THE BALTIT’S HARBOR

Several dozen bodies litter the open field. Others lie slumped over or near makeshift sandbags—pools of blood forming under them. Occasionally, small vehicles zip by with armed passengers. What remains of tent compounds lie in ruins, and there is an equally staggering amount of burnt body bags.

“Captain! We must get you to safety! It’s no longer safe in the harbor!” A brave soldier yells to Che, who trembles holding a rifle in his hands. He’s never held a gun before—much less kill someone. This gun isn’t even his—it was thrust into his arms by a concerned Darcy. In fact—the thought of taking another person’s life has always haunted him. He may threaten a subordinate with throwing them out of compartments or threaten to have them killed—but actually going through with it is another matter entirely.

Dong Che is scared. He is just as terrified of his position as he is fearful of his bowels emptying at any given moment. How did it come to this? Che thinks to himself, unfazed by the subordinate trying to push him along. How did our defenses crumble so easily?

Despite the tenacity of the Federation assault, Che’s ad-hoc foot soldiers managed to offer stiff resistance—at least initially. The Federation marines threw themselves over and over in fruitless forlorn assaults that ended with overlapping stenches of burnt flesh. Even now, Che has to pinch his nose to avoid gagging.

But they could not maintain their barricades for much longer. Eventually, the Federation was able to intensify their assaults with heavier weaponry—recoilless rifles, mortars, and from he glimpsed; a few lightly armored vehicles here and there, but nothing in large quantities. Of course, those paled in comparison to the guns Che ordered stripped from some of the Mafia ships. Those, Che can argue, are the only reason he and his men are not completely overrun by now.

But it was not the heavier assault weaponry that trouble Che—it is the troops themselves that makes Che tremble. Che’s men have managed to capture a few of them; they wore different uniforms, have unique patches, and spoke a language that the interrogators have trouble understanding but believe is Francien—not a dialect of Anglish, but Francien itself or a variation thereof. But more importantly—their combat capabilities as a whole are unnatural. From what one of Che’s subordinates gather, the captured soldiers are members of the Frankish Legionnaires.

And the very thought terrifies Che.

Che, of course, is not as much of a commander compared to Li and the others, and as such has very little to no practical experience fighting anything Federation or colonial related. But over the years he has heard tales from veterans and survivors of those who fought the Federation and lived to tell the tale—and at the heart of these stories were always descriptions of this ‘Frankish Legionnaire’.

There were first mentions of them nearly eighty years ago—during the earliest known periods of colonial civil unrest, namely in Marsol, and then Perdenes some decades later. In both cases, the nascent legionnaire was said to have successfully ‘pacified’ the unrest before they could pose a threat to the overall stability of the Federation. In recent years, these Legionnaires were used as shock troops, either in Side urban fighting or inter-ship melee. But what can Che take away from this?

They are ruthless. There was no such thing as a process of pacification;the Franks committed many atrocities in their early days—and even during operations against suspected pirates in the 210s’, they used vile tactics that would make even his father green with envy. It’s because of the employment of Legionnaires that Simon and his sister were always hesitant on ship boarding; one may never know when you face such monsters. And if it’s enough to scare his sister of all people, then it is all the reason to make Che sweat profusely.

And to think the Federation was only using them now—were they merely willing throwing away their own to soften up for the Legionnaires? Such underhanded methods Che would only expect from someone like Dong Zhui.

Whatever opinion Che had of them before, he has no doubt now that they are a much more disciplined force, much more aggressive in their tactics, and more inclined in cutting down his men as they fall back to safer positions compared to their regular Federation counterparts. But the fall of the salients was like a domino effect he could not prevent. No matter what he said or did, his men threw down their arms and ran—the men under him aren’t professional soldiers after all—they are merely thugs that joined the Mafia out of security and prospects for greed. For Che, the sight of these tiger-striped uniforms among the advancing Federation lines is akin to Federation ship commanders fleeing from the presence of the Castelforte.

And much like a line of dominoes, each barricaded fall-back line that so heroically held out against the ferocious waves of Federation assaults melted before the advancing Legionnaires. So close were the front-lines that Che has to keep his head low from sharpshooters.

Che is reluctant to give up the harbor. If they give it up now, then it would only spell the beginning of the end when holding out in the Side’s interior. But after some sincere deliberation, Che begrudgingly gives the order to retreat into the first block of Baltit’s interior.

And with that, the battle for the harbor has ended in utter failure.

Che takes one last glance at the body bags of the men that he instilled with false hope; hope that they would live long enough to be relieved by the Don, or even Li. Some died from wounds—a few others took their own lives when it was evident Legionnaires were deployed.

“After the last of us get inside, seal the doors shut!” Che yells over the nearby gunfire into a portable radio “blast ‘em shut—we’ll wait out the Federation dogs!” Che ducks when bullets whiz by—but the man holding the radio on his back was not as lucky ”whatever it takes, live for the Madame,you fools!” Che screams once more, before realizing that the radio was disabled, and the man slumps onto him; dead. Che, shaken with terror, frantically pushes the corpse off him and scrambles to a nearby truck. Under a hail of bullets flying overhead, Che slams against the backside of the truck and lifts himself into the back with the assistance of the others.

