The Squad-Part Forty-Six

Posted on January 26, 2026 by jenicek

Banks, Spinelli, and Chang sat alone in the massive dining room. The table was set with gleaming silver cutlery, crystal water glasses, and a pristine, dark blue tablecloth. All other tables had been cleared except for theirs.

“I’m glad we wore our dress uniforms,” said Spinelli, “I’d hate to think we’d look out of place.”

Chang looked out the enormous window at the Earth, slowly spinning outside, and observed, “If we were dressed in golden robes and diamond-encrusted crowns, we’d still be underdressed.”

“Listen, we need to keep our heads on straight,” said Banks as he brushed imaginary dust off his own jacket, “Speak carefully.”

“We know, Corporal,” said Spinelli.

“Not sure why we were invited for this fancy dinner,” wondered Chang.

“Whatever it is, it’s not for our benefit,” answered Banks.

“Hey, we’ll be okay,” offered Spinelli.

“We’re Echo Company,” said Chang.

Banks smiled tightly and nodded.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” said the Director as she entered the dining room, shadowed by Mister Famulus.

They all stood at attention at the sound of her voice, more from habit than from respect.

“I thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Long overdue. Please sit.”

No one sat till the Director did.

“Are you hungry? My chef has prepared a succulent meal for us.”

“Very kind, Madam Director,” said Banks.

“So formal! I’d hoped we could get to know each other better,” said the Director with a smile.

“Why?” asked Spinelli.

Banks frowned, but the Director seemed unperturbed.

“You are the heroes of Echo Company, it’s long overdue.”

Memories of absent friends settled over the three remaining members.

“I’m sorry, this must be a difficult time for you all,” she said.

“There was no body,” murmured Chang.

“The inner working of Arcadia can be dangerous, even to someone as brave and capable as your Sergeant.”

“I’m requesting clearance to continue the search for her and Ramirez,” said Banks.

“I assure you, every resource has been deployed towards finding them.”

Before they could reply, a neatly dressed sommelier appeared at their table with a bottle of wine.

“Director, are you and your guests ready for the first bottle?” he inquired.

“Severn, thank you! I think you will all enjoy this vintage,” said the Director, who indicated that he should pour.

Swirling the dark, red wine, the Director took a deep sniff and then sipped it. Her eyes lit up.

“Well done, Severn! An excellent choice!”

“You flatter me, my Director.”

Each of them was poured a generous glass. The Director raised her glass and asked, “Should we drink to new beginnings?”

Banks gripped his wineglass and declared, “To Echo Company!”

“To Echo Company!” said Spinelli and Chang.

“To Echo Company,” said the Director as they clinked glasses and then drank.

The wine was exceptional.

“Will you grant us leave to continue our search?” asked Banks.

“I have reservations about putting your lives in danger-” she began.

“Danger is part of our job,” interrupted Banks.

Chang and Spinelli exchanged a look.

“Of course, I understand.”

“Then we can resume the search,” he stated.

The Director looked at Banks and said, “I’m afraid that’s not advisable.”

“Didn’t you just say you understood?” Banks asked.

“I understand your desire to do so, but given the recent, unfortunate losses-”

“Our people are current M.I.A.,” said Chang, “they are not considered losses.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Any progress on the assassin who attacked us?” asked Spinelli.

“The investigation is ongoing,” answered the Director.

Each of the soldiers glanced at Mister Famulus.

“Based on what we’ve seen of your citizenry, there can’t be too many people with those sorts of skills,” observed Banks.

“It is a factor my people are taking into account.”

At that point, an appetizer was served, a pâte served with freshly baked bread. Like the wine, it was outstanding.

“You must have many, many responsibilities,” said Banks.

Tabbing the corners of her mouth, the Director responded, “Quite true.”

“So I have to ask, when you have so many things to do, why ask us to this leisurely meal?”

“I sometimes forget the way you lived before this was ruled by the whims of fate.”

Banks felt that had not changed but simply nodded.

“There is something that you can do for me,” she said.

Mister Famulus appeared table-side and produced the featureless, metal tablet that had caused so much trouble.

“We believe that there is information vital for the safety of Arcadia, including those still fighting the war, on this tablet.”

“You can’t unlock it?” asked Spinelli.

“Sadly, no.”

“If you and your people can’t open it, what do you think we can do?” asked Chang.

“When you encountered Pete Sanders, did he pass anything to you or have anything on him that might be a key?”

They all shook their heads.

“I know he seemed to be a nice guy, a little out of his depth, but let me make this clear. He was no angel, he was a dangerous man.”

Banks sighed and said, “He seemed more in danger than dangerous.”

“Your Sergeant told Captain Pentagast that she had the key. Strange, she didn’t share that with her trusted friends.”

“She said what she had to. You know, since I had been kidnapped by Captain Pentagast and her goons.”

“Pentagast overstepped her authority. I am truly sorry that you had to endure that.”

“Sarge got me out.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Director turned to Banks and Chang and asked, “She said nothing to any of you?”

“Not about a key.”

“Nope.”

“If she were found, you could ask her yourself,” Spinelli pointed out.

“Indeed. I will have to apply more resources.”

The rest of the meal was, food-wise, excellent. Even better than the food they ate daily, which they all had to agree was very, very good. More courses came out, and the Director made small talk with them. On the surface, all very amiable and casual. However, each member of Echo Company couldn’t shake the feeling that she was waiting for some moment of weakness to exploit. It felt very much how a mouse must feel when a cat is nearby.

After dessert, she excused herself and said, “We must do this again sometime.”

Once the Director and Mister Famulus had left, Echo Company made their way back to their quarters for a post-action breakdown.

“Corporal, you really cut right to the chase,” said Chang.

“Sarge would be proud,” added Spinelli.

“I hope so. At least we didn’t give her what she wanted,” Banks said.

“Because it’s not like we could give her what she wants,” lied Spinelli.

“No way to help,” prevaricated Chang.

They stayed for a while, throwing ideas around about what to do next. Whatever happened, they would never give up the key. Spinelli and Chang said good night and went back to their own rooms.

Banks sat down in a chair and scribbled some ideas down in a notebook, but found his inspiration lacking. He pulled out his bookmark, placed it at where he stopped writing, and then froze.

Something was written on the bookmark. Numbers, coordinates, and a time. Flipping through his notebook, he found what he was looking for.

Checking his watch with a big grin, Banks thought, six hours, twenty-three minutes and counting.

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The Squad-Part Forty-Five

Posted on January 19, 2026 by jenicek

Sarge finally arrived at Élancourt. The Cathedral du Saint-Gratien sat in the center of this medieval town, being visible long before entering. Having Celia made moving through the narrow and labyrinthine streets easier. Looking up while waiting for some traffic to clear, Sarge saw a gargoyle leering down on her. In fact, there were gargoyles everywhere. It was a little unsettling, but no one else seemed to mind.

Cafes and bars were everywhere, filling the air with the scents of food and the buzz of conversations. Soldiers seemed to be the lion’s share of the customers. No one questioned her presence, she was just one more GI.

After a bit of navigation and some directions from a local, she found her way to City Hall, where the Army had set up its regional HQ. Sarge parked Celia, then entered. She presented her papers to the Corporal at the front desk and passed the contents of her courier bag to her.

Pentagast had provided real battle reports from her post. It was unlikely someone would open them beforehand, but it had to be legitimate.

“Come back later, there’s always something to be sent,” said the Corporal, who barely looked at Sarge.

“Understood.”

Another courier arrived just then, and Sarge slipped away. There was a small restaurant a few doors down from City Hall, so she parked Celia in the alley next to it and went for something to eat before her next step.

Le Château Blanc was emblazoned on the awning, and it was bustling with soldiers.

“Welcome! Welcome, Sergente!” said the maître d’ in an ebullient voice, “Are you dining alone today?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking around the crowded eatery.

