Makita

The Reds use mines in the traditional way: seeding them into minefields in order to slow or halt attacks from a given direction. The 'Gorkas do things a bit differently. Makita and Proto work together, wandering the perimeter of the camp finding the best approaches and oversight positions for a commando team. The mines are placed in such a way as to provide an early warning (by making a conspicuous booming sound) if someone uses those approaches as much as they're placed to take out those commando squads.

The advantage of doing things this way is that it either forces the Reds to move slowly and carefully as if the entire city is a minefield, or to learn the hard way that the Mk XII is an amazing feat of death-dealing engineering. The disadvantage is that it really does turn the entire city into a sparsely-populated minefield. The 'Gorkas have priorities, though: kill all the Reds, then worry about how to make the city inhabitable.

It takes most of the morning to place nineteen mines from the case and slide the last one into Makita's backpack. While everyone else breaks for lunch, Makita and Proto meet with the squad priestess. Makita grins, "Hey, Nastya."

Nastya smiles back. Most of the older people (where "older" means being at least twenty) in papa's squad tend to do that a lot around Makita. She's sort of the adopted daughter they're all so proud of. "It has been a while, Makinoshka." She nods in greeting to Proto, "Shall we begin?" When both of the young people nod Nastya closes her eyes and begins to chant.

A floating three-dimensional map of the area wavers into view in front of them rotating slowly. It only takes a quarter of an hour for each of the placed mines to be labeled with a pulsing red dot. Nastya nods once and lets the map fade. "I'm going to link to We'll familiarize the squad with the pattern after lunch. You two go eat, I'm going to contact the Council and have this added to the master map."

It isn't until Makita and Proto join the troops eating tasteless ration bars and speaking boisterously that they realize that another group has linked up with papa's squad for the duration of the storm: a unit of Black Widows. She knows they didn't like it, but Makita pities them anyway. The Widows are composed of those who have lost the most. More than orphans, they have lost everyone they hold dear. They are the women who no longer have the ability to rebuild their families. Most have been through at least two squads as sole survivors, and losing everyone you care about three times is more than most souls can bear.

The twin lines of ash drawn down their cheeks is unsettling. Few of the Widows prioritize personal survival, they've lost too much to care anymore. Proto nods respectfully in their direction and offers the tradtional words to the dying, "We will carry on your will." Some of the women nod back, most can't find it in them to care.

And then they are past the visible reminder of the costs of war, and Makita smiles as they approach papa. Life, family, love. The Reds have taken much from her, but not everything. Not everything.

The morning dawns cold. This isn't much of a surprise. It is Bahamut, after all. The storm still howls, and the thick snow blocks any view of the sun, any view of anything farther than five meters away. Makita and Proto both ghost through the oddly shadowed whiteness. They move with the lethal silence that so quickly taught the Reds that leaving troops on the ground during a storm was a good way to get them all killed before they even knew they were under attack.
The discussion had been short: "I guess we should go find papa." To which Proto had simply nodded, "He's at the northern front. He'll need help erecting new fortifications."

So they trudge through the biting wind and freezing snow. Even during the storm they move with care: the Reds always leave a few special ops teams on the ground, hoping to catch a unit or two of the resistance slacking on security or trying to move into position for an ambush when the weather cleared. Makita and Proto have been working together long enough that they don't even need to speak to coordinate their movements.

She's faster and has quicker reflexes, she watches around the ground level for unexpected surprises. He's more experienced and has better eyes, he checks their backtrail and the upper floors of buildings for anyone following them or trying to take up a sniper position. If every so often Makita lets herself focus for a second on his face while he's watching, or if every so often Proto drifts close enough to let his fingers brush hers, it's not a serious distraction.

You can move quickly, quietly, or safely in a storm like this: pick two. Since silence and safety are their priorities, Makita and Proto move slowly. When noon arrives (heralded only by internal clocks and a sense of hunger) they are still about an hour and a half from their destination. Proto catches Makita's eye and jerks his head toward a nearby building. A little break for lunch is worth taking.

The lure of tasteless ration bars isn't really the reason for this stop, and Makita knows it. She smiles as they both duck into the foyer of an old apartment building. The old-style architecture means there aren't a lot of windows in the foyer, and that means that there aren't a lot of holes where broken glass no longer keeps out the whether. Inside the wind drops considerably and Makita shrugs off her pack.

