Exhausted.

That word summarized my condition. It was 0200 when I finally got back to base, and probably 0300 by the time I fell asleep. I had slept fitfully, and woke up at the standard time of 0600 that morning. In the time since I had shambled down to mess, as it was far easier than attempting to do anything in my quarters, and then carried my equipment down to the conference room. I was apparently the first one to arrive, so I took the opportunity to snatch a little sleep…

Two loud pulses of sound startled me out of my sleep. Immediately, my panic-stricken brain demanded a situation report, and it received one; my ear had been on the table, which had evidently been knocked on. "Up, princess," commanded an all-too familiar voice.

I stood up as fast as my sleep-soaked limbs would allow, saluting sharply. Of all people to wake me up with an "up, princess," I did not expect, or enjoy, that it happened to be the actual princess. Fortunately I was not utterly embarrassed, as only a few Egrets were actually in the room, and a brief moment of eye contact communicated that my CO seemed merely amused.

It was 0715 of the 0745 deadline; the rest of the unit that was shipping out would be here eventually. My shock-fueled wakefulness had nothing to focus itself upon. Other measures had to be taken to ensure my readiness. In an attempt to occupy myself, I turned my thoughts to the previous day-easy enough, though my hazy mind took awhile to clear.

The image of the girl Carol-doubtless a normal girl before whatever terrible twist of fate had befallen her-was still burned into my mind. Her small form, penetrated with long metal spikes, some nails, some appearing spontaneously from beneath her skin. The massive blades on the spine-like protrusion from her back, her sickeningly varicose veins. It was a child, beneath it all-just a child, like Filia. Who had mutilated her like that...and did she attack Filia? It didn't make sense that the girl would attack her friend, then try to talk to her, before promptly running off.

There was a very unsettling sense that was something sinister going on in this town, and it involved more than just the Skullgirl. Though… perhaps she was the epicenter. If one looked for trouble in the city and did not do so with the Medici or with domestic criminalia, it was likely to lead back to her. Or, at least, that was my hypothesis, spawned by a barely-conscious mind. I didn't intend to test this concept, but it was an interesting theory. Time was spent attempting to flesh it out, give it more substance than a mere hunch.

As the clock ticked down to the last few minutes before our departure, I wondered about the location of my mentor. It would only be natural for her to travel with us, seeing as she was my instructor. This gnawed at me until I finally worked up the courage to ask the princess; she responded with a surprising statement. "Juju has told me that you are to take on this mission alone. She apparently feels you are ready for the exercise without any further instruction."

I didn't know what we would be doing, but it puzzled me that she would not be present for what should be a training exercise...

I had managed to snag some extra sleep on the thankfully quiet ride, enough to make up for my escapade the previous night. There had been a couple of train changes on the way out to No Man's Land, primarily because almost nobody went there other than the military-for good reason. The place was generally known for being a lawless hellhole, and I had no idea what we would be doing out there.

We did, eventually, reach the farthest portion of the rail lines that were operable. Conveniently, the great Fort Vigilance-the biggest of the old frontline wartime bases-was within a stone's throw of the station, making it clear why the lines were maintained out to this point.

We disembarked from the train and collected our equipment once again before making our way to the station's exit. All eyes were focused on the expanse that lay before us.

There was a small town here. Well, to be precise, it was a large town with many clearly abandoned buildings. Much of the municipality still showed its wartime wounds; it was clear many inhabitants had moved away before or during the war… or maybe they all died. The thought sent a shiver up my spine; I knew far too many good people who had lost their loved ones in the Grand War. Veterans were no doubt discussing their memory of this place; I looked down the much too empty roads, trying to imagine what this place was like before the war.

Not long, was it, until we had to depart that almost contagiously sad place to continue our journey. A short march led us to the gates of the old base that watched over the empty shell of a town.

It was built in the old style of gunpowder fortresses-a star fort, with thick, high walls. Modern artillery and machine guns peeked through the cannon ports. This place was sure to be a bloodbath in the event of an assault, but the great hope of the world was that the series of grueling, man-eating wars was finally over, and thus, that such an assault would never commence.