“Hard to believe that a hero such as yourself is unaccompanied!”

“If you don’t have a seat-” she began.

“There is always room for our liberators! Follow me, s’il vous plaît!”

He led her to a very small table near the window. Clearly, they had crammed every available seat into this modest establishment. The table was a crate with a red and white checkered tablecloth, and the chair had three matchbooks under one leg to keep it from tipping over, but there was a tiny vase with daisies in it.

“I’ll be right back with your menu.”

“Why don’t you bring me your house specialty?”

“Ah! That would be the bœuf haché sur un petit pain avec du fromage avec des frites!” the maître d’ said, “It pairs very well, with our local malbec, if I might suggest.”

“Sounds great,” she said.

“Your waiter will be back with your wine,” he said as he moved through the crowded restaurant with a skill honed from years of service.

Sarge looked out on the square beyond the window. People were bustling about, civilians and military personnel. The possibility of being recognized weighed on her as she traveled, but people had their own problems. So far, she hadn’t crossed paths with any Arcadians. Unless they were planning something subtle. Now she was thinking like Ramirez.

“Por vous, mademoiselle.”

She jumped at the voice, knocking over the glass of Malbec. The young waiter blushed and said, “Apologies, mademoiselle. I will replace that at once.”

With a practiced movement, he cleared the glass and slipped away.

“Hey, I get it,” said a nearby soldier. She had jump wings pinned to her tunic and sergeant’s stripes on her sleeve.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“They appreciate us, and that’s great, but they don’t know. They can’t.”

Sarge looked at her and nodded. The paratrooper returned the nod and went back to her own meal. The young waiter appeared with a new glass of wine, making sure not to startle her.

Rising up in the middle of the town square was the Cathedral du Saint-Gratien. Like the rest of this town, it was infested with gargoyles. She wasn’t superstitious, but all those grotesque figures unsettled her. She had a vague memory of being told that gargoyles were put there to ward off evil spirits. If that were true, Élancourt was the safest town in the world.

Just then, her waiter returned and placed her food in front of her. Bœuf haché sur un petit pain avec du fromage avec des frites was a cheeseburger and fries. She laughed out loud.

“Is there a problem?” asked the maître d’, who appeared as if my magic.

“Not at all, monsieur, not at all,” she said with a grin.

Taking a big bite, flavor exploded in her mouth. Savoring the perfectly seasoned and cooked burger, her eyes closed and she smiled.

“Perfect!” she said after finishing her mouthful.

“Merveilleux!” he said with a wide smile, as he and the waiter left her to enjoy her food.

Sarge forced herself to eat slowly. The fries were salty and crispy on the outside, fluffy inside. The wine paired perfectly. She never thought she’d have the best cheeseburger of her life here, but maybe it was an omen. After this last meal, she needed to head into that massive Gothic structure. The possibility of pleasant surprises was about to drop sharply once she entered the cathedral.

Sooner than she preferred, the meal was over. It was extended by a delightfully luscious, warm apple tart. She paid her bill and left. Walking across the town square, the Cathedral du Saint-Gratien loomed more imposing with each step. Like the town, it was covered with gargoyles. She thought this was a piss-poor way of welcoming parishioners.

Her mom was not much of a churchgoer, but her grandmother was. One time, her grandmother took her to church, and the preacher shouted a lot about what would happen to the wicked when they shuffled off. It was graphic and horrifying. She burst into tears and had to be taken outside. This led to a huge fight between her mom and grandmother. She never went back to church after that. Her mom told her to never be frightened by stories and to trust only what she knew was real.

Standing at the massive, open doors, Sarge took a deep breath and entered. Her footsteps were lost in the vastness of this holy place. A person would be afraid to sneeze here.

Two long rows of pews led to the altar, where a large, gilded crucifix hung. There were both townsfolk and soldiers praying. Sarge felt like an intruder. Pulling a slip of paper out of her pocket, she was about to unfold it when she heard, “Welcome and peace be with you!”

She whipped around to see an older nun, standing there, hands folded.

“Forgive me, my child. I did not mean to alarm you,” added the nun.

“Just a little jumpy, sister.”

“An occupational hazard, I imagine.”

“You could say that.”

“What can the Church do for you this day?”

“Someone recommended I see the Chapel of the Stars.”

“Ahhh! We are not supposed to have favorites, but I do find it a sanctuary for introspection.”

“I guess we can all use some of that,” said Sarge.

“Now more than ever. You will find it right off the north aisle,” she said, pointing towards the right side of the cathedral.

“Thank you, sister, have a good one.”

“May the Lord bless you this day.”

Sarge took two steps, then turned back.

“Sister, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my child.”

“Why are there so many gargoyles all over this town?”

Smiling, the nun replied, “Today is a lovely day, but we are blessed with an abundance of rain in this region. Without them, some say we’d have floated out to sea.”

“I didn’t know nuns could be funny.”

“We are as God made us.”

“Thanks, sister.”

“You are welcome, my child.”

Sarge walked slowly to the Chapel of Stars. It was modest, compared to the main cathedral, but still impressive. A dark blue stained glass window, punctuated with gold stars, dominated the back wall. One young woman sat near the front, praying. Sarge took a seat a few rows behind her to wait. Perhaps ten minutes later, she got up, knelt in front of the altar, crossed herself, and exited.

Checking that no one else was here or coming in, Sarge moved behind the altar. The lectern was covered in a dark blue stone, with a field of stars of gold or brass. Sarge pressed the stars in the sequence that Pentagast had drilled into her. Once finished, there was a pause. Then the floor behind the lectern slid open with a hiss, and a ladder leading down was illuminated.

Sarge took one last look around and began her descent.

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The Squad-Part Forty-Four

Posted on January 12, 2026 by jenicek

“I see your fifty, and raise you a hundred,” he said.

Sarge looked at her cards. It was a good hand. Was it good enough? Everyone, except the guy across from her, had folded. He grinned with confidence.

“The bet is one hundred,” said the dealer, “Will you call?”

Smoke from cigarettes hung in the backroom like a silent and inscrutable spectator. Sarge looked around the table and said, “All in,” as she pushed the rest of her chips into the pile.

“That brings the bet to,” said the dealer as she counted, “Three-hundred and seventeen.”

Her opponent carefully counted his own chips and asked his mates, “I’m a bit short, can someone cover me?”

“Blimey, I dunno,” said the player on his right, “You still owe me from last week.”

“He owes all of us,” added the one on his left.

The rest all laughed at that.

“And when I win this pot, I can pay you all back,” he insisted.

This was followed by a silence that suggested a lack of confidence.

“If you can’t match the bet, the hand goes to our guest,” the dealer pointed out.

“I know how it works!” he snapped.

“Tell you what,” said Sarge, “That’s your motorcycle out back, right? I’ll accept that as your raise.”

Heads swiveled toward him, waiting for a response. He looked at his cards, then back up at Sarge. With a smirk, he reached into his breast pocket and tossed his keys onto the pot.

“Call.”

With great confidence, he spread out his hand.

“Full house,” he said, “Tens over eights.”

Sarge made a sour face.

“That’s a pretty good hand,” she said.

He reached for the pot and said, “Better luck next time, eh?”

“Just not as good as a straight flush,” she added, flipping over her cards.

Hoots and hollers filled the room as Sarge pulled her winnings to her.

“Double or nothing,” her opponent offered.

“Mate, you got nuttin’ right now!” pointed out one of his fellow soldiers.

No one would front him the cash for a rematch, so that was the end of the game. Sarge offered to buy them all a round of drinks, which, for most of them, was the cherry on the sundae.

“Glad there’s no hard feelings,” said Sarge to Rufus, a burly soldier who carried three pitchers of beer to the table where they were sitting.

“None at all, Berty likes to press his luck,” he replied, “Innit that right?”

Everyone at the table agreed, except Berty, who responded, “You make me sound like I’m a dodgy villain.”