Proto watches her, "I'm not really hungry, you know."

She grins, "Yeah, well you're going to have to eat anyway." Makita reaches into the bag and pulls out a bar wrapped in wax paper.

"That's," Proto frowns, "That's not a ration bar."

"Nope," her grin widens as she peels back the paper to reveal a dark block. She breaks off a corner and pops it in her mouth clearly savoring the flavor.

His eyes widen, "Is that...?"

Makita looks up and then leans forward to kiss him, "You tell me." When she leans back Proto's smile matches hers.

"Chocolate..." There's wonder in his voice.

"Now," she holds out a ration bar in one hand, "Eat lunch like a good boy and then I'll let you have some dessert." Makita illustrates by waving the chocolate in the other before carefully rewrapping it and sliding it into her pocket.

Proto's eyes twinkle and he reaches out and runs a finger across Makita's lower lip to snag a smear of chocolate, "Do I get to choose how I get it?"

With a grin she flicks his nose, "You're a bad boy, Proto." He just shrugs and unwraps his ration bar with a smile.

The garden is something of a miracle in Bahamut.

It isn’t really a garden, not any more, at any rate. No one has the time to keep it up; it's hard enough just staying alive. No one has the skills (Rita's pitiful window box of flowers) either; children must learn to kill not to cultivate flowers. But somehow, despite the fighting, every pane of glass that makes up the greenhouse is intact. Some of the hardier plants have survived as well, even untended, and the garden is an explosion of life in the middle of the barren city.

As always, the sight of the garden is enchanting. Makita finds herself staring at the vibrant life of it, marvelling at its tenacity. A smile creases her face as she remembers when she and Proto established it as a meeting place when they first stumbled across it.

"It's... beautiful," her voice had been full of wonder.

Proto grinned and reached out to lightly poke Makita's nose, "Just like you, pretty girl." He cocked his head and nodded decisively, "Very well, then. If you like it, it's yours." With his arms spread expansively Proto said, "I hereby declare this garden to be Makita's."

She punched him in the shoulder, "How come you get to declare who the garden belongs to, huh? I certainly don't remember you owning it. Or anything, really." Of course she was still smiling softly as her voice softened, "Though maybe... one day... one like it..."

Proto smiled back and promised, "One day... if you--"

"Hey, pretty girl, have you forgottene everything I taught you?" Memories of Proto's voice are interrupted by his actual voice and Makita spins around to see where he's leaning against a wall. "Always be aware of your surroundings. If I'd been a Red, you'd have been dead."

Heavy boots crunch in the snow as Makita stalks over to him and grabs a handfull of Proto's shirt, "C'mere." She pulls him slightly off balance so that she doesn't have to lean very far to kiss him; his hand slides up under her hat to run through her hair. Eventually they both lean back slightly, smiling and staring into one anothers' eyes. Then Makita looks around and frowns, "Where's whoever you're partnered with these days?"

"I was supposed to be working with Vadik from Lena's squad starting today, but when the storm blew in the elders decided to leave him with the squad until the Reds come back. Easier to let him work with his squad than to move him to me just to get stuck with some squad he doesn't know for the duration." Proto's grin is mock-serious, "Which means, I suppose, that it's just you and me."

"Whatever will we do?" Makita's answering grin is teasing.

"I'm sure we'll think of something."

A storm blows in the first night. Makita hasn't been given a new assignment yet, so she huddles in one of her supply caches (just off the Memorial Square) wrapped in a quilt and shivering. It's odd how quickly the body adjusts to being warm, and how poorly it reacts to being forced out into the cold again.

The truth of the matter is that Makita isn't dealing well working by herself. She is fast, quiet, and lethal, and she knows that those qualities make her an excellent scout and independent operative. But at night, in the cold and the dark when sleep eludes her, Makita knows the truth: she is afraid to be alone.

It isn't a normal sort of knowledge; she would never say that she is afraid of anything, much less loneliness. Instead, it is the sort of knowledge that lives down in the bones, the sort that you know without knowing you know. And while during the day, when fighting to stay alive, Makita can ignore it, at night she whispers the list of her dead into the darkness lest they be forgotten, and she fears that it won't be long before that list is all she has.

