“To understand the collapse of the former Holoslavia, we need to be familiar with the chain of events that set it into motion. Though some historians argue that the seeds of the Federation’s collapse had already been planted during its founding in the mid-1940s, the Second Homeland War doubtlessly pushed it beyond saving. Not only did The War devastate Southern Holoslavia (devastation that the affected regions have yet to recover from to this day), it also mired the communist government in crushing debt from both the West’s International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the Eastern Bloc’s Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (COMECON). Had Holodrava ultimately won The War because of these debts, perhaps the leaders of the country’s ethnic nationalist groups wouldn’t have been able to use the resulting economic ruin as “proof” that communism and “Sisterhood and Unity” had brought nothing but trouble. 

But The War ended in a white peace instead. 

December 1986. After the rout of the Ethyrian Army Corps at Lake Ohrid, the Holoslav People’s Army surged across the border of Ethyria into the mountainous heartland of Ichikara. After two weeks, the HNA’s various Peoples’ Fronts - the South Atlantia Front, the 1st and 2nd Holodrava Fronts, and the Pekoland Front - had besieged Nijigrad in what Marshal Yagoo called an ‘encirclement of Iron’. HNA High Command drafted multiple plans for the siege of the Niji capital, most of them involving land and naval blockades aimed at starving out its defenders. Yet these plans were checked by NATO and the arrival of Standing Maritime Group 1 in the Aegean Sea, which set sail earlier in the month after U.S. President Walter Mondale decried the HNA’s plans as ‘the most atrocious humanitarian disaster waiting to happen.’ In turn, Marshal Yagoo accused NATO of giving military aid to Ichikara, which declassified files in 1999 later showed to be true - years after Holoslavia’s collapse and more than a decade after Marshal Yagoo’s death. 

But at the time, the HNA High Command pivoted toward a new plan: Operation ‘Sweet Happy Holiday’ - a multi-pronged attack aimed at overwhelming Nijigrad with ground and airborne troops. Despite a higher expected casualty count (175,000 versus 80,000 in previous plans), taking the Niji capital was seen by many Holoslav military leaders as vital to ending The War quickly and gaining favorable concessions from Ichikara before full Western intervention and growing debt repayments made victory impossible. 

Yet, within the HNA itself, fissures had emerged within its ranks. One could say they yawned right open. The close proximity of the once-disparate Peoples’ Fronts ignited ethnic tensions between the Atlantians, the Oozorans, Pekolanders, Rratovani, and Kronegrins alike, which flared into overt skirmishes involving fists at first and, later, firearms. Though official Holoslav statements denied any reports of ethnic infighting, the writing was on the wall: Marshal Yagoo and his commanders wanted total victory over Nijigrad, but time was slipping through their fingers like grains of sand…”

- Novella, S. (2000). A Death Beyond Death: A History of the Holoslav Wars (1st ed., Vol. 1). Advent Press. 

Burning. That was what she awoke to. The acrid smell of diesel and burning flesh, followed by an ear-ringing din. Her vision was blurry; tears streaked down her cheeks on their own. Her entire body was sore - shoulders, arms, bones. The sharp sting went right down to the marrow. 

Gritting her teeth to block out the pain, Gura pushed up the turret hatch to release the black, toxic smoke that had filled the interior of the Elijah. She reached to her side and grabbed the fire extinguisher, aiming it at wherever felt the hottest. 

Most of the heat radiated from Commander Mel’s seat. 

Oh no. 

Gura sprayed the foam over her commander’s burning instruments, her bloodied corpse. She was splayed over the breech of the Elijah’s 125 millimeter gun. A shard of shrapnel had pierced right through her back. 

Beyond Mel was a small hole where a sabot round barely penetrated the tank’s turret. That’s where it came from. That’s what killed Commander Mel.

Gura remembered. She missed the enemy tank, and it fired, scoring a direct hit on the Elijah’s turret. Yet, the tank was still functional - not exploded off the face of the Earth due to detonation of shells in the crew cabin like so many other M-84s. 

But Gura’s commander was dead, and it was all her fault. 

“Komandant Mel! Komandant!”Watson’s panicked voice crackled over the radio, pulling the shark girl from her shock. “Gura… anybody! Are you guys okay up there?!” 

Gura attempted to reply, but the diesel fumes got caught in her throat. It was then she realized that the Niji tank that hit them should still be right in front of them, getting ready to deal the killing blow… 

“Watson!” Gura barked. “Drive forward! Hurry!” 

“Wha…? I-I mean-uh… copy! Full speed!” 

Gura pushed Commander Mel’s corpse off the 2A46 cannon while a stream of apologies dribbled from her lips. Though it was coated in vampire blood, it seemed functional enough to fire. The only way to truly find out, however, was to take hold of the trigger and run through the mental diagnostic of a tank gunner.

The autoloader system was intact, making a loud whirr as it loaded a sabot round into the gun breech. The fire control system was also operational, with no cracks in the DNNS-2 gunner’s sight. The Elijah was damaged, but it was still combat effective.

Gura located her target 600 meters ahead between two oak trees on top of a ridge - the Niji “Desuwa” tank that hit them just moments prior. 

Yet before she could swing the turret toward it, the Desuwa’s barrel flashed. It fired, and the Elijah shook. But instead of an explosion, all Gura heard was a metallic ding… 

They missed. 

Whether God loved her, or her opponent was just incompetent, she didn’t care. This was Gura’s opportunity for survival, and she took it.

With one pull of the trigger, the Elijah sent a 125mm steel dart hurtling through the air. With penetrating power of up to 500 millimeters, the armor piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot round was more than capable of tearing through the seam between the Desuwa’s turret and hull. Then came a metallic clang, followed by glowing plumes of yellow flame as the ammunition stowed within the enemy tank caught fire. 

The danger was far from over, though. Just beside a tank stood a group of Niji infantrymen. Twelve or so shadows silhouetted in the smoke, Gura saw one of them holding an anti-tank launcher. 

“WATSON! Shift left, NOW!” 

The tank careened toward the left with such force that Gura slammed against the turret hull. Outside her tank’s metallic cocoon came an audible whoosh!followed by the sound of exploding earth. 

The enemy missed, yet again, and Gura wasn’t about to give them a second chance. She pulled the trigger on the Elijah’s coaxial machine gun, mowing down those stupid enough to keep standing. Those smart enough to lie down for cover fell as the Elijah fired a high-explosive, demolishing their position on the ridge as it collapsed. Gura peppered those who made it to the ground with more machine gun fire. 

“Gura, there’s uh… a PC! Right in front of us!”Watson squawked into her intercom right before Gura saw what looked like the boxy outline of an M113 APC in front of them, 200 meters. 

The poor sod manning its 50 caliber gun fired at the Elijah, hoping it would be enough to keep it at bay. But since Gura’s cannon wasn’t pointed at the enemy yet, she had to make a split-second decision. 

“Watson, go forward!” she barked. “RAM IT!” 

“Wha-HUH?!”

“JUST DO IT!” 

Within seconds, 42 tons of steel rammed the enemy APC, the force strong enough to throw Gura forward into her periscope. 

But a sore forehead was only a small price to pay.

“Watson, back up!” she ordered. 

The Elijah reversed from the APC, leaving a dreary dent on its side. 

Time slowed to a crawl, and in her mind, Gura imagined a birthday cake. The small one Watson got for her back in June, just as the army crossed the border into Ethyria. Ame said it was “yellow-flavored”, and it had a proportionally smol candle on it. 

Just like that candle, Gura was going to kill this fascist crate with just one blow. 

With a HEAT shell loaded in the breech, she took in just the right amount of air, and exhaled just as quickly. The M113 exploded. 

With the target in flames, Gura grabbed her M85 carbine and poked her head out of the turret. The Elijah was in the middle of a field littered with corpses, but not just Niji corpses. The husk of a T-55 burned just before the treeline - the Tashtego, part of the platoon the Elijah was with. Ambushed. Dead. 

