The synths had erected their four turrets forming a square this time.

Sheesh… Gonzal thought, it’s like fighting some really dumb, really stubborn high-tech fungi…

“A’ight, crew, listen up! These synthetic freaks just don’t learn, so we’ll stick to tried and true. Haiko: I want you…”

The Sergeant never finished detailing his orders. With a blood-curdling war cry that would have been in character on a Viking battlefield, all his Wings save Noui and Squirrel charged forward.

“Eh… Sarge?” Noui said, dumbfounded.

Gonzal's jaw was too busy being dropped for him to say anything.

Two turrets focused fire on Chinkx and Wolf, chewing through their light armor as famished mice through soft cheese; they managed some five or six steps before falling face-first over the grass, their chest and back soaked red.

“Sarge…?” asked Squirrel, lifting his LongEye rifle.

Haiko, Stoic and Minds, the Gnarus already heavily wounded, were chopping down the first turret; Bigfoot was pummeling the second. They were all cursing and shouting as if possessed by a war-loving demon.

It was over soon enough: Turret #4, damaged but still functional, stood victorious among the torn corpses and smoking debris.

Gonzal regained his power of speech. “Noui, left flank. Squirrel, to the right; see if we can let it show us its shield’s weak side. Aim carefully and shoot from far away, damn it. I see you running through the field like fucking idiots, I will fucking head-shoot you myself."

***

There was no way they could carry all their gear back to the Nest. Gonzal hauled the two Clypeus’ LEK assault rifles and Bigfoot’s armor; Noui and Squirrel took a couple of LongEyes each, and one of the Saps’ vests. The rest they left lying in the blood-soaked field; the synths would surely be quite puzzled to find such wealth of spoils by the foot of their vanquished turrets.

Gonzal had a very clear idea of what had just happened. While he led Noui and Squirrel back to the base—it was usually Squirrel’s job to scout ahead, but the Pernix sensed it was best to watch the rear while their Sarge seethed his anger—Gonzal chew his rage and pictured his next move.

Fuck that all-friends-no-ranks bullshit: it’s not ‘Doc’, it’s ‘Sir’. With all due respect, sir! You have turned my men into a bunch of pheromone-drunk idiots, sir, and have turned your clone vats into a fucking brothel, sir! Could you please fucking pack your fucking whores homes, stick to fucking fill my men chock-full of normal happy dope, and fucking let the Corvids regain some resemblance to the proud Chapter we are supposed to be? And by the way, sir: fuck you, sir!

Gonzal had a brief flash of Vitor’s and Welki’s botched, malformed clones.

Won’t happen again.

Bigfoot, sobbing like an overgrown child.

Not on my watch.

Their deformed bodies put down to sleep inside two deep scars on Dari Cal’s soft soil.

No way.

Not again.

No fucking way in Hell.

***

They jettisoned all their cargo by Squirrel’s tree; after catching their breath, Squirrel and Noui turned to their Sarge for instructions.

“Take the gear to Ordie,” Gonzal ordered, “he’ll take care of it.”

“Yes, Sarge!” they barked.

“I’m going for a chat with our Doctor,” said Gonzal.

Noui and Squirrel nodded.

Gonzal, fists balled tight, let his fury build up to boiling point.

“Uh… Sarge?” said Noui.

Gonzal didn’t listen: he turned towards the cloning facilities, readying his barrage of insults…

… and bumped straight into Doc Kourailen himself, who was storming straight towards Squirrel’s tree and shouting at the top of his lungs.

“You there!” yelled Doc, out of himself. “What on Terra is going on!?”

Taken by surprise, his range turned to confusion, all Gonzal could stammer was, “Say again, Doc?”

“Don’t you ‘Doc’ me, Sergeant! Try ‘Sir’!”

“Y… yes Sir!”

“Now, what the hell is going on out there, Sergeant?”

“I’m not sur—”

“Why on Terra is every Corvid today acting like fucking lemmings? Have your men’s DNA been spliced with lemming DNA, by any chance?”

“Lemme… what, sir?”

“THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION, YOU MORON!! Of course not! Do you know how I know?”

“Ehh… no, sir?”

“Because I do all the gene splicing in here, and I sure as hell haven’t added any lemming into the mix, you moron! Or any fly, for that matter. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Then why the bloody hell is everybody dying like flies today!? I had half the Azure squad sent my way an hour ago; now I have your whole fucking squad too, save those two idiots behind you so I wanna know, RIGHT FUCKING NOW, what the…”

A soft chime, and a softer female voice, purred from somewhere inside Doc’s coat, “Incoming neural scans… Subjects: six. Platoon: Raven. Squad: Talons. Breed:…”

“AW COME ON, FOR FUCKS SAKE!” Doc roared while sprinting back to the cloning facility. “For the love of Terra, just give me a fucking break!”

