“There is no such thing as closure for soldiers who have survived a war. They have an obligation, a sacred duty, to remember those who fell in battle beside them all their days and to bear witness to the insanity that is war.”

― Harold G. Moore, We Are Soldiers Still: A Journey Back to the Battlefields of Vietnam

“Brigade has sent their S2 to assess the situation. Should be their way out here now,” Cpt. Armor reported, leaving the bullet-ravaged building where the CP had been erected. “Apparently the entire invasion force has been finding a lot of them since we started moving.”

“Sergeant. You touched nothing when you were in there, correct?” First Sergeant asked of Marc.

“Nothing. I can still smell the place, touching anything would have made it worse,” Marc answered. His flesh still crawled as though the maggots and flies that swarmed those corpses had settled upon him.

“Good. Last thing we need is for some random shit to be fucked up now.”

The Troop had taken residency in the town square just outside the city hall, much of the building’s entrance now having been converted into a fortified shelter. The few dead they carried, and whoever had been injured, were now tucked safely inside and far from prying eyes. As the afternoon pressed on and the sky began to become tinged with orange and pink, the leaders among the Troop had completed their duties before converging back on the square where Cpt. Armor had taken residency.

“Alright, Sergeant Mac is filtering through those that surrendered now, we’ve got them holed up in the nearby house here,” Cpt. Armor said, gesturing to the building behind him. “Family’s missing. My guess is they’re down in the cellar you found.”

“What are we hoping to find in the POW’s?” Marc asked.

“The one responsible for it,” Cpt. Armor replied. “And maybe a reason why. We’ve come across Chambers before, but that’s the fourth in the span of a few hours, and those are only the ones our Brigade has come across. I want to know if there’s a reason behind why we’re finding so many.”

“What about him?” Mac asked, nodding towards the town official sitting in his misery nearby. “Does he know anything?”
“Only that it happened. Doesn’t know why,” Cpt. Armor answered, unable to keep the disgust free from his voice. “Odds are he just tried to comply and let it happen so he could save his own skin.”

“Fucking Gyps,” Mac muttered under his breath.

The square had become a hive of activity since the Troop had commandeered it, the soldiers having formed a defensive line at all entrances into the town. With half stationed at the town outskirts, those that were not at full combat power had been quietly diverted into the city center, where the wounded were treated and those still capable of fighting began repairs. Marc, out of the corner of his eye, saw Rumble beginning to argue with Bright who stood atop the turret, the two being tasked with assessing the damage their Humvee had suffered. Their drive into the square had been more sluggish than Marc would have liked, and he feared that a critical component had been injured.

“Sir, do we even know what they were doing here?” Lt. Sentry asked, the young officer having been unusually quiet throughout the entire operation. “It looks like it was a supply line, or a sort of refueling checkpoint. What brought them here?”

The question remained unspoken, but the burning curiosity in his voice was undeniable. Marc felt his body tense instinctively, wondering if perhaps they had indeed found something worth looking into. If maybe, just maybe, Discord was here, then they would be responsible for the apprehension of the most wanted man in the world.

“If you’re asking whether or not Discord is here, the answer is no,” Cpt. Armor answered with a shake of his head. “I searched through all the POW’s, he’s not here. But there is definitely evidence that someone important was here, and not very long ago. If it was Discord, then we would have just missed him by maybe a day or two. I’m sorry, gentlemen. He’s not here.”

An unbidden, unwelcome collected sigh of disappointment coursed through the group of battle-weary Cavalrymen, the tension that had settled among them fading away and being replaced by a cold, dispirited unhappiness.

“Who’s on guard for 1st Platoon right now?” First Sergeant asked.

“Sergeant Fouk’s up in the northeast entrance in, Top,” Mac answered. “He’s made through pretty well. I’ll have Reyes replace him in about an hour.”

“Good. And second, sir?”