But in the corner of her eye, Gura spotted a few Nijis running for the trees. A few bursts from her carbine caused three of them to collapse to the ground. 

There was another issue - a couple of Nijis covered in flames were trying to climb out of their burning Desuwa. Should Gura shoot them too? She thought about it for a while, then decided against it. Even though it was her fault, these bastards were gonna burn for killing Commander Mel. 

“Gura, you’re crazy!”Watson shrieked through the intercom. “Jebo ga patak… my head hurts! That coulda given me a concussion, you know!” 

Gura was going to apologize to her driver but suddenly felt light-headed. Why?

Her left shoulder gave her a quick answer. It was bleeding. 

How? 

If she had to guess, the sabot that killed Commander Mel nicked her too. The adrenaline probably kept her going, but it had already worn off. 

“Gura, hey, are you there?”Ame asked her more worriedly this time. “Gura? Hey! Answer me!”

She wanted to say something like, “I’m bleedin’,” but the darkness didn’t give her enough time to say even that. 

Perhaps, finally, she was going home. 

From the deepest darkness, Gura’s ears caught a faint whisper. A voice, or a sound that resembled a voice, almost as if it was coming from a long-forgotten cassette player. It was the voice she would rather forget - the voice of her beloved brother, Tsera. 

“Gura!” Tsera shouted in triumph, as if he had just won the Holoslav First League and Goran Gunjevic's autograph all at once! “Look, I did it!” What he really wanted her to see was his latest soccer feat - dribbling a soccer ball before shooting it straight into a goalpost all the way from midfield. 

When did this memory take place? Gura sat perched atop an old wooden bleacher overlooking the football pitch of the People’s Sports Field, in Bloohać. Home. When was the last time she had seen it? Four? Five years ago? Years full of nothing but constant fighting. 

Yet instead of exploding artillery shells, the screams of wounded soldiers filling her ears, or even the thunderous rumble of tanks across terrain, all Gura could hear were the gentle songs of pigeons, maybe even a lone Bloohać Jackdaw tweeting away in some hidden place. For a moment she wondered whether she had imagined it all; most birds disappeared from Bloohać years ago, when the food shortages were at their worst. 

Perhaps it was a bit too peaceful. The adults told her and Tsera to stay at the air raid shelter until the Milicija gave out the “All Clear” signal. But the adults always exaggerated things anyway. They said it was dangerous for children to go out, or else they would be gunned down by the merciless Niji warplanes, or captured by marauding fascist paratroopers who would sell them to slave mines in the arid lands of East Ichikara. Or, worse, to capitalist child-lovers. 

Those were just stories though. Just like the man-eating Kečizube, with its long teeth and paralyzing gazes, that Gura said would eat Tsera if he didn’t eat his rations that one time. 

At that moment, Gura was just happy that her little brother could finally play soccer again after those long days spent hiding underground. And so she cheered him on, beaming with pride like a superstar’s mother would at the pitchside. Since they no longer had parents, Tsera was everything to her. 

“Good job!” she shouted back at him from the bleacher. “I knew you could do it!” 

Tsera stopped playing just long enough to shout back at her, “Just like Dragan, right?!” Under his short white hair, a smile shone in the sunlight as he sweated in that blue Bloohać jersey with his favorite number: 17. 

“Just like both of them!” she said with a giggle. “And Dejan too!” Her younger brother already had a favorite Holoslav football legend for every number on the field, even at 13 years old.

Gura knew she was dreaming. She must have been. She’d never had a good dream ever since she began fighting in the war. But if she had finally died, then at least God was kind enough to give her this last bit of peace. 

But no. There was no peace to be had; fate wouldn’t allow it. She was cruel and unforgiving to those who dared to hope too much. 

“Gura! Do you hear that?” Tsera exclaimed before looking up at the sky. 

Like in the many nightmares that came before, she followed her brother’s gaze upward and saw that all-too-familiar shadow: A Niji bomber jet with engines that whined loud enough to pierce across the sky. Its intended target was a nearby school, but Tsera happened to be in its path. 

Fate had put him there. 

But Gura, perhaps foolishly, thought she could stop destiny from happening. She ran to her brother and tried to push him out of the way. 

Though fat allowed her to save his life, it also delivered a cruel twist: Tsera lost his right leg, as well as everything he hoped for - such as winning the Holoslav First League someday for Bloohać. 

But Gura? She didn’t get so much as a scratch. Yet, from that day onward, her heart began bearing an unyielding weight. A guilt that whispered, without ceasing, that it was all her fault. 

The nightmare jolted Gura awake, sweat streaming down her body and breath coming in short gasps as if she had a heart attack. She took a moment to gather herself before taking notice of her surroundings. It appeared that she was in a tent made of green tarp, with only one light bulb hanging from the center. From outside she heard the crunch of boots on the ground, as well as the passing of diesel trucks. Was she in a medical tent?

She must’ve been. For some reason, she had been stripped down to just her underwear, Her right shoulder, left forearm, torso, and both her thighs had been bandaged. Some of these areas stung, while others felt like they had needles digging into them from all over. 

It was then that someone called out to Gura, catching her attention. Ame had been watching over her since the battle ended, and before Gura could even say anything, the blonde ran up to her bed, wrapped her arms around her, and pulled the shark girl’s tiny body close for an embrace. Gura would’ve fallen asleep in that softness if she could, if only the sting of her wounds didn’t keep pulling her back to reality. 

“Ah, Watson… A-Ame…” the words tumbled out of Gura’s mouth. Thankfully, she hadn’t forgotten how to speak. But Ame was embracing her a bit too tightly. “Sorry, but… g-get off me. It kinda stings…”

“Oh!” Ame drew back, blushing out of embarrassment as she did. “Um… sorry,” she said with that trademark sheepish smile of hers, complete with a rub on the back of her neck. She was just happy to see that Gura was fine. “The doctor said you took a chunk-uh metal in your shoulder, but it missed the bone.” 

Did she now? Gura noticed that the bandages on her shoulder were a bit thicker compared to the other spots. She willed it to move and, luckily for her, it responded. It was still a little sore, however. Did it heal already? It seemed so. 

But that was when Gura felt it - a sting far more painful than any physical injury. She realized that another person had died, and Gura survived yet again. 

“They said you should be good to go after a day or two. Doctor Choco says you were lucky, actually,” Ame continued, seeming to not notice Gura’s apprehension. “She says other tankers lose their whole arms from something like that-”

“Commander Mel,” Gura interjected, looking into Ame’s eyes. “She’s…?”

The moment the words ‘Commander Mel’ came out of Gura’s lips, the expression on Ame’s face dimmed by a few notches. From that look alone, Gura already knew what had happened. 

“They, uh…” Ame glanced away, knowing that the shark girl wouldn’t like what would come next. “She’s already been shipped back yesterday. To Holodrava.”

When a soldier was said to have been ‘shipped out,’ it meant that they had been put in a zinc coffin and brought back to the motherland. Zinc was preferred because it helped keep the body fresh. At least fresh enough for the unlucky soldier’s parents to not die inside a second time when they see their son or daughter lying inside of it. Both the HNA and the Territorial Defence euphemistically labeled these steel packages as ‘Cargo 200,’ following the advice of Soviet military advisers to keep the standardized maximum weight of a deceased soldier’s body at 200 kilograms. This way, the coffins could be loaded into airplanes that also carried defective munitions and other equipment being shipped back home for repair, which saved fuel costs.

But Gura didn’t care much for the iron science of Holoslav military logistics. She cared more about not being able to see her commander’s face before they closed the coffin. 

The shark girl wanted to apologize. For not pulling the trigger in time. For missing that Desuwa tank. For letting it fire back and causing Commander Mel to get shipped out in the first place. 

