Put to rest what you thought of me

While I clean this slate

With the hands of uncertainty

So let mercy come and wash away

What I've done

I'll face myself to cross out what I've become

Erase myself

And let go of what I've done

Linkin Park - “What I've Done”

Dhyaksh Jiyazh Ghuuyaz watched the human fleet withdraw from the system with a sense of quiet satisfaction. The operation had gone even better than he’d hoped, but now he and his officers needed to reconsider their strategy once they finished the evacuation and broke orbit themselves. They’d been hurt…but not defeated. The Pact of their Forebears still loomed large in his mind, only now they would need to devise a new way of fulfilling it. In the meantime…

“There is still a large enemy contingent on the planet’s surface, is there not?” he asked his tactical officer.

“Yes, Dhyaksh,” he smiled. “But until the human fleet returns, they are at your mercy.”

His commander shared that same knowing grin. “When the shuttles have finished returning our warriors, we will make a single pass over the enemy,” Jiyazh informed him. “We dare not stay longer, and risk the humans returning with reinforcements.”

“I understand, Dhyaksh,” his tactical officer replied. “I will plot the attack run at once.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “And what then?”

“And then, we decide how to proceed,” Jiyazh answered, his eyes already studying the star chart. “The humans predicted our movements somehow, so next time...we must do the unpredictable.”

Keeping a retreating unit together is a difficult proposition even under the best of circumstances. When that unit is not yet battle-hardened, cut off from their support, whose morale has suffered, it becomes even more so. All it takes is a single misstep, one more disaster, to turn a retreat into a full-fledged rout.

Nassat knew it worried Sergeant Lin. The way he kept scanning behind them, he knew he was wondering if the Khonhim had some trap in mind for them. Here and there he knew that other units had broken under the strain and had scattered, useless as fighting units they had reformed and reestablish discipline. He could see in the eyes of his platoon how close they were to full panic, and he did his absolute best to keep them together, and in good spirits.

And then it all came apart when death began raining from the sky.

A string of explosions walked down the line, shredding their formations like so much tissue. There had been no warning...one moment they were hurrying back to their position, the next kinetic rounds were slamming into the landscape and turning huge chunks of the terrain into dust.

And anything standing in the way.

“Take cover!” Lin screamed, but there was no place to hide. The attack had caught them out in the open, and for every Saurotaur that went to ground and tried to follow orders, there were a dozen more that bolted in panic and scattered in all directions. Those unfortunate enough to get caught in the blasts didn’t just die, they were atomized, and even as Nassat tried to prevent his platoon from running he knew it was pointless. Nothing would stop them now, all he could do was save himself until it was over.

He was diving for ground when the concussive wave of a blast lifted him off his feet and slammed him into one of the Ronin tanks, as the darkness claimed him.

Leandra hadn’t known Marshal Antuma long, nor could she say she knew him well. But the man that walked into her office bore little resemblance to the confident leader she had been working with, these last few months. His back was as ramrod straight as ever, but he bore the look of someone who knew he was about to face the executioner.

“Minister Singh,” he said, “I regret to inform you we have received word from Uzaunx. It’s...bad, Ma’am.”

She nodded. “Just give me the highlights, Marshal,” Leandra said, steeling herself.

Kwasi took a deep breath. “Admiral Fujimoto lost almost half her fighters to the Khonhim fleet, forcing her withdrawal from the system. Just before the enemy broke orbit and departed the system themselves, they launched a devastating attack against our ground forces, and we don’t yet know the extent of our losses there. But based on preliminary reports...they could well exceed our Naval casualties.”

Leandra forced herself to give the outward appearance of calm, but inside she was reeling from the news. Dear God, how could they come back from this? It was a disaster, even worse than the first battle had been.

“Minister,” Antuma continued, “as the senior commander, the fault is mine. I offer my resignation...and submit myself to whatever penalties you see fit.” He stood stock-still, his eyes staring straight ahead, as he awaited his fate.

She gazed up at him, realizing that he meant every word...before shaking her head. “Marshal, your resignation is not accepted,” she said. “Please, sit down.” He blinked at her words as if events had gone off script, before seating himself across from her. “Minister…” he began again, before she cut him off.

“It’s not your fault, Marshal,” she said, “nor is it Admiral Fujimoto’s.” She paused for a moment, regarding him. “Did she offer to fall on her sword as well?”

“Hélène tried tendering her resignation to me,” he admitted, “but I refused it. I told her the same thing I just told you...that any blame rested on my shoulders, and no one else’s.”

Leandra sighed. “What’s that old expression? ‘Victory has a thousand fathers, but defeat is an orphan?’ Marshal, let me ask you something. Before the Governor-General announced the true purpose behind the Guilds and the Reenactments, did you have any inkling that someday...it might be for real?”