The modernized gates-slabs of solid steel-were sealed, for some reason, and did not open as we approached.

"What seems to be the holdup, gentlemen?" called the crown princess. Someone-likely the gate operator-replied, voice echoing off the walls from the bullhorn at the gate.

"Sorry, Your Highness, but we'll need some further identification. Strange things happen out here."

Parasoul seemed mildly annoyed. The princess swung her heavy umbrella in an upward arc from the ground, with a command of "Cry!" A blob of yellow-orange substance was emitted from the device, flying into the sky above. In a fine example of what one could consider trick shooting, our young princess drew her Luger and shot the streak of fluid, which promptly exploded into flames.

A living weapon, huh? I had heard of such things, but did not know if they were real, or simply weapons that had been passed down for so long that they'd become legends in and of themselves. It did explain why the woman toted the large, heavy thing about with her; she didn't seem the type to carry something as frivolous as an umbrella to serve as a mere status symbol.

"I believe that should prove all the identification you need," she stated. At this, the gates opened. Waves of chuckling passed through our party, veteran and initiate alike. We were going to secure transport vehicles from the depot, mess, and then leave for the Egret base out in the wastes themselves. Simple.

It was strange, how the rest of the Canopian military looked at the Egrets. Everyone knew they were there, but acted like they weren't supposed to talk with us-stolen glances, murmuring when we passed, and the like. Some of them asked what we were out here to do, and a few of the vets made up some clearly sarcastic tall tales. It seemed the general consensus, however, is that we were a group that did "real secret-squirrel shit," as a fellow soldier back in Basic had memorably stated. I didn't really know what we did (yet), but that was probably a fair enough assumption, simply because they-and I-didn't know.

Regardless, after all the preparations had been made, we loaded into the trucks and left as quickly as we came. Hurry up… where's the wait? The small size of the Egrets, and the fact that we had the monarch at our head, probably helped. It was hard to instate the normal bulletproof-but-slow bureaucracy the military operated on when the kingdom's ruler was prodding you to hurry up. Perks of being special forces, I thought, suppressing laughter.

The wastes, which the trucks had now pulled us into, were a surreal place, and it was clear when we had entered them. The only foliage on the scene was yellow, sickly-looking grasses and charred trees, and the dominant signs of human habitation were abandoned and decimated villages, empty fields, and mounds capped with markers-mass graves. If the town we'd left behind was a depressing place, it was hard to define this one.

When we had arrived at our command post-an old industrial building on a hill above a deserted city, littered with prefab fortifications-I knew how to define the landscape, and what it made me feel. The adjective disgusting was the only appropriate term. The atrocities that had befallen this place hit way too close to home; I realized that this could have easily been my homeland. Merely envisioning the parallel made me sick; the rugged beauty of our ranch could have become this barely-surviving, deathly ill landscape. From what I had heard, some people actually still lived in this part of the world, but their lives consisted mostly of attempting to survive in the almost entirely barren, bandit-infested hell. That could have been me and my family. I was glad that the rulers of the foreign empires had enough sense to preserve the admittedly shaky peace that had come of the Skullgirl's desolation; nobody deserved to live here, not after it had become… this.

I turned my attention back to the task at hand, breaking out of my awful reverie. This outpost was manned, evidently, as there were some regular Canopian Army soldiers about the place; upon asking, they informed me that this place was considered part of the responsibility of Fort Vigilance, although it operated its own, independent facilities. We unloaded once more, carrying our equipment to a more familiar, and thus, more spartan, barracks. Many of the recruits groaned, but the veterans had expected it; I was glad that we had beds, and weren't living out here.

This old shell of a building, this industrial complex, was a strange and unique place to establish an outpost, especially in these days of prefabrication, but it made sense; it was large, and structurally sound, as well as providing a defensible location with its multiple levels. Base headquarters was evidently in the old control room, which had been repurposed with the necessary equipment to act as such. A large warehouse served as a vehicle depot, where we stopped and stowed the trucks. The heart of this place was another armory, which was essentially the entire reason this place was staffed when it was not running active operations. Bandits, slavers, and all sorts of other outlaws would love to get their hands on the equipment here.