It was her fault. Just like with Tsera. It was all Gura’s fault… 

As she simmered in her guilt, Gura felt a hand come over hers. Ame’s blue eyes wavered, and there was a small frown on her lips. After years of working Gura, the blonde knew exactly how she would react to such news. 

“It’s not your fault,” Ame said, stroking the top of Gura’s palm with her thumb. “You did your best, Gura.”

“But if I didn’t…” She began to choke up. “If I didn’t miss, she wouldn’t have been…”

Ame knew that there was no consoling Gura when she got like this. The best she could do is stay quiet and let her cry it all out, to keep stroking the top of her palm even as it got wet with tears. 

It took a while for Gura to calm down. Thankfully, no one else had come into the tent. If they did, they would’ve probably slipped out at the last moment and come back later. Most soldiers at the front knew the value of privacy.

“Ame…” Gura whispered before gulping down some of the tea the blonde brought in her thermos. “How long have I been out?” 

“Um… a week?” she said. “It’s been real boring, you know?”

“Wait- what?” Gura expected three, maybe four days tops. But a week? “Wh-What happened while I was-?”

“A whole load of nothin’. Just the usual stuff. The front line hasn’t moved, and people are celebrating Christmas.” Ame took Gura’s cup and refilled it. “But the Fourth and Fifth Brigades moved out yesterday. To someplace south.”

That left the Sixth Armored Brigade, Gura’s unit, in charge of this camp - a place situated all the way up the front line, just below the Radomir mountain range, and northwest of Lake Nijichoros. The road between the mountain and the lake was being held by the fanatical 2nd Golden Yacht Guards of the Ichikaran Land Forces, who had fortified themselves on Hill 355, or what the troops would rather like to call “Ćevapi Hill.” They named it so because of how everyone who tried taking it ended up being “ground up like sausage meat.” 

With the Fourth and the Fifth Brigades gone, the dubious distinction of pushing the fascists off the hill fell to Sixth Armored, as well as the 3rd and 7th Banja Polka Infantry Battalions. That push was definitely going to happen - most likely in tandem with what the high command had planned down south. 

“They’re gonna join the attack on Nijigrad, then?” Gura asked.  

Ame handed her the tea as if it was the physical act of handing her the news. “Seems so.”

The shark girl shook her head. “Oh nyo…” 

So it was really happening. For weeks there had been talk among the soldiers about a rumored “Grand Eastern Offensive,” one designed to take Nijigrad without sending the Navy to fight NATO on the Aegean. One that would, hopefully, break Riku’s back once and for all. A combined land and air attack that would overwhelm not only the fascist capital, but all points along their front. An all out attack that was sure to cost tremendous casualties on a scale never before seen since Operation Bright Parade more than a year ago. Among the many rumored names of this operation, one was constant throughout the whispers: “Sweet Happy Holiday.”

There was only one question for Gura to ask. “Got any news about us moving out?” ‘Us’ in this case meaning Third Platoon, or what was left of it after the ambush. 

Ame shook her head. “No.”

That made Gura raise an eyebrow. That was impossible. “No? Whaddya mean ‘no’?”

“No, as in… ‘no’. Nothin’. Nada.”

“How come…?” Surely that must’ve been a mistake. It would make sense for Watson to be doing nothing for an entire week since the Elijah was surely out of commission. But Third Platoon had other tanks, so why…? 

Before Gura even finished the train of thought, she felt a lead weight drop in her chest. 

“Watson, you’re not sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’, are you?” 

Ame leaned in close, hands ready to hold her. “Gura…”

“That can’t be!” A crushing feeling akin to hand gripping her heart had begun to take deep within her. “I mean, how…?” 

Ame had hoped to avoid riling Gura up too much. She was still too weak from the battle, and the doctor flat out said she shouldn’t overexert herself. But she also knew there was no stopping her emotional outbursts - certainly not one that was promising to be as intense as that moment. 

“It’s impossible! It was just a Desuwa and a tank hunter squad, so how the heck did we get wiped out?!” Gura cried, playing back in her mind the events before the ambush. They were four tanks - three T-55s and the Elijah - that advanced along a dirt road into the forest east of Hill 355. The Tashtego was in front and got blown up first, so Commander Mel ordered them to spread out. The enemy retreated, so they advanced into the forest, expecting infantry support from the Fennecs that were supposed to be behind them. “What happened, Ame? I killed the Desuwa, so it shouldn’t have-”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know either, Gura,” Ame said, shaking her head. “I just kept driving…” 

The Tashtego, the Flask, the Stubb, and Elijah - these were the tanks that made up Third Platoon. The Tashtego was gone, but the Flask and the Stubb should’ve survived. How could the Nijis have taken them out? None of them should’ve been able to get close, let alone take out any Holoslav tanks… Gura couldn’t understand it. 

“Well, what the heck was the infantry doing? Jebote, did they just stare at the Nijis or something?” 

“The Fennecs, they…” Ame looked away, thinking of how to phrase it so that Gura wouldn’t get any more angrier. But she realized it was futile. No matter what she said, Gura was going to get angry one way or another. “They didn’t show up.”  

The Fennecs. That was the answer to the unanswerable equation Gura tried running in her mind. Those wannabe Pekolanders. Of coursethey were behind all this. The operation Gura was in was supposed to be a combined arms op - Fennec infantry supported by Atlantian armor. But as it turned out, only the Atlantians showed up.nWith no infantry around to sniff out the Nijis, the outcome was obvious: Gura’s platoon got ambushed by a Niji anti-tank squad with armor support and they all got taken out. All but her and Ame. She could already see in her mind how it played out: The Fennecs let the Atlantians die first so they could get an idea of just how bad the Niji defenses were before swooping in themselves. Not only would they be able to take all the glory, but they would also get rid of the fish they so hated.  

“Ame, get me some clothes,” she said, not letting the blonde know her true objective. 

But Ame knew exactly what she was thinking. She bit her lower lip as she watched Gura shuffle out of bed. She had to stop the shark girl from getting herself in deeper shit by going after who Ame knew she was going after. “It’s not worth it.” 

“I’m just gonna talk with Polka, Watson.” 

“And you’ll get court martialled-uh,” she said, “You want that?”     

“Everyone’s dead because of her,” Gura growled, the sadness she felt moments ago fueling a newfound agitation. Perhaps it wasn’t just her fault. Kapetan Polka - shewas the reason why they had no infantry support! Shewas the one who had thrown away their lives so willingly! “She has a lot to answer for, Ame - and you know it!”  

“She does. But it doesn’t matter now,” Ame said. “We have bigger problems.”

Gura raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Read this.” 

From her pocket, Ame fished out a white envelope - a commission from headquarters, with stamps of both the Army and the Atlantia Territorial Defence. 

Comrade Gawr, 

In recognition of your unwavering dedication and exceptional service to the Federation, it is with great pride that we bestow upon you this esteemed commission as a tank commander within our people’s revered armored forces with the rank of Vodnik. This document serves as proof of your commission as tank commander, Third Platoon, 6th People’s Armored Brigade of the Atlantia Territorial Defence.

Your commitment to the ideals of our socialist nation, coupled with your unparalleled prowess on the battlefield, exemplifies the true spirit of a stalwart defender of the People. Your valiant efforts against the fascist invader have not gone unnoticed, and it is with utmost confidence that we entrust you with this elevated responsibility. 

Remember this as you direct our armored forces in the face of the enemy's aggression. Marshal Yagoo, The Party, and The People expect that your strategic acumen, discipline, and resolve will repel the fascist incursion and preserve the principles of our Revolution. 

Zivela Holoslavija! 