Gonzal, Noui and Squirrel were left standing under the thick, profuse foliage of the huge Tree.

After a while, Noui said, “That was weird…”

Squirrel briefly shook his head while pointing at Gonzal, but there was no need: their Sarge’s fury had evaporated.

Gonzal turned around. “Take this gear to Ordie,” he said thoughtfully. “And, Squirrel: stick by Noui at all times.”

“Yes, Sarge. May… may I ask you why?”

“Do as I say. And stick to your side arms, both of you.”

Noui and Squirrel glanced at each other. “Yes, sir!” Without an extra word, they started hauling their gear to Ordnance.

***

Since his other Wings were still inside the cloning facility, Gonzal decided to take his shower. He was in no mood for singing but his stiff, tense muscles could surely use the strong pressure of really hot water.

Everything’s gonna be ok, no need to worry…

The side arms thing had been just a precaution; a gut feeling, mostly, but Gonzal was giving his guts the benefit of the doubt.

Probably nothing… Just a bad feeling. I’m just too tense, it’s probably nothing.

He didn’t make it to undressing before he heard Noui’s Claw barking sharp, twice.

***

He was back outside in a second. Squirrel, a Claw pistol in each hand, held off two of the Talons, aiming straight at their heads. Noui had her gun aimed at the third Talon’s crotch.

“Those were warnings,” she said coldly. “Next’s bullseye.”

“Course it will, baby,” said the third Talon, massaging his own groin. “You can’t miss it; it’s really, really big.” His face was unblemished, his scars washed away by the recent cloning.

“Hey, it’s only fair,” said one of the others. “Jills wouldn’t do us ‘cos they were too busy taking care of your mates.”

“So, way I see it,” said the third, “you Wings owe us Talons one.”

He took a step towards Noui.

She raised her Claw between his eyes; the gun quivered.

The Talon’s grin stretched further. “C’mon, girl,” he said. “Doc didn’t bring no Jacks for you, did he? It’s a win-win for all of us.”

He took another step forward.

Before Noui had time to react Gonzal pushed her aside, launched himself forward and struck the Talon with a direct kick in the crotch; the dry ‘thuck’ cracked through the courtyard. Gonzal followed with a brutal right hook to the Talon’s mandible; he felt the reassuring crunch of cartilage, teeth and bone crushing against his knuckles.

By now, Corvids were pouring from every door that lead to the courtyard, some of them having drawn their own weapons after hearing gunfire. They encircled the scene like birds of prey, keeping several steps away from the action.

“Hey!” roared Baator. He flung aside some onlooking Jays and stepped inside the ring. “What the hell is going on? And who smashed Chester’s head?”

“Your grunts here, Sarge,” said Squirrel, guns still glued to each of the other two Talons’ foreheads. “They can’t keep their sticks inside their holsters, that’s what’s going on. About who, you’ll have to speak to my Sergeant Gonzal, sir.”

Baator, his face a mask of quiet fury, looked at Noui: by now she was shaking visibly, tightly gripping her Claw with trembling hands. He glanced at Chester on the ground, unconscious and gurgling blood, then asked to Gonzal, “Is that true?”

Gonzal nodded, massaging his right knuckles.

“We just wanted a bit of fun, Sarge…” said one of the other Talons.

Baator froze him with an enraged scowl. He got closer to Gonzal, while most of the Corvid Chapter stood around them in a wide, silent circle.

“This is fucking Doc and his dolls,” whispered Baator to Gonzal. “It’s not entirely my boys’ fault.”

“I know,” said Gonzal in the same tone. He pointed at the downed Talon. “But it’s too late to stop mid-way now.”

“You really want to see this through, bro?”

Gonzal raised his palms, as if saying “gotta do what I gotta do”.

Baator nodded. “Floyd’s stronger,” he whispered. “Verioz’s faster.”

“Stronger will do.”

“He shoots with his left…” Baator said, in something resembling a plea.

Gonzal nodded, then he said aloud, “Squirrel… stand down.”

The Pernix lowered his Claws and took Noui to the side.

Baator turned to his two Talons. “Verioz… get the hell out of my sight. If I don’t bump into you till tomorrow I’ll be a happy man. Floyd, you stay and dance with Sergeant Gonzal.” He raised his voice so he could be heard even outside the Nest. “Now, everybody, listen up! This is a private matter between Specialist Floyd and Sergeant Gonzal. Rank is not an issue here, and no one else is concerned. What happens inside this circle stays in this circle. Is that clear?"

The walls and ground trembled as every Corvid yelled, "Clear!"

