Since I’ve gotten to know them, I’ve always known a Caipora would end up killing me. That’s what I’m thinking when the giant Barker steps on the Caipora’s little surprise. Landmines, five of the larger ones with extra explosive runes - the kind you use against tanks - connected and set to detonate on an angle. Inside of the armory — utter madness. Five jets of rune-enhanced destruction shoot up when the jerry-rigged explosives detonates, engulfing and greedily consuming the giant’s bark-covered leg in one moment of fiery fury. The strength of the detonation also blasts the giant back, and it topples noisily to the ground, making the earth rumble. It also hurls the top of our barricade away and the armory tent is in utter disarray like I’ve never seen before. But somehow, we aren’t all blown to kingdom come. Damn good luck. **Combat Efficiency Degraded to 30%** **Recommendation: Retreat** I try to get my bearings back, waving the warning away, and look at Diego to ask if we should celebrate. He is stubbornly doing percussive maintenance to his capricious gun, which makes me grimace. It can’t be over if the assault trooper is frantically focused on his gun. Our remaining little group is pretty spent; no one has escaped injury — not few are still out cold. I feel like shit, pain flares throughout my battered and abused body, subjected to close explosions again and again. The giant Barker’s shock passes, and the pain from the lost limb and the heavy damages hits him all at once. It starts whimpering, whimpering like a giant hurt dog would, making me wince. Great, now I feel like shit for not getting stomped to a paste. The sound has a different effect on the Barkers outside, however. They start shrieking in panic, but then it’s clear it’s starting to turn to berserking anger. I wonder if it actually won’t be a Caipora that ends me, but I look at the little bastard, still grinning savagely as the giant hurs, and make up my mind. Fuck it, I’ll put this in their account anyway. “This is it,” Diego proclaims heroically, pumping a fist, “we’ve done well, let’s fight to the bitter end!” “Fuck no!” I answer, shaking my head at the stupidity; the movement brings me great pain. “The tent still has the emergency scape, let’s skedaddle while we can!” I add after I stop wincing. I’m not a craven coward though. So I point Tom to our wounded - I’m sure he can carry two, maybe three if we take the time to rig some form of sledge. I offer a hand up to the prone Kurupira besides me, but she shakes her head in refusal. Her nanites have focused to restore at least one of her eyes’ functionality, allowing her to return to the fight. “Go, don’t forget Ramos on your way out,” she says, reminding me of her broken friend we left by the exit. “We’ll hold them as long as we can.” Diego nods in satisfaction at the end he deems heroic enough. I know the Barkers will barge in at any moment, but I don’t want to leave anyone behind. I open my mind to try and convince them to come with us one last time, but a deafening sound breaks me to a halt. “Is that…?” the Caipora asks. “Fuck yeah! Geni is here!” Diego announces, receiving a message. Roaring weaponfire approaches, and the building crescendo of anger from the Barkers outside turns into full blown panic in moments. This absurd rate of fire I’m hearing, even if Diego hadn’t told me, would made clear to me that his sergeant and team-leader is coming to our rescue. Only her gatling gun can sustain this insanity. The giant Barker now whines from both pain and from fear. His rescuers are broken and there’s no escape for him. After a moment the gunfire stops, and one familiar black-haired head pops into the tent. “Shit, you’ve bagged one of the big ones? Good job, Diego! Barro and all too!” “Yes, it was all my sterling leadersh-” “Aaand you can shut up now. Medics! Get in here, there are wounded!” she calls for our very deserved help. “It was touch and go for a while, but we’ve pushed them out now. You’re safe,” she says, grinning widely, the fight’s thrill still coursing in her veins. “Boss?” Tom asks me as he deposits our wounded on the ground with care. Avoiding the fallen Giant, Diego rushes outside to join Geni and his team while the others sit down in exhaustion, even the energetic Caipora. “Yeah, Tom?” I ask, kneeling to regain my breath. “If you could spear me the job of rescuing you the next time…” he says, eliciting guffaws from the others. People get weird after a life-or-death struggle, they can laugh from anything - even shitty puns. “We can hammer things out later, but you’re cleaning this all up by yourself,” I retort and the two of us