In solidarity, 

Pukovnik Minato Aqua

Commander, 6th People’s Armored Brigade - Atlantia TO - South Atlantia Front 

As more and more of the letter’s contents became clear to Gura, a pit began to form in the base of her stomach. This was bad news. Very bad news, wrapped up with black ink and brown manila parchment. ‘Will repel the fascist invader…’ They didn’t even bother updating the template for their mimeographed letter.

“Oh, jebote…” Gura said as if she had just learned the word. “Are they serious…?” 

“Komandant Mel bought it, so you’re up,” was all Ame could say, her blue eyes staring at the letter as if it were Gura’s death warrant. "They're even giving us a new tank."

The shark girl shook her head. “They can’t be serious, Watson. They expect me to fight after what happened?” 

“I know, Gura.” Ame almost sighed her name. “I know…”

“I can’t accept this,”  That came out sounding more distressed than Gura wanted it to be. But how could she not be distressed? She had to fight in the war alongside the very people who caused her comrades to die. “Not now, of all times…!”

“Gura, you’re the best gunner in the sixth armored. Everyone knows it.”

That much was true. With ‘Elijah’ having the most tank kills in the brigade (43), it was easy to assume that Gura was more than a good shot. Though in Gura’s own opinion, the real tank ace was Komandant Mel. All Gura ever did was press a button with good timing. 

“Yeah, but shooting tanks and being a TC are two different things!” she cried. “I am notfighting with those Fennecs!”

Before Ame could hold her back to the bed, Gura stood up. She still felt a bit dizzy, and her legs felt numb from lying down for an entire week, but the hot vitriol that coursed through her veins let her ignore all that. She needed something to wear. She needed to talk with Polka.

Ever since the Nijimans had pushed the Atlantidani tribes into the land that would become known as ‘Atlantia’ in the 15th century and, in turn, displaced the native Fennecs living there under grant from the then-Kingdom of Pekoland, the hatred between both groups burned - eternally, it seemed. The Atlantidani found themselves labeled as ‘Planinari’ or ‘those from the mountains,’ specifically the mountains of Ichikara, while the Fennecs labeled themselves as Kopanici, or ‘those who dig’, just like their fellow Pekolanders, foxes, and squirrels - all “natives” of the land that would become known as Holoslavia (if you didn’t count the Ducks and Chickens that lived in the northwest, that is). Even before The War started, many Fennecs resented Atlantians - who they deemed no better than the loathsome Nijis - and resented further the communist decision to lump them into a single republic named after the very people who had pushed them out of their homeland. Many outside observers would find this Fennec desire for revanche curious, however, for it was the old Kingdom of Holoslavia that renamed their prized city of Banja Polka into ‘Samejevo’, and they didn’t so much as bat an eyelash despite how it made their exile from Central Atlantia permanent. 

As for Atlantidani like Gura, the story was almost always the same - the Nijimans had pushed them into Holoslavia from their homeland of Atlantis down south (many Atlantians insist that the great minds of Aristotle, Diogenes, Zeno, and others were all descended from Atlantis, proving the fish peoples’ former intellectual prowess. But many non-Atlantians did not put much stock into these claims, considering them at par with Hoomani claims of Alexander the Great being one of their own). Once there, the Atlantidani found the land surrounding the mouth of the river Atla empty and barren, so they settled there. Only later did they find out that the Fennecs lived east in a settlement they called Banja Polka. Though the Atlantidani paid them tribute and proposed to live together as a confederation, the Fennecs said ‘no’, before moving north and established Novo (“New”) Banja Polka along the bank of the Vrbas River. But if you asked a Fennec what really REALLY happened, they would say that the Atlantian “marauders” destroyed the old Banja Polka, forcing them into exile up north to found Novo Banja Polka - which just became Banja Polka again because of the “cultural genocide” committed by the heinous Atlantians by turning the old Banja Polka into Samejevo. 

So great was this enmity between the two peoples that during the Second Homeland War and the formation of the Peoples’ Fronts - those great bulwarks of men and women who stood against the fascist advance - the Fennecs decided to join not the South Atlantia Front, but the First Holodrava Front instead. They’d rather fight alongside the Oozorans and the Chickens in Holodrava than alongside the Atlantians and Kronegrins in the south. Their unwillingness to fight for Atlantia despite the sheer volume of blood given for the cities of Orcanica, Konjac, Takosela, and others convinced many Atlantians that there was no trusting the Fennecs, who in turn considered them “Nijis” and every other possible word for “idiot” in the 5th edition of Hakui-Kiryu’s Peko-Oozoran Dictionary. This feeling only grew stronger as soldiers from both groups were forced by the communist authorities to work together as the “Grand Army of Liberation” marched down south into Ethyria, and eventually, Inner Ichikara, or the former Atlantis. 

Gura herself knew little of the history between her people and the Fennecs. Or, rather, she knew just enough to suspect them of foul play with no hesitation. “Five times out of ten, a Fennec did it” was a popular saying among many Atlantians. Though she had other reasons to suspect Polka - she was the liaison between the Sixth Armored Brigade and the 7th Banja Polka Brigade, so if no infantry showed up and left any tanks exposed, then she had to answer for it. 

Caught in the heat of the moment, Gura didn’t know exactly how she would make Polka “answer” for what “she had done”. Perhaps it would be through strong words. Perhaps it would be through fists. Perhaps it would be through bullets. The only sure thing was that it would be settled once Gura found her.

“Gura!” Ame called out to her from behind as she walked out of the medical tent in a fresh set of olive drab overalls. “Stop, she’s not worth it!”

“I’m just gonna talk to her, Watson!” This was probably a lie, but Gura couldn’t falter. Not when Commander Mel and everyone else was dead. “We’re just gonna talk!” 

Camp Radomir, named after the green mountains that loomed over it in the north, was divided into three parts: The Atlantian Quarter in the west where all the Atlantidani lived, the Central Quarter where everyone else lived, and the the Fennec Quarter in the east where all the bastards lived. 

Though Gura hardly noticed, the camp was buzzing with activity not just because of preparations for a large-scale military operation - but because of the holidays. 

After all, it was Thursday, December 25, 1986. Christmas. 

There was no such thing as Christmas in Holoslavia. Not officially, at least. As far as the communists were concerned, God did not exist. However, His believers did, and His believers made up almost everyone serving in the Army and the Territorial Defence forces. So like with the lifting of import restrictions on Western music and chocolate two years ago, the Federation also allowed the celebration of Christmas 1986, albeit in a low-key fashion. No one was supposed to start hanging tinsel and mistletoe around camp or anything like that, though the sign on the Camp Radomir Mess Tent did say they were serving “Holiday Cookies - three per soldier.” And they were rather large cookies. 

It was little gestures like these that the League of Communists of Holoslavia hoped would help preserve the crumbling morale of its armed forces. Men and women who were dragged into the middle of an enemy country, “Godless Ichikara,” where they had to not only get shot at by the hated fascists, but be forced to break bread with the ethnicities some of them hated even more.

If not for the truckfuls of TVs, washing machines, paintings of Chancellor Riku, and other luxury loot stacked near the Logistics Tent, then none of the tribes would’ve stayed friendly with one another. It seemed only the prospect of killing Nijis and taking everything they owned that wasn’t bolted out was the only thing that kept the tribes of Holoslavia a coherent fighting force. 

Though Camp Radomir itself was near the front line, the men and women stationed there were in a more relaxed mood than usual, exchanging small brown parcels as if there was no chance of the Nijis suddenly popping out of the woodwork to attack. The northern part of the front was quiet for the most part - as long as nobody attacked Cevapi Hill, there was no trouble. 

The only chance for trouble to occur then was if an Atlantian tried approaching the Fennec Quarter, and vice versa. Gura was on a direct course for the Fennec Quarter’s entrance. 

