easier if she had done it to another MS pilot. "A glory kill, huh?" She murmured inaudibly, though with the distance between them, it was likely she was heard.

She turned back to the Mobile Suit between them, there was quite the mess in the hands, turning the hands a pretty shade of crimson. "Pretty?"

"Well, I guess that's it huh? Just remember not to charge in like a dumbass next time, yeah?" Her face turned thoughtful, "Because if I recall correctly, even that Richthofen guy had a team with him. Though you probably already knew that, don't you?"

"See you around at the debrief then, you silly man you." And just like that, she left for the conference, beckoning him to come follow.

[Imperialisium]

Zhirina

Zhirina had arrived at the FOB last. Exiting her machine, she kept a distance at first. Letting the team destress with whatever nascent routine they would fall into. Some looked over their machine with the technicians. Some socialized. Others kept to themselves as they came to the realization that they had seen combat firsthand, and it was not a simulation. Zhirina sat at the foot of her mech for most of the hour before checking her small chronometer watch built into the wrist of her flight suit. Standing to rise, she steadied herself, she was nervous, and arrested a slight shake in the right hand by using a clamped grip from the left. Breathing deeply for a minute she straight her back. Zhirina rose to full height. Walking with renewed calmness to the debriefing area she stood in the front of the small outdoor area. Awaiting her team to file in, which they did, either in twos or singular.

Clearing her throat, she began as a military intelligence clerk approached to hand off a data slate. The information of the day's events was already on the team's personal data pads. The enemy mechs were indeed old Gen 3's. Still well outside of what Khalib insurgents should be able to field let alone possess. This changes the nature of the operation on the world, significantly.

"99th, Fallmorah has been secured with final sweeps from the Army and Marines being conducted as I speak. Most troubling, and what Command," Command meaning the Commanding officers over the Khalib campaign, "finds alarming is the presence of these Combat Suits. More alarming is the presence of a trained cadre of insurgency pilots. Information is now being disseminated to the other Suit teams and they will be pulled to, like us, be sent to hunt for any more insurgent Combat Suits which may exist on planet. Any questions so far?"

[Sotoak]

__________________________________

__________________________________

VIRGONESE ARMED FORCES-tHE_bLo0dY_N9nEtY_N9nTH(4).MOV
DATE // MARCH 22nd, 2387
LOCATION // FORWARD OPERATING BASE, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF KHALIB,
PERSONNEL ASSINGED // Ensign Mihaly Albrecht Richthofen Ignatius Raphael A. Shilage and Maya Hiraoka, 99th Mobile Suit, Royal Armed Forces
MISSION // REGROUP AND DEBRIEF
COLLABORATION // GUUJ XAAT KIL
__________________________________

"A kill is a kill like I said," he said, "It's just another tally mark to go on my kill count. There's pride but in the end it's just another statistic that wasn't an outlier."

There was nothing outstanding of that pilot save their tenacity, Mihaly thought, once or twice they had done something outside of his expectations. But those were the expectations of a rookie. Eventually, he realized that he would have no reason to remember this kill, just another object to be added onto the list with no significance to him, other than the fact that it was his first just like one would remember their first kiss. The pilot didn't have a face, didn't have a life, didn't have dreams and hopes, didn't have people who loved them or they loved.

There was no humanity to the slain pilot in his mind.

And Mihaly didn't particularly care.

Just another tally mark to go on his kill count.

"It was a mistake I won't repeat." he said simply. "And I have to say, I'm surprised you know that name of Richthofen, let alone a man who has been dead nearly five hundred years."

She chuckled at that. "Well you see, when you have a ton of time on your hands, with nothing to do, and an internet connection?" Her smile grew smaller, "I guess you just learn a lot of things, useful things, useless things, and it's also a thing about committing it to memory?" Maya shrugged at that, her mind had been likened to a sponge by a lot of people, she just recalled things easily sometimes. It was something that had helped her more times than she could count, especially during her training days.

"Ah the wonders of a good subjective memory."

She turned back to him, "On the subject of your mistakes and you not repeating them, well, it is in my opinion that you should state that opinion, to the people in charge during the debrief." She said that in a mock-posh tone, all the while smirking as if she understood some kind of hidden joke.

"Though, in all seriousness." Said tone disappeared as quick as it came, [color=#008000"Good luck during the debriefing, I think you'll need it when the shout-downs inevitably begin."[/color] She recalled such a time, when she did something wrong and got shouted at...

There seemed to be a lot of those times, so many that they've blended into a vaguely singular mass of memory.