join the soldier’s half maddened laughter. Just another day at the Unity’s Freedom Division, 2nd Brazilian Regiment. I wonder if we could make oil out of the Barkers - then the Americans in the unit could show us their true potential. With these thoughts, I fell asleep then and there. *** There’s no rest for the wicked. The medics come through the tents, skirting the fallen Giant to see to us. Everyone gets shots of more specialized nanites, and different hours of mandatory rest are ordered to each one. Lieutenant Friedsch, a beautiful pale, blond gaúcha — from our southernmost state of Rio Grande do Sul — raises a hand to stop our conversation, putting two fingers on her hear to signal she’s receiving a call. After a minute, she huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms, returning her eyes to me. “What is it, Fridy?” “The medical tent is overrun with casualties, I’m afraid I can’t take you there even if we’re right besides you,” she tells me, flustered. “That’s not a problem, I think we can scrounge a few cots from somewhere in this mess.” “Oh, that’ll do. If they aren’t smashed to pieces,” she comments, looking at the sorry state of my domain. “We were kind of busy here, so I couldn’t follow how the battle went for us. How is the butcher’s bill looking?” “Not counting small injuries, we have suffered nearly 200 casualties — many that we hope can be brought back. It’s a shame we don’t have full-fledged spell-doctors, if we did we might have a better chance of saving some of these folks.” Fridy herself, though she carries a german surname and physical appearance, has some Guarani blood on her veins. She was a fledgeling shaman before she signed up, and she constantly asks me to get her materials to power her effort to graduate as a spell-doctor. **Suggestion: Expand on Magic Healing** **Research shows wide interest over subject on Mana-Poor Worlds (34% of Unity Worlds)** Shit, when did this VI started being helpful instead of annoying me with red screens? Eh, why not? With the beginning of introduction of luxury automated communism on Earth, the Unity also brought universal healthcare, curing or treating most diseases we knew and a fair share of ones we didn’t even know existed — many of them of a magical nature. One example for you, Mana Dissonance. As we live our lives, we create a series of bonds with people we love. It turns out those bonds are a lot less figurative than we would imagine; our (paltry) mana creates a resonance with our loved ones’ own. Besides the psychological consequences of losing a loved one, you can suffer from lethal Mana Dissonance: we used to say a person just “lost their will to live”, but it might have been very well the Dissonance acting on it. It was probably what took my grandmother away so soon after my grandfather parted. Now, let me turn to more practical and tangible aspects of it to our current situation — a freaking war. They’ve built medical nanites production labs back home, but in our lack of mana-workers and mana-expertise, they haven’t been able to establish the parallel magical equivalent — regen injector factories. As I’ve said before, both means of healing are not enough to supersede resting and giving a body time to recover, though they do speed the process. During a fight, they might patch up things enough to return someone to combat — like what happened to the blind Kurupira, but only to a certain point. More advanced technology and spellcraft can do more, of course. Medical nanites are programmed to preserve critical systems in case of death, like oxygenating the brain, so the fallen trooper might have a better chance to be brought back to life. A well cast regen spell will do the same. Getting your brain damaged is often a one-way road, I should mention — no chance of healing it on the battlefield. Magic healing can be a lot more decisive on the battlefield as fair as I know. I don’t presume to know everything, I’m just telling what I’ve heard, much of it from Fridy herself. If a Raise spell is cast in time, it might bring a dead trooper to right away, though obviously not in the best of conditions. Late, mechanical reviving has… consequences. Fridy snaps her fingers at my ear, bringing me back to the moment. “You still with me, Barro?” she asks, worried. I did have a concussion, didn’t I? I can see why she would be preoccupied. “Sorry, just writing a bit about healing on the damn chronicles. When I zone out - most of the time - I’m writing something down,” I explain myself, easing her mind. “Oh, your famous book! I can help you with it when we’re not so busy, just give me a call. But I’ve got to