She walked past the tankers smoking and chatting in front of their T-55s and M-84s, the infantry on guard duty listening to the radio while sneaking swigs of Rushija from their flasks, and the keen-eyed Military Police and League Commissars trying to look busy for photo reports they’re supposed to send back all the way to Holodrava. But when she got to the entrance of the Fennec Quarter, Gura caught the attention of more than a few eyes - especially that of the Fennec soldierd stationed there. 

“And where are you going, drugarica?” The guard asked, stepping in front of Gura’s path. Drugarica was ‘comrade’ in the Peko-Oozoran tongue, but this Fennec was no comrade of the shark girl. When used among friends and acquaintances, drugarica and drug were rather nice and standard ways to call someone. But when used between members of tribes who hated each other, it was more malicious than anything else. 

“Same desu,” Gura said, introducing herself while looking the Fennec in the eye. She was a girl with a few scars on the cheek, a veteran like the other members of the 7th Banja Polka Infantry Battalion. But Gura was confident she could beat her in a fight if she got to strike first. “I’m here to talk with Kapetan Polka. Where is she?”

In the corner of her eye, Gura could see the Fennec’s hand hover over the M57 pistol holstered to her right. This Fennec was ready to kill her if she did anything funny. 

“She’s not here, Mala Riba.Why don’t you go back to your pond?” 

“I’m not lookin’ for trouble.” That was a lie, but Gura had to spin this conversation in her favor. “I just need to talk with her. My tank platoon was wiped out, and she’s the head of the infantry unit that was supposed to support us.” 

The fennec raised her chin, and the sun cast a mad glint in her eyes. She didn’t like what Gura was implying one bit. “You saying our guys let you all die?” 

“Well, that’s up to Polka to say now, isn’t it?” As Gura said this, more Fennecs had started staring her down. 

Perhaps she was getting in over her head, but it was too late to back down. 

“Well, bring er’ out here already,” she asked, almost a challenge to the Fennecs. “Or is she too guilty to show her face?”

“Odjebi, govnar!” The Fennec yelled, waving her away with her hand. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” 

“Someone who ain’t chicken,” she replied. “Can’t say the same for Polka, though!” 

That was it. Gura had said too much, and the Fennec was ready to pull out her pistol. The shark girl planned to sock her right in the chin, and let God do the rest. But before either of them could raise their hands, Ame had caught up to Gura from behind, with both hands holding her back. 

“Gura, you’re here! Good thing I found you,” Ame said, her tone somewhat jovial - like she had bumped into an old friend on the street. “What are you doing here, huh? The party’s all the way on the other side of the camp.” 

“Watson, what the hell-” 

“Quiet,” Ame whispered close to her ear. “Let me handle this.” 

“You, Kronegrin!” The Fennec yelled at Ame. “And what are you doing here?” 

“Ah, y’know! Just picking up my friend here,” Ame said to the Fennec, acting all bashful. “She’s had a bit too much Rushija, drugarica! Sayin’ all sorts-uh nonsense…”

“No, no, you’re not gonna pull that on us!” The Fennec said, wagging a finger. “That fish came here calling out Kapetan Polka, accusing her of being a murderer!” 

“Well, you know how Atlantidani get! They’re not, uh… the sharpest tools in the shed, you see? A buncha’ hotheads too! Can’t ‘ya let it go, comrade? Be the bigger person here…”  

“She’s gotta pay for all the shittalk she did!”

“Then what if I do ya a favor, hm?” Ame’s hands let go of Gura, and she went to the side of the Fennec. It all looked like the beginning of a back-alley deal. “I got all sorts of things. Trava, koka, ekser… I got spuri too.”

The Fennec’s expression, from that of anger, became that of doubt. Or maybe curiosity. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Of course ya do! Real sorry about your old delivery guy, Zoran. He was solid…” Ame said with a click of a tongue and a short sigh. Like she really regretted the loss of whoever this ‘Zoran’ was. “Luckily, Lieutenant Summer Festival’s made sure I got enough for all of us. And you just got a discount. Forty percent off for koka straight from the other side of the Aegean… a real White Christmas. How’s that sound?” 

The Fennec seemed to consider this proposal long and hard, with how intense of a minute-long stare she gave Ame. On the two-minute mark, she spoke. “Sixty. Make it sixty.”

“How ‘bout fifty and I throw in a little extra?” Ame replied. “A little trava to chase it all down, huh?”

“... Fine.” 

Without another word, Ame picked something out from her pocket and slipped it into the Fennec’s hand. Gura couldn’t get a good look at what it was, and she was doubly surprised by how Ame even had whatever it was in the first place. 

But Before she could ask any questions, Ame had already looped her arm along Gura’s shoulders, before pulling her away from the Fennec Quarter. 

“Meet me later, comrade. And tell your friends!” Ame said to the guard before whispering to Gura, “Just keep quiet and keep walkin’, okay?” 

“What was that all about?” Gura asked, her mind still hung up on the deal that happened in front of her. She was amazed at how Ame diffused the situation, but she’d never expected the Kronegrin could do such a thing in the four years they’d known each other. 

“What was what all about?” Ame said, perhaps trying to steer the subject away from that. 

“No, Watson, you’re not getting out of this. What was that all about?” Gura asked. “Are you… are you selling-”

“Shush!” Ame said, her expression unchanging from the calm and comfortable look on her face. “I save your neck twice, and now you’re try-nuh to get me shot…” 

“Oh my goodness.” 

“I’ll explain, okay?” Ame said. “But really, Gura, you shouldn’t have gone up to the Fennecs like that. I look out for you, but you don’t listen to me. Jeez…” 

The two ambled across the Central Quarter all the way back to the Atlantian Quarter. Gura had little choice in the matter because Ame’s grip on her was strong, and she only let go when they reached the Atlantidani tank crews. Some were huddled near their tanks, laughing heartily while sipping flasks of Rushija. Some of the drunker crews had even put cast iron grills above the engines of their tanks to cook sausages with. One of those tanks belonged to a crew that Gura recognized, with a short girl with long pink hair manning the grill. She wore the typical tanker’s uniform of olive drab coveralls and the tanker’s cap with ear flaps - only that she wore half of the uniform with the sleeves tied around her waist, revealing a gray undershirt. On her face was a look so relaxed that it made Gura breathe easier just by looking at her. With a stick of Black Towa sticking out the corner of her lips, it was as if this girl’s sole purpose in this world was to grill perfect cevapi. 

“Nakiri! Commander Nakiri! Is that you?” Ame yelled out at the girl who served with her and Gura back in Atlantia, during the Atlan Mountain Campaign. 

The girl turned toward them, showing the two white horns poking out of her tanker’s helmet. Upon recognizing them, she made a wide smile. “Oi! Watson! Ajkula! Sretan Božić~!” She glanced toward the tank and put a hand to her mouth, calling for the others. “Hey guys! Gawr’s here; she’s with Watson too!” She looked again at Ame and Gura, before taking a drag on her cigarette and lifting up a fork with a steaming sausage skewered between the tins. “Want some Cevapi?” 

“Knock some sense into Gura for me, will ‘ya, Nakiri?” Ame asked as she let go of the shark girl, her voice full of exasperation. 

“Oh? What happened?” Nakiri tilted her head to the side as the smoke from her sausages rose up into the air. “Lovers’ quarrel?”

“It’d be great if it was just that!” Ame whined. “Gura marched all the way up to the Fennec quarter.” 

“And why’d you go and do something like that, Ajkula?” Nakiri asked. “You know better than to tangle with those girls.”

“Well, I wanted to talk with Polka, okay?” Gura answered, crossing her arms. The anger of not being able to see the Fennec in question and Ame’s refusal to explain things mixed into a hot and messy need to avenge herself. “But she was too much of a chicken to see me!” 

“Talk to her about what?” Nakiri asked. A minute of silence afterward, though, a kind of realization flashed on her expression, making her turn to Ame. “Wait, is she talking about Mel? The thing that happened last week?”

With arms still crossed, Ame nodded.