"You must have a vast skull to recall so much information," Mihaly continued onwards, absently picking at his manicured nails, "I don't really subscribe to that idea. A worthless idea is unworthy to be committed to memory. It simply clogs everything up and makes you forget what's truly vital in the end. Didn't also have the free time to browse the net in such a vacuous manner on account of my family obligations."

He made eyecontact with her, his azure blue eyes displaying a certain coldness and depth behind them alongside a taut pulling at the edge of his lips. "I accept your well-wishes and accept any criticism from the rest of the squadron. But if they should denigrate themselves so low to have to shout in order for me to learn, then I will remind them of who I am."

She gave him a funny look at that last sentence of his, with his blue eyes contrasted against her own green ones; dull emerald ones, but perhaps deceptively so. "Eh? Haven't the movie where the drill instructor goes "WAR FACE" or something?" She chuckled at that, it was an interesting watch, "Huh? No? Eh, never mind then." Her chuckling quickly died down as it quickly became clear just how oblivious Mihaly was to the joke, and so she prepared for a segue to an earlier subject.

"Well, no, there definitely won't be that much shouting at you when we get there, but in a sense, perhaps the opposite is worse, no?" She continued with a contemplative look, "You know, where they give you stinging words, silent looks of contempt, and I dunno, give you some pieces of advice afterwards. And probably make you feel like shit too, yeah, that kind of quiet military chastisement."

Soon enough, they would arrive at the conference room's doorway. "Well, we're here." She told him with a flat face, "Moment of truth I guess?" And at that, she shrugged. Who knew what would go on from here on out.

He had to admit while he did grow tired of her way of speaking, in some ways he found it endearing. She was speaking to him in such silly terms yet he couldn't help but find humor in her odds ways as he walked. There was something to her that stood out to Mihaly despite his massive pride.

"Their feelings towards me matter not," he said coldly as he held the doorknob of the conference room door. "So long as mine and their performance does not lag on the battlefield, I could care less for their empty thoughts. I came here to become a pilot. And a pilot I remain despite my faults."

It seemed as if she was fond of shrugging much, as once again she shrugged at that, hand already pressed on the door. "All I can say is, just save your best words for the debrief, I guess?" She advised him with a small but eager nod, "No use saying all that to me only to leave the rest of them some halfhearted words."

She pushed the door open and entered, beckoning him to come inside and face the music. "Now or never, oh-five."

He scoffed as he walked in, prepared for anything. "So be it."

[Oblivion2]

Petros

The young pilot had been deep in his own thoughts when Bigby arrived. He couldn’t help but imagine his brief duel with the enemy third generation suit going a thousand different ways. In some of them, he was the one who died. In others he managed to disarm his foe and win the fight without killing anyone. Sometimes another member of the 99th got the kill. All of these thoughts just made him feel increasingly sick to his stomach; the facts were pretty simple, he had likely killed someone and no amount of imagining anything else would change that. The door to the conference room opening and closing brought him back to reality. When he turned, he saw the warrant officer giving him a curt salute.

Petros raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t know the man well enough to know whether or not was being sarcastic or short with him. He could have chosen to not salute at all and potentially break the social protocol between officers and noncoms. Petros could have overthought it to death, instead he raised his prosthetic hand to his temple and gave Bigby a casual salute in return. It told of how only a little rank separated the two of them in the hierarchy of things and how Petros was as aware of it as Bigby. The man coming and sitting beside him was another surprise. Petros hadn’t made any effort to get to know the team, even though he should have in the week since his arrival. It just hadn’t seemed as important as making sure his Mech was operating at peak performance, and honestly what would he have said? Hi, I’m Petros, I like machines and have one for a hand? Juvenile. No one would take him seriously, so it had been best to say nothing at all.

So yes, the Warrant Officer choosing to sit beside Petros was a surprise. For his part, Petros didn’t really like or dislike Bigby either. He seemed a bit like a loose cannon, wanting to show initiative and being eager to try. These were good traits and could prove useful in one’s career; provided they don’t overstep. As other pilots began to settle into the briefing room and Zhirina took her spot in the middle of the room, another pilot sat down on Bigby’s other side, complimenting him.

Elija, Petros thought his name was. “Yes.” Petros found himself agreeing. “Your EWAR and data collection was most helpful today.” The words sounded lame in Petros’ ears, maybe even a little awkward. Why had he bothered to speak at all? Before anyone could call him on it though, the CO saved the young Greek by beginning her debriefing. Petros listened attentively musing on her accent at first and then on the concept of the hostile insurgents. He did have questions about how the enemy had gotten their hands on third gens and even some newer fourth gens when intelligence had suggested they were a long way from having that sort of capability. He didn’t speak up about it though, still feeling too awkward over his short exchange with the Warrant Offier and expecting that the answer would prove to be above the pay grade of a lowly ensign anyhow. He’d have to just wait and see.