go now, we’re putting a lot of people in stasis to send back to the Main Base. See you!” I curse at Fridy as she goes away, laughing. I will clarify that the book is not famous — I just grumble about it to the whole base — often. Anyway, only the Main Base has the required resources to heal critical damage - brain damage included. So, we will have to put the fallen in stasis and ship them back when we have the time. More work for the quartermaster as even occupied stasis-beds are not considered troops per se, but equipment. Love my job, really. The Giant formally surrendered when we got a captain to speak with him, letting it under guard by a newly arrived Spellcaster Squad. Some mythics resent the original name of ‘Mage Squads’ because of ages conflicts with mages and the occasional enslavement and binding - both now were banned as Crimes Against Mythical Dignity. They forced a name change by threatening to strike just as we were about to embark to come here for our first mission. Most people still call them mages, though, me included. I don’t want to give any offense, but it’s just so… easier. Eh, I should probably work on it anyway — I’d be pissed if people had the same position with something like the n-word. The Giant actually turned out to be a Barker’s mythic with some complicated name I forgot the second after I heard it - Giant it is. The kind that ate the Barkers in the olden days, but who had given up their evil ways. I’d give it 2/10, an overused trope. A shame, really. Lots of Barker bodies around now, and I would have to search those UV-Lights I had in store to feed the Trenti; the photosynthetic spellcasters came by from time to time. Unfortunately, I am considered essential personnel and only get two hours of rest before being woken up to unfuck things as fast as possible in the dead of the night. And with no help, as the other quartermasters are taking care of other sectors and Tom tries to inventory and organize the armory, now fully converted to anarchy. My first task is to scrounge surveillance equipment to reestablish a secure perimeter without using so many of our people, bone-tired. Me and the engineers get together to improvise a solution. They end up deploying lots of small unit’s equipments (it’s all I can find intact) to replace the larger ones destroyed by the attack. They should last until the more reliable ones could be shipped to us. The head Trasgo engineer, Lieutenant Pará, curses up a storm at the work to adapt and link everything satisfactorily as she gets to it, but it is nothing close to the mine when I learn that two of my advanced tents were blown to smithereens. Four others advanced tents were damaged, including the one that the Caipora had exited from, but they had auto-repair functions. I just had to connect them to the energy generators, but it would take some time. I walk through the camp with tired energy as I read my notes and think. I’ll need the engineers for it, so I decide to skip to the next item on the list for now. Resupply the pickets and the camp’s guarding posts. The obvious way would be to send our vehicles out to do it, but the few we have are all being used to take the stasis-beds away, the g-carts busy in the loading as well. Our neighboring FOBs are sending some of their own vehicles, but they will take half an hour to arrive at least. Hell, how can I do it in the easiest way possible? I’ve always been a believer in work smarter, not harder, and I think about how I can follow my doctrine here. First, I give Tom a heads up by message, ordering him to get ammo loads ready. Then, I look for milling squads that I can commandeer to take the supplies. I’ve said it before, I’m not the gung-ho type, I won’t be carrying it all by myself either. “No luck…” I mutter as I walk through the camp, gazing at the destruction wrought by the attack. The few people I can find are completely exhausted, so I keep walking instead of stopping. I will only ask them this if I can’t think of no other way. I message the other quartermasters, but they reply saying they’re too busy and undermanned as well. Fuck. I’m almost turning back when I feel a smell of shit and smoke wafting from further on — cigarrete smoke, not burning shit smoke, for some reason I think I have to clarify. “The stables!” I say to myself, nearly rubbing my hands as an idea starts forming on my mind. As I come closer, I spot a lot of Caiporas hanging around the entrance, a pall of smoke hanging over them — they’re chain smokers. They used to scare people into giving them tobacco in the olden days. Now, they talk, joking and unwinding after a battle on another