Makita doesn't fear being alone for the night, or for the week, or even the month. She's done each of those before, and while the month hadn't been much fun she had survived and completed her mission and returned to papa and Proto and the rest; she hadn't been afraid. The fear that coiled quietly in her gut, where it was hard to see, was that she might end up alone forever; that one day she would find that when the mission ends she has no one to return to.

When she first began whispering her list into the darkness when the war began, she would make it all the way through and repeat the names dozens of times before sleep eventually claimed her. But the list has grown so long that now she succumbs to exhaustion before she reaches the end. Sometimes she worries that she's dropped a name, that some brave soul gave their life and now lies forgotten.

Tonight she's too cold, and too miserable, and though can't acknowledge it, too scared to sleep. Dawn finds her still shivering as she whispers her way to the end of her list (Shurik) for the first time in far too long. Makita takes a deep breath and slowly lets one hand extend out from under the quilt to test the air. It's cold, but not cold enough to freeze salt water. Makita's smile is pained: she can do another thing that desperately needs doing.

A shaft of morning light cuts through a break in the storm to warm the tired little girl who lies curled in on herself as she weeps for her dead.

There's a small fire burning in the middle of the camp and there's the quiet murmuring and soft moaning that Makita finds oddly comforting. It sounds like home, despite the horror of it all. She sleeps, truly sleeps, for the first time since her squad broke up. Peaceful, restful, and ready to come awake in violence at a moment's notice. Miho's lying next to her, a few feet away, although she's not sleeping, she's looking up at the unfamiliar sky, smoking a last cigarette. Those had gotten her a few unfriendly looks, before she'd grinned and tossed packs at the hungriest stares.

She blows a lost plume of blue-ish smoke into the sky before flicking the glowing butt into the small fire, rolling over on her side, and dropping almost instantly into peaceful slumber.

Mishka's squad, like most Gorka squads in Bahamut these days, has been fighting too long with too little rest. It makes for mistakes. Dangerous mistakes. Mistakes such as letting a team of Red Kommandos surround the camp without an alarm being sounded. The arrival of the Reds is announced by a pair of Hailers opening up with their 5mm auto-cannons.

The dying is signaled by cries of pain, and Makita's already rolled over a nearby wall as she sees some trooper who's name she never caught take a fifteen round burst in the chest leaving a wheezing body on the ground. One she knows can't be saved.

Miho's almost as fast, kicking off into a gravity-defying jump that takes her nearly clear over a nearby wall, a scramble taking her to the top where she lies, spread-eagled along the crumbled top, black clothes and hair blending into the shadows. She takes a long moment to survey the field of carnage below her, quickly picking out the men with the big guns as the main threat. She can't take both of them out - but from where she is, one looks like an easier target - there are fewer men covering him - he's an awful lot less mobile, with that much metal to carry - and there's more cover between her current position, and her prey.

From where Makita looks out, the other Hailer looks like a much better target. He's not even looking in her direction. She low crawls through the rubble as fast as she dares. She knows that every second it takes her to kill him could cost a life. As she moves she runs over the battle so far, counting her dead. At least five down for the count, three of the wounded from earlier today. Twelve possible effectives, plus herself and Miho. She grins savagely, the Reds sprung their trap poorly. They don't know the area, and two Hailers isn't enough, really.

And suddenly she's on top of her target. Five meters away, and he doesn't see her. A five round burst just below his visor and he stops firing; dead before he hits the ground.

You would expect that Miho would need to get closer to her man than Makita - but that would be without factoring in the fact that she's still carrying the shuriken. She's thirty meters away when the Hailer drops, twenty when the second man drops and by the time the rest of the men have realised where the whirling blades are coming from, she's on top of them, and before the next grouping have turned to see why the big gun's have stopped firing, she's gone again, out of the attacking circle, ready to strike from behind.

Unfortunately for Miho, and for Makita, and for the remaining Gorkas, these Reds have more than one ace up their sleeves. A clear, crisp soprano voice cuts through the night air. "Range: first increment. Radius: one-zero meters. Protokol: Burst..."

There's a brief pause as Makita yells, "Witch!" It's full of hate, but it's not an insult. There's more than a hint of fear, in fact. "Get under cover!"