Lt. Sentry gave a sigh. With his Platoon Sergeant gone, all duties of leadership had fallen to him until the new chain of command could be properly implemented. With too much to do and more ground to cover than they had anticipated, security had become a genuine issue. “I’ve got Sergeant Caster out the way right now. He got clipped clearing a house earlier but he was asking for the position nevertheless. I’ll keep them rotating in and out so the guys can get some rest.”

“How’re we doing on ammo?” Cpt. Armor asked of them. “I’ll need to give a report to Squadron in an hour or two, if you need any then now’s the time.”

“First Platoon is amber right now, sir,” Marc answered, having been tasked with gaining the information by Big Mac some time ago. “I’m still green on 50 .cal ammo, but Bright’s gun got struck, I don’t think it’ll fire. Sergeant Tran says he’s still green, Sergeant Mac is amber, and so are both Sergeant Fouk and Sergeant Gael. Sergeant Mendez’s ammunition is gonna get distributed through the rest of the platoon since his crew will be down for a while.”

“Good. Keep getting reports from all of them, and make sure to keep the guard rotating throughout the day and into the night. We might be secure, but this is still enemy territory. They’ll be vicious now since they’ve no place to run and hide anymore.”

The leaders continued to pore over details and recount over the battle. Everything that was considered worthy of remembrance was summoned forth, every fallen enemy to be counted and checked to see if they still yet lived. The worst was over, but much still remained to be done. Marc tried to convince himself that they would be here in this town for some time- perhaps he could find a good shower and a genuine bed somewhere here- but he could not fully swayed. Their mission may yet have them pushing out into the hills before too long. Stifling a yawn, he forced himself to pay attention to the conversation and ignore his weariness. It would be a long time before he slept properly again.

As he stood there, Marc felt the presence of another person standing behind him. He turned about to see Featherweight standing there behind him, his body at parade rest.

“Knock it off! You don’t know who’s watching!” Marc hissed, instinctively ducking in fear of an enemy’s unfired rifle.

“But you’re a Sergeant-”

“This is the field, Featherweight. Salutes and all that crap don’t matter out here. You don’t display rank for a reason. Now what’s up?”

“Bright sent me, Sergeant. He said they found some damage under the hood.”

His fears were confirmed. “Did he say what was hit?” Marc asked.

“He said a belt was damaged, and part of the fuel line had been severed, though he didn’t say where.”

Marc groaned. He had been made immobile by poor luck. “Great. Great,” he muttered. “Wait here just a minute.” The young NCO turned back to the discussion, leaning over to Big Mac and whispering in his ear. “Bright’s saying the vic was hit pretty bad. I’m gonna go take a look and see if it’s as bad as he says. I might not be moving for a while.”

Mac swore under his breath. “See if the parts can be replaced and I’ll let CO know so we can get someone from FSC up here to look at it.”

“Too easy.” Marc turned back to his bright-eyed dismount, giving a sigh as he shook himself. “Alright… let’s take a look at this crap.”

The two men began their walk over to the damaged vehicle, Marc already able to hear Bright’s curse-laden vitriol even from a distance, watching as both he and Rumble were waist-deep beneath the hood. As he walked, Marc thought he could hear the faint whine of an engine roaring and growing ever stronger, a sound far too powerful for a Humvee engine to emit-

“Incoming!”

A wall burst and the house clattered in a crash of mortar, wood, and brick as the dominating hull of a T14 crashed through the building and into the square, its gun flared and zeroing in on the nearby group of targets-

“Scatter! Move, move, move!” The square was frenzied with soldiers running to and fro, some leaping for cover while others rushed to their vehicles in an effort to drive out of sight and range of the titanic vehicle-

“Holy shit!”