“Not at all,” insisted Gwen, who had been the dealer, “If you were, you’d still have your motorbike.”

Berty made a face, but they pushed a beer into his hands, and they all raised their mugs to better days. This group reminded her of Echo Company. No one was an exact counterpart to her men, but their camaraderie brought her back to times when they were all still together.

“Hey there, Sergeant,” asked Edgar, one of the others at the table, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she lied, “Just a little beat. I’ve just been hoofing it for a while now.”

“Right! Your jeep gave up the ghost a while back,” Gwen remembered.

“Now you can ride in comfort,” said Rufus with a big smile.

“My feet thank you,” she said to Berty, who sighed.

The rest of the evening was spent drinking and swapping stories. She’d been hiking for about two weeks now, keeping off the roads and sticking to the wilderness. It was damn tiring, as well as lonely. It occurred to her that it had been years since she had been alone. She missed being with other people, specifically soldiers who knew this life.

Luck was on her side when she ran into this group, not from her army but allied infantry. They were billeted in this town, awaiting orders. Lots of traffic in and out, so she was able to avoid too much scrutiny. And they were good folk.

Sarge kept buying rounds until last call. She regretfully told them that she needed to leave the next day. Her new friends said good night and goodbye. The bartender, who was quite pleased by how many drinks she bought, was able to find a broom closet for her to sleep in, complete with a cot. Not the Ritz, but so much more comfortable than a forest floor.

Before she knew it, morning was here. No dreams, which was a relief. She freshened up, drank a quick cup of strong black coffee, and headed out back to collect her motorbike.

An envelope with her name had been carefully placed on the gas tank. Opening it up, it read.

Sergeant,

Please take care of Celia for me. She’s a fine motorbike, and if you treat her proper, she’ll serve you well. I’ve included a list of tricks to keep her running tiptop. I’m going to miss her something terrible, but I suppose the eastern front, where I suspect we’re going, would’ve been hard on her.

Good luck wherever you’re sent next, and if we cross paths again, I hope you’ll give me a rematch.

Barty

PS, don’t tell the others I’ve named me motorbike. They’ll take the mickey out of me something awful.

There were a fair number of instructions on how to keep Celia running smoothly, but she’d have to read them later. Celia started smoothly, and Sarge was on her way.

Spring was in full force. Trees, grass, and wildflowers were blooming as she rode towards her destination. Even the areas hit by shelling were showing signs of recovery. In that moment, she could almost forget about both wars, all it cost her, and those she gave a damn about.

Midday, she stopped by a stream to refill her canteen and eat some of the supplies she picked up in town. Bread, cheese, and a winter apple, which was sweet and a little tart, but still a rare treat.

Continuing on, she passed a few jeeps, but no one saw fit to stop and question her, which was a relief. She still had her papers, but all it would take is one green LT or some other hard ass to derail things.

By late afternoon, everything was coated in a bronze light, making even a burnt-out tank something beautiful, in defiance of its original purpose. Taking a smaller dirt road, she came to the farmhouse where she and Echo Company had sheltered after escaping the caves. No car or cart was visible, but just for safety and courtesy, she knocked on the door. A doleful silence was the only reply.

Going around to the side of the house, she found the shovel, just where she had left it. Walking into the surrounding woods, she eventually came to a small clearing. Running her hand over the trunks of the trees, she found a small nick. Digging in front of that one, she unearthed a small, ceramic jar that, according to its dirty and faded label, once had held jam. Carefully prying off the cap, she reached in with two fingers and removed the religious metal that Pete Sanders had slipped into Spinelli’s pocket.

Step one, complete.

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The Squad-Part Forty-Three

Posted on January 5, 2026 by jenicek

After backing up and pulling off the road, Sarge and Ramirez discussed their options.

“We could go back,” he said.

Looking at her maps, Sarge shook her head and said, “No, it would add two weeks to my trip, and there are no other hospitals for miles.”

“I just need a little shut-eye,” Ramirez said.

Sarge looked at him. He was sweaty, and his skin was getting more ashen.

“You need a doctor.”

“I don’t trust doctors.”

“Do you trust me?”

He paused and softly replied, “You know I do.”

“Then let me help you.”

“Fine. I’ll go to a hospital. After we figure out how to get past those Expendables.”

“Any ideas?”

“I don’t suppose you have a mortar or bazooka in the jeep?”

“Captain Pentagast didn’t see fit to supply me with those.”

“Like I needed more reasons to be suspicious.”

“To be fair, I was supposed to avoid attention.”

“Better to have it and not need it,” he began.

“Than to need it and not have it,” she finished.

“Next time.”

Ramirez nodded at her.

“I don’t suppose you can call in for air support?” he asked.

“Even if I could, there’s no guarantee we’d get it.”

“Can’t rely on those flyboys.”

“Too bad they didn’t give you one of those idiot proof sniper rifles.”

“I do have my sidearm, but that’s no good at long range.”

“My sub-machine gun is the same.”

Ramirez sat up a little straighter and said, “We should go on foot. It’ll take a little longer, but we can avoid unfriendly eyes.”

“Ramirez,” said Sarge.

“No, really. It’s the only way.”

“How many push-ups can you do? Right now.”

“I’m not at my best, so maybe fifty?” he said with a grin.

“I should make you prove it, but I’m not that cruel.”

“Listen, Sarge, we don’t have a lot of options. This is the best way.”

“Remember when we had leave in that little town, the one with all the windmills?” she asked.

“What was it called? Hooberg?”

Sarge snapped her fingers and said, “Hoogesen! That was it.”

“They had really good beer.”

“Too good. Spinelli and McCann got so drunk.”

“Yes! They started arguing about something, but we couldn’t understand what it was about.”

“We were all pretty drunk too.”

“I remember. Sorta.”

“Then the next thing, they’ve disappeared.”

“And we’re running down those narrow streets, shouting their names.”

“The townspeople were not happy with us.”

“Not at all.”

“One of them threw a wooden shoe at me.”

“Ramirez, no one wears wooden shoes anymore.”

“One, you’d be surprised. Two, if someone chucked a wooden shoe at you, that’s something you don’t forget.”

“If you say so.”

“We finally found them at that old windmill.”

“They were trying to fix it,” Sarge said.

“Or they broke it.”

“Even they didn’t remember. I’m just glad we got them outta there before whoever owned that windmill showed up.”

“Good thing we did, because Windmills are run by the Rosicrucians. You can tell because their symbol looks like a windmill.”

Sarge laughed, and Ramirez smiled.

“I miss them,” he said quietly.

“Me too.”

They sat in silence after that, as the shadows lengthened in the small grove where they had set up camp. It felt to Sarge that the world was impermanent. Like if she said the wrong thing, someone might come and pack it all up, leaving nothing. She knew that this was irrational, but it lingered on the outskirts of her thoughts.

Ramirez’s eyes were closed, and for a moment, she thought he was gone, but his chest moved with breath, and then she exhaled. He was right, they had to abandon the jeep and go on foot. She’d be damned if she let another member of Echo Company die. It would take longer, but it was the only way. A wave of exhaustion swept over her, the odds were against them. They always were, she supposed.

Just then, Ramirez woke and looked her straight in the eyes.

“Sarge, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you finish this mission. Even when things feel like they are about to go to hell, know that I’ve got your back. I’m not going to let you fail.”

“Thanks.”

“De nada.”

“I’ll take first watch, Ramirez.”

“Much appreciated, Sarge,” he said as he drifted off to sleep.

She spent some time poring over the maps. If she could get Ramirez to St. Maria’s, he would be okay. She figured it might take five days, given how much blood he had lost. Could take more. Even if she made a stretcher out of stuff from the jeep, all that bumping along the ground wouldn’t be doing him any favors.

