Cold, acidic rain fell from the bruised sky, churning the earth into a sucking, grey muck.

  A soldier in grime-caked combat gear stared out from his post, a grumble forming in his throat. It died as a priority alert flashed across his visor’s display, forcing him back to the present.

  He quickly connected to the communication channel and called out, "the 17th Squad is back!"

  On the horizon, a dark shadow emerged—a low-profile combat vehicle resembling the New Terran design: simple, unobtrusive, industrially heavy, yet not slow. Originally equipped with an anti-gravity auxiliary engine for additional mobility, that part seems to have been severely damaged and was now non-operational.

  Instead, it now relied on only torsion bar suspensions—an incredibly ancient design—and armored tracks to navigate the muddy terrain.

  The vehicle’s hull was a direct witness to its recent ordeal—pockmarked with plasma scars and shrapnel gouges. Of its two turrets, only the 3cm autocannon remained, its active protection system mounts blackened and silent. The other, a heavy machine gun station, had been completely blasted away.

  A miracle, then, that no damage had breached the crew compartment.

  The red, vulture skull sprayed on its side panel was one of the few things left untouched.

  The soldier's base was in equally dire shape—its reinforced concrete walls were battered, several areas still smoking, and no one seemed interested in repairing it; all spare hands were likely at the front line, or what was left of it.

  "Death Revenant," one of the soldiers called out as the base gate slowly opened. Several armed soldiers emerged, cursing the mud-filled ground like a swamp. “Death Revenant! You lost contact with regimental HQ for the last 13 minutes, what happened? Commander Richter was furious because of that!”

  While they speak, a faint echo of explosion seared through the air. It was another intercepted missile destroyed mid-air, far away, it seems.

  The severely damaged machine suddenly popped open, revealing a figure in full tactical helmet peering out. She yelled: "We were ambushed! Four of their 'Avatars' against three of our squads and a line of battle droids. Never stood a chance. I ordered a retreat to preserve lives.”

  “The ‘Avatars’?” One soldier joined the conversation. “Those Delhi’s super-mechas from labs under Himalayas. Have you killed at least one of them? We can use some good news, you know.”

  “No, comrade,” The vehicle's commander replied coldly, her hand rests on the cupola's handrail, still trembling slightly from adrenaline. “We were lucky just to be alive. The local tyrants really know how to sour the liberation... Lucky for us, we disengaged fast."

  "Yeah, Feldwebel Ludwig,” someone quipped. "Your squad's specialty is 'tactical redisposition.'"

  Another soldier, who called out hastily: "What about the others? Don't tell me they all died back there."

  "No, comrade. We're all alive, lost no soldiers. The other two ‘Junoesque’ are two hundred meters behind," Feldwebel (Sergeant) Alina Ludwig pointed toward the back of her machine, "the people's machines broke down at the last threshold of safety. The other 12 people decided to just walk back here—hey, what is that look, soldier? You look like you care less that I'm back."

  The soldier she addressed sighed, "You'll find out soon, comrade. The whole camp knows about it now; probably Krieg Richter will make an official announcement shortly."

  "What's more serious than a light hybrid platoon failing a mission due to intel leaks?"

  "Too many things."

  At his words, Alina nodded faintly and addressed her wrist comm, "Alright, Flora, let's go see how bad it is."

  The damaged Sp-16ia “Juno” (nickname: “Junoesque”) infantry fighting vehicle (IFV) limped into the base before the armored gates closed again.

  That same Sp-16ia with a red vulture skull is now outside a maintenance module, with two soldiers sitting idly on the top of a pile of supply crates. Outside the camp on the road they came back from, the other two Sp-16ias were being towed back by engineering vehicles.

  Feldwebel Alina approached them: "Come on, get moving, soldiers! We still need your parts. Hurry up!" The two slowly moved aside.

  Everyone here wore full helmets, apparently designed to conceal their faces. They even looked strikingly similar. Outsiders would have to rely on voice alone to tell them apart.