Marc felt a cold flash of terror as the tank’s gun went immobile, preparing to fire-

“Get down!” he leapt atop Featherweight and crashed them both to the ground as the thunderous, all-powerful Boom! of the main cannon reverberated through the square like a shockwave, the round careening through the sky and connecting with Sergeant Deiter’s Bradley, tearing through the hull and into the turret, detonating with violent force and killing the vehicle just as it had begun to come alive. The sputter of the engine fading could be heard as flames and smoke licked at the sky from within, shards of metal and fiery patches fell to the earth like a demonic snowfall-

“Move! Spread out, get out of sight!” Their main source of heavy firepower eliminated, the outgunned Cavalrymen were desperate to keep out of sight, the T14 now dominating the battlefield unchallenged-

Marc shoved Featherweight into a nearby house, shoving the soldier into the door and sending him crashing through, hoping that the young man would have the sense to keep out of sight-

Out of the corner of his eye, Marc saw Bright yelling at Rumble, the Driver in the back of the Humvee where he searched for their Javelin, perhaps the only weapon that could punch through the tank’s unyielding hull-

The T14’s turret swiveled at the sight and zeroed in on the two men. Bright held a look of horror on his face as he realized what was about to come, attempting to leap down from the turret and run into the nearby alley and possibly escape his fate-

It happened in an instant. The enemy tank fired and the shell detonated on contact, the Humvee erupting in a fiery column of shattered metal and gasoline, the once-powerful war machine turned into a scorched hull that breathed smoke and shrapnel into the air. Bright and Rumble disappeared in the flash of fire and wrath, all traces of their existence wiped away with the firing of a single round-

Marc’s words were stolen from him as an all-consuming horror fell upon him with the force of a bomb. His soldiers, his responsibility, both of them dead and gone in the span of a single instant-

The tank wheeled through the square, its gun searching for any potential targets that could be found. This sole, last defense the Iron Guard could muster against them had overpowered its foe in only a few heartbeats and now was free to roam unchallenged-

“Sergeant, what the hell was that?” Featherweight asked, his voice nearing a shriek.

Marc crashed down beside him, huddling against the wall and out of sight as the sight of fire consuming Bright and Rumble clouded his vision. There hadn’t been time for them to feel pain, no time for them to scream and shout aloud in agony. A simple, bright flash of fire and all was done, gone and blown away into a billion tiny pieces of torched flesh-

“Bright and Rumble just got hit,” Marc said, willing himself to stay calm and collected. With all the courage he could muster, he peered out into the square and searched for signs of life. Had Cpt. Armor and the others managed to escape? He could see a spare few bodies splayed out in the courtyard but were too far away to identify-

“They’re dead?” Featherweight sounded as though he were on the verge of panic.

“Yes! Now shut up, I need you to stay calm. We’re going to have to go back out there and see if we can find the Commander,” Marc said. “That tank is about to start moving through the streets, soon as it does we run to the city hall and see who we can find.”

“Sergeant, are Bright and Rumble-”

“Yes! And we’ve got to find a way to stop this from getting worse!” Marc roared. He settled himself beside the broken door, peering outside and waiting for their moment. The T14 was almost out of sight, slowing moving its way southward towards where Second Platoon had retreated. “Get ready- now!”

The courtyard had become unnervingly void of activity, only the burning wreckage of what had been his Humvee filling the silence. Marc willed himself to not look over, lest he see the broken corpse of one that he once called his soldier, forcing his eyes to focus upon the building ahead. He stumbled over a bloodied body that had been nearly severed at the waist and he saw First Sergeant Iron Will had been hit, much of his lower jaw now missing-

As soon as he made it through the door, a powerful pair of hands gripped at his armor and threw him against the wall-

“Reyes! Jesus, what the hell!” Mac released his friend and watched as Featherweight came racing in behind him-

“Is the CO here?” Marc asked.

“Right here. Reyes, I need your help,” Cpt. Armor said, kneeling beside his Driver, Private Kelly, with a radio at his fingertips. “I’ve got a bird on its way but I’ve got to get smoke on the damn thing to make sure they spot it. Where is it now?”

“Heading south towards Second’s barricade-”

“Shit. If it gets mixed in with our own guys- come on, we need to slow it down!” Before anyone could stop him, Cpt. Armor had crashed through the door and out into the street, leaving his stunned soldiers gawking before they, too, ran back out into the fray.

