She laughs, and it’s contagious enough that I laugh too. First time in a long time. “That’s a skill too.”
“Hence why I’m so indispensable here.” I stretch back with exaggerated flair. “All right, Kate. Let’s chat.”
Weeks are gobbledup into months.
Winter blooms with a frosty gasp. It coats the windows and brown grass in icy dew. Once I’m given a thermal uniform, I use my mornings to jog as the sun lazily rises. Crisp air fills my lungs, tangling knots in my hair but untangling the knots in mybrain. Being at Delilah’s right hand keeps me privy to the macro side of war: victories and defeats, cost, supply levels, casualties. Numbers, data, cold and easy.
We are winning. Soldiers coming off duty, however, keep me humble. While victories and defeats are the consequences of bravery and death, the cost is contextualized by soldiers in desperate need of assistance, supply levels fluctuate due to destroyed equipment and heisted goods, casualties become deeply personal tales of loss.
I miss my father on Christmas. Somewhere in my aimless daydreams I remember one of these days must be Taylor’s birthday. She turned twenty years old out there in the middle of a war, on a grimy street stalked by enemies. No party, no cake, no balloons. It brings me a small joy to imagine how adorable and hilarious she would look with a conical birthday hat strapped to her head, blowing out birthday candles. I vow to make that happen if we survive, and it gets me through some of the tougher days.
It’s 0200 in late January when the sound of rain wakes me out of a dead sleep. My portable receiver comes to life with a burst of light. Cam feeds are attached mid-sternum, intrinsically following the movements of its wearer with a full 180-degree view.
Taylor’s chest cam is aimed straight down at the asphalt, skidding. “Ow.”
I was not prepared to hear her voice, no matter how much I wished for it, and it brings tears to my eyes. When she gets up and turns, the camera reveals a dimly lit traffic tunnel. A single row of jaundiced yellow lights stretches above her. Looking down, what’s tripped her up and inadvertently turned on her cam is a body. Order, by the looks of the green bits of uniform. Taylor laboriously turns the body over and rips the dog tags off their chest and tucks them into her pocket.
Not too far away, yelling and gunfire echoes toward her. A man’s voice shouts and the gunfire ceases. The only noise is Taylor’s labored breathing. Then, an emphatic clunk. And another. In rapid succession, the bleary lights above Taylor shut off in front of and behind her. The tunnel goes totally dark.
Taylor huffs. “Oh, come on.”
In a flash, she sprints. An orchestra of noises makes up for my lack of sight—the hard push of Taylor’s breath, the frenzied pounding of her boots, and the marching of dozens upon dozens of feet behind her. Finally, a glimmer of moonlight shines on part of the cam, growing larger as Taylor dashes toward it. Emerging into the light, her boots crunch through several inches of snow as she struggles up a short hill. Once she reaches the top she collapses, quickly turning over and fumbling with something in her hands. It’s a rectangular box with an exposed red button. After a short hesitation, she presses the button and an eruption shakes the ground. Her camera faces the collapsing tunnel, and we watch it crumble on itself with a series of explosions.
Screams and the noises of dying chaos create a disturbing backdrop for her even, low voice.“O war, thou son of hell, whom angry heavens domake their minister.”
It takes a minute or two for the debris to settle, but once it does, Taylor taps her watch. “Eos to Theia.”
The comm crackles in response. “Yes, Eos.”
“Confirmation, Dunn’s largest squadron has been eliminated at my location. Dunn unconfirmed among those eliminated. I believe he is behind them.”
“What happened?”
“I tricked them into following me into a tunnel I previously wired with explosives.”
I grumble, “For fuck’s sake, Taylor.”
“Excellent,” Theia says through the comm. “Magnificent job, as always, Lieutenant General.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Taylor pauses. “I—May I speak freely?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I—We are taking heavy losses here. Both sides—even Dunn’s numbers are dwindling. I—” It is unlike Taylor to be so dodgy and I listen intently to her voice. “I wonder if this is still the best way. Chasing Dunn all over the region, killing his people. Could I not, I don’t know, try to negotiate a surrender?”
There is a very long, very intense silence before we hear static on the line. “Are you questioning our plan?”
“No, ma’am, I’m?—”
“Questioning me, then.” Theia sighs over the comm. “This is the third time you’ve used our correspondence to doubt my orders. Have you lost all faith in me?”
“No, ma’am, of course not.”
“I hope not,” Theia replies. “I know you have a lot of voices in your head, whose influence may grow in my absence, but I am doing my best to win this war and what I need is a general who has my back, not eyeing the many knives with which to stab it.”
“Theia, I would never. I am loyal to you, to this cause, you know that.”
“Yes, you always have been, and I hope you will continue to be.” Taylor doesn’t respond, and Theia speaks once more. “Stay at your position for another twenty minutes and ensure no one leaves that tunnel alive. Then rejoin your platoon at their post. Over.”
