Before the ball, you had a thousand and one things to do. Writing out command lists, promoting another officer- this time, one of your battery captains- handling recruiting, handling the tagalongs from recruiting, handling the fact you were Running Out of Room without having to bank on a couple of the defensive works around town that were not and never would be concreted, getting the building working into overdrive, and authorizing more permanent formations stood up. You threw together a fifth mortar battery, a fourth fire direction team (this one to be embedded with Zairman so he could personally direct your ire for you), formal scroop teams, a second formal builder team, and even enough people left over to make a second formal administration team.
You were quite sure your math was off again, you hadn't been sleeping well lately. Some people would need to be promoted, you were sure, and while the second admin team kept paperwork off your desk it didn't keep the people away. Klasse was hitting up your desk at all hours, Pascal- one of the regiment's few men- had been running around screaming about the new recruit influx, and the ball was only in a few days. Organizing things had been hectic, but most of it was almost getting routine.
Things, well… moved on. The 62e moved up to guard Rime, you dug your 120s into the base south of Weathering and played counterbattery slap-and-tickle with the rocket trucks, and the builders kept reinforcing the front line faster than the rockets were knocking it down.
At one point, you did authorize Callico and Asuna to take a crack at Wightwalk, but they both came back three days later with the permanent "we don't wanna talk about it" faces screwed on. Reports from Kazoo indicated it was a complete failure: Wightwalk had some scattered concrete, and was hosting a decent contingent of Colonial Marines from the 4th Squadron to actively man the defenses and fuck your small push over. You didn't loose any guns, but there was a lot of lost ammo and trucks over it.
Before the ball, though, you had something important to do. Scrounging up a shitload of greens, you got the captured equipment from Rime together. Two rocket carriages, one Katushya, and two Kronkides guns. It was a mediocre haul, but it was all yours. Bringing it to the Intelligence Center was an adventure, tired logi drivers honking at your convoy and people in the towns staring at the vehicles. You could already see the headlines: GENERAL THEFT FROM GENERAL ORR, or maybe WARDEN WARRIORS TO COLONIAL CALLIOPE: NO LOOT UN-SNATCHED BY GOLDEN GENERAL.
Eurg. Newspapers.
Either way, getting everything to the 58e Intelligence was a headache. When you got there, though, the crew of children scrambling over your trucks made you laugh until the cranes started dipping in, stealing pallets of ammunition by the box and the stolen guns. It was like a flock of vultures descending- and then the children started calling dibs, and you quickly reconsidered your metaphor: it was rather closer to seagulls now. "Mine, mine, mine," went the staff of the 58e, and soon enough you were relived of your cargo.
"So, good haul here," Colonel Argo said, standing and looking at the mess of stuff from where she had appeared next to you like a particularly feline ghost. "What do you want for it?"
"More intel scans, and if you can, a bit of information. Who the fuck is Cauthon?" you asked, trying to keep your foot from twitching.
"Ah, 'Captain' Cauthon," Argo said with a sniff. "Claimed to be a US Army captain, and acts like he's got a telephone pole up his ass enough for me to think there's a hint of truth there. Not exactly my favorite person in the world, but he's a straight shooter once you actually figure out which way he's pointing."
"And his unit?"
"Formerly, Colonel of the 37th King's Own Uhlans. The 37th transferred over to Col. Ryker though, so I think he's testing out being an unattached general. The Band of the Red Hand as a whole has a lot of US Army personnel in it, though: a lot of whom we have solid confirmation on."
"So they're liable to be the most experienced people here. What's holding up their supply, then, if they only now took Stonecradle?"
"Logistics Union fuckery. It took a lot of cracked heads to get them back in line, and a promise to take over the Nevish Line front."
You hissed. "That'll be a sap to their manpower."
"Nobody wants to fight on the Nevish Line, saaa. It's a hellish mess: we might as well pull back and re-break the border."
"Good to know," you muttered. "Can you get back to me when you're done with the testing?"
"Be happy to, General. Have a nice ball with your beau, you hear?"
You flinched, but nodded.