“Crap. Okay, you two, get behind the tank and sit with everyone else. And keep your voices down,” Nakiri said, taking on a sterner tone as she took out a somun bun from an ammo box and filled it with sausages. She handed this to Gura. “Especially you, Ajkula. The last thing we need in this camp is another shootout.” 

For a moment, Gura wondered if the meat would taste like diesel, but it was probably okay. She didn’t have much time to hesitate; Ame beckoned her to get behind the tank, where the other tankers were: Shion the driver, and Kanata the loader. Together with Ayame Nakiri and another girl named Okayu (who wasn’t there at the moment), they crewed the T-55 they were cooking sausages off of. This tank was covered in the front with battered Niji helmets, while the turret itself was festooned with camo netting and rows of Niji war medals stolen from those they killed - The Chancellor’s Commission of Honor, the Purple Cross, the Black and White Plaque, and other trophies so revered among the fascists - now turned into mere decorations on a Holoslav tank. Though there were many old tanks like it in service of Holoslavia’s Territorial Defence units, this one was theirs, and they named it “Queequeg”. 

Nakiri came from Novi Kyuzla, Shion and Okayu hailed from Umesija, and Kanata’s family lived in Samejevo ever since it was the royal capital of the old Kingdom. Though they may have not been ethnic Atlantidani, these people were just as Atlantian as anyone could be. At least they fought for Atlantia. The Fennecs couldn't even be counted on to do even that. 

“Gawr! Hey there! Come over and sit, sit! We got the Rushija ready right here!” Shion beckoned them to the gap between their tank and another tank, where they stacked shell crates on top of each other as improvised seats. In the middle of the little circle they made for themselves, a kerosene stove was heating a pot of Satarašstew next to a small table made up of empty ammo boxes. The scent of tomato and bell peppers almost had weight as it hung in the air, making Gura’s stomach growl. Before it even registered in her mind, she’d taken a bite of her cevapi. Nakiri slathered a bit too much bell pepper relish on it, but otherwise it was pretty good.

“Hi there!” Kanata said in a gentle voice and a light smile, before putting down two more shell crates for Gura and Ame to sit on. It was almost amazing how someone with such a small body could lift such heavy weights. “I hope you’re doing okay, Gawr. The Elijah took a bad hit” 

“Ah, well, Watson says it coulda been worse so… I guess I can’t complain.” Gura took her seat. “Where’s Okayu?” 

“Ahhh, she went off to town with the infantry for a bit,” Shion said, almost grumbling as she did before stirring the stew. “Said she’s looking for rice to make riceballs with. I told her Niji rice is different; it doesn't stick together at all. But she wouldn’t listen!” She shook her head. “How stuuupid… heh.”

“Don’t worry, Ajkula! She’s just upset Okayu Isn't around to be with her,” Nakiri called out from the grill. 

“Neeeeeh~! Jebi se,Nakiri! Mind your own business.” Shion folded her arms, before slipping out a flask from underneath her coveralls and taking a swig. She then turned back toward Gura. “So, is it true?”  

“Huh? What’s true?” Gura asked. 

Shion: “That you’re a komandantenow. Third platoon. It’s all the camp’s been talking about, you know? How you guys got it good in that ambush-”

Kanata (in a scolding, but gentle tone): “Shion…” 

Shion: “Ah! Sorry. I mean… sorry about Commander Mel. She was really good.”

Nakiri (from the grill): “The best!” 

Shion (nodding): “That’s right. I know Watson’s a better driver than I am, too. Everyone already knows how good youare, Gawr.”

Gura: “Yeah, but…”

Shion: “Oh yeah. I gotta ask, Gawr, really. About what happened.” 

Kanata: “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” 

Gura: “Talk about what?”

Shion (leaning in close like a spy in a crowded souk): “You know, that!How Polka left Third Platoon in the lurch.”

Kanata: “Is it true?” 

Gura looked at Ame, unsure of whether she should be speaking to anybody about it. Though she wanted to give Polka a piece of her mind, becoming a commander changed things. “Watson?” she asked it in a way that sounded like it would be followed by ‘Should I?’

The blonde gave her a single nod. “Yeah. Tell ‘em.”

So Gura copied what Ame did, and gave Shion and Kanata a single nod. 

The silver-haired Shion drew away and shook her head. “Koji je ona kurac…?” 

“That’s awful,” Kanata said, shaking her head as well. “She should be ashamed of herself.”

“If we have to back Polka up, Amane… tell Okayu to fire at whatever truck she’s in,” Shion said, like a member of a grand conspiracy. “We’ll say, ‘Oh! Ah, we thought it was the new Niji tank!’” 

“Oi! Pipe down,” Nakiri called from the grill, before heading to the rest of the group with a plate of sausages, chopped onions, and bell pepper relish. “Save that talk for when we’re outside of camp. Someone might hear you. Besides, aren’t you guys hungry? Behold, humans - sausages of the highest quality.” 

While Shion and Kanata helped themselves to the cevapi, Gura looked at Watson. “You know where the new tank is?” 

“At the end of the camp,” Ame said, before biting into her own sausage-stuffed bread. 

“New tank, huh?” Nakiri sat next to Gura. “Another M-84?”

Gura turned to Ame. “Is it another M-84, Watson?”

“Yuuup. An M-84A, actually.”

“What’s the difference?” Gura asked. 

“Well, uh, I didn’t understand all the stuff the KFP engineer guy told me. But…” One by one, Ame held out fingers covered in cevapioil. “They said it has thicker armor, especially on the turret… and a better engine. A TAZ V forty-six TK. One-thousand horsepower. That’s, uh… sixty? Sixty-five miles per hour or something like that?” 

“So they turned the tank into a Ferrari, great…” What Gura wanted to hear was that it had a better gun that penetrated more than 350 millimeters and an actual thermal imager. The Nijis already got thermal imagers on their M60 Petras, while the Holoslavs were stuck using night sights that were said to glow “like a giant torch” for enemy armor, though Gura never had the opportunity to try and debunk that rumor. Maybe it was just Niji propaganda.  

“When are we gonna get an M-84, Nakiri?” Shion asked. 

“You better pray we don’t,” she replied. “Or else Kanata’s out of a job.”

“Yeah…” The angel-faced girl's lips fell to one side of her face as her eyes took on a greyer hue, like a farmer disappointed at the season’s harvest. “But they say the turret flies into the sky if the autoloader gets hit. Isn’t that dangerous?” 

Ame shook her head before taking another bite. “Not really. The mechanism’s too low in the tank to get hit. As long as you don’t keep ammo in the cabin, it should be fine. Look at us. Sabot round punched right into the turret-POW! Like that. And we didn’t blow up, right Gura?” 

“That’s what got Commander Mel, though…” Gura kept looking at the fire roaring under the stove. She was afraid that if she closed her eyes, she would see how the commander got impaled. 

The group fell silent as the others tried hard not to imagine how Commander Mel must’ve looked, which made imagining it only that much easier. 

A few minutes passed, and Nakiri broke the silence. “Awful way to go.”

“Her blood’s on Polka’s hands. So’s the rest of Third Platoon,” Shion said, filling a tin with some of the stew, before handing it to Gura. “You should really do something about her. Give her a real bad day, you know?”

Nakiri glared at her. “Shion. I told you already.” 

Kanata meanwhile seemed to be preoccupied with her own problems as she ate her cevapi. “If I get replaced with an autoloader, that means I’ll have to join the infantry…” 

The oni sighed. “Kanata, you’re not getting replaced. They don’t have enough of the new tanks for everyone.” 

“What do you mean?” Gura asked, before helping herself to some stew. 

“We’re gonna be doing rear guard duty on New Year’s. Guarding supply trucks and stuff. Unless they pull us into Operation Sweet Happy Holiday, that is.” Ayame made a little pout. “I hope they don’t.” 