[Bentus]

Aiden Beurvo
Fallmorah City FOB

---

Feeling the stench of sweat and fatigue weighing down upon his shoulders, Aiden navigated his way through the base towards the room he’d been assigned. After giving his maintenance team the rundown of what his suit had been through and checking the now battle-tested machine for any signs of severe damage, the hour he’d been given before the debrief could hardly have been made to count for much at all. He was adamant that he’d get at least a brisk shower in though, even if it meant he’d have to jog back across the base to be on time. But as he opened his room’s door, Aiden was instead struck by the mixing sounds of dry-heaving and sobs.

Caught off guard as he saw his sister’s tear-stricken face gazing at him from above the toilet bowl, her words struck Aiden’s chest like a truck.

“Christ, Lexi.” He said, snapping himself out of his shock before stepping into the bathroom and bending down to wrap his arms around his twin.

When was the last time he’d seen her cry? She’d always prided herself on being tough and strong, always being the first one to step up to the plate and the last one to turn away from a challenge. When Aiden had left their home, he remembered their father snidely remarking that she’d grown up to be the man of the house. But now he could only see a sobbing girl, shaken by what she’d experienced and trying to find some comfort from her older brother.

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t, and Aiden grimaced at the sound of his own stone-faced lie. “You did what you had to do back there. They shot first and if you hadn’t done what you did, we all could’ve been killed.”

Would bringing it up like that help, or just make things worse for her? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He’d seen death and suffering during his residency, and every once in a while he’d seen a stabbing or a shooting where that death and suffering had been caused by another human being. Though war still felt different, especially now that it was his own sister that was crying in his arms.

Aiden was almost surprised to find that his first thought wasn’t sadness at the death and destruction, but anger. He didn’t want to retreat into a shell or mourn his lost innocence. Instead he wanted to hop back into his suit and tear up the whole sand-coated planet in search of the sniper that had tried to hurt his sister. And once he found the man, well Aiden knew what it was that he’d want to do next.

It was an uncomfortable realization, and so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, focusing instead on his twin.

“Hey, what would dad say if he saw you like this? Huh?” He said, trying to put on a smile for her benefit. She deserved the time to grieve and recollect, but the chronometer on the wall was an oppressive master. Pulling away from Alexia, Aiden wiped away some of her tears with a tissue. “I know it sucks, but we’ve got to get you cleaned up. Okay?”

---

As the debriefing started, Aiden listened attentively. He’d sat himself only slightly towards the back of the room, next to Alexia as if to silently continue offering moral support. He frowned at the data slate that Zhirina handed around, although everything on it only confirmed what the youthful squad all already knew. Stealing a glance around the room, his frown deepened as he saw the assembly of tired and haunted faces.

Did we have to have this briefing now? Look at them boss, they’ve all been through hell.

Aiden wondered if he was wearing the same expression. Almost shamefully, he knew that he’d come through the battle better off than most of his peers. He supposed some of his shots might have landed, but he hadn’t really thought about it in the moment. Was it cowardly that he’d just sat behind his shield, confident in his own safety and with no need to bloody his conscience? He’d been able to rely on others to do the killing for him, he supposed.

“Did anyone catch the accent of the sniper?” Aiden asked, lifting his eyes to Zhirina. “When he spoke out over comms. Unless there’s some dialect I’ve missed, he didn’t sound like he was from around here.”

There were unspoken angles to his question. He was sure that the thought had crossed everyone’s mind at that point, but he understood why nobody had wanted to broach the topic directly. Command was right: it didn’t make any sense for the insurgents to have suits like that, even less for them to have such well trained pilots. It indicated that somebody was helping them, and that gave Aiden a sinking feeling.

[Segmentia]

Josephine

“Imperial, I’m fairly certain.” Josephine answered as she walked into the debriefing, answering Aidens question. She had been busy in the hour that had passed, making sure combat footage was collected and sent to be reviewed, and then waiting for the official tallies for pilots. She had taken a few minutes to freshen up as she waited, but beyond that there hadn’t been much. A small talk with Lieutenant Zhirina concerning two of their pilots.

Carrying a data-slate under her arm, she took a position next and slightly behind Zhirina, looking at the slate.

“This is the official tally for our little outing, so listen for your name and after the debriefing you can relay it to your ground crew, should you wish for tally marks to be added to your machines.