"... Kasting."

A tall dark-haired woman's eyes glows deep red as the power gathers around her, and there is a sudden explosion in the center of the encampment. Makita stares in horror, she isn't carrying an Protokol Piercing Rounds. And without them there's no way she's going to get through the sorceress' shields. She's simultaneously plotting a retreat route and trying to find Miho. Because Miho has no idea what they're up against.

Actually, that's not entirely true. Miho might not understand exactly what that woman is, but she knows magic when she sees it, after so long in Milliways, and she knows when her skills won't serve her. It's not in her to retreat - but neither is it in her to fight a battle she cannot win - and she can recognise those battles when she comes up against them. She swears quietly to herself, and circles the camp, outside the circle of light, heading for Makita's last position. Her friend isn't going down alone, if they have to go down.

Miho's path takes her through the darkness and past a raggedly breathing body. It's Mishka. Shrapnel from the explosion has punctured at least one lung, and Miho can recognize the sound of a sucking chest wound. This is the sort of thing that requires a trauma surgeon to fix, and those are in short supply in this war. Eyes wide and bright with shock, Mishka gasps, "Miho, is that you?"

Miho glances quickly around. Safe for a moment, at least. She drops to her knees.

"Yeah, it's me."

Mishka nods, painfully and extends a trembling hand. In it is clutched a pistol. Not the small automatics that Makita carries, but a huge unwieldy hand cannon. "Can you use this?" She doesn't wait for an answer, simply opens her hand for Miho to take the weapon. She coughs wetly, "I'm not going to make it. I... don't want them to have the satisfaction of watching me go," she manages, in a throat that bubbles with fluid.

Miho's nod in response is quick, neat. "They won't," she assures.

Of course they don't, because when, a moment later, Miho continues threading her way through the semi-dark, she leaves a body behind her. Deadly little Miho - they say you won't even feel the blade, unless she wants you to. Of course she didn't use the gun - besides the noise, that's not how a warrior deserves to go - and it was painless, her way. She'll keep the gun, though - last gifts should never be spurned.

Makita was circling back the other way, and she comes upon Miho just as she finishes with Mishka. Makita's eyes shine slightly in the moonlight, "Thanks." She looks back toward the sorceress, who is beginning to Kast again. "You ready to go? We can't get through her shields without some P.P.R. and only squad leaders, snipers, and special weapons carry it. We don't have time to search Mishka for her stash."

Miho looks down at the gun still in her hand, thoughtfully.

"Like this one?" She asks, simply. It does look different to the other guns she'd seen so far in this world.

Makita's eyes widen and she reaches out to take it. Very few people carry 12mm pistols. The round is overkill for most tasks and the recoil can break fingers. But it's also the smallest round that comes in a Protokol Piercing variant. Makita nods as she checks the gun. "One shot." It's got to count. She frowns at Miho, "Are you better with one of these than I am?"

Miho echoes the frown, cocking her head for a moment, before shaking her head at Makita. With an unfamiliar weapon, no, she's definitely not better. Makita's probably the better shot in any case, from what she's seen - Miho likes her weapons to have some kind of life to them, she just flat out doesn't like guns.

"You take it. I'll cover you."

Makita nods and takes the gun. "Let's go." And she's sprinting across the ground trying to bring down the range as the sorceress chants again.

"Range: first increment."

Thirty meters away, and the sorceress spots Makita's rushing form and turns to her.

"Radius: one-zero meters."

Miho swears - she remembers that chant from before. She skids to a halt in front of and to the side of Makita, both blades out, and grins at the woman in front of them. Nothing is getting to Makita before she fires that round - it would have to go through her, first, and that? That isn't happening.

The sudden appearance of a small woman with swords startles the sorceress. She blinks, puzzled, trying to figure out what is going on. And that split-second of hesitation is enough. Makita raises the pistol in a sure, two-handed grip and fires.

As the shot cracks out, the sorceress shakes off her confusion and calls out, "Shields." A complex spinning wall of red energy crackles into place in front of her and she smiles, confident that she's in no danger. Her face briefly holds an expression of surprise as the bullet punches through the shields like they weren't even there and strikes the bridge of her nose. After which she has no expression at all.