It was about two more hours until you showed up in the 64e's fort in Reaching Trail, the majority of your train having left you with some convincing. You didn't want to be alone when it came to dealing with Zairman here, but you didn't want to be the face of an organization either. Orr Melanie, the Great Captain of the Weathered Expanse, was not someone who you were comfortable being. It was like wearing a fur collar for no reason: hot and itchy. Likewise, though, you weren't sure as to how you felt about just being Orr Melanie. Being that woman was taking up more and more of your life, and it wasn't
right. You wanted your own chanced to live, and not to spend every day staring down the barrel of a pen as you dictated this bloody war.
No. Tonight would be a night where you were free of documents and terror. You were talking to your friend tonight. Stepping out of the car in your mess dress- no reason not to, since the game pretended it was fresh from the tailor every time you put it on- you preened as the men of the armored regiment stopped dead over your presence. Orr Melanie may not have been your real name, but if you were to wear it? Well then: you would own it, root and branch!
"Where is the Colonel?" You asked the gate-guard of the bunker core, the Ukranian flowing off your tongue more good-naturedly than normal.
"Waiting in his office," the gate-guard said, trying not to look surprised that you spoke his language. "Head right in, ma'am."
It was with an easy familiarity that you started moving through the bunker base, step by step advancing towards the heart of Zairman's power. Wood and sandbags turned to warm and dry concrete, and soon enough you were in a large concrete bunker, where telephone calls and telegraph hammerings continued unabated. In the middle was a young secretary, his officer's uniform disheveled and beaver-pelt thrown away on another chair.
"Are you looking for the Colonel?" he asked in English, barely looking up. "I have to apologize, but he's waiting for an important officer from the brigade to come-"
You coughed lightly, and more importantly, in a woman's fashion. Looking up, the clerk started paling. "General, how wonderful to see you-"
"Just call Zairman, please," you said lightly. Soon enough, a frantic telephone call went out, and you grinned as a familiar set of footfalls started coming from a side hallway.
"Melanie," you heard your friend say, prompting you to turn towards him with a smile. "Welcome back."
Where you were in a dress and he in pants, there wasn't that much difference to the men's and women's mess dress for you and Zairman. In his case there were the French blue slacks to your skirt and a waistcoat versus the cumberbund, a cravat versus your lace ruffle, but the rest of the materiel was the same: single breasted coat, medals on the left, distinction on the right (in his case, a red-and-white cheque capulet for a King's Own armor regiment), and a distinct lack of hat.
Of course, that was technical details. Technical details didn't tell you about how his icewater eyes caught the light, or how the coat left him moving like a cable-spring that could snap around you at any second. He nearly shone, even in the yellow halogen light of the bunker base, and you had to physically resist the urge to wrap an arm around him now.
"Tymur," you said, trying and failing to keep a breathy sort of timbre out of your voice. Your allegations of being gay were having some serious trouble as of late, and you needed to keep the romance to a minimum for now. "Wonderful work on your new uniform."
"Thank you," he said, nodding his head. "I presume there's some business you'd need us to get to? It's a bit early, even if you did need to crash here for a night."
"A little bit," you admitted. "I was wondering when you'd move down to Weathered Expanse."
That earned a pained look. "Do we need to move down in total? Keeping a company in theatre and another in rapid response back at your bunker base in Clanshead has been working fairly well."
"I'm planning on tightening the noose on Foxcatcher," you said, settling down at a map table. "That means I need cavalry assets, and that means I need you."
"I expected as much," Zairman muttered. "You do know I don't have any engineering assets like you do, right? Just getting this concrete already has me in hoc up to my eyes with the supply people."
"If we take Foxcatcher, all will be forgiven," you contrasted, tapping your hands on the board and sketching the path. "If you need to, I'll put some of your troops up at my bunker base, once we fix the damn rocket problem."
"Rocket problem?"
"We've been getting rocketed intermittently. It knocks down the forward pickets and makes it hard to build up any solid defenses, but that's all."
"That answers that question, but I'm not entirely comfortable with 'all will be forgiven', being honest," Zairman said. "You had the same attitude about Allsight, and everything has
not been forgiven."
"Alright, the fuckup about it being a refinery town was on me," you admitted, "but considering the amount of war material and the fact nobody had gotten used to the scalar differences yet, that's not the worst fuckup we've made."