planet, fighting under the banner of an alien power. That’s life for you, unpredictable. I’ll have to be smart about it. These are proud people, they will only ignore me if I try to order them about. I approach slowly one of the closest groups, made up of a sergeant and four privates, and they turn to regard me as I do it. We’re still in hearing range of the others, and quite a few are looking curiously at me. “You’re lost, tent guy?” one of them asks, a sergeant Aiowara my overlay informs, grinning at me. “These backline fellas get a little scared when there’s fighting around. Are you all right, mate?” one of his men asks, condescension writ on his tone and face. I’m the smart guy, I’m above it, I repeat to myself to avoid punching the asshole. I don’t know if I’ve told you before, but I hate smug and condescending pricks with a passion. If you’re reading this with a smug grin, I hope someone punches your ugly mug to erase the ugly sight of the face of your shitty planet. If you’re not, and I’m a bit sorry (and very dubious about your honesty). “Ah, yes, it was really scary!” I agree, shaking my head at the horror, and turning the bastard’s smile into a frown. “We were doing alright, hiding in a tent, you know? Then the Diggers came out of nowhere! Fuckers nearly fried me,” I make sure to show them my torn shirt and my scarring shoulder, and the asshole cringes. Everyone knows Diggers are fucking trouble. “I can see that, lieutenant. But why are you here?” sergeant Aiowara cuts me off, stopping his man from putting a foot in his mouth again. “Well, I wanted to thank you for harassing that Giant!” I say with emotion, and they smile and chuckle, right proud of their actions. “Fuck yeah!” one says. “Saved the whole damn base, we did!” another one declares. They pat each other’s backs. They’re right where I want them. “Yes, you did great! Shame you couldn’t hold him longer, but we in the quartermasters got him good later, so everything is all right!” I pronounce with fake cheer, and their smiles turn yellow. “Whaaat? The quartermasters did it?!” “Fuck no!” “Shit!” Upstaged by the fucking quartemasters, how about that? Who cares if I’m pushing it? Technically me and Tom were there, and the mine was directly from our stocks, so ten points to the Quartermasters for all I care. If you don’t know about it still, I’ll make something about the army very clear to you: bragging rights matter. People have died in droves to secure them, rushing into oncoming fire to plant flags, rushing to be the first one on a wall… Nobody likes to be the sidekick, the secondary character of the story. Especially so when you get upstaged by a backline unit. So it’s time for me to twist the knife. “Aw, don’t be like that. You did great, I’ll let everyone know how you helped us — eh, kind of!” I say, goading them. The easy laughter of the quintet is gone, and now the whole unit has also stopped to hero into our conversation, their consternation clear. People will give them shit for months if I spread the tale around. I give it just a moment to let them stew, and then continue. “But you know, I kind of need a big favor right now…” “What?” one of the privates asks, perking up. The sergeant looks at me with discerning eyes, but stays silent. “We’re out of g-carts and vehicles, but I need ammunition and supplies to be taken to the new pickets and guards. Any chance you and your peccaries could do it. Could you help me out? I’ll do you a favor back, of course!” I keep acting the fool, and most of them lap it up. “We can do it! But wasn’t the Giant pretty damaged when it got to you?” someone shouts from the milling group behind. “Damn! Now that you say it, he was on his last legs already! I’ll be sure to mention it,” I say, and they whoop a cheer again, claiming credit. “Go to the armory and my assistant Tom will point you to the right direction, okay?” “Played them like a fiddle,” says sergeant Aiowara with grudging respect at my subterfuge, coming closer as his people get busy. “Any of that true?” “Does it matter? It would be so after I finished spreading it,” I reply, grinning wickedly. “But I really was there, and got the shit kicked out of me. I won’t forget what you boys did, though. You saved my bacon, so I’ll save yours,” I say, nodding to the stables. “Lieutenant?” he says with a straight face. “Yeah?” “Stick to acting. The electrocution must have fried your sense of humor.” I burst out laughing and Aiowara joins me, letting my dig at their beloved mounts go. I think I might have made a friend. And, a lot more important, saved myself from a lot of trouble. Hell yeah. On to the next problem.