Antuma stared at her for a moment, before giving her a half-shrug. “I had my suspicions,” he admitted. “There was just a little too much government support for something that was touted as a harmless distraction.”

“But no proof,” she pressed him, “no concrete evidence?”

“No...no proof,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Minister, I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this.”

“Bear with me,” she told him. “Marshal, until a few months ago, you and Admiral Fujimoto were playing a game. A distraction, as you said. A popular distraction, I grant you, one that raised your profile to superstar status...but nothing more than entertainment. No one died in a Guild battle, save a few electrons in the simulation database...because It. Was. Not. Real.”

The Marshal closed his eyes. “It is now,” he whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Leandra agreed. “And that is my point. You, Admiral Fujimoto, all of us, we’re being forced to fight way above our weight class. You were the best of the best...but this is no simulation.”

“Which is why you must accept my resignation, Minister,” Antuma countered. “I am the wrong person for this job. The results speak for themselves.”

“And just who do you propose we replace you with?” she demanded. “Name one person who has more experience fighting a real war.”

Antuma’s mouth moved, as he struggled to come up with an answer before Leandra let him off the hook. “Exactly,” she said, “no one. There isn’t a single living human being who’s fought a real war anywhere. Which means, Marshal...that you’re all we’ve got.”

The Marshal squirmed in his seat. “Minister, when word reaches Earth about this…” he began, before she held up a hand.

“The reaction will be unpleasant,” she nodded. “There will be plenty of people calling for your head on a silver platter. Folks convinced they could have done better. Let me tell you, Marshal, that is absolute bullshit.”

His eyes went wide at her sudden vehemence, as she leaned in. “We haven’t fought a real war for a century. Oh sure, we tried keeping our skills up with the Guilds...but theory and practice are two very different things. I don’t care how good a simulation is, it will never account for every variable, or allow every option. Fallible humans created and programmed those simulations, and I believe that if there is any failure here...it is the Failure of Imagination. Not by you or the Admiral, but by those who created the Guilds.”

Antuma looked unconvinced but said nothing. “The time for recriminations is behind us, Marshal,” she told him. “We need to stay focused on what’s ahead...and how we will win this war.” She leaned back in her chair, regarding him. “So tell me, given the rather painful lessons the enemy has thrust upon us...where do we go from here?”

The Marshal was silent for several minutes, as he considered her words. “The Khonhim let themselves get bogged down at Uzaunx,” said at last. “That’s the only reason we could inflict any damage on them. They were invading along a straight line, trying to burn through the Triumvirate...only I now believe they will toss out that strategy. They can’t afford to telegraph their targets to us and get caught unawares again, so…”

He sighed. “I believe they will break the pattern and start hitting random locations. I also believe they will spend less time in each system, adopting a “Hit and Run” strategy, instead of transporting the bulk of their warriors to the surface to savor their kills.”

“Which means…?” Minister Singh prompted.

“That we’ll have no way of knowing when and where they’ll strike next, and by the time we learn of an attack and respond, they’ll be gone,” he said quietly. “We would need to station a picket in every Triumvirate system to catch them, and we don’t have that kind of manpower or resources.” He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. “I’m sorry Ma’am, but that’s my best guess...and if I’m right the only way we’ll catch them will be by pure dumb luck.”

Leandra gave him a withering look. “I’m afraid that’s unacceptable,” she informed him. “I can hold off the masses who will demand your resignation. I can try and inspire the Triumvirate…and Earth...to dig even deeper for resources and personnel. But I won’t be able to do any of that unless you give me a victory. It need not be anything big,” she said in placating tones, “but if I go out there and tell the people we have nothing...then we might as well surrender right now.”

“Ma’am, I’ve been digging through the playbook from Day One, and we’ve tried every single trick we can think of…” he started, only to be cut off by Minister Singh yet again.

“Then I’d say it’s time to throw out the playbook,” she informed him. “We won’t win this war by conventional means. That much is obvious. So, it is time to get creative.”

“...creative,” he repeated, as if the word left a sour taste in his mouth. “I understand what you’re suggesting, and yes...there are a few flat-out mad ideas floating around. But if we try them, even assuming things break our way, our casualties will be…ugly.”

“More than they already are?” she asked point blank. “Marshal, we need a victory. Just one. One shining example of how the Triumvirate and Earth can stand toe to toe with the Khonhim and emerge victorious. Without that, it’s all over.” Her gaze pierced deep. “And to get that victory...we need to accept the blood price that goes with it.” Leandra worked her jaw, unhappy by that admission...but not backing down from it a single centimeter. “Do I make myself clear?”

The cold-blooded reality of what she was asking hung in the air between them, and as much as they both hated what it stood for, they both also recognized the need.

“...yes Ma’am,” Marshal Antuma said at last, “I believe you do.”