Marc could still hear the strong roar of the tank’s turbine engine as they ran down the streets, the sound growing ever louder as they approached their target. His heart was pounding from both exhaustion and terror as one small mistake could prove to be fatal yet again-

The turret came into view and the secondary turret swung about to cover them, the Kord machine gun narrowing down its intended target-

“Scatter!” Cpt. Armor’s command came just in time as the men flung themselves out of sight, a spattering of rounds peppering the ground where they had just stood-

Marc rushed through the small home where he had taken cover, leaping out through the back door and running down the compact alleyway, searching for a way to get behind the vehicle. The machine’s defense systems would activate if he fired upon it, perhaps he could keep the machine occupied elsewhere-

The colossal hull of the machine roared out before him as Marc darted out of the alleyway, barely missing being crushed by the treads, his breath stolen away as he flung himself across the road and out of sight-

Boom! the T14 fired point-blank, a devastating 125mm round barreling through the walls of the home and Marc flung himself to the ground, watching as the shell punched a hole through the entire building, detonating somewhere just outside. Marc, now covered in a mixture of debris and dust, slowly raised his head from the floor, hardly daring to believe that he had somehow survived by some miraculous-

The sound of treads coming forward and Marc knew he had been discovered. He thrust himself forward and away, bracing for the impact when the tank again found its target-

A series of small Pops! Met his ears as someone opened fire on the steel beast, the turret swinging about and focusing on its aggressor. Marc rushed for safety, knowing he likely had seconds before their attention was again diverted-

A second thunderous Boom! reverberated through the haze of smoke and dust as the T14 fired yet again, at who Marc could only guess. Against all instinct he peered back out into the street to see the tank still moving steadily southward towards Second Platoon’s location-

A hand slapped his shoulder and Marc leapt away, suddenly finding Cpt. Armor standing behind, the field radio nestled in a bag that hung across his shoulders. “I thought you were done for,” he breathed.

“So did I.”

“Bird’s gonna be here soon, can you land a smoke grenade on top of the damn thing if need be?”

“I can if we need to.”

The handmike came alive with chatter and Cpt. Armor held it up to his ear. “He’s got the place in sight. Come on!”

The two men rushed out into the open and down into the street where the T14 dominated, the secondary turret firing upon a pair of fleeing 2nd Platoon soldiers and making its mark, the bullets scoring through their flesh like a knife through butter-

The scream of an engine overhead and Marc dared to tear his attention from the iron colossus ahead of him. What was only a pinprick suddenly became a monstrous bird of prey as the twin-engine roar of an A-10 rushed overhead, the sound eliciting cheers from across the city as the besieged soldiers saw their salvation flying-

The tank immediately came to a screeching halt and diverted course, trying to burrow its way into a nearby house where it could get out of sight of the more maneuverable Warthog-

“Don’t let it get to cover!” Cpt. Armor roared-

Marc pressed forward and took aim at the T14, peppering the hull with rounds from his M4 in a desperate attempt to keep it occupied-

The turret swung out wildly, crashing through the upper floor of the surrounding buildings and centered on its antagonist, the hull still pressing through the nearest structure in the hopes of hiding-

“Smoke out!” A Click! and a canister careened through the air, a thin wisp of green filtering out into the acrid air-

The roar of the A-10 overhead grew ever louder and the metallic dragon crept closer to the earth, pulling a wide turn as it centered itself on its prey-

“Everyone get clear!” Marc roared, throwing himself into the corner between two houses as the fiery whine of the Warthog’s gatling gun came to life and opened fire. Sparks and wreckage flew into the air as the unpleasant shriek of gunfire on metal crashed in their ears, the T14 unable to fully conceal itself from the flying machine’s unrelenting barrage-

The unsteady hum of the tank’s engine continued to press on and echo through the streets, the vehicle made unsteady but still pressing on, not yet willing to fall in battle-