  Alina dragged a box, opened it with a crowbar, and asked the person beside her, "Where's our 'Old China'? What's going on with him?"

  "He's probably just lost in thought again," someone nearby said.

  "Is this 21st-century laziness?" Alina sighed. "We've been here together for four months now, plus one year before back on Lunar Forward Academy, but we still can't change his weird hobbies."

  At that moment, the base's public broadcast system crackled to life.

  "Comrades, this is Oberstleutnant Krieg Richter, acting commander of 358th hybrid battalion, 7th Legio Civita (“Citizen Legion”) ‘Sirius Vanguard’, from Pan-Indian army theater. I believe you all know my name." A middle-aged man's voice echoed from the speaker, " I must announce this following message on behalf of the Republic:"

  Feldwebel Alina Ludwig, a soldier from the "Neue Paris" (“New Paris”) arcology mega-city, paused in her work. She mumbled to herself as she opened a can of soda. It reads: “Coca-Cola.”

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  “What’s the disaster now?”

  "Some people might already know our current strategic situation, while others might not. I'll lay it all out here." Oberstleutnant (Lieutenant Colonel) Richter paused for a moment. "The Pan-Delhi liberation campaign has been tough. Our regiment had encountered heavy capitalist resistance, the 2nd armored grenadier division of our Legion had suffered heavy human losses, our army aviation had suffered two total brigade losses, and the overall command on the orbital thinks we need to retreat and re-strategize."

  The base erupted in jeers, though not particularly loud; most just stood deadpan, clearly anticipating this outcome.

  Only Alina was shocked as she turned to those around her. She even let out a perfectly formed Neo-English curse—the local language—without thinking: "What the actual fuck? What's going on here? This is surrendering, comrades! Surrendering!"

  "Not surrendering," one soldier said coldly. "Just two hours ago, after your squad left for your recently botched mission, we learned about this."

  Another officer beside her muttered, "They shouldn't allow this to happen."

  The Oberstleutnant continued: "I've received direct orders from the office of the Legion Master himself. I must obey. So, I'm announcing that all combat missions for 358th battalion are canceled. Everyone stays in the base until further notice."

  Alina glanced at her technical officer, Flora Rosenkrantz, who had turned ashen (under helmet) and approached her. "Feldwebel, are we leaving with the main force?"

  "Retreat? Over my dead body," Alina replied. "I'd rather suffocate in New Paris's toxic fumes than give up our newly liberated zone. The peasants here have already experienced, ate from, and used our humanitarian aid. If those capitalists learn this, they'll just slaughter all those people!"

  But then, the Oberstleutnant seemed to made a decision. His voice boomed slightly louder from the speaker:

  "Even though, I must stay here to oversee the retreat and evacuate any civilians we can, you don't have to;

  I've got thirty minutes left to issuing new orders. Anyone unwilling to retreat must leave within that time. I'll mark those who left as conducting secret operations, unable to receive new orders prior to the retreat order, allowing them to depart from the main base and head east to East-Delhi's battle zone without being tagged as insubordination by command headquarters.

  That area is a high-intensity combat zone, but our Avalonian allies have declared their refusal to retreat, so it might be a better fit for those who don't want to stay or are not willing to retreat back to Orbit."

  Warrant Officer Flora Rosenkrantz spoke softly: "Feldwebel, did you hear the Oberstlutant? We can stay and reinforce those religious fanatics!"

  Alina nodded. "Of course... I kind of like him now," she added in a whisper, “I once thought he was good-for-nothing.”

  "After thirty minutes,” Krieg Richter continued, “Anyone who leaves the base will lose command support for not execute the retreat order. You will have no reinforcements, no further supplies, no intelligence support, and the enemy will be everywhere until you enter Avalon-controlled territory... I hope you will decide in these thirty minutes whether to go back to the orbit, knowing we have left our people behind, or to face death."

  The announcement ended with a final timer:

  30:00

  29:59

  29:57…

  "Thirty minutes," Flora asked, her helmeted head swiveled to address Alina. "Feldwebel, how will you decide?"

