The twelve Bulwarks extend their wings and blast off into the sky, the graceful curves of the power armor allowing the pilots to dance through the air with minimal resistance. The atmosphere is electric as the Bulwarks flash forge their weapons while still in the process of taking off and soon the Valkyrie squadron is bearing an eclectic array of swords, axes, spears, missile launchers and cannons. Energy crackles around the power armors as shields are brought online. These troops may not be the best the Citadel has to offer, but they are certainly close. This is a Valkyrie squadron after all, meaning each of the Bulwarks are rated at least B on the power scale.

As the squadron tears through the sky, beneath them the men of the militia ride their lorries as they head into battle. Each man bears nothing more than a rifle and a few grenades. No armor, not even a helmet has been issued to them. There is no point. After all, militiamen are there only to add mass to a force. A number of lorries, lagging slightly behind at the rear of the column, carry field artillery guns and the requisite shells instead of troops. Intimidating looking devices, but outdated. They have range, but little power or protection.

As always, when battling the Fallen, it is the Bulwarks that will have to do the heavy lifting.

"Squadron. This is the Commander speaking." The squad's tactical line crackles, "This is our first mission, and I want us to impress. The target is a class D base type Fallen. so things should not be too difficult. Take it down by the book."

"Just a type D? What a drag." A young girl's voice complains over the tactical line, "The Auxilia could deal with that loser. Why is Central wasting our time with this?"

"Its for you to prove to the Citadel that you are worthy of that Bulwark." The Commander snaps, "Also, I heard that an Operator threw you out of his office earlier today. I expect an explanation when you return to base, Nomi." The tactical line goes dead with finality.

A jet black bulwark swings its scythe about in frustration but remains in formation with the rest of the squadron. The pilot then opens a private communications channel with its neighbor, a dark blue suit wielding a pair of long swords.

"Can you believe this Hiro?" Nomi complains, "I got thrown out just for wanting to pray. Unbelievable!"

"Well, you did show up late in the day without a form, refused to join the queue and went straight to see an Operator who did not know you." A male voice replies, "I don't think that's really the right way of doing things Nomi."

"Ugh. Did you at least get to pray?" Nomi grumbles, "You left the barracks early in the morning to join the queue at the transmitters. How did it go?"

"It was fine. I got to pray actually." Hiro says over the static on the line.

Nomi snorts derisively, "How long did you have to wait in line for that?"

Hiro hesitates before answering, "Six hours maybe?"

Nomi continues her interrogation smugly, "And which Operator did they send you to? Was it the old woman who drools from her mouth and occasionally stares emptily into space?"

"How did you know that?" Hiro exclaims. Nomi was completely right. That was the exact Operator Hiro was sent to.

"That's because anyone who fills in an application form to use a transmitter is automatically classed as a low priority user." Nomi explains, "They get assigned the worst Operators and have to queue for hours to receive that privilege. Important people just go straight in to see the actually good Operators."

"I don't think we are important enough to do that Nomi." Hiro replies simply.

"What? Of course we are -" Nomi suddenly cuts herself off and continues speaking in a more measured tone, "I mean, you're important enough aren't you? Your sister is a war hero and you are a celebrity. No Operator would turn you down, other than that meanie I met today of course."

"I don't think abusing big sis's fame is something that I can do." Hiro says hesitantly, "And I'm only famous because everyone sees me as a freak."

Nomi scoffs, "You're way too low profile. Also, you're not a freak. No one sees you that way. What did you pray for anyway?"

Hiro sighs, a sound filled with regret and nostalgia, "I just want my family to be back together again."

"Oh." Nomi says in a subdued voice, "Your family got separated during the First Fallen War right? Is this about that mysterious elder brother you told me about once?"

"Yeah." Hiro murmurs, "The answer I got from the Divines was 'When the walls are breached'. That's not a very inspiring reply is it?"

"Sounds like an implied refusal to grant your prayer. The Citadel's walls have never been broken." Nomi says, "Chin up though! You still have me right? Your sister is being transferred here as well."

"I wouldn't have survived the academy without you." Hiro laughs.

The command frequency buzzes back to life, "Squadron, we are closing in on the Fallen. Prepare to attack."

Nomi whoops with barely concealed excitement, "Here we go!"

....

Here I am, standing in the hot sun, sweating like a pig, after the chorus had so graciously deigned to lead all the staff at the transmission center in a group prayer giving thanks to the victory of our brave soldiers over the filthy Fallen. Of course, they made the offer after their own prayer had been completed and deciphered by me.

Look, everyone here knows how prayer works alright? Praying in the hot sun just outside your place of work is hardly the most effective means of getting said prayer heard. If it was, the chorus would not have clogged up my tower's bandwidth for an entire day. Not that I blame the chorus for leading us all out here from the air conditioned office. The virtuous need to virtue signal after all. How else would anyone know of their virtuousness?

The moment I heard that the Valkyries would be supported by just militia, I knew that the mission was likely just a photo op for some new or reconstituted unit. Militia being deployed meant that the fight was a cake walk. Real battles require the Valkyries to be supported by the Auxilia, the male Bulwark pilots. Less powerful than the women, our presence could nevertheless make a real difference in a pitched battle.

Nasty business fighting the Fallen. I had the ill fortune to wind up being conscripted during the war and that's how I wound up owning a deployment ring. The one good thing that came out of the whole fiasco was that once the war was over, I parlayed my status as a veteran into this cushy gig as an Operator. I had paid my dues you know. I was a war hero, one of many to be sure, but that also meant that I qualified for a guaranteed pension on top of my current salary.

I shut my eyes and fold clasp my hands together as the three burka clad figures standing on the stairs to the building begin to wrap up this group performance. Why does the chorus go about in burkas anyway? Was it to obscure their identities for security reasons? The chorus were the ones in charge of the Citadel's static defenses. If they got themselves killed, things would become ugly, fast.

The droning from the chorus finally stops and everyone begins to drift back into the building, with the exception of the chorus, who leave the place in a chauffeured limo. The moment I enter my office, the phone starts ringing, demanding my attention.

"Hello? Don here." I say upon picking up the phone's handset.

"Its Doctor Jas." The elderly sounding voice on the line replies, "Could you come over to the clinic after work? I need to talk to you about your prescription."

So quickly? I don't need more serum now though, I hardly see any action these days. "Still have close to a full tank doc." I tell Jas once I shake off my surprise.

"Uh no. Its not about that." Jas replies rather apologetically, "I need to talk about your family history. Is that alright?"

"Sure. I'll be there once I clock off from work. Bye." I say and place the handset back on its cradle. I should have known that Jas would find out. He has been around much longer than I have and has connections all over the Citadel. There's no harm in meeting him though. I would benefit from talking things over with him before sending my prayer out. I always had reservations about Jas though, he's gone native, lost his sense of proportion. Lost sight of who he really is.

But he's also one of the few people I can be completely honest with.

Like it or not, we were in this together.