Che grinds his teeth with fervent, to cope, he bites down on his nails. Che has no choice. It would be borderline suicide to make his last stand in the harbor, “move! Get moving!” Che shouts to the driver as Che bangs on the side of the vehicle. Not long after the truck goes to top speeds almost immediately causing Che to slide across the bed of the truck.

But the truck never makes it far. Before Che can even register what happens next, a sudden force sends the truck barreling through the air—and then crashes on its side. Che along with all the other occupants are thrown in every direction.

Blood and concrete are the only things that Che tastes when he comes back to his senses. The truck—or what remains of it, is a few dozen meters from him. Most of it is crushed from the impact, and brownish liquid pours out from holes that riddle its side. Eventually, the truck goes up in flames—a fire that engulfs its vicinity and some of the men unfortunate enough to be in its wrath.

The force had knocked the wind out of Che—and his body went numb with pain. The only thing he can do is drag himself away from the burning flames that choke him with each gasp for air.

Out of breath, and feeling he can no longer go on, Che manifests what energy he has and cuts loose an exhausting sigh, and rolls onto his back. The embers rise into the air before they peter out into nothingness. Much like his life, Che’s life will shine bright—and then will abruptly extinguish.

As Che turns his head to the side, he looks on hopelessly as a lone Legionnaire stands atop barricades. The soldier scans the horizon—and then their eyes meet. Briefly, the soldier brandishes his rifle—and Che closes his eyes.

Have I failed my men? Will there be no rescue—have I failed Li and my father?

Che expects a gunshot—but hears and feels nothing. There is only silence. The ringing in his ears from the ambiance of gunfire and other acts of struggle fade to nothingness. When Che opens his eyes again, the Legionnaire that would have put Che out of his misery is gone. With a pained struggle, the young Dong lifts himself into a sitting position and looks around.

But the odd moment of tranquility is dashed when the harbor erupts in celebration—one much more deafening than the battle that was previously unfolding. Although some cheer, others break down sobbing. Left in a daze, Che can only wonder what had brought this about and suddenly finds himself being propped up by two women—one of them Darcy. She looks unexpectedly delighted, “captain! We did it!” She shouts excitedly over the excessive levels of celebration. Darcy and the woman set Che down against some of the barricades “the Federation is retreating!”

Indeed, peeking over the makeshift defenses, Che watches in silence as both Federation and Legionnaires retreat in an orderly fashion. If he squints hard enough he can make out some shuttles already taking off from theBaltit. Countless possibilities cross his mind, but it only takes the voice of Darcy to snap him back to reality, “the Madame Scarface did it!” Darcy says wiping away choked tears “our prayers were answered…” she pauses to wipe away a stream of tears ”—she’s pushing the Federation armada back!”

Che is dumbfounded by the news. Surges of emoticons flood the young Dong. Is this a hallucination? Perhaps he has died and this is all a hazy dream. Since he’s still weak and can’t so much as lift an arm there’s only one real way for Che to confirm this, “Darcy,” he croaks and the woman kneels next to the weakened Che “do me a favor, will ya?” She tilts her head with perplex “give me a good smack on the face—I refuse to believe that I am still conscious and this is happening,” Darcy exchanges glances with the bewildered girl next to her, but nonetheless smacks the living daylights out of Che—a little bit harder than he expects. But a good wake-me-up if there ever was one.

The resulting sharp, burning pain pulsating through his cheek is enough to rejuvenate Che like an obscenely bitter cup of ersatz coffee. He abruptly takes to a standing position, to Darcy’s shock, and climbs on top of the makeshift barricade out of sheer adrenaline.

“Everyone!” He bellows with an outstretched arm. The celebration dies down momentarily “now is the time to strike! Get to your ships and sortie out! We shall not let our brother’s sacrifices be in vain! We will avenge their bravery— their honor! Rally to the Madame so that we may take the fight to them! Onward!” And with that, the crowd roars with joyous occasion—some even carelessly shooting into the air or in the direction of the retreating Federation.

Whipped up into a newfound frenzy the surviving pirates climb the barricades and rush for their ships. Thus leaving behind Che, Darcy, and their adjutant, “Captain?” Darcy asks as she helps to lower Che down, “do you intend to join the breakout?”

Che only shakes his head, “I will only get in her way—you go in my stead, Darcy. I do not want to get in Li’s bad side any more than I am now,” Che rubs his beard and lets out a resigning sigh “I will no doubt get an earful from her after this ends—so I will save her the trouble,” Che reaches out to rub Darcy’s eye “she will not treat you as an extension of me, so you are the best candidate as it stands!” Darcy and the female adjutant climb the barricade wall to join the Mafia fleet.

After they leave and most ships take off, Che smacks his head in the realization that he forgot to ask for some cases of alcohol. Oh, brother.