  Alina frowned, saying nothing. Then a male soldier approached. His voice, muffled by his helmet, was grizzled and elderly: "Alina, if you're leaving, your 'Juno' won't be ready in thirty minutes. I suggest using another IFV since there are plenty of Sp?hpanzer (reconnaissance armored vehicles) in the base that not everyone's willing to risk their lives to take."

  Alina looked at him. "And you, Kael? You won't leave?"

  Kael shrugged. "I'm not going. I'll use this chance to apply for my formal discharge."

  "Retire... oh right, you've reached your W-3 service term," Alina tapped her head. "Maybe we won't see each other again. Good luck on your way home."

  Kael's helmet hid his smile as he said, "I'll find the best vehicle for you."

  After Kael left, Flora was visibly excited: "We're leaving?"

  "Yes... but first, let's find 'Old China'," Alina replied. "He knows this planet better than us; we can't go without him."

  "I trust your judgment, Alina,” Flora added, her words precise and deliberate, “but maybe you’re too trusting of him. He’s been in ice for over four centuries; who knows what’s rattling around in that fossilized skull of his?"

  "What is ‘rattling’ inside my head now?" a voice asked nearby.

  A dark-haired young man appeared, seemingly in stark contrast given that everyone else was in full helmets.

  "Old China," Flora said, "have you heard the broadcast? What are your plans?"

  The young man replied: "What about you?"

  "We're leaving," Alina answered. "I hope you'll join us; we need your knowledge of this country."

  "You're such a stickler, Alina," the young man sighed. "It's because I'm your 'Tactical Officer.' Of course we're going. It’s not like I have a home to return to."

  The ever-present tension seemed to drain from Alina's shoulders, a subtle shift that betrayed her relief even through the armor.

  "Seriously, old man," Alina said, her tone softer now, "having you here makes me feel at ease."

  "Now we're a rope of ants tied together; can we change my nickname? I'm only 28."

  "Not you, though," Alina said, the corners of her lips twitching in a hidden smirk, "You're at least four hundred years older than most of us."

  "Stop talking about age differences and really, don't bring this up again. I'll file an E-2 discrimination complaint if you keep doing that, Feldwebel."

  "Okay!" Alina dropped the brush and declared the following order with satisfaction, "The 'Red Vulture' squad is deploying!"

  On his front, the IFV’s side Adamantine armor plate featured a grotesquely drawn red vulture skull and an equally disturbing word: "Der Todesfall."

  It was cartoonishly ugly.

  Also, it was about the most crudely written as one could get for someone who had undergone years of 25th century advanced education. Plus, Alina Ludwig graduated from a Martial Academy, with full officer program and command degree.

  The black-haired young man beside the Feldwebel looked uneasy: "Feldwebel, couldn't you make it a bit more presentable?"

  “That is the point: the uglier, the more special and memorable!” Alina had already climbed into the commander's seat and spoke through the loudspeaker, "Good old man, what are we waiting for? Deploy!"

  The black-haired man sighed and grabbed the IFV's grab handles, flipping himself onto this war machine.

  "Red Vulture" emitted a slight roar as its anti-gravity engine engaged, lifting the hull slightly into the air. It was now a fully armed and equipped Sp-16ia "Juno" heavy infantry fighting vehicle, capable of easily crushing an entire squad of power armor troops—provided it wasn't taken out by larger weapons.

  A stoic-looking PLA Hauptmann stood at the base entrance, allowing the IFV to pass by him and merge into the flow of people leaving the base.

  Then he transmitted the data to the main console in the command room.

  "6th special hybrid unit, merged detachment update, adding one Sp?hpanzer. Squad members: Feldwebel Alina Ludwig, Warrant Officer Flora Rosenkrantz, and Obergefreiter (Private, First Class) Chen Feng."

  Oberstleutnant Krieg Richter looked at the names appearing on his screen, brow furrowing slightly, "Chen Feng? Is that the ‘old man’? He's gone too... Well, I hope he survives."