Lieutenant Krystalovna, one machine kill
Junior Lieutenant de Bourbon Fujiwara Golikov, two machines kills
Ensign Alexios, one machine kill
Ensign Beurvo, Alexia that is, one machine kill
Ensign Richthofen, one machine kill
Ensign Aitner, one machine kill
Ensign Kalnieks, one machine kill
Warrant Officer Bigsby, one machine kill.”

Josephine put the data slate back under her arm, face impassive.

“There are also two disciplinary matters to address. Ensign Richtofen and Warrant Officer Bigsby, you are both on extra duty. This will include cleaning the squad living quarters, ensuring they are also kept in stock, and other menial tasks that may arise. You’ll find the details on your data-slates.” In her mind the punishment fit for Bigsby, though if it had been up to her, Mihaly would be on his way out of the Royal Combat Suit Division entirely. But it hadn’t been up to her, and she would just be keeping a close eye on the ensign in the future.

[Guuj Xaat Kil]

Maya Hiraoka, 99-10
FOB Gamma Six, Conference Room

It was a matter of convenience- seating, that was- for both her and Mihaly, they had arrived at roughly the same time, so perhaps it was just easier to seat themselves next to each other, somewhere near the middle. An unassuming place, a quiet place, just how she liked it. "Though it may not be so quiet with Mr. Hotshot over here." She glanced over at 99-05, "You win some, you lose some." Shrugging at all that, she simply slumped into her chair, recognizing of the room's atmosphere made her straighten up quickly, however. They had arrived at an opportune time, just early enough to hear what had Command all sweating, and that was the presence of the enemy Combat Suits. "Makes sense, we never expected any of the like, even old ones, which makes me wonder..."

Just how did the insurgents get to those suits in the first place? Who was supplying them, or worse, were they being supplied with the means to supply themselves? She mulled over it for a bit, deciding that: yes, she would speak up after all, though she was psyching herself up first; besides, it seemed as if she had to wait for a while, as the Lieutenant chose this time to enter the conference room. She looked like she was busy with something, that Maya could tell. Once she spoke up, the pilot couldn't help but be a bit cheery, "Ah sweet, tallies." She never got any, of course, but a little celebratory feeling for your fellow man never hurt anyone; why, some people would say that it went long way.

That cheeriness left when disciplinary actions were brought up, however brief it was. Though there was some good coming out of it, Maya reckoned as she lightly elbowed neighboring Mihaly, "Hey, at least you won't be off the field for a long time, no?" She muttered, though that line of thought quickly disappeared as her original intentions came to mind, and she was now readied to speak what was on her mind.

Picking up where the other Lieutenant- the earlier one- left off, she spoke, "Ma'am, how many suits does Command think the insurgents can field now? In contrast to our old intel on them, that is." She said in an even, formal tone, "And could the insurgents have the capacity to produce mechs?" Well, that was that, food for thought for everyone in the room. She felt as if there was something missing that she forgot to say, but as of the moment, she was still a bit sluggish from the earlier action.

[Imperialisium]

Zhirina

"Imperial, would be a bit much for Arkona to have pilots on Khalib. But it could be a mercenary, a veteran perhaps, or even a military advisor by your implication," responded the Lieutenant to Josephine. Whatever the case the pilot that had apparently orchestrated or at least led the enemy Suits in the ambush was skilled. Any in the squad could see that. Further, it spoke of a particular experience and indifference from that in how the enemy pilot had receded without bothering to finish off Mihaly. Which, would appoint to certain military traditions of Arkona's Combat Suit units and self-styling as modern 'Knights.' Something that no doubt garnered many jokes and witty banter from the Virgonese and Federation pilots.

Zhirina continued, "Command is currently assessing a sweep of the desert in the vector that the enemy suits retreated in. It is mostly sandy dunes for over a thousand kilometers West until one hit a series of massifs, rock formations, and a few scattered oases fed by small rivers coming from the Khagros Mountains. Perfect region to have hidden refuges from whence to operate from. We will likely be tasked to join the sweep and engage any hostile Combat Suit forces present."

Of course, the region had been swept by the Royal Army in the previous months. Even seen an entire combat campaign during the initial deployments onto the planet were Army and Marine forces fought to put the Khalib government-backed-by-Virgon in control over the area. Control of course was a touch and go basis for the Khalib government. Outside of political statements the government on Khalib was ineffective, inefficient, and in the minds of many of the 'boots on the ground' corrupt, untrustworthy, and doomed to fail the moment the Virgonese left the planet.

Zhirina could only hearken back to her historical studies on such places that had been on Earth. Places like Afghanistan came to mind.