But that answer only made another question form in Gura’s mind. “Operation Sweet Happy Holiday?” 

“C’mon, haven’t you heard? The attack on Nijigrad.” 

Gura did know about the planned attack on Nijigrad, but the operation’s name hadn’t been made public among soldiers until recently. “Oh, that.” 

“That battle’s gonna be really bad,” Shion chimed in, ladling stew into her own tin. “I don’t wanna be anywhere near there once it happens. It’s gonna be like the Battle of Berlin, but worse…” 

Nakiri smiled at her. “Don’t you wanna fight your way to the Reichstag, Shion?” she asked, with a tone that evoked derring-do. “Raise the Tricolour over the city with Okayu, while Kanata and I drag Riku and all the other fascists out from their bunkers? We’ll be heroes of the Federation, and Yagoo will have to give us not one, but two medals each!” 

“Neeeeh… Hoću Kurac.Yagoo can keep his medals… I just wanna go home.” 

Gura looked at Nakiri, expecting her to scold Shion again. But the tank commander instead became pensive, taking a bite of her cevapi,before staring at it as if it would show her the right answers. 

“Yeah…” Nakiri almost whispered the word. It seemed that it didn’t.   

Again, the group fell to silence. No doubt they were all thinking of one thing: Going home, where they were safe with their families. No more guns, no more bombs, no more medals. Only a return to normal, before The War started. Though almost all of them barely remembered what that actually looked like. 

By 1986, The War had been going on for almost ten years. Gura was 18, and The War started when she was 8. All she could remember was how there was almost always no food. The government hadn’t sorted out rationing at that time, and the situation only got worse with all those airstrikes by the Nijis. Gura always wondered whether having nothing to eat back then was why she was still so thin and so short despite having grown up so much. No doubt the other girls had similar childhoods… 

“Is that why we’re celebrating Christmas?” Gura asked, though she wasn’t sure whether it was a question for someone to answer, or a question for herself. “Because they’re about to make the big push?” 

Nakiri shrugged. “I guess so.” 

“They should give us more Rushijaif that’s what they’re planning,” Shion said before taking another swig from her flask. “Sretan Božić, everyone.” 

In response, everyone murmured “Sretan Božić” back.

As the tankers continued their makeshift Christmas dinner, a figure in green camouflage overalls and field cap emerged from behind one of the tanks. It was a short girl with purple hair tied in two ponytails, in a shade that almost resembled a red onion. Behind her was another figure in a similar uniform - a slightly taller girl with short blonde hair and teal eyes, whose fox ears held her own smaller field cap in place. 

It was Pukovnik Minato Aqua, commander of the Sixth Armored. Behind her was Kapetan Polka, the battalion commander for this sector and Commander Mel’s (now Gura’s) boss. Both of them were wearing stern, thoughtful expressions - the kind soldiers didn’t want to see their commanders to have while they were goofing off. 

Almost on instinct, everyone stood up, with one hand raised in salute and the other hand holding whatever they were eating or drinking at the moment. 

“Mi o vuku…”Ame muttered under her breath. 

“And what is going on here?” Colonel Aqua asked. 

The tankers hesitated. Usually, it was the highest ranking among them that was supposed to answer a commander’s question, but Gura and Ayame weren’t sure which one of them would take up that dubious honor. 

After a few discreet nods and head tilts between her and Nakiri, Gura stepped forward. “Comrade Pukovnik, we are celebrating holiday festivities.”

“Celebrating holiday festivities?” The colonel’s voice was stern, and her gaze was sharp enough to cut through air. Gura could’ve sworn Colonel Aqua could punch a hole right through her head if she stared hard enough. “So why didn’t you invite me, then?” 

Everyone felt their lungs stuck in their throats, and their glances turned from worried to confused. Was the colonel joking? 

Pukovnik Aqua seemed to have noticed this tension, and took it upon herself to clear the air by spreading her arms. “Sretan Božić~!”

Shion buried her face in her hands. “Neeeeeh! Joj, meni, Aqua! I almost pissed myself!” 

Everyone laughed. How could they not? It turned out that the colonel was joking after all. 

“I hope you’re all enjoying Christmas,” the Colonel said, her voice taking on a softer quality. Like a puppy, or a small cat. “Sorry we don’t have more Rushija for Comrade Shion over here.”

“That’s fine, Comrade Pukovnik…” Shion grumbled, before taking another swig from her flask. “But you still owe me 200 Yagoos from that Sedmicegame last week.”

“I’ll pay for it, I’ll pay for it,” Aqua said with a wave. “Once Nakiri pays what she owes me, that is.” 

“Ah! Ahahaha…” Nakiri giggled. “How about you just take more of the sausages?”     

“Mmmm, Nakiri’s cooking. I can’t resist…” The colonel eyed the sausages with an apparent hunger in her eyes. “Can someone hand me some bread?” 

It was Gura who dug out a somun bun and handed it to Aqua. “Here you are, Comrade Pukovnik.” 

“Ah, Comrade Gawr! So you’re out of the hospital? Good,” the colonel said as she filled her somun with sausages. “So you got your commission?” 

“Yes, Comrade Pukovnik,” Gura said, saluting again. “I’m honored-” 

But before she could even finish, the colonel shook her head. “It’s okay, comrade. I know you were supposed to go home before New Year’s.”

Gura put her hand down, surprised at this show of empathy. “Um…” 

“In fact, I should apologize to you, Gawr. It’s just that we need more TCs, and we lost a good one in Mel. Nakiri.” She turned to the oni. “You’re taking command of Third Platoon.”

Ayame was about to take another bite from her food when she heard that. “Eh?” 

“I thought I was going to become platoon sergeant, comrade pukovnik?” Gura asked. 

“That was the original plan, but we figured you might need more experience.” It was Kapetan Polka who piped in, casting toward Gura a stern look. The way she raised her chin at the last minute gave it a somewhat condescending air. “Comrade Nakiri should show you the ropes first.”

A part of Gura wanted to balk. Somehow, she felt that Polka got in the way of her commanding her own platoon. She already killed Mel, and now she was going to screw Gura over too. But with the news also came a feeling of relief - Gura wasn’t going to have as much of a burden as she initially feared. Perhaps it was best to just keep quiet. The way Ame glanced at her with cautious eyes showed that this was the right choice. 

“I understand, comrade kapetan,” Gura said. 

“Does this mean we’re switching tanks, or…?” Nakiri asked tentatively. 

“No, we’ve run out of M-84s,” Polka replied. “Even if we did, we would have to retrain your whole crew, and we need you on the field as soon as possible.” 

From somewhere, Gura heard a sigh of relief. 

“So girls, just finish your meal and Polka over here will give you the briefing,” Pukovnik Aqua said, before making a sigh deeper than any Niji trench line. “I’ll have to talk with the other brigade commanders… Though, Polka, do I really have to talk with them?”

“Yes, comrade pukovnik.” The tone in Polka’s response sounded like this wasn’t the first time she had to remind the colonel about her duties. 

Aqua seemed to shrink just a little as she began twiddling her thumbs. “But they make me nervous…”

“Comrade pukovnik, you can’t just stay away from the other brigade commanders just because of that.”

“Ehhhh… but I wanna hang out here for a bit longer…” She sounded somewhat like a child. The colonel was always like this, being more comfortable around her men than around anyone outside the brigade.

“Don’t worry, I’ll join you right after this briefing, ma’am,” Kapetan Polka said, giving Aqua a light smile. 

The colonel made a defeated sigh, and gave the rest of the tankers an apologetic look. “Sorry, girls, but I’ll have to go. Shion, I’ll give you the money I owe New Year’s, okay? Nakiri, can you give me a bun full of cevapi? Ahahaha… thank you. You’re a very good cook. I wish I had someone to cook for me like this…” 

Nakiri chuckled, before handing the colonel another bun full of sausages. “Comrade pukovnik, once the war’s over, I can be your aide de camp!” 