“OH COME ON!” Marc roared, watching as what remained of the T14’s cover slid off the hull in a haphazard mix of brick and mortar, the machine riddled with bullet holes but still functioning. The secondary turret was destroyed, now only a small hole in the main turret, but the integrity of the hull remained somewhat intact, the front of the vehicle able to withstand the heavy barrage-

The A-10 tore across the skies and prepared its secondary approach, diverting its flight path so as to intercept the target from behind-

The T14 pressed forward and slid out from cover, shakily breaking through out into the open and coming to a halt a few yards away, the turret wheeling about as it tracked the Warthog’s flight path-

Marc felt his blood chill. It was a risky gambit, but the tank crew was trying to line up a kill shot on the bird overhead. If somehow, by pure luck they managed to score a hit, the entire Troop wouldn’t be able to survive the aftermath-

He aimed his weapon and felt something jam. He screamed, tossing his rifle aside and firing wildly with his sidearm, scoring a series of hits along the rear of the vehicle-

The tank turret, its defense systems automatically activated, swiveled from its intended target and took aim at Marc-

A furious buzz of bulletfire raked across the tank’s hull and cut through the softer portion of the hull with ease, round after round eating through steel and devastating the interior, filling the world with sparks and heat and the unmistakable stench of spilled blood. The constant hum of the tank’s engine sputtered and began to die, the sound and smell of flames burning from within meeting those who still stood. The A-10 circled overhead, as though gloating over its kill, before screaming off into the distance and out of sight, likely bidden to further operations elsewhere.

Marc’s breath came in short, uneven gasps as he stared wide-eyed at the now smoldering hull, praying that the machine would not find the will to resurrect itself. He listened for a sound of movement, any sign of life from within, but his ears were only met by the hungering licks of flame that consumed all, their tongues filtering through the bullet holes and prying at the open air. If there had been anything left alive in the machine when it had been conquered, the destruction now being wrought inside it would be more than enough to finish them off. He gave a long, weary sigh of relief and the pounding in his chest began to finally relent.

“Reyes! Jesus fuck, you alright?” Marc turned to see Mac and Cpt. Armor rushing towards him with Featherweight close behind. “What the fuck were you thinking, you dumbass? They had you!”

Marc pushed himself into a sitting position, the adrenaline that had raced through his blood now ebbing away and leaving his body shaking. “I thought they were trying to line up a shot,” he said, “So I tried to stop them.”

“No goddamn fear,” Mac said, helping his friend to his feet, though Marc remained shaky. “You get hurt?”

The younger NCO shook his head and peered over at his soldier, who seemed to be holding his arm tightly against his side. “Featherweight, did you get hit?”

The shell-shocked soldier shook his head before transitioning to a nod. “I got clipped by something, Sergeant. I’ll be alright.”

The four men stood there for a time, simply unable to truly comprehend what had just transpired. Slowly, surely, until it all came crashing onto them, the reality of their situation finally came into play as the unmistakable cry echoed through the air: “Medic!”

“Oh shit,” Cpt. Armor whispered. “Mac, Reyes, get moving! Featherweight you’re with me, we need to get medevacs called in.” The group split apart and filtered out into the aftermath, seeking out the wounded before it would become too late, and finding the damage had already been done.

“That’s fifteen so far,” Cpt. Armor muttered.

“Sir?” Marc asked.

The two men had returned back to the city hall with all the dead and wounded they could find, the air soon becoming a nauseating mixture of blood and bile as the number of casualties continue to mount. Additional help had been brought in as most of the Squadron’s Medic platoon had been stationed in Sighisoara to help with the overflow of injured, but still most present were exhausted.

“Fifteen KIA,” Cpt. Armor explained. “And twenty-nine wounded. Sergeant Nye, First Sergeant… Knight Troop got hit hard.”

“Where did that thing come from? It couldn’t have been waiting for us,” Marc mused.

“I don’t think so. This whole city was being used as a supply area, tons of fuel here too. Most likely they were just coming back from operations for a resupply and found us instead. Squadron is going to set up the TOC here, so I’ll see what info I can get from the SCO on the matter.” Cpt. Armor looked down at the NCO. “You good?”