It was a plan. Not a great plan. Arguably a terrible plan. Still, it was a plan, and if they were lucky, it would work. Sarge’s eyes began to feel heavy. Normally, she’d force herself awake, but Ramirez said that the Expendables didn’t take the initiative, so they were unlikely to come looking for them. They followed orders to the letter, even when it didn’t make sense. She supposed that if questioning orders got you blown up, she might feel the same way.

Feeling as safe as anyone could in these circumstances, Sarge let herself sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, better rest while she could.

It was not a dreamless sleep. Rather, a montage of anxiety as she wandered through a dark forest of trees made from twisted rifles and other firearms. She called out for Ramirez, who seemed to be just out of sight, insisting she follow him. Finally, she came to a mist-filled chasm that stretched to the horizon. As the ground beneath her buckled, she grasped at a rifle barrel that snapped off, sending her into the abyss.

Sarge sat up, awake. She was drenched in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. The sensation of solid ground under her brought her back to where she was. Damn.

“Ramirez, are you awake?”

She looked to where he had slept, but he was gone. Standing, she yelled his name, to no response. Spinning around the clearing, she discovered something was missing. The jeep.

“Goddamnit, Ramirez! What the hell have you-”

The thump of the explosion echoed through the trees, and birds erupted skywards like winged smoke. She ran towards the sound. She got to the road and crested the hill to the valley below. A blackened crater dominated the view with burning trees forming a fiery halo.

Sarge let loose with every profanity she knew, and emptied a clip at a tree just because it was there. After that, she stood there and stared at the destruction, trying to wrap her head around this heroic idiocy. Holstering her sidearm, she found a piece of paper sticking out of her pocket. This is what was written.

Sarge,

I know you’re mad, but we both knew that I’d never make it to St. Marie’s. I’m no medic, and only a desperate moron operates on himself. If you want to think of me as just desperate, that’d be nice. You need to finish your mission, and I’d just slow you down. Probably dying on the way.

So I did what needed to be done. You’d never order me to do what I’m going to do, and if I brought it up… I’ll bet you’d yell me stupid. This isn’t the way I thought I’d go out, but it’s okay.

At least I went out on my terms, not what those bastards up in Arcadia had planned. Screw them.

When you see Spinelli, Chang, and Bank, tell’em to drink one for me. Unless it’s Rocket Fuel, that stuff will kill you.

If I wrote everything I want to say, I’d be here all day. Just know it’s been an honor, Sarge. Keep kicking their asses, and only trust Echo Company.

Private Hector Ramirez

Tears stained the letter. She wiped her eyes, carefully folded it, and put it in her pocket. Sarge went back to the clearing to find her courier bag and other equipment laid neatly next to the tree she had leaned on. On top was Ramirez’s night-vision goggles. One last bit of help.

Checking her maps, she set out on foot. It would be a long march, but maybe she’d get lucky. Someone had to.

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Solo Holiday

Posted on December 29, 2025 by jenicek

Constant readers, please indulge me as I ruminate on the holidays. The Squad will return next Monday.

As an only child, I have often fantasized about having a large family at Christmas. A house decorated from top to bottom, filled with brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins, and of course, grandparents. Music playing in the background, games being played, family traditions followed. Sledding on that big hill at the end of the street, then inside for hot cocoa or apple cider. Caroling, despite my lack of singing skills. Special treats that are only made at this time of year, both savory and sweet. Presents on Christmas morning, even for the pets.

But being an only child and the child of only children, that is clearly an unfulfilled dream. Admittedly, my fantasy of the familial yuletide is fueled by TV, movies, and perhaps most heavily, commercials. Even knowing that it is a fiction manufactured for the sole purpose of selling us things we don’t really need, I still want it.

Furthermore, I know that having a large family is no guarantee of closeness and/or love. Plenty of my friends with siblings have disabused me of that notion, and made me very relieved not have the burden of blood ties to people whom I would not choose to associate with, given the option. Additionally, being a parent is no assurance of unconditional love, which is a profoundly depressing reality, and can only translate to disappointment on the holidays, to say nothing of the rest of life. Being in a terrible family clearly is worse than having no family.

Which brings me to something that I have been feeling since I lost my mom two years ago. When you have no family, the holidays are weird. Christmas is just another day, but most everything is closed. If you venture out into the streets, they are oddly deserted, populated occasionally with other lost souls. I feel like I’ve been ghosted by Christmas.

While I have tried to continue with my own family traditions, dill shrimp for dinner on Christmas Eve (delicious!) and watching my mom’s favorite holiday movie, The Bishop’s Wife, starring Cary Grant, David Niven, and Loretta Young (a HIGHLY underrated and underappreciated classic gem) I have found that other things I wanted to do have fallen by the wayside. Cookies unbaked, no Advent wreath lit on the four Sundays leading up to Christmas, and I’ve sent not one Holiday card. Truthfully, I only put up and decorated my tiny tree two days before the twenty-fifth, even though I awoke each morning telling myself I would do it that day.

One tradition I have kept up is making a Rumtof. Which, for those of you unfamiliar with this, is summer fruit, sugar, and dark rum, placed in a ceramic crock, and let to infuse for months. It’s best served over vanilla ice cream, though you can use it to top a variety of desserts. I share jars of it with a select group of friends, all of whom are extremely happy to receive it. I think I continue this particular one because I quite enjoy it myself.

I have written about how much work goes into making the holiday special, remember that Moms are magic, or at least the good ones are. Maybe my lack of effort is because I’m not doing it for someone else. Flag planted.

Honestly, my Christmas fantasy is based on a loving family whose squabbles are minor at best, and that seems more fantastical than anything else that this season brings. I don’t have to endure cross-country travel and shop for someone who will likely not appreciate what I give them. Or avoiding certain topics that will turn any holiday meal into a screaming match. Bullet dodged, perhaps?

I have spent Christmas with other families, which, if I’m being honest, is always a disappointment. If you are not part of the family, even if they say you are, your involvement is a bit of an afterthought. Understandable, but it only reinforces your outsider status.

Next year, perhaps I’ll try to organize an orphan’s yule, leaning into pagan traditions, which, let’s be honest, are the best ones. Any celebration requires people to celebrate with. I’m sure there are friends of mine who are similarly at loose ends in this, the hap, happiest time of the year. All it will take is some work and planning.

An orphan’s holiday can be weird, but maybe it should be, in the best way.

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The Squad-Part Forty-Two

Posted on December 22, 2025 by jenicek

Sarge considered herself lucky that she was on the other side of the jeep when whatever detonated went off. Her ears were ringing from the blast, but other than that, she was unharmed. Getting up, she saw that the nearby trees were scorched, and many were still burning.

Grabbing her submachine gun and flashlight, she headed towards what seemed to be the center of the explosion. The sensible art of her suggested that leaving might be the best course of action, but her curious nature insisted that it was worth checking out.

Her boots crunched under charred earth as she stepped over shattered trees. This wasn’t a shell, she hadn’t heard the telltale sounds of artillery. Despite the heat from the fire, she felt a shiver of recognition.

At the center of the devastation was a crater, but no survivors. Not that it was likely, given the size of the detonation. Sarge felt something crack beneath her boot and instinctively flung herself sideways. After what felt like an hour but was probably only a few seconds, she looked up to see nothing had changed.

Getting to her feet, she moved back to where she heard the noise. Moving the burnt soil with the tip of her knife, she found two jagged pieces of black plastic. Expendables.

Off in the distance, she heard a moan. Holding her knife in a fighting grip, she moved towards the sound. About fifty meters in, there was a large rock, blackened and pitted by the explosion. The moans grew louder as she approached. Peering around the edge of the rock, there was an Expendable, his face looking away from her as he clutched his chest.

“Don’t make a goddamned move,” she said, holding her knife to his throat.

“Sarge?” asked the figure in an all-too familiar voice.

“Ramirez?”

He turned to her with a pained smile and asked, “Guess what I just did?”