Gura wondered. Was she serious about that?

“Now you’re just teasing me! Anyway, I’ll leave Kapetan Polka here with you. Polka, you better be there, okay?” With a final smile, the commander of the Sixth People’s Armored Brigade walked away into the camp, cevapi in both hands. The soldiers saluted her as she passed them. 

The air immediately became a lot less cheerful, much more oppressive. Though the colonel was an easy-going kind of woman, Kapetan Polka was anything but. Gura had heard of her history as a circus performer back in Banja Polka, but that Pierrot was nowhere to be found at that moment. Just the person responsible for leaving Third Platoon in the lurch, the one who got Commander Mel killed. 

“Okay, so Gawr, you and Watson are getting a new tank. It’s over there by the end of the camp,” Kapetan Polka motioned to the far end of the camp with her clipboard, before looking at it again, somehow avoiding all their gazes. “Queequeg, take Gawr’s tank and Starbuck to secure Hill 355…”

But as Polka gave her lecture, none of the tankers were listening. They merely stared at her, as if they would kill her at any moment. 

Whether it was their silence or she picked up on the intensity of their gazes, Polka put down her clipboard and glared at them. “What?” 

Before speaking, Shion checked over the kapetan’s shoulder, probably to see if Colonel Aqua was already far away enough. “You got some nerve showing your face around here, fennec,” she said, almost spitting the word. 

“What are you talking about, Murasaki?” Polka’s brows arched, and her teal eyes took on a sharper air in the Mediterranean sunlight. “If you have a problem, say it and say it straight.” 

“Gawr, look at her,” Shion said. “She doesn’t even look sorry for what happened to Mel.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” the Fennec captain looked at Gura. “What is it with Vodnik Mel?” Yeah, she didn’t look sorry at all, the bitch. 

“Where was our infantry backup?” Gura asked, despite a tug on her left arm, probably from Ame. She ignored it. “The Nijis wiped us out, and Watson and I barely got out alive.”

“Infantry?” Polka sounded unsure, before a flicker of remembrance lit in her eyes. “If you’re talking about the operation two days ago, they got lost, alright?” 

“Tch! Pun kurac.” The words seemed to come out of Gura’s mouth on their own. “We were in close contact with them before we reached the forest. I know you fennecs smashed what was left of the Nijis after they kicked our teeth in, so stop bullshitting.” 

“Gura,” Ame whispered. “I told you, it’s not worth it.”

Polka’s eyes narrowed, and Gura could see her heart-shaped pupils. “Wait a minute, are you saying… Are you saying Ihad something to do with that?” She put a finger to her chest, as if the accusation was an insult to her very being. “You’re crazy!” 

“Polka, everyone knows you fennecs hate Atlantians,” Shion piped up. “Don’t think we don’t notice.” 

The captain’s mouth gaped as she stepped backward, looking at the tankers. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why, I… I ought to have you assholes court-martialled!” 

“Try it!” Gura challenged. “Hiding behind those stars of yours - that’s all you’re ever good at! Commander Mel was better than you’ll ever be!” 

“Jebi se…how dare you?” Polka seethed, before hanging her clipboard on her belt and walking close to Gura, towering over her by half a foot or so. “Just because you’re a new TC doesn’t mean I can’t have my way with you-” 

Ame held Polka by her right elbow. “You’re not doing that,” she said, an uncharacteristic, grave flatness in her voice. 

“And what’s your problem, Watson?” Polka demanded, before trying to shake off Ame’s hand from her arm to no avail. Her grip was that strong. “You goddamn Kronegrin, let go of me!” 

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Ame said, her voice still flat. It was a tone Gura never heard before. “You’re gonna walk away, and forget everything that happened. These guys won’t bother you again, and you won’t bother us again either. As far as you’re concerned, you just dropped by here to brief us on the operation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“What the hell are you-”

“Shush.” Ame tightened her grip on Polka’s elbow. “I hear you tell anybody about what happened just now, especially your fennec friends… If I hear even a rumorthat you said something, your junkie ass will be taking a dip in the Aegean, you understand?!” 

“Y-You’re bluffing…!” 

Without a word, Watson pressed her thumb into the space behind Polka’s elbow, provoking a sharp yelp of pain. The way Polka’s face contorted as she wailed was like that of a dog being speared with a molten hot brand. 

“Stop! PLEASE!” Polka begged as she crumpled from such a simple application of force. “IT HURTS…!!!”

In all the three years Gura knew Ame, she had never seen her like this. To speak so violently, and to act so violently… it gave her goosebumps. Ame was scaring her, and her fear rooted her in place. 

“Što Pizdiš,huh?!” Ame growled, pressing her thumb even harder. “What are you complaining about?!” 

“Nothing! NOTHING! Just let go of me, please!” 

“That’s what I thought you said!” Ame hissed, before letting Polka go. 

The captain stumbled onto the ground, almost hitting her head on the side of the Queequeg’s tracks while her field cap fell onto her lap. 

“Nabit cu te na Kurac…!”Ame growled. “You fuck-uh with me, you fuck-uh with Lieutenant Summer Festival too. You got it?” 

“Okay, okay! Jebi ga…” Polka muttered, picking up her hat, before standing up with her right arm close to her chest. 

“Where’s the briefing?” Ame asked. 

“H-Here…” Polka said, handing it to her with her free arm. “Choke on it…!” 

“Another word and next time I’ll break-uh that needle in your goddamn elbow,” Ame said, snatching the clipboard. “Go!”

Looking like a hurt wolf with its tail behind its legs, Kapetan Polka walked away, but not before casting a glare at Ame and all the other tankers. When she disappeared into the camp, Ame handed the briefing over to Nakiri, who hesitated for a second or two before taking it. 

Gura, meanwhile, was still standing in place, looking at Ame as if the real one was dead, replaced by this new, more fearsome and mysterious ersatz. 

“I told you she wasn’t worth it,” Ame said, looking her in the eye for a few seconds, before averting her gaze. 

Then Gura realized it. She wasn’t scared that Ame had somehow changed. No, she was scared that she had seen a side of the real person underneath. 

“Um… sorry you had to see that,” Ame said, almost a whisper, just for Gura to hear. 

So she knew that Gura knew, and she was ashamed of it. What was Gura supposed to do? 

“It’s okay,” she said, before reaching for Ame’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I mean… I should’ve listened.” 

“Okay, everyone, meal’s over; let’s pack it up,” Nakiri said, beckoning to her crew. Her voice had also grown stern. “And I don’t want to hear any more about the captain, okay? Shion, Ajkula,are we understood?” 

Gura turned to her, still holding Ame’s hand. “Yes, komandant.”

Commander Ayame looked past Gura, toward Watson, again with that uncertain, almost suspicious look. But after a few moments, she turned her attention again to her crew. It seemed she had either lost interest, or decided that she was not her place to pry. 

As the crew of the Queequeg began picking up their ammo crates and eating up the rest of their stew, a figure with short white hair and cat ears zoomed past Gura and Ame. 

It was the gunner of the Queequeg, and she was carrying a box. 

“Mogu mogu~ It’s Okayu!” she said, before opening the wooden box, which contained - against all odds - rice balls. “Anyone want riceballs?” 

But neither Kanata, nor Shion, or Nakiri answered her. Gura and Ame meanwhile looked at each other, unsure of whether to grab a riceball or just go. 

“Hm? Did something happen?” Okayu said, blinking her blue eyes. 

“No, we’re just full,” Nakiri said flatly, before beckoning to the back of the Queequeg. “Put the riceballs over there. Give some to Watson and Ajkulaover there too before they leave.”

Okayu looked at her, then at Gura and Ame, and then at the box in her hands. Describing it as confusion would not do it justice.