A couple of Magpies dragged the unconscious Chester from the center of the ring. Gonzal noticed that Captain Luthz, his face a mask of stone, was standing the door that joined the courtyard with the Cloning facility. The Captain nodded at Gonzal, folded his arms across his chest, and watched.

***

Floyd lasted about a hundred seconds. After Gonzal broke his nose, the Talon tried to take the fight to the ground: he lunged forward in what was an passable imitation of Baator’s signature double-leg takedown, but he was too slow and aimed too low. Gonzal’s knee slammed squarely against Floyd’s cheekbone, sending the Talon crawling to the ground with his lights half put out. Gonzal then caught the Talon in a savagely tight armbar, pulled with cold determination, and made the grunt’s right elbow snap 90 degrees in the wrong direction.

Nothing Skavs can’t fix…

Tomorrow Floyd would be able to hold a handgun with his left hand; if Skaavi did his thing right—and the Talons’ Field Med was as good a bone mender as there was among the Corvids—Floyd may even shoot a rifle.

… so Baats kinda owes me one, now.

Gonzal left Floyd on the ground, to be taken care of by his crew. The flock of Corvids broke off and spread as soon as the incident was over. By then Noui was being comforted by Bigfoot, Haiko and Chinkx.

A few steps away, Squirrel had holstered his two Claws, and held Noui’s gun in his hand.

“Corporal,” said Gonzal to Squirrel, “take care of the field.”

“Aye, Sarge.”

“If anybody, Wing or not Wing, does anything even remotely stupid, just fucking shoot him in the knee. Understood? In the knee. Don’t send anybody else to the vats today. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

“I’m gonna take my shower. At least one damned thing has to go right today.”

“Yes, sir. And… Sarge?”

“Yes?”

“That was one wicked right hook, sir.”

Gonzal snorted.

The little Pernix grinned.

***

When he finally left the barracks—after a long, long while under the searing hot water—Gonzal found Noui in Squirrel’s company, both with their food trays.

The stench of Kooks’ goo was unchanged.

“All quiet,” said Squirrel. “About ten minutes ago, Sarge Baator left the Nest with his Talons. If we were to believe what he was rather loudly telling them, I’d say those grunts are gonna be running up and down the river all night long. Hundreds of push-ups probably involved in the process. He looked really, really serious, sir.”

Gonzal couldn’t repress a smirk. “He can be, when he wants to.”

“Looked like he really wanted to, Sarge.”

“Rest of our gang?”

“Should be in there.” Noui pointed at the Mess Hall. Then she looked down, as if searching for words.

Gonzal patted her on the shoulder. “Ain’t the same, right? Shooting a synth, versus shooting a fellow human?”

She shook her head, staring at the ground.

“You handled it very well, Noui. As a Crow should.”

Always looking down, she whispered, “Thanks, Sarge.”

“Wow… my soldiers thanking me for keeping strict discipline?” Gonzal chuckled. “The end of the universe is surely at hand.” Noui made as if she was going to say something else; Gonzal raised his hand. “If you think you owe somebody something, which you don’t… go brave Kooks’ stinking miasma again, will you? Tell your brothers that their Sergeant wants to talk to them. For a rather lengthy while.”

“Right away, Sarge.”

“And… yeah, I might as well take a page from Bats. Do tell them that the lengthy lecture may involve triple digit push-ups, okay?”

***

That had been yesterday. Noui and Squirrel standing by his side, Gonzal had chewed his Wings most thoroughly from late evening until way past midnight. Concepts like “idiots” and “morons” and “lemmings” were abundantly mentioned and profusely illustrated. He didn’t mention to his methodically chewed Wings from where he had learned what “lemmings” were, though.

I must be getting all mushy-hearted, Gonzal smirked as he finally left his exhausted Wings go to bed. Baator’s boys are still out there.

By next morning, the Nest was buzzing ablaze with rumors. According to some, Gonzal had fought two Talons simultaneously. According to others, he had manhandled the three of them at once; Baator himself was spreading the last version and none of his grunts dared to contradict him. However the story went, men of all squads had made a point of staring at the floor every time Noui showed up.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel ugly, Sarge,” Noui winked as they geared up for that day’s Op. “I can’t catch a boy’s glance to save my life.”

Chinkx had probably been about to make a joke, but Bigfoot cut him. “That’s the problem of being the lone little sister among so many bigger brothers,” said the Clypeus. “Not an easy way to get a date.”

There were other news, too. Right after the disciplinary incident, Doc and Captain Luthz had locked themselves into a room together for quite some time. Afterwards, Doc had packed the Jills home, and Baator had volunteered the Talons for vat cleaning duties. Cloning now reeked of disinfectant, deodorant, and proteomes.