Makita lowers the pistol to her side panting, and looks around. Tears flow slowly and silently down her face as she realizes that she's going to have to report Mishka's squad lost to the last man, woman, and child. Miho bites her lip, and slowly puts an arm around Makita's shoulders. She won't have to make that report alone.

The days since the fight have passed mostly in quiet. Makita has shown Miho the lay of the land, and they've swept the entire area twice while Makita waits for new orders from the Elders. No more Red incursions have been detected, so the Elders have them en route to the Perestroika district. It's more ruined than most due to a combination of heavier focus from the Reds during bombardment and the sub-standard materials used in construction.

There's no hurry, the Perestroika district has a number of squads permanently assigned to it so the chances of the Reds sneaking in are small. Makita walks with the alertness that is so much a part of her in a warzone, constantly watching for possible ambushes and for signs of enemies in the area. It's been... easier with someone to watch her back. She's gotten some real sleep and she doesn't feel like her stomach is always tied in knots.

Miho, on the other hand, whether because she has less invested in this world, or because of her basic mind-set, has been having... fun. She's useful, and appreciated, and it's so good to get away from places where something is expected of her - something other than simply being what she is and doing what she's good at. So, whilst she's no less on her guard than Makita, she does walk with a near-constant smile.

Makita has noticed how much fun Miho is having, and the truth is it scares her just a bit. But she shrugs it off, Miho fights well, and besides, Makita's been known to enjoy killing Reds herself. The comlink crackles, "Makita, what's your status?"

"I'm twenty-five minutes out."

"Step it up. Anton's squad is engaged with what looks to be a Red platoon. We've got Mishka's squad coming in from the north, but we need someone to pin them from the east. That's you. Find a place to dig in."

"On the way." Makita considers the area and picks out an ambush site from memory, "I should be in place in seven minutes." She looks to Miho and jerks her head, "C'mon. We've got somewhere to be." She shifts pace into a ground-eating run, sure that Miho can keep up.

Miho nods, and follows her, threading her way easily through the rubble-strewn streets. Seven minutes - that's a little over a mile, at this speed. Their destination is little different from any of the other partially torn-down buildings they've been passing for the last few days - with a few neat little exceptions. Some of the walls have been neatly patched, although from the street side they look as ramshackle as any of the others. There are lumps of masonry that just happen to have ended up in the perfect place to provide cover, and perfect rat-runs from one spot to another, well out of view. It could have been built for ambush.

Miho looks the courtyard over - that's where they are, in what looks like the central well of an old residential building - and gives a slow, approving nod. This'll do.

Makita smiles at the nod and makes a mental note to thank Proto properly. This is one of the better setups he's put together for her. The Reds are strung out, trying to break contact with Anton's squad to the south in order to hole up somewhere. The savage smile on Makita's face is rather similar to the one Miho often wears: a lot of people are about to die.

Makita steps through the door into the only room in the building with four walls still standing. There's a small hole in the floor leading to the old lobby below. In one corner there is a stack of ammo and ration bars.

The room is checked carefully, to make sure that nothing has been disturbed. Satisfied that no one has been in here since she left, Makita turns to see if Miho followed her through. She has, having had no trouble with Bar over the use of someone else's door, and is standing a few feet into the room, looking about curiously. She'd had no idea what to expect, so she is neither relieved nor disappointed by the surroundings. If anything, it reminds her of some of the more run-down parts of Basin City, where the buildings had simply been left to rot.

She stands easily, although alert, waiting for instruction. This is Makita's turf - she's in charge.

Makita nods at Miho and picks up a small communicator from the pile of gear in order to check the time. It's the same time as when she left, which means command will expect her to grab at least a couple hours of sleep. That should give her plenty of time to give Miho a quick briefing.

"We're in Bahamut, capital city of Nogorka. When the Reds invaded, they destroyed all the city's infrastructure, so we don't have water or anything, and we only have power where we can keep generators running. We've been fighting, and dying ever since." She frowns, having no visual aids may make this a bit more difficult. "The standard Red trooper wears light armor and carries a Hook." There's not a good way to describe Hooks, so she'll wait until Miho can see one in action.