Marc felt a tremor eager to run through him but he resisted the sensation for a moment longer. “Gotta check my vic, see what survived,” he said flatly. In truth, he had busied himself elsewhere with whatever distractions he could manage before the blunt truth began to stand before him like a grim specter: it was his vehicle, they had been his responsibility. If anyone was to see if their bodies had somehow survived, it would have to be him.

Cpt. Armor seemed to understand the man’s hesitancy. “Do you want me to get you some help?”

“I’d rather do it myself,” Marc said in a voice that did not sound like his own. Bright’s wry smile flickered before his eyes-

The smoke still filtered out of the wrecked hull of the Humvee as he approached it, Marc holding his breath for fear of breathing in their ashes. The tank had struck it perfectly, scoring a direct hit right on the engine. The fuel must have detonated instantly and blown the vehicle sky-high. Now nothing more than an amalgamation of metal and scorched rubber, all that had remained in the vehicle –or nearby it- was gone. Most of Marc’s gear, left stowed in the trunk, was no more, and what little he still possessed now remained in the assault pack that lay across his back.

Marc felt the hesitation and sighed. He was desperately conjuring reasons to delay the inevitable, a way to not do what he must. Steadying himself, he pushed forward and began to feel his way through the wreckage, pushing aside shattered pieces of the hull-

“Can I help, Sergeant?” Marc jumped and looked back to see Featherweight standing a short distance away, a thick bandage now tied around his arm.

“Go back to the CP, Featherweight,” Marc ordered. He was young, he didn’t have to see what could possibly be found beneath all this.

“He was my friend, Sergeant.” Marc saw the haunted look in his eyes. Though the shell-shock had worn off, the brutal, unrelenting reality had settled upon the young soldier like an unbearable weight, driving him to find some way to cope; perhaps even a need to see it done had settled upon him.

“… Start helping,” Marc said quietly, and the two pushed through the wreckage, tossing aside battered metal and broken glass, sifting through ash and soot until Marc felt something solid in his hands that was neither metal nor rubber but instead the sensation of flesh. He sighed, gently pushing a torched piece of the turret aside to find Bright dead beneath it, his skin burnt irreversibly black until only the bone remained. Most of his lower body was gone, likely crushed when the vehicle had been flung by the resulting detonation, leaving little more than a charred, nigh unrecognizable torso that seemed to weigh far too little. Bright had once stood tall, a skinny, vibrant man who had towered over Marc, but had trusted his leader with his very life. Now, he was small, lifeless and barely recognizable as a human being.

“Sergeant, I think I found him,” Featherweight said in a small voice, struggling to lift a large piece of what looked like the top of the vehicle. Marc moved over and the two gave a heave to toss it out of the way, a small, violently mutilated figure that had once been Rumble lying underneath it. His left arm was missing all the way up to the shoulder, with a good chunk of the left side of his face having caved in under the weight of steel upon his bones. Little remained of him, he likely having been nearer to the explosion than Bright had been, only a portion of his body still remaining to be recovered. Bright had been confident to the point of arrogance, believing himself invulnerable. He had joined against his brother’s wishes and desperately hoped to prove himself- and he had accomplished both. Marc remembered how Thunderlane had worried over his younger brother, fearing for his life. Somehow, somewhere, he would be receiving the news that he had lost the only member of his family he’d ever known.

Marc bent to pick up what remained of Rumble, but Featherweight leaned in and cradled the body of his friend, every inch of his tiny body trembling with the willpower that kept him from falling into his grief.

“You don’t have to do that,” Marc said.

“He was my friend, Sergeant,” Featherweight said, his voice shaky but nevertheless determined. Steadily as he could manage, the young soldier carried the body of his dead friend towards the city hall where a body bag would be waiting for him. As Marc watched him go, he saw the gentleness with which the young man held the body that had once been his brother in arms, and within that last act lay all the feeling and camaraderie they had ever known.