Things back to normal, I guess…

His thoroughly chewed Wings had gone by the book this time against the synth turrets, avoid all traces of lemming stupidity. They had taken their time to grind through the turrets’ shields, and only as part of their final onslaught had Haiko charged forward to draw aggro and had died as usual, allowing the others a few moments of all-out focus fire.

Yep… things back to normal, more or less…

And so, after several days of silent showering, Gonzal once again tried his non-existent a cappella skills. His first impulse was a silly dirty song he had heard from some happily drunken grunts, then a bittersweet Cheruvian tune about a man and a woman made for each other, but that honor and duty keep apart year after year until they decide to give love a chance.

He yelled at the top of his lungs, with the empty showers his sole audience.

***

He stepped outside.

Dari Cal’s sunset was glorious, there was no denying. Gonzal took a long, slow breath. Faint yet clear, the earthy scent of Minds’ smokes hung in the soft evening breeze.

For Terra’s sake…

He then caught both Minds’ and Squirrel’s soft chuckle and, beneath the tobacco notes, the rich, velvety creamy body of…

“Sorry, Sarge; we just had to,” smiled Minds as Gonzal, like a man in trance, approached the huge Tree.

“Couldn’t help it,” smiled Squirrel, his mouth full.

“Is that…?”

“It is, Sarge,” said the little Pernix. He held his tray as a priest would hold a sacred relic.

Ravioli!

Minds put off his cigarette. “Couldn’t miss that joke, Sarge.”

“Oh, dear Kooks,” said Gonzal, “I could kiss that fat bastard!”

“You’ll have to stay in line for that, Sarge.”

“Don’t you worry, though. Kooks says this time we’re having daily special all week long.” Squirrel reached behind one of the tree’s big, gray roots and handed Gonzal a third tray.

It was full, and it was ravioli, and oh sweet heavens they were covered by a thick blanket of Kooks’ trademark extra-chunky bacon sauce.

“They may be a bit cold, Sarge,” said Squirrel.

“But you won’t have to wait.” Minds handed Gonzal a fork. “Please do the honors, sir. They fully deserve it.”

Gonzal held the tines a few inches from his plate, not daring to touch the ravioli. “I’m afraid that if I pierce them, it will be like pinching my arm and then finding out I’m just dreaming…”

Both Minds and Squirrel took a big load from their trays and munched greedily.

“Either this is no dream, Sarge…”

“… or it’s so good you just won’t ever wake up.”

As carefully as a surgeon would first make an incision and then transplant a heart, Gonzal stuck his fork in one ravioli and took it to his mouth.

The three Wings stood quietly, lost in rapture as they crunched the fatty, crispy bacon and savored the juicy meat and veggie filling.

After a while, Minds said, "By the way, Sarge. We bumped into Doc a few moments ago

“In fact…” said Squirrel, “we didn’t quite bump: he came here, to this very tree.”

“Yeah. He said: ‘Tell Sarge Gonzal I said that it was indeed the most expensive night ever’.”

“Means anything to you, sir?”

Gonzal chuckled as he chewed. He then smiled but didn’t answer.

His men exchanged puzzled glances.

"Can we take it from your smile that it was good news, Sarge?"

Gonzal just chewed and kept smiling at his tray as a holy man in reverie.

“And…” said Minds, “he also said: ‘Tell him that he was right’.”

Gonzal looked at them. “Did he?”

“He did. Exact words.”

“Now, does that mean anything to you, Sarge?"

Gonzal raised his eyebrow.

Minds quickly said, “Of course it does!”

“Means you’re always right, of course!” said Squirrel.

“Nobody would even think otherwise!” said Minds.

Gonzal coughed, "Brownnosers…"

“That would be bacon sauce, Sir,” said Squirrel. “Brown, creamy and crispy to a blessing.”

They went back to their trays and exchanged no words until Gonzal and Minds left their stainless steel trays as clean and polished as a mirror. Squirrel, slowly and unhurried, still had his plate half-full. Minds collected Gonzal’s tray, as if to go look for another round at the Mess Hall.

“Minds… hold on a sec, kid.”

Minds stood, awaiting.

Gonzal said, “Squirrel…”

“Yes, Sarge?”

“This won’t happen often, so cherish the moment: with Specialist Minds here as our witness, I admit I was wrong, Corporal. And it was you who were absolutely right.”

“About what, sir?”

Gonzal smiled and pointed at Squirrel’s half-full plate. “You were right: we do have an Angel around here. These Ravioli have finally pierced the veil covering my eyes: Kooks’ the chubby cherub among us.”

Squirrel took another forkful to his mouth. “Right you are as usual, Sir,” he said, crunching the crispy pasta. “It’s good to be alive.”

>>

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