Evidently, we were going to prepare for whatever operation command had dreamed up. We-the Assault, Demolition, and Marksman (i.e. me) corps-were instructed to put on all of our battle gear, and then report to the armory to secure our munitions and mission specific gear. Just from looking at the Assault and Demo guys' packs, I was glad I wasn't in their units. Once we got to the armory, and I saw that the Assault Corps were being issued heavy ballistic vests, I was really glad I wasn't in their unit.

I, now wearing all of my equipment assigned to me previously, was given 3 trip mines, the same number of grenades, and a soft-sided pack of ammunition for my rifle that probably weighed 25 pounds; I was told that these were already loaded into 5-round clips, so I was spared the pain of individually loading them. With some time and searching, I was also given 64 individual cartridges of .45 Long in a pouch. All of this I strapped to my belt-the rifle ammunition at the front, to avoid being lopsided in terms of weight. I appreciated the efforts of whoever managed Egret logistics-the high variability of weapons and ammunition between people in the unit was bound to be a massive pain in the ass to handle.

Now, having been organized into our respective teams, we looked like segments of a pyramid-Assault was the largest team, naturally, since they were supposed to be the spearhead of any infantry movement in our unit. As such, the Medical Corps-which was actually a corps, yes-ended up with most of their men in Assault, with the remainder in Demo. The large red crosses on white circles on their helmets and armor helped them stand out amongst the crowd. Demo seemed disproportionately large for a standard infantry mission-I wondered if we would be destroying something. We, as an urban unit specialized in supporting the Princess, did not have a cavalry division, despite operating multiple vehicles-that role would be handled by a supporting unit in any future mission. However, this was evidently not required, as there were no other groups around.

We all funneled into a neighboring room-likely an old conference room-and the princess took her place in front of us all. A projector and screen were set up in the front of the room, but it was not currently on; thus began our briefing.

The princess' crystal clear speaking voice echoed off of the concrete walls of the room. "Gentlemen, we are all prepared for our upcoming operation. This mission has been devised by the initiates in Command Corps and overseen by the regulars. Also, the squad leaders in this exercise will all be inititates. I expect you to perform admirably; however, in the case that the squad agrees that are not prepared to lead, I have designated backup squad leaders in conference with our veteran members. Is this clear?"

Various affirmatives responded to her question.

"Good. Now, I assume you all know that this area is rife with bandits?"

A majority answer of "yes" and the like.

"There are some locals in these towns who have been struggling with raids. We, the military, are the only enforcers of the law out here, and the thieves in this area are not pickpockets-they are organized militant groups who routinely extort the remaining civilians in the area, doing all manner of evil. We have located and scouted one of these bands' headquarters. Today, we will destroy that headquarters, and hopefully, crumble the organization."

She paused for a moment, and let the ripples of surprise at our first "exercise" being a live-fire combat operation pass through the unit. It would also be a night operation, apparently, as it was already 1900, and the sun was already beginning to fade when we arrived.

"The stronghold is estimated to have a dozen men on guard, and at least six dozen in reserve. However, we will hit this base while they are on patrol and raiding for supplies, which will deflate the number of hostiles in the area, and we will attack under cover of darkness. If everything proceeds as planned, the unit will not be discovered until Demolition has breached the building, and the enemy will not be alerted until our marksman has fired his first shot."

Eyes turned towards me, naturally. I tried my best to shrug them off. Our CO turned on the projector on the table next to her. It came to life, the rolling tape putting forth a map of the complex we would be assaulting.

"This is a map created from intel our scouts have gathered. Your initial approach to the complex will be hidden from view by the surrounding bluffs; you will disembark just out of sight of the facility, and then continue on foot.

As you can see, the eastern third of the complex is composed of their vehicle depot. Planting explosives on their fuel tanks will be an important part of the operation, as it will help ensure the total collapse of the facility at best, and will destroy their on-hand supplies of fuel and seriously damage their transportation network at worst. The brigands have also considerately felled the wall of the building on this side, making an assault of the depot easier to plan, and leaving them exposed to sniper fire. Our unit now is 37 strong, and composed of 6 members of Demolition Corps, 1 of Marksman Corps, 6 of Medical Corps, and 24 of Assault Corps. A squad of 6 assault troops, 2 demolition specialists, and 2 medics are to be assigned the task of assaulting the depot, and will be supported by our marksman during their mission. Once the charges have been planted, they will radio in and inform command and their fellow squads of the completion of their objective.