"You can engage a Hook at close range without any problems. The ones you'll need to be worried about are the Hailers. They carry 5mm autocannons, the farther away from them you are, the better." A moment of thought and then, "Sometimes the Reds drop Krawls into a combat zone. You'll hear them coming, they're big and armored." She tilts her head, "I don't think anyone will ask about you, though I will need a name if I'm going to tell them we're together." Makita sits back to see if Miho has any questions.

She doesn't, at least, nothing that won't be answered within the first split second of combat. Makita had a question for her, though, and one that really deserved an answer. After all, it would hardly be useful if she failed to respond because she'd forgotten what name she was supposed to be using. There are times when words are still useful, it would seem.

"It's Miho," she says, quietly, voice a little rusty. "Although if that's too. . . anachronistic here, suggest something else."

Makita grins, "'Miho' works.

"I'm currently assigned as an independent operator for the Elders. Mostly I do recon, but I get called in to assist teams that are pinned down or to hit encroaching squads from the side." Makita grins, "I haven't been getting much sleep, but with you around maybe I can afford to sleep some."

Miho nods. Just because she gave her name, doesn't mean she's about to start talking - but perhaps the odd thing might come out. If it's really worth saying. Perhaps. Her eyes flick to the hole in the floor, and she looks back at Makita, lifting an eyebrow. What's the plan?

Makita follows Miho's gaze, and grins. "We've still got a couple of hours before they'll call on me for anything. We're in the middle of the old industrial sector now. It's generally considered to be under our control, so we don't have a lot of forces here, which is why we do routine recon sweeps. C'mon, I'll show you around."

And with that she walks over to the hole, pokes her head through, and then drops through to the floor below. Miho follows, after a moment, dropping neatly and noiselessly onto the ground. Rubber-soled boots and perfect balance make silence easy.

Makita is quiet, but not silent. The lobby they are standing in is covered in snow that has blown in through the holes in the front wall. Makita leads the way across the street to a high-rise with an in-tact fire escape and begins climbing. The view from the top should provide them with a clear idea of what most of the area looks like.

Miho is used to being on the roofs - she prefers it. She likes to take her time, pick her moment - and where better to do that when you're high above the action. Man might be a highly evolved creature, but we have never really come down from the treetops. Danger comes from below, or on the same plane - not from above. Man rarely looks up. So, she has no qualms about following Makita up the fire escape - she's happy to be above the streets.

Once on the roof, Makita begins pointing out areas of interest. The old battery factory, the Protokol shell plant, the park... Makita frowns, there's something about the park. She pulls up a pair of field glasses and scowls, "There's a Red squad setting up in the park. Looks like mortars." She's already planning her route from the roof to the park as she turns to Miho, "You ready for a little mayhem?"

The little samurai nods, grinning. She's always ready for a little fun and games - Makita will get to know this, soon enough. For now, though, she's still following the younger girl's lead. Makita knows what's going on, after all. Makita leads the way down, approaching the park from a direction that'll put a wall between them and the Reds.

The fight in the park drops the squad below half strength. A few weeks ago there were thirteen teenagers and a pair of twelve year olds with birthdays approaching ready to defend their people. Six of them are still alive.

The Elders have disbanded the unit. Timosha, unable to run with his limp, has been ordered to the rear to handle communications. Klara, Boris, Nina, and the machine gun are transferred over to Mishka's squad, bringing them up to a respectably understrength dozen. Dushka is now on one of the heavy Krawl-busting gun crews, for which Makita is grateful: his life expectancy is now measured in months rather than weeks.

Makita herself is now assigned to the Elders' recon forces. She operates alone, wandering the city looking for new Red gates and camps, being sent in to flank pinned down squads, called on to reinforce units under fire.

Being relatively independent, Makita manages to make more time to see Proto. It is a reminder that even amidst all the death of the war life is still worth living, worth fighting for. They walk the streets of Bahamut talking of the future they both dream of. Sometimes she sits and listens as he talks of all those he's lost. Sometimes he holds her when she can't keep the tears back. They talk, they laugh, they cry, they love, but there is never enough time. They both have a war to fight and they swirl together when they can and then apart again like two leaves rushing down a river.

That night Makita arranges to keep watch with Dushka. There are still Reds out there, and since the disastrous birthday incident the squad has been especially vigilant, determined that they won't be surprised again. She's sat watches with Dushka before, and usually they are spent in silence, both of them lost in the same memories. Tonight is different.