"I'll work with you on this, but I need to keep one company back here for sustainment. One company permanently on-station in Weathered, one forward-deployed in your bunker base, one company on standby in Clanshead."
"That's good, yeah," you said, doing the mental math and finding it in your favor. "Also, I've got something to sweeten the pot with."
"Oh?"
"I picked up some Bonewagon protos. Four units, all yours."
"Done! I'm still bleeding for vehicles, and this will let me actually get everyone up to a respectable armored count- even if we're not all back in tanks."
"How bad is it?"
"Don't let anyone else know," Zairman whispered, "but I've gone from each company being a tank platoon and an infantry platoon to a tank section, a Heavy Armored Car section, and a standard Armored Car section."
You winced. That was a lot of missing firepower! "Four armored cars isn't a lot to add," you said, thinking aloud.
"No, but your Gravekeepers plus my Gravekeepers means I have enough to assign a two-car section to every company, and then that frees up my combat headquarters to get a battery of the Falconers- those 250mm concrete-cracker mortars- and that means I have some options, at least."
Grinning, you leaned back. "Options are good. Don't be afraid to ask me for things, though: I'll try and help you get them, if I can."
"I'd like a first-class ticket out of this death game, then, if you know how to swing it."
Your blood ran to ice for a second, then two and three. Zairman's smile started to slip, before you waved a hand to clear the air. "I'll put that request in to my department of blinker fluid management and conscript motivation-"
"Melanie."
"Tymur?"
"Come with me, please?"
Following Tymur, you went with him down a maze of corridors, passing a number of people and open-top trenches, trying to avoid sweating bullets as you pushed through the masses of the 64e, until you came to a small, cozy little concrete Y-bunker: Tymur's quarters.
You sat with him in silence, trying not to let your nerves show, until Tymur broke the ice with a sigh. "You know you don't need to be nervous around me," he said, running a hand back through his hair. "We're friends, right?"
"Yeah, it's just… this is big," you said, sitting down on the foot of his bed.
"What will it take to make you trust me?" he asked.
You had to think for a minute, before deciding. "Your real name."
"Kazymyr Ihorvich Shevchenko," Tymur said without blinking. "Now please,
please spit it out, Melanie. You're scaring me."
"My body was- no,
is, breaking down," you explained, drawing in a tight breath. "I'm in America, and something happened to my parents, so I was put in the care of the state- and their hospital was a shitter. Someone might have gone in to steal organs. The only reason I know is because Sundowner, that
fucker, came to steal me away when I was dead and gloat at me."
"No," Tymur breathed.
"Yes. Bastard saw how high I'd climbed. Offered me a job, and replacement bits to fix my body up. I stole the info on how the death clock works from him, though, so it wasn't entirely doom and gloom."
Coming down next to you, Tymur just put one arm around you, feeling the tension in your back, before wrapping the other around you to pull you into him. You let yourself be moved- his embrace was warm and smooth, and his chest shuddered when he spoke with emotion- fear or rage or sympathetic pain, you couldn't tell.
"I don't care. I don't care what he did to you: you still ride with me. I won't let you go that easily. We can't- we can't let you go. You're the only one with a clue, you know? They'll never break you, or we're all going to break too."
A half-smile graced your lips as a tear started to crawl out your eye. Hugging Tymur back, you just held him for a second. Above everything else, he was your friend. "I'll write the details for that out later, but, don't joke about that sort of thing. As it is, I was going to ask about it if I ever see the bastard again."
"Hah," Tymur muttered lowly. "Write your details out; I'll read them after the ball. I think we'll both need an early night in, tonight."
"Agreed," you muttered. "Agreed."
////
VOTE
Lodging
[] Stay with Zairman in his rooms. You're feeling a little off-kilter from all the revelations, and, well, damn the rest. You trust Tymur implicitly, and if you let your hair down too far, who gives a damn anymore?
[] Take seperate rooms. You know your leading colonel has them; you've used them before when you're in Reaching Trail on business. Your emotions are a turmoil right now, and you know that as compromised as you are only bad ideas can follow.
(AN: man covid kills my update speed. Also, this is a Very Important Vote, so think about it carefully)