As for the remaining men-18 assault, 4 demolition, and 4 medics-your task is to breach the western wall of the complex, and destroy the command post and arsenal inside the facility. Overwatch will not be able to support you inside, and the layout of the building is a mystery, so please be on maximum alert. We don't need any Egret blood spilled on this Goddess-forsaken ground.

In any case, once your charges are planted in the armory and command center, exfiltrate to a safe distance and hit the dirt. Have the demolition crew detonate all the charges at once. Overwatch should neutralize all hostiles preventing your safe departure by the time you're ready to leave the building, but squad leaders, please ask for confirmation. If you receive an all-clear, overwatch will be able to cover your retreat from any new threats that present themselves. The moon will be full tonight, so our marksman should have no difficulty identifying his targets."

Her regularly-panning focus turned directly to me.

"As for your positioning, Specialist Adams, you will find an old town hall about 800 meters southeast of the facility, in an abandoned village. The bell tower should give you an adequate view of the facility and surrounding area."

The golden eyes departed again, shifting to engage the crowd again.

"And another thing-these bandits are known to take slaves. If you find any inside the facility, make sure to get them out safely. We don't need innocent blood on our hands. Also, any information you can find regarding where these slaves are being sent, or if the bandits are receiving aid from a sponsor, will be invaluable.

Any questions?"

Everyone had studied the plans and took them to heart. I was glad to hear that the moon would be bright tonight; it would make my job much easier.

"Good." The projector reel had been changed, and it now displayed the squads everyone was to be organized in. "Find your squad, and hit 'em hard."

The squads were organized, loaded, ready, in their trucks. I was given my own vehicle-a motorcycle-to move independent from them. Such a vehicle was not one I was readily experienced with-a horse or automobile would have been better-but one I could manage, given the two-minute crash course provided by the grease monkey who'd supplied it.

Everyone was provided with the map that showed our route to the facility, and we were ready; tension was high, like a coiled spring. All we were waiting for was the go-ahead from command.

The radio in my helmet crackled to life. "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, this is Command; the operation is a go.I say again, you are cleared to go, out."

"Alright, we're Oscar Mike, over and out," replied a familiar voice. As it turned out, the Alpha squad leader-and thus, the mission commander-was Sgt. Maj. Hawkins.

I released the clutch on the bike, and was underway.

I didn't quite know what to feel, as I left the base for the first combat I was to see. There was some anticipation, sure, but that was about it. Under the blanket of the moon and stars, we were off to destroy a bandit lair; there was a mission, and I had a part in it. It was just a job…

The motorcycle rolled into the abandoned township, up to the front of the old town hall.

I dismounted, and walked the vehicle into the doors. In the case that someone came through here, I didn't want my location to be too obvious. I looked for the door that would lead me to the bell tower; it wasn't hard, since I only had to find the door that led to a room beneath it. Some quick searching found me a plausible door, but it was locked. It's a good thing this building is old, and that I have this crowbar.

Breaking open the door was not a hard task, since the frame was so weak; all I had to do was slip the straight end of the bar in between the door and the frame, and use the leverage to bust the lock and/or frame. I figured the "proper technique" would be something I'd learn to do on stouter stuff with practice, but the frame and lock busted just fine on this old door.

Once on the staircase, inside, I considered laying a mine, but the staircase felt so flimsy, that I figured I was liable to destroy the structure I was housed in if the device went off; besides, if anyone came in here, I would, A, be able to hear them, and B, be in a shitload of trouble.

Reaching the bell tower was simple enough, and gave me a wide view of the area. I laid down on the wooden floor, and opened the bolt on my rifle, retrieved a clip from my pouch, pushed the rounds in, and held the cartridges down as I extracted the clip.

It was surreal, how much like any normal day this was-despite the enormous rifle and incredible cartridges.