She sits down beside him with a sigh, her voice is quiet, "Hey, Dushka." He slowly turns to look at her, his eyes watering at the memories that haunt them both. She reaches into her pocket, "I've got something for you. A birthday present."

He has lost so much, but he's still only thirteen. A hopeful look slips in behind the tears. "Birthday candles?" She had promised after all.

A slight grin settles onto her face, "Not yet, but I got you something for while you wait." Her hand comes out of her pocket and she holds out a block tightly wrapped in wax paper.

"What is it?" He looks at the wax paper curiously.

The grin widens just a bit, "A surprise. Go ahead and open it."

Curiosity clear on his face, Dushka takes the wax paper-wrapped package and tears into it. He examines the dark block revealed. "What is it? Some sort of ration bar or something?"

"Well, it's something like that. It's called 'chocolate'. It tastes a bit different from our regular ration bars. Try a piece."

He obediently breaks off a corner and bites into it. A sudden look of wonder fills his eyes, "This is... amazing. Delicious. I bet Katya--." He stops as sudden tears fills his eyes and his throat begins to close. The joy of something as sweet as chocolate and imagining the way Katya's face would have mirrored his own combine to make him cry. Joy and loss mingle in the tears running down his cheeks.

Makita just reaches out and hugs him close, her own tears answering his. "I know, Dushka. I know. I still miss her too..."

Dushka is still on the left flank. Pinned down, but under cover. Old Katarina (the only Katarina now that Katya's gone) has the right flank under control. Boris and Nina are setting up the machine gun on the second floor of the old flower shop.

But the Reds are armed too, and they're shooting back. Timosha takes a round through the left leg. When Rita rushes forward to drag him into cover the dying starts; the bullets rip through her face, mangling the cheekbones that everyone admired. On the right a grenade leaves the squad without any Katarinas.

"Vanya, we need those mortars and we need them now!"

"Already on the way, Maki. You should hear them now."

Boris has the machine gun in action now. Its steady fire takes on the rhythm of the battle itself. And, distantly at first, but growing louder, the whistle of incoming mortar shells.

The Reds can hear them too. There's no overhead cover in the park. Anyone still there in fifteen seconds is going to be dead. With Dushka and Klara on the left, and with Boris and Nina covering them, there's no chance for the Reds to break out on that side. But Katarina, Timosha, and Rita are all down, and that means there's a chance that the Reds could push through and get into the buildings on the right.

She's running, sprinting for the position Old Katarina was holding. And there they are, five Reds, trying to make it across the street into cover. Another few seconds and they'll have it, too. So she doesn't give them those seconds.

Guns are terrible weapons, but never more terrible than when they come unexpectedly. Three of the Reds are down by the time the other two can figure out where the fire is coming from. The fourth goes down while they try to turn their weapons to meet the new threat.

A pair of pistols steam in the cold air and click empty just as she barrels into the last one and they both go down in a tangle. He's bigger, almost twice her size, but the outcome is decided before they hit the ground. She's smaller than him, and weaker, but she hates. The fall leaves him dazed just long enough for her to draw the knife from his belt.

The first strike (for Timosha) is in the gut. There is a yell as he explosively exhales, and then a panicked wheeze as he discovers that he can't catch his breath.

The second strike (for Rita) is across the inside of the thigh. Arterial blood begins pooling on the ground, and his eyes begin to glaze over.

The third strike (for Old Katarina) is in the eye. In under the angle of his faceplate and into the brain. His body stills as he leaves the war in Bahamut in the only way possible.

The fourth strike (for Katya), the fifth (for Sergei), the sixth (for Dmitri), the seventh (for Lara), the eighth (for Olga), the ninth (for Oleg), and the tenth (for Lana and marik and Misha and filya and....). Each of them unnecessary. Each of them utterly necessary.

And the mortars fall. And the Reds die. And Makita sits on top of a cooling corpse spattered with blood and weeps for her dead as she has done so many times before.

And as she has done so many times before, she takes a deep breath, dries her eyes on her sleeve, and stands up. She starts to walk away, back to her squad, but pauses to kneel and pull the warm fur hat from the dead man's head.

She promised Stephanie that she would get her one.