She saw that blood was oozing from between his fingers.

“Jesus, Ramirez, it looks like you fell on your sword.”

He roughly laughed and said, “Not yet, Sarge.”

Opening his hands, there was an open wound pumping blood, and in the center, sticking up, was a cut, copper wire.

“I disarmed myself. Pretty smart, right, Sarge?”

“Good thing you’re not any smarter, or you’d be dead.”

“Just enough.”

“I have a first aid kit back at the jeep. Can you walk?” she asked.

“You might have to give me a hand.”

She got him to his feet, and they made their way back. It was slower than she wanted, but Ramirez clearly wasn’t up for a sprint. Once there, she laid him against the jeep and pulled out the first aid kit and patched him up as best as she could with some crude stitches and super glue, she got his wound closed. He was far from alright, but was the best she could do.

“I got a story for you, Sarge,” Ramirez said.

“That explosion is going to attract attention. You can tell me while I drive.”

He shakily got to his feet and saluted, then she helped him to the passenger side seat. With that, they were off.

“First, don’t trust those damned robots, they will turn on you, first chance they get,” began Ramirez, “One of them knocked me out when my back was turned.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve missed your conspiracy theories.”

“They’re only theories till they turn out to be right.”

“Fair enough. You know, everybody was very sad about your death.”

“My death? Now who’s the conspiracy theorist?”

“That’s what the powers that be said when you disappeared.”

“Were there tears?”

“Oceans of ‘em.”

“I knew I was the most popular squad member,” he said with a smile.

“The most popular?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

“Excepting you, of course,” he amended.

“Nice save.”

“I found a prison when I was snooping around. Then they threw me in there. Filled with people who questioned how things were being done. They scooped them up and turned them into those bomb boys, except they called them-”

“-Expendables,” added Sarge.

“What the hell!” he blurted out, “Sarge.”

“I’ve had a few adventures myself.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Anyway, anyone they thought of as a troublemaker was rounded up and had a bomb put in their chest. We were told that if we behaved and did what we were told, they’d take out the explosive and we’d get our freedom. Which was Grade-A mierda.”

“Can’t disagree.”

“They played all sorts of mind games with us, to keep us off balance, ya’know? Worked pretty well on those Arcadians, but I had training, so I was able keep my head on straight.

“Then one day, they marched us out of the cell we were in, suited us up in the idiot-proof gear, and told us that if we succeed on a mission, we’re all pardoned for our crimes. Then they show us a picture of you. Orders are to terminate by any means possible.

“Made me wonder where you and the others were, since I didn’t think we’d be going back upstairs to shoot things up, but I kept my trap shut. We ended up back here, with orders to wait for you to show up.

“I tried to convince them we could cut the cord on our bomb and be free, but they were not having it. None of them had an ounce of guts. So I figure, if they won’t do it, I will. They freak out and start running away, which we were told would set them off. I quickly open myself up, cut the wire, then BOOM! It hurt like hell, but I’m here to tell my story.”

Sarge filled him in on her side of the story, ending with the unlikely alliance with Pentagast.

“I don’t trust her, Sarge,” he said with a sour look.

“I don’t trust her myself, but we don’t have the luxury of options,” she replied.

Glancing over at Ramirez, it was clear he needed a doctor or at least a real medic. She pulled over to the side of the road and took out her maps.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need a doctor.”

“I can make more blood.”

She looked at him. His skin was ashen and clammy. He was shivering, despite the warm weather.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, teeth chattering.

“Listen, we didn’t find each other just so you could kick the bucket. Echo Company needs you to be at your best. So I’m going to find the nearest hospital, drive you to it so you can get back on your feet.”

Ramirez closed his eyes and said, quietly, “Well, if it’s an order.”

“It is.”

“Then all I can say is ‘Yes, Sarge!’”

“Good man.”

After a perusal of the maps, she found what she was looking for.

“St. Maria’s, it’s a civilian hospital. Less questions that way. And it’s not far.”

“Sounds… perfect,” he said, drawing the blanket she had put on him tighter over his shoulders.

“Won’t be long now,” she said, driving on.

Thirty minutes later, the sky was lightening, and they crested a hill overlooking a misty valley.

“Just on the other side,” Sarge said, feeling like she had beaten the odds.

“If it looks safe, it ain’t,” Ramirez said, pulling his night vision googles off his belt, then looking down.

He made an annoyed noise and handed them to Sarge. Below, she saw a contingent of Expendables.

She swore, and Ramirez did not disagree.

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The Squad-Part Forty-One

Posted on December 15, 2025 by jenicek

“I must be a goddamned idiot,” thought Sarge as she drove her jeep through a brutal rainstorm.

The rumble of thunder was followed by the sharp crack of lightning that lit up the countryside, throwing trees and some ruins into stark, unflattering light. It had been three days since she had left Porcino, and she was nowhere near her destination.

Pentagast had set her up with this jeep, a submachine gun, a sidearm, a knife, supplies, a map, and most importantly, a new military ID and a letter of authorization. Without those, she could be shot as a deserter.

“Can’t you just get me on a flight to where I need to go?” Sarge had asked Pentagast.

“If I did that, red flags would be raised, and this would end very badly for both of us. Don’t forget, a fair number of the higher-ups are Arcadians.”

“Why would they come down here?”

“They’ve romanticized this war. Also, since they are usually the brass, they’re in no real danger. Of course, there’s always the oddball who wants to play real soldier. When they get hurt, they get whisked off back upstairs so they brag about their stupidity as if it was heroism.”

“You are all out of your damned minds!”

“I’m only here because the Director is covering her ass.”

Just then, the rain went from pounding to torrential. Sarge slowed and looked around for a place to stop. The canvas roof sounded like a drum as rain pelted in aggressive, atonal tempo. Taking her flashlight, she peered for some sign of shelter. At first, all she could see were gnarled trees, hunched over like resentful, old men. Sarge empathized.

Another flash of lightning revealed an old barn, or maybe it was a stable, off the side of the road. With her flashlight, she found the dirt path that led up a mild slope, though it looked more like a rushing stream of muddy water. Sarge threw the jeep into second gear and slowly drove up. It was the shortest and most frustrating leg of her journey so far, but she got to the ramshackle building.

Pulling on a poncho, she leapt out of the jeep and pulled open the doors, which complied but not without creaking. Once inside, she and her ride were out of the storm. The first thing she noticed was that miraculously, the roof had no holes, second, the place had a powerful, musky odor. But whatever animals stayed here were long gone. Closing the doors behind her, she settled in for the night. After a meal of cold field rations, she bunked down in the back seat. It was not comfortable, but she had worse. Soon, the rat-a-tat-tat of the rain became soothing, and she fell asleep.

Spears of sunlight intruded through gaps in the stable walls, yanking Sarge awake. She was sore from sleeping in the back seat of her jeep. After a quick breakfast, she opened the doors and was on her way. Last night’s storm had passed, and the sky was cloudless. The roads, however, were muddy. Even so, it was better than marching through the muck and mire.

A few hours after setting out, she came to an Army checkpoint. Now to see if this was going to work. Before slowing to a stop, she unsnapped the thumb break on her holster. Just in case.

A Private, rifle in hand, approached the driver’s side, saluted, and said, “Papers please, Sergeant.”

She produced her new ID and the letter of authorization. He examined them and then handed them back to her.

“You got a long drive ahead, there’s a canteen just past the depot, if you want some coffee and grub before you move on,” he said.

“Thanks, I think I will. Have a better one, Private.”

“You too, Sergeant.”

Sarge dropped off the jeep to get refueled and headed off to the canteen. The food and coffee were not great, but at least they were hot. Sitting off to the side, helmet pulled low to hide her face, she wolfed down her meal. The odds were slim that she’d run into someone who knew her. Slim but not zero. She had to be careful, or this whole crazy plan would go tits up.