God, I love these soldiers, Marc thought. He took a breath and took Bright in his arms, hoping that his tears would hold on until he could hide himself from the sight of others, where strength would no longer be needed.

Before sundown the restructuring of the Troop had been completed. Now the senior NCO in the Troop, Big Mac would become acting First Sergeant until a suitable replacement became available, with Staff Sergeant Rankin taking the place of Sergeant Nye for Second Platoon. Marc filled the void that Big Mac had left behind, now responsible for the forty soldiers of First Platoon that remained intact. Six of his platoonmates had been killed in the melee, and approximately eight injured, Second Platoon suffering a far worse fate as the Imperial T14 had roamed directly into their blockade. For now, the Troop had been put on security detail in Sighisoara to allow the lesser casualties time to recover and rejoin the fight, therefore putting the Troop back in combat-ready status. The rest of the Squadron would continue to push north, snuffing out the supply line that appeared to head into the former Russian territories, and pray that Discord would be found in the meantime.

Marc found himself unable to sleep that night, the frenzy of the afternoon unwilling to grant him reprieve. Though he had found an empty room in city hall, and a bed in a nearby house that he had acquired, the comfort and warmth of his surroundings only mocked him. He was alive, and the very air he breathed seemed too perfect. It was wrong.

He gave a groan and flung himself to a sitting position, trying to do his best not to wake the other soldiers that shared his quarters. As silently as he could manage, he slipped on his boots and gear, grabbing his weapon before heading towards the door and making his way to the main entrance of the building. As he peered towards the light that filtered in through the barely open door, he saw the silhouette of an armed figure nearby-

The figure gave a gasp and seemed to move in his direction, Marc knowing he had surprised the man-

“I know nothing,” he said calmly, continuing to move forward.

“But you’re not Jon Snow,” the figure replied, the voice revealing itself to be Sergeant Tran. “What’s up, Sergeant?”

“Just checking things. How long you been on?”

“About an hour now. Place only just now stopped buzzing, most of HHT is in the basement keeping tabs on the other Troop’s movements. They were pretty loud a little bit ago- they wake you up?”

“Nah, I’m just not tired,” Marc said. “Tran, if you’re tired, I can cover down for you, I don’t think I’m gonna be sleeping tonight.”

“You sure, Sergeant?”

“Yeah, get some rest, man, I’m good. How’s the arm?”

“I’ll be fine in a day or two, Sergeant. My crew will be up when the time comes.”

“Good man. Now get some sleep.” Marc took his place at the door, settling in the chair and leaning back, the frosty midnight air creeping through the slit of the threshold, its bitterness filling his lungs and awakening him further. There would be no rest for him tonight, and he would not have it any other way.

Marc stared out into the night, the movement of the moon and stars turning into a blur as the minutes ticked by and turned into hours. He barely moved, his eyes peeled out into the square where the remaining vehicles had been parked. This city had been full of life, the normal comings and goings of regular people. He began to wonder just how different their lives had been from his own. Did they fear the invading soldiers? Despise them? Or had the weariness of this long, brutal war resigned them to a desire surrender? King Sombra appeared willing to fight to the last man, and many would die in this last, climactic assault. The Empire was going to lose, with simply no way to hold off so many advancing fronts. But the casualties would likely be catastrophic. More and more people would die.

The sound of feet on marble from behind him and Marc looked over his shoulder at the shadowy figure of Cpt. Armor walking towards him. As he grew closer the moonlight flashed across his face, and a look of surprise fell upon it as he recognized the soldier on guard. “Sergeant Reyes?”

“Evening, sir,” Marc replied.

“You supposed to be on duty right now?”

“I just couldn’t sleep, sir, that’s all. I took over for Tran. What are you doing up so late?”

“Just got done dealing with Squadron, actually. Place is still going nuts. It’s gonna be a long operation. You mind if I join you for a bit? I could use some fresh air.”