I closed the bolt, and flipped down the bipod's legs. The behemoth of a gun was ready… and so was I.

I pressed a key on my helmet. "This is Delta. In position, over."

"Roger that, Delta, this is Alpha, we're en route to our rally points, out."

"This is Bravo, we are also en route, out."

I took out my binoculars, and took a closer look at the target building. The map had been accurate; it appeared as it said it would. I began counting targets.

One, two, three guarding the shop…

These men were armed with old, rusty submachine guns of various design, probably from the Grand War. They wore some kind of metal plating on their bodies as armor, but it didn't look thick enough to do anything significant.

one on the southern wall of the building…

...four on the roof.

These rooftop men had rifles; it was too far away to tell what kind. The four of them were posted on the corners of the roof, looking for threats. I needed to neutralize them first; they could see our men over what cover they had on the ground.

It must have been a skeleton crew indeed, because there were not many enemies here-only 8 on guard. I looked over it all again, making sure I hadn't missed anyone.

"This is Delta, we have 8 tangoes on guard; three on the east entrance, one on the south wall, all with submachine guns, and four on top, armed with rifles, over."

"This is Alpha; roger that, Delta, out."

I figured now was a good time to start figuring out where I'd have to aim to hit them. If they are at 800 meters… that's… twenty hashes…

"Alpha, this is Bravo; who is hitting the guards at the front of the depot? We're almost in position and we can take them out at the first shot from Delta, over."

"Delta, that's your call, over." By now we knew who we were talking to by their voices, so saying our designations before speaking was becoming redundant.

The first stirrings of anxiety began to rise up in my chest. As much as I'd assured myself that I was capable of performing my mission, and as much as I had taken to heart the rationale of my role, I was not immune to the uncertainty that would come with downing my first target.

The mission at hand took priority over whatever personal aversions I had, naturally. The cool, comforting citadel of detached, rational thought was my psychological home as I contemplated my course of action. Downing the men at the door would be suboptimal; as Bravo leader had said, the men on the ground with their automatics could make very short work of them in a moment's notice. These fellows on the roof seemed much more of an issue…

"Roger, Alpha. I'm thinkin' I should hit the boys on the roof first so there ain't any nasty surprises. Just hang tight, over."

"Wilco, Delta" from Hawkins. "Roger," came the reply from Bravo.

The NCO's really do put everything on the E-4's. I snickered to myself, before quickly sobering again. I was in the driver's seat now, and my first shot would christen the mission in blood. I was an operative, not a commander…

"Ops, how copy? Over."

"Loud and clear, Delta, continue as discussed, out," a familiar voice answered. It was that of the woman from the train. Communications, she is. Well, there's nothing for it, then.

Ever so slowly, in a smooth motion, I lined up the correct hash in the scope with the first target-the man on the southeast corner of the building. The protests of my more humanistic side reached a head, but they had no place interfering with my rationality, or with this mission. This scope has a hell of a zoom...

The man's face was scarred, his cruel eyes and jagged grimace a strange thing to observe. Those scars on his countenance were doubtless caused by his profession of terrorizing the downtrodden people of this hellacious place. He would feel no remorse for killing anyone, leastwise my comrades, and the fact that he would fire upon my allies sealed his fate. That was my job, after all-to protect and cover my brothers in arms. This was but a dead man walking.

Slow breaths, one after another, to calm my speeding heart, my tense muscles; the passage of time, the filling and emptying of my lungs dispelled the physical symptoms of my unease. All that was left was a cool, loose, barely breathing instrument, primed and ready for orders. The target sat in beneath the crosshairs, in the precalculated point of impact. My finger slid downwards from the wood above the trigger, slowly moving to embrace the cold, curved metal of the trigger.

Deep breath in…

A very gentle application of pressure to my right index, compressing the tissue against the kill switch. It would grow with the next exhalation, until it exceeded the pressure threshold for the trigger.

Let it go, slowly, slowly…

The night was torn by lightning and thunder. Wood and glass rattled, shaken by the concussive force of the round. It was good that the muzzle break funneled the light away from the aperture of the scope, and that my left eye was closed, or I would not have been able to monitor the result of that shot. It was a second later when the hole in the man's chest appeared, and a red mist jetted out of his back as he crumpled to the ground. He was dead before he heard the shot.