[Parcia]

Bigsby

He expressed his annoyance with the Lieutenant's over reach, at least in his mind, with a vary slight narrowing of his eyes and deepening of his dead pan face. Still, it was a minor price to pay, finding his extra Duty to be entirely of midnight to 6 am duty watches, to find out just how much of a posh ass his new 2IC was and seemingly how un caring his new CO was.

As the meeting went on he kept half attention to the debriefing while jotting down notes in his Data slate. He had his personal lap terminal at his rack for later use, but the slate was more useful right now.

He needed to go to the armoror to get a duty rifle and plate carrier, req some external IR smoke and chaff launchers for his mech as well as some light ERA. It'd lower his over all speed a small bit but the extra protection from sudden attacks would help.

He took a moment to break his concentration to reach down and retrieve his water bottle and take a sip.

He also pondered the bartering he'd need to do to secure the needed caffeine to stay alert during his watch sessions. He had nearly two entire cartons of Van Zandt Vanilla smoke, and a few packs of Menthols, both of which were popular with the Army Regulars and Jarheads and he planned on trading his smokes for said cans of energy drink before his first watch.

He had things to do, many, many things to do.

[Sotoak]

__________________________________

__________________________________

VIRGONESE ARMED FORCES-tHE_bLo0dY_N9nEtY_N9nTH(5).MOV
DATE // MARCH 22nd, 2387
LOCATION // FORWARD OPERATING BASE, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF KHALIB,
PERSONNEL ASSINGED // Ensign Mihaly Albrecht Richthofen Ignatius Raphael A. Shilage, 99th Mobile Suit, Royal Armed Forces
MISSION // REGROUP AND DEBRIEF
__________________________________

Mihaly frowned. Part of him wanted to stand up and protest his punishment for the sake of his pride. He may have overextended in the heat of the moment but his actions had provided the momentum in order to drive the enemy back into a fleeing retreat. Then the other side recognized it might be better for his career just to take the consequences with grace.

He could always come back later when he had more power and wipe the two of them out if he wanted.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded curtly, "It will be done."

There was really nothing else he could say about being given that duty, though he was already planning to fulfill it to the best he could. Just because the area wasn't piloting wasn't an excuse to do his best. He had already decided people who thought they knew everything was the people that least deserved to live. What was the point of living anymore if you refused to grow?

He glared at Maya as she thought that she... she of all people in this room could just touch him like that. But he decided not to show too much. Better keep a decent relationship with her. "It is... an acceptable task. And if it wasn't I would have no place in refusing that. So best to just keep your head down and do it." he softly said.

"Has an analysis on ethnic and tribal ties of the insurgents been made yet?" Mihaly asked as he heard the commander speak, his face resting on his fist as he leaned forward to listen better, "We may be able to identify the ethnic groups they come from and therefore where they can draw the majority of their support. The Germanic areas back in antiquity during the... t- no, second world war greatly used the unity of their so-called superior race. It enabled them blind fanatism to continue the war far longer than it should have lasted. While the tribal and ethnic groups here may not be on that level, to identify the groups against them and studying their weakness would be prudent. To also reach out to those groups with aid may take away their motivation for continued conflict."

Mihaly sucked in a breath, "And which groups of them are most likely to work with off-worlders and be willing to learn from them. That enemy pilot was skilled... skilled even beyond the normal baseline standards of pilots so we can expect their part of some sort of special forces or the cream of the crop sent to train the enemy."

[Imperialisium]

Zhirina

Mihaly posed an important question an Zhirina could only grimace at the possibilities. "Naval Intelligence is currently crunching possible connections. But it is presumed that the enemy suit pilots are locals save for the sniper. Who is most likely to be an off-worlder. As such we should expect a new, homegrown, phase in the insurgency against the democratic government of Khalib. The enemy, with Combat Suits, is expected to be more opportunistic and proactive. As such we should prepare. We shall begin our sweep in 72 hours. Dismissed." Truly the unit could leave tomorrow but the extra two days was for engineer and technicians to fix the damage to Mihaily's unit and buff out or repair armor plating on the other suits. Along with the rigorous testing and sand clearing of joints and intakes which worked havoc on the internals of the Combat Suit teams operating on Khalib. In truth it made some sense that the insurgents would operate more primitive suit designs, easier to fix, and more rugged to the terrain. Another disturbing thought that now plagued Zhirina's brain.

Moving away from the briefing Zhirina moved to her own pitched quarters and sat on her cot. Only now taking the time to remove her footwear and air out her feet. Despite modern hygiene and footwear, a soldier's feet were their most important upkeep.