Finishing up, she bussed her tray and headed for the exit. Just as she reached it, she bumped into someone.

“Sorry, Sergeant!”

“No problem, carry on,” she said, moving off.

“Sarge?”

She froze in place for a beat, then turned around. It was one of the members of Whisky Company, the all-female company. Shit.

“I heard you were MIA,” she said, way too loudly for Sarge’s taste.

Grabbing the soldier’s arm, she dragged her behind a tent.

“There was a report that you were all ambushed, but I also heard that there were no bodies recovered, so a lot of us thought you all were-” blurted out the Whisky Company soldier.

“I need you to shut up,” hissed Sarge.

She did so immediately, adding a salute and standing at attention for good measure.

“You didn’t see me. I was never here, do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously.

“You’re going to go back to the canteen, get yourself something to eat, and never, EVER, mention that you saw me.”

More vigorous nodding, but she looked like she was going to explode.

“What’s your name, Private?”

“Henderson, Sergeant!”

“Cool your jets, Henderson, you’re not in trouble, at ease.”

Henderson visibly relaxed as she put her hands behind her back.

“I’m on a special assignment, Henderson. I can’t give you any details, for your protection and mine. But if anyone knew I was still alive, a lot of people would be in danger,” Sarge told her, not technically lying.

“Can I help in any way?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Yes. Forget this conversation and that you saw me.”

Henderson looked a little disappointed and said, “I can do more than that, Sarge.”

“I know, I know. But this is the most important thing you can do for lots of innocent people and me. Can I count on you?”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” she replied with a sharp salute.

“Good. Now go back to the canteen, have a meal, and talk about anything else to your squad-mates.”

“Will do!”

They stood there for a beat.

“Dismissed, Private,” said Sarge, who could tell that Henderson needed some more direction.

“Right, Sarge!” she said as she saluted again and headed off to the canteen.

Once Henderson was out of sight, Sarge sighed. Henderson was just enthusiastic enough to be trouble. She shouldn’t say anything, but it was time to hit the road. If she did say anything, better to have some distance.

She picked up her refueled jeep from the depot and drove to the western exit. She showed her papers to the guard there, who said, “Watch out, Sergeant. There are reports of Enemy activity west of here.”

“I thought our people cleared the area.”

“Officially, yeah. Unofficially, a supply truck got shot at a few days ago. I’d keep my eyes peeled.”

“Unofficially.”

The guard nodded as he opened the gate. All the mud made driving slower than she’d like, but there was nothing she could do about that. Several hours later, she came to a fork in the road that led to two bridges over a valley with a rushing river. According to her maps, the southern bridge would take at least a day off her journey. Unfortunately, that bridge was no longer there, due to the application of something explosive. North is was then.

It was a relatively uneventful drive. She passed a caravan of trucks with soldiers headed the way she came. Fortunately, they didn’t stop, though it made her heart race a little. She hated the feeling of being anxious around her own people, but for now, she just needed to be careful.

When the sun began to set, Sarge looked for a place to spend the night. No abandoned farm houses or stables in sight. Around the next bend, a forest arose on either side. A quarter klick in, Sarge spotted a dirt path to the north. It led to a clearing out of sight of the road. There were some old, wooden hitching posts on the far side, and a narrow stream burbled across the way. It must have been set up a long time ago for travelers.

Sarge made camp, eating a cold supper but enjoying the calm of this little nook in the world. With the light about to disappear, she spread out her bedroll and lay down. She could see stars emerging from the dark sky above her. Even if they weren’t real, she found them oddly comforting.

She might have enjoyed a restful night’s sleep, were it not for the explosion.

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The Squad-Part Forty

Posted on December 8, 2025 by jenicek

Sarge immediately gripped her walking stick like a baseball bat. Pentagast regarded her with a wry smile and asked, “That’s your plan? Beating me to death before I answer any questions?”

“Maybe not to death,” Sarge replied.

Pentagast laughed.

“How do you think that will end? At best, a court-martial and ten years in prison. At worst, the firing squad.”

“Might be worth it.”

“Hard to help your men if you’re locked up or dead.”

Sarge lowered her walking stick but did not put it down.

“You’re pretty damned clever.”

“Pretty damned clever, Ma’am,” Pentagast corrected her.

“You’re not a real captain.”

“And this isn’t a real war, but here we are.”

“What if I told everyone who you really are?”

“Do you think they’ll believe you? Where’s your proof? You’ll get shipped off to an Army psych facility.”

As much as Sarge hated her, she knew she was right.

“Have a seat,” Pentagast said, pointing to a wooden patio chair.

With resentment, Sarge sat.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Last time we drank coffee, it ended in a firefight,” remarked Sarge.

“True. Though I think that’s extremely unlikely to happen today.”

“But not impossible.”

“If it does, we’re both dead. You take it black, is that right?”

Sarge nodded. Pentagast poured her a small cup, the same as hers.

“It’s better than the stuff they have in the mess.”

“Rank has its privileges,” said Sarge with a sneer.

“Of course, you know all about that, being the darling of Arcadia and all. I’m sure you enjoyed many excellent meals and drinks while you were there.”

Sarge paused, the cup halfway to her lips, then lowered it.

“I never asked for that. Or to be kidnapped.”

Pentagast took a sip of her coffee.

“Kidnapped seems a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?”

“Rescue.”

It was Sarge’s turn to laugh.

“Did you find having your every desire met immediately a burden? Don’t you think that anyone in this war wouldn’t trade places with you without a second thought?”

“Not if they knew what was really going on.”

“You seem like a bit of a cynic, but you’re an idealist after all. Good.”

“Listen, captain, why did you want to see me? Are you going to turn me in?”

“One, because you know what’s really going on. Two, of course not.”

“Again, why?”

“I need to know something. What happened to the key?”

“What key?”

Pentagast gave her a penetrating look.

“Please don’t play dumb with me, Sergeant, you know damn well what key I mean.”

Sarge drank some of the coffee. It was better than the kind the troops drank.”

“It’s safe.”

“I’m going to need you to be a bit more specific.”

“Let me ask you this, captain. If our places were reversed, would you trust me?”

“No, probably not.”

“So here we are,” said Sarge.

They sat in silence for a minute or so. If it were under different circumstances, it would be pleasant. Warm weather, good coffee, and flowers growing around them.

“What did Pete Sanders tell you was on that tablet?” asked Pentagast.

Sarge said nothing and drank some more coffee.

“Fine. So let me guess. The plans for this war? Or something along those lines.”

Sarge frowned, then nodded.

“Shockingly, he was not being completely honest.”

“So what is on it?”

“That’s the real question. The Director didn’t tell me.”

“You work for the Director?” shouted Sarge as she stood up.

“Worked for her.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Pentagast sighed.

“I was sent here as punishment. Probably because she thought I would die here. If I turned you in, I might get to go back.”

“Then why not do it?”

“Because it’s just as likely that the Enemy will conveniently send a bomber group here to wipe us and anyone we might’ve spoken to off the map.”

“Do you have intel that backs that up?”

“Just years of doing the Director’s dirty work.”

“How do I know they’re not watching us now?”

“Because, as I said before, I didn’t turn you in. They follow the action and the drama. There is little interest in the day-to-day. It’s impossible for them to watch everything.”

“Let’s say you’re not lying. What do you want from me?”

“I need that key. Whatever is on that tablet has the Director scared.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because my mission was to bring Pete Sanders with the tablet back up to Arcadia. It should’ve been easy. We were on our way. Then I got orders to make sure he was dead and anyone who he might’ve talked to. I pointed out to her that it was not necessary, I had everything in hand. She insisted.”

“You seemed hellbent on killing us all.”

“Tell me, Sergeant, have you agreed with every order you were ever given?”

Sarge grimaced as she said, “No.”

“Her Expendables were there, and I had to give the order.”

“Expendables? Those were the troopers with the bombs in their chests?”

