The costs of war
Jul. 9th, 2007 11:12 amThe 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 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.