“Take a seat, sir.” Cpt. Armor drew a nearby stool and sat opposite Marc, the two men staring out into the slowly fading night as the stars continued to move on the horizon.

Cpt. Armor was the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to blame yourself, you know,” he remarked. “You can look at the situation again and again, but you’re never going to find a way for it to fit and feel right. Just doesn’t happen.”

“Sir?”

“You feel guilty. I’m guessing that’s why you’re up here instead of sleeping.”

“Mm.” Marc tried to ignore him, staring out at the town and trying to ignore the bodybags that now lay in the distance corner, waiting for the morning to be retrieved and sent home to their loved ones.

“You gonna be alright?”

“You mean am I gonna fall apart, sir? No,” Marc answered. “I just… wish I could’ve found a way to stop it. Maybe shout something and get them to move.”

“What-if’s will do nothing for your life, Marc,” Shining Armor said, their professional pretense dropping and falling to the wayside. “Don’t waste your breath on something worthless. You know who’s really responsible for all this?”

Marc knew who he meant. “It’s not-”

“Not my fault? I’m the Troop Commander. Those soldiers answered to me. Now fifteen of my good soldiers are gone and I can’t bring them back.” Shining Armor’s voice faltered for a moment and he struggled to maintain composure. “Tomorrow I’m going to have to start working on paperwork that will go with them and see them home. I’m going to have to bury good men. Nye. Iron Will. Rumble. Bright. All of them were good soldiers, and I was proud to call them mine. And they died because I ordered them to fight, and that order got them killed.”

Marc wanted to argue but nothing he conjured within his mind was good enough, wise enough to settle the feud that would follow. It was a conversation that would never see its end.

“I just- I hate this job,” he said. “I hate it. It’s like everywhere I go, someone dies. I feel like the grim reaper and I can’t stand it. Is this all I’m going to do with my life? Kill, steal, and destroy? I need more for my life than all this.”

“Then don’t do it. You have less than a year on your contract, and I highly doubt this war is going to last much longer. The moment it’s said and done, start moving on,” Shining replied. “Marc, you’re a good guy. If there wasn’t rank between you and I, I think we’d be friends. And for all the crap you’ve had to do, and go through, you’re a better person than you think you are. I don’t know if there’s a soldier in this Troop more respected than you. Hell, your wife thinks you’re incredible and I trust her judgement- so does Cadance.”

“I still chose to do this. No one made me.”

“You chose to fight because you wanted to protect something you held valuable. No one can ask for more than that. When this is done and over with, go. Go into the rest of your life and never look back. I think your wife will be all the happier for it, too. So if you’ve got to hold on to something, hold on to that.”

The grief had not fully ebbed away, but its weight had somewhat lessened. “Did I tell you Sunset’s pregnant?” Marc asked.

“Really? How? I thought you said she was barren,” Shining said, his voice suddenly lighter.

“We don’t know. But she’s getting bigger every day,” Marc said. “She should be about seven months pregnant right now. I may have a child by the time we get back.”

“Now that’s something to hold on to,” Shining remarked. “So don’t hold on to this and miss it. Your child is gonna need their dad, alive and whole. You can’t fill that role while still clinging to the dead.”

Off in the distance, the faint tinge of pink could be seen as the smallest hint of the sunrise grew in the distance. A sound of boards creaking back in the building met them and another soldier headed towards them, ready to take the place of Marc on shift.

“It’s been a long night, Marc,” Shining said. “Go get some sleep.”

Marc nodded, his body feeling heavy as he moved from his seat and headed back towards the rooms, thinking he might be able to rest after all.

Author's Notes:

I lost a friend a few weeks back. I deployed with him. He was a good guy. Friendly, hard-working, intelligent. He was my friend. And now he's dead.
It never will feel right again. And nothing can change it.

This story will be receiving updates alongside Love Letters of the Princess of the Sun, since both are the same chapter length away from completion. As to why, I can't say just yet. But it will make sense in time.

Comments and corrections below. I hope you enjoy it.