Pentagast nodded.

“What sort of lunatic volunteers for that?”

“No one does. They’re all dissidents, anyone who questions the order of things. They get disappeared, a bomb gets implanted in their chests, and they do as they’re told.”

“That’s fucking horrible! Why isn’t anybody doing anything about this?”

“If anyone knew, they might. Only those who work directly for the Director are aware.”

“How do people not know what’s going on?”

With a sad smile, Pentagast said, “You’ve been there. They don’t want to know. Everything they could want is provided. And if an uncomfortable thought occurs to them, there is so much to distract them that they just push it down and tell themselves it can’t be real.”

“That… Tracks. It’s fucking sad, but it makes sense.”

“I know.”

For the second time this morning, they sat there for a while, saying nothing.

“You wanted to know why I asked to see you,” said Pentagast.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I need your help.”

“To do what?”

“Try and fix all this.”

“Is that because you’re on the other end of the stick?”

“That’s part of it.”

Sarge looked the so-called captain in the eyes.

“You’re a real piece of shit, but you’re not lying. About this anyway.”

Pentagast smiled a wicked smile and said, “I can work with that.”

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The Squad-Part Thirty-Nine

Posted on December 1, 2025 by jenicek

Before Sarge opened her eyes, she heard familiar sounds. Boots marching, orders being shouted, and the rumble of jeeps. Blinking, she found herself on an uncomfortable army cot in a large room made of tan stone. Looking around, she saw bandaged soldiers. It felt like waking from one nightmare into another. She tried to sit up, but her body, battered and bruised, rudely declined to cooperate, and she collapsed back down.

“Everybody wants to be a damned hero,” said a weary voice.

Standing over her was an army doctor, circles under her eyes, and a cigarette hanging from her lips.

“Where am I?”

“You’re on the outskirts of Porcino,” replied the Doc, “That’s on the Avanto Coast.”

“Goddamn.”

“I know how you feel, Sergeant. It’s no vacation spot.”

“Listen, I need to speak to someone in charge.”

“Don’t we all? I have some choice words for the Almighty myself, but so far, no one’s answering the phone.”

“Who’s in command here?”

“As far as you’re concerned, me. You took a real beating and swallowed a shit load of seawater. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I can’t just lie around,” insisted Sarge.

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do. Doctor’s orders. Which, since I’m a goddamned officer, means you have to follow them. Do I make myself clear?”

Sarge pushed down her anger and said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Try to rest while you can. Likely someone more messed up than you will need that bed soon.”

With reluctance, she stayed put. Somehow, she was back in the war, albeit over fifteen hundred klicks from where she left it. She needed to get to someone with actual authority and let them know what was really going on. She smiled bitterly. Now she sounded like Ramirez. Especially, since she had no proof, at least not on her. If she could get back to that cave with the metal floor, maybe that would show them things were not as they appeared.

“They got you good, huh?” asked the man on the cot to her left.

“You could say that.”

He had a bandage over one eye and an arm in a sling.

“Call me Sergeant Lucky Luchow,” he said, offering his good hand.

She introduced herself and asked, “Are you? Lucky that is.”

“One hundred percent,” he said with a big grin.

“Is that good or bad luck?”

“The best! I had an encounter with an enemy grenade, and I’m here to tell the tale. If I weren’t lucky, they’d be scraping me up with a spoon!”

“I guess so.”

“I know so. Now I get some bed rest, and when I’m ready to reenter the fight, I’ll have a very dashing eyepatch. Plus a story to tell next time I’m on leave.”

“You have a very positive outlook.”

“Only way to live. Say, you’re new around here. Transfer?”

“Sort of. I was trapped… Behind enemy lines.”

Lucky sat up at this.

“Dollars to doughnuts that’s a tale and a half. I’d love to hear about how you escaped.”

“Lucky, I can say for sure, you’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Lay it on me! Since we both have copious free time.”

“I’d love to, but I need to report to whoever’s in charge around here before I start sharing stories.”

“The dreaded chain of command! Fine, I understand, but when you get the go-ahead, I’ll buy the drinks, and you provide all the thrilling details. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, shaking his hand, “What’s going on around here?”

“Well, Porcino is a port town, the Enemy has been using it as a fuel depot, which means they dominate this stretch of the sea. We were sent to take it intact. Which, as I’m sure you know, is harder than just shelling it into rubble. Of course, we don’t have any artillery support, so that’s not an issue. We get to take over this town, street by street. All so the Navy can start ruling the sea.”

They shared stories for a while until Lucky’s enthusiasm wasn’t enough to keep him awake, and he nodded off. Sarge lay there, hoping Spinelli, Chang, and Banks were okay. What would happen to them with her missing? Was she back on TV? How would they explain that? So many questions with no answers or even the chance of them. Before she knew it, sleep enveloped her.

When she woke again, it was chow time. The quality of the food was so different from what she’d been enjoying in Arcadia that it made her angry. Not because she had to eat it, but because there was no reason they had to eat this slop or die for the entertainment of people who never suffered a day in their lives. Dinner also came with some painkillers, which at least worked. She and Lucky chatted some more, and she wondered if he’d still feel lucky if he knew the truth.

Her rest that night was fitful at best. Between her anger, the sounds of combat in the distance, plus the fresh wounded that were brought in with their moans and screams, she got very little sleep. In the morning, a nurse came by with painkillers for everyone and orders from the Doctor for her to get up and start moving around. They even gave her a walking stick.

Going outside, she found blue skies above this old town, with its buildings made of tan stone and terracotta roofs. There were also lots of soldiers running to and fro, and lower in the town, smoke hung over the houses and streets and drifted off over the sea. And always, there was the distant crack of gunfire.

As she wandered in the immediate neighborhood, it occurred to her that if there was no war, this would be a nice place for some vacation. Banks would probably have some facts about this place. Except that it was all made up, or at least cobbled together from a book or photos.

Sarge walked until her legs began to throb, and then slowly returned to her bed. She kept to this routine for the next few days, walking around the safe parts of Porcino, then resting as much as possible. Lucky joined her the next day and regaled her with funny stories of his luck, many of which made him the butt of the joke, but somehow, by the end, he came up on top. Sarge wasn’t sure these anecdotes were true, but damn if they weren’t distracting.

On the fourth day, Sarge felt much like her old self. Her bruises were fading, but she kept her walking stick, it felt good to hold on to something. Mid-morning, the doctor came by to see if she was ready for duty.

“Any lingering pain?”

“Nothing I can’t manage, Doc.”

The doctor rolled her eyes at this but had her stand, stretch, and checked her eyes.

“Ready to hold a rifle?”

“I am Doc.”

“Under normal circumstances, I’d have you go on leave for at least a week to fully recover, but they need everyone they can get. Consider yourself back on active duty,” the doctor said, signing some papers and handing them to Sarge.

“Bring these to the LT, and you’ll be back to fighting the good fight. Whatever that is.”

“What about me, Doc?” asked Lucky.

“When you can use that busted arm, talk to me,” she said with a sigh.

A Private entered, saluted the doctor, then leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“Why?” replied the doctor.

“I was just told to deliver the message, Ma’am,” answered the Private.

“Call me doctor! I didn’t go to medical school to be called Ma’am! Fine, Sergeant, go with the Private here. Apparently, the Captain needs to speak with you.”

“Really?”

“If you’re a fan of critical thinking, you shouldn’t have joined the Army. Go on, you’re someone else’s problem till you get shot or beaten again.”

“This way, please, Sergeant,” said the Private.

They wound through the streets till they got to a small, but well-made house. It was less damaged than most of the other buildings she had seen here, but there were some pockmarks where bullets had stuck in the stone. Opening the door, the Private led Sarge in.

“The Captain should be in the garden, it’s right through there,” said the Private, who then saluted and exited.

Sarge took a moment to make sure she was presentable, then entered the garden and gave a crisp salute.