My heart was racing, a cold, unsettling thrill rushing through my veins; not one of pleasure, something more… carnal, cold, impersonal; I was a predator, and I had made my kill… but I was going back for more. The bolt slid smooth as silk, back, forth, and closed again. A huge, hot casing dropped to the floor, smoking slightly.

"One tango confirmed down, out," I said, as I took deep, slow breaths again to relax my body and mind.

The others on the roof were reacting, now-wildly. They didn't know what to do; an invisible assailant had slain their comrade, and they had no idea where he was-the roar of the rifle gave but a vague direction. They dropped to the ground in a vain attempt to shelter themselves from another deadly comet.

The second one, now. I was glad these men all looked like they had done much evil in their life; I was but a soft rookie, and perhaps it was like they said about other things-you never forget your first.

This shot was going to be more difficult; I didn't have a standing target. I had confidence, however; the previous shot had struck the man in his torso, my target, so the aim was true...

In…

Out…

Another flash and roar. I waited a moment, and then head of the man lolled forward, lifeless.

"That's two, over," I said, shivering.

"Alright, no need to brag, bud. Out." Hawkins chastised me, humorously.

For him, and for the veterans… this is just another op. I realized that this was only really profound for me, the only one who hadn't seen combat, and a sniper, at that.

But now…

I cycled the bolt again, more deliberately. Another ejected bit of brass rolled away.

In... out…

Flash, boom. That's three. I didn't feel.

A quicker chambering.

In, and out.

The wonderful smell of gunpowder. Four.

Killing you is easy… and it's just business.

"Delta here, all four tangoes on the roof are confirmed dead. Proceed, over."

"Wilco, Delta, out" and "Will comply, out" were my answers, and the sound of automatic gunfire greeted me seconds later.

The rest of that mission could be summarized by the important bits of the radio chatter and the sounds of muffled gunfire. The operation was a total success; not a single casualty on our side…

"Ops, we've found a filing cabinet here, we're taking it all, out."

"Detonating charges in 3, 2, 1…"

An orgy of flame, shockwaves, and heat, and the collapse of the facility.

"Alright, that's it, proceed to exfil, out."

I netted two more kills before the day was up-both tangos trying to hit our boys on retreat.

I grabbed the bike, pulled it out of the town hall, and went on my merry way, back to base.

That was it. Nothing more.

I was struggling to come to grips with how… mundane it was. A shot fired, just like almost every day of my life since I was a boy, but this time, there happened to be baddies on the receiving end instead of a piece of paper, or wood, or whatever. It was just a job… an interesting one, because of the challenge of making the shot, but a job nonetheless.

An exercise, they had called it. I saw why, now.

This unit was made for the bizarre, the unusual, the unknown, the impossible. It wasn't made for taking care of common criminal rabble. And all of this… all of this was so much more profound… because Juju wasn't here. She knew that. She knew that I would know it…

Parasoul met us at base. "Excellent work, gentlemen. You can handle yourself well, as leaders and subordinates. But these bandits were just rabble. When we go out on a real mission, I can assure you, it will not be so simple, nor so predictable. No armbands today, but you've proven you have the skills necessary to operate as part of this unit. Tonight will be spent in the barracks here, but we will depart tomorrow at 0900. You are to unload your weapons and return any unspent ammunition and equipment to the armory, and Alpha is to give those documents to HQ. That's all."

It really was, all there was to say.

Hey everyone. Just wanted to tell you all, yeah, I am still working on this. I actually have all the way up to the end of Chapter 8 drafted but I'm making sure it's all how I want it, and ensuring it's all nice and well-groomed. They are fully-fledged chapters as they are, but they aren't what I'd allow myself to submit yet. Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, even though it's kinda short.

PS for the guest reviewers: just so you guys know, I can't really respond to you if you ask me questions! I can't PM you an answer because I don't have an account to send a message to. I'd have to respond to y'all in the author's notes for the next completed chapter.

Warm wishes to everybody.