“Reporting as ordered, Captain!” she said, as she stood at attention.

“Well, well, well. We meet again, Sergeant,” said Captain Pentagast, “At ease and have a seat, we’ve a lot to catch up on.”

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The Squad-Part Thirty-Eight

Posted on November 24, 2025 by jenicek

Sarge and Chang threw themselves at the dark figure, who blocked their attacks with effortless ease, and then struck both with precision, staggering each of them. Just as their foe was about to attack again, AQR-8951 grasped the assailant’s wrists in his padded hands and said, “Please cease your violence. You will be escorted to the Department of Judicial Affairs. Anything you do or say is being recorded and may be presented as evidence in your trial. Do you understand these terms as I have explained them to you?”

Instead of replying, the dark figure whistled three short notes. AQR-8951’s lights dimmed, and their hands opened, releasing the captive, who leapt to the side. Sarge and Chang circled the immobile drone to surround their attacker, who was waiting for them. Despite being two against one, the dark figure held them at bay.

Banks and Spinelli, both of whom had had their bells rung, came round and joined the fight. Even with four versus one, this mysterious figure remained untouched. However, so did Echo Company.

They had all fought some tough customers in the war, but this was something else. Masked and silent, whoever this was, their skills were preternatural. They seemed to be able to predict every punch and kick thrown at them.

Suddenly, the dark figure stopped and bowed to them. It was so unexpected that they all stopped and stared. Then something fell on the floor.

CRACK!

A blinding flash burst, and for a moment, all they saw was a kaleidoscope of colors as they blinked to clear their vision. Just before their sight returned, the sound of a soft thunk was heard.

“Where the hell is he?” demanded Sarge.

“Over by the window,” said Chang, “I think.”

Everyone looked out of open windows, but all they could see was the same empty room and spots from the flash.

“I think he went in the slot,” said Banks.

“Then that’s where we’re going,” grinned Sarge, “Spinelli, can you make your way back?”

“I think so, Sarge. But shouldn’t I-”

“Someone needs to tell them what happened. We can’t rely on what the robot sent, if anything got sent at all.”

“On it, Sarge,” he answered with a salute, “Good hunting.”

With that, Spinelli took off the way they came.

“I’ll go first, Chang, you’re next, Banks, you bring up the rear. Understood?”

They both nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Sarge took off her pack with the supplies they had been given and threw it in, and then followed, feet first. The passage was narrow, but large enough to move through. It went straight for about a meter, then took a severe, ninety-degree drop.

“Watch your step, it becomes a pit,” she shouted back.

Downclimbing, Sarge lowered herself steadily to wherever this path led. After about ten meters, her boots touched her pack. She shouted up, “There’s a bottom, about ten meters from the top.”

Chang and Banks acknowledged.

Sarge got on her hands and pushed forward to wherever this would end up. She had moved about three meters in when she heard a thunk and the floor opened up underneath her. Falling onto a slide, Sarge slipped deeper into this industrial catacomb. Abruptly, the slide turned into a dizzying spiral, passing pipes, machinery, and lights.

Jamming her boots to the side of the slide, she slowed and stopped. Sarge took out the radio that each of them had been issued.

“Banks, Chang, do you read me? Over.”

“Sarge! STATIC. We’re in the- STATIC. Where are- STATIC. Over,” replied Banks.

“Watch out, there’s a trap door. It dropped me on a slide that sent me deeper in. Over.”

A burst of static came from the radio, then this, “Please rep- STATIC. Cannot read- STATIC. Ov- STATIC.”

“I’m going to crawl back up. Over.”

The static got louder and stronger, obliterating any signal to her men. Determined to get back, Sarge flipped onto her stomach, but slipped further down. Slowly, she inched her way back up. It took her about ten minutes to get up one loop higher.

If she had her pack, she could’ve used the climbing gear, but that had disappeared into whatever was at the bottom of this slide. It became obvious that it would take hours to get back up.

“Banks, Chang,” began Sarge, “Return to the room and wait for Spinelli. I’m going forward. Over.”

More bursts of static came over the radio and, “-sto, STATIC.”

No point in waiting, Sarge let gravity take point. For a moment, she remembered being a kid and going down a slide in the small playground near where she grew up. Eight-year old her would’ve loved this. Grown-up her was less enchanted. Finally, she came to the end of the line.

The slide roughly deposited her onto a metal grating. Her pack was sitting a meter in front of her. Sarge got up and grabbed it. This area was more of a platform with a railing running around the edge, lit by flashing lighting of nearby apparatus. There was an open, darkened doorway on one side, and the whole thing was about nine meters square.

Stretching, Sarge checked herself. Some bumps and bruises, but nothing broken. As she walked around the edge of the platform, she could see a jumble of ducts, cables, and strange contraptions. No ladders or walkways. Below, she could hear the hum and whine of a powerful turbine. Down was a dead end.

The darkened doorway beckoned. Sarge opened her pack, looking for something to use as a weapon. There was rope, food, and water, a compass for some reason (which spun between two points), and a flashlight. While it seemed sturdy, it was lighter than expected. Better than nothing, though she’d fiercely wished for a handgun or a bayonet.

Turning on the flashlight, she walked in. This narrow corridor was fully enclosed, with no view of what was on either side. Her boots softly thumped off the rubberized floor as she continued. The further in she got, the colder it became. Running her hand on the wall, she found it slick with condensation.

After five minutes or so, the floor sloped downwards, and a faint light could be seen ahead. Then, the sound of rushing water echoed off the walls. At the end of the passageway, Sarge came out on a wide balcony overlooking an enormous pipe that thundered water into an even larger cistern below. Everything here was beaded with water.

If it had been quieter, Sarge might’ve heard the incoming attack which struck her from above. She was slammed into the floor, knocking the wind out of her. Standing over her, the dark figure, who was about to downward kick her. Instinct and training took over. Grabbing the incoming foot, closer to her face than she’d prefer, she twisted sharply, sending her assailant floorward. Sarge pulled herself up as the dark figure kipped up to their feet.

“Who sent you?” demanded Sarge.

A flurry of punches and kicks was the only response. It was all Sarge could do to block these attacks, and her opponent handily avoided all of Sarge’s blows. They fought like that for what felt like an hour, though clearly that was impossible.

Pushed close to the railing of the balcony, Sarge saw her chance, an opening in her foe’s defenses. Striking with the flashlight, she punched this assassin straight in the gut, sending them to the floor in a heap.

“Let’s see who the hell you are,” gasped Sarge as she reached down.

Before she could touch the mask, her ankles were gripped, and she found herself flipped up and back. She hit the guardrail and for one brief instant, Sarge teetered. Then she fell into the water below.

As she plunged into the cistern, a powerful current seized Sarge and pulled her deeper. She struggled to swim upward, but the flow was impossible to resist. Turning on her flashlight, Sarge found herself in a wide pipe, hurdling at a fantastic speed, spinning around at the water’s whim.

Lungs burning, she held her breath, the urge to exhale growing exponentially pressing, Sarge suddenly found herself in deep water. Which way was up? Fighting all her instincts, she shone her flashlight under her chin and expelled air. Icy water went down her throat, but the light showed the bubbles going towards her feet. She was upside down. Flipping around, she swam as fast as she could, but her vision darkened, even as she saw the flicker of light, and all went black.

A breeze caressed her face. She didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled. The sound of waves could be heard, and the call of birds. It was calming. No hurry to look at anything just yet. Just enjoy the moment.

Intruding on this moment came the sound of boots. She frowned. Too early for company. Just stay still, they’ll go away. But the boot steps got closer and closer.

“Holy shit! She’s one of ours!” said the uninvited voice, “Medic! We need a medic right now!”

With great reluctance, Sarge opened her eyes. Leaning over her was a soldier.

“Hey, can you hear me, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Five more minutes, soldier,” she said as she closed her eyes once more.

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