The confrontation with Rakaia left Toni horrified. Not with her, of course; the Terminator had always rebuffed the cadets surrounding her, and he would never have expected anything less than the same for him. It wasn't what she had said that distressed him, but his free-running mouth instead, and more specifically, the words it had uttered. Most especially, it was the feeling that had accompanied the words that were jilting his nerves.

The feeling was not entirely unfamiliar.

Over the course of his training, there had been moments when the pressure mounted alarmingly. In those times, a terrible thought sometimes crashed into the midst of his consciousness, yelling that he had finally reached his limit, and that it would all be so much easier if he simply gave up and took the Walk. At first he had simply ignored the thought and, more often than not, those moments were fleeting enough for the tactic to work.

But then those critical moments had begun to stretch out, and simply ignoring the voice was no longer a practical option. It eventually became something to put up with, like Mason or the tics, any attempt to smother the voice only resulting in it squealing even louder in more desperate instances. It began to harass his spirit and slowly he had begun to hate the voice, and then that feeling had begun to make itself known. His memory tended to become hazy whenever that happened, and he would eventually return to himself afterwards in the shower, another critical training session having been accomplished without incident, his only memory of the session that feeling.

A feeling as if he was no longer alone in his own mind, that there was another consciousness to be reckoned with, one which held grudges, which took revenge, which felt itself entitled to more than a fair measure of divine selfishness. There was no pity in it. That intrusive stranger would laugh whenever Toni agonized, and indeed he could hear it sniggering despite his present solitude. Closing his eyes, Toni focused on the emotion and sought to reach out and make contact with that hidden facet of his self.

He let go of his self-pity and felt himself approach the stranger. He abandoned his empathy, and closer he crept. He rose out of the trench that was his life and looked down upon it, observing the shoddy workmanship and the haphazard way it interconnected with those around him, and he sneered at it all. The feeling was becoming very strong. He accepted that he was of no worth. How tremendous it was, life. He had no value in the midst of it all. The myriad trenches surrounding him were better organized and kept, for the most part. They accommodated platoons, whole battalions, even, while his accommodated a young boy who didn't even know how to speak to members of the opposite gender. He sneered once more, his fangs showing. None of that mattered, of course. No matter how many virtuous lives needed to be snuffed out to validate his own insignificant existence, the deed would be done. No matter that his genes were defective, whether they be folic acid deficiencies or something more sinister, he would pass his genes onwards. He would engineer his way into the Terminator's unworthy womb, even if he had to forcefully pry her lily-white thighs –

He began to tremble as the horrible imagery paraded before his mind's eye, the stranger smirking slyly beside him. His emotional self began to tear itself apart, the horrified rejection of the delicious possibilities opposing itself to the epiphany of a draconian world view. A savage dogfight broke out in his mind, and his body began to shake and shudder.

Turning his back towards the infirmary door, he smothered a scream and caved in to the overwhelming intensity of his emotions. At the peak of his anger, as his hate extended beyond himself and towards all the antagonists of his life, he sensed his moral skin slip away, feeling simultaneously terrified and delighted that it could so easily slide off if he allowed it to.

He glimpsed the demon hidden beneath, and it proudly basked in the light of its discovery before once more hiding itself within the fabric of his mind. As the foul creature disappeared from Toni's consciousness, his weaker self tried desperately to hold on to some remnant of its power, but a moment later it was wholly gone except for that feeling, and for the reassuring knowledge that it was still concealed within.

His shaking eventually subsided, and he began to lose track of time.

The affliction had long departed when the infirmary's automatic blinds suddenly snapped shut, putting an abrupt end to Toni's dark thoughts.

What time is it? he wondered. Slowly he rose, joints cracking loudly, and he crossed the room towards the entrance, unfastened boots squeaking over the varnished wooden floor. He found the medic at her desk reading, and she reluctantly turned her attention towards him as he approached.

"Well, finally up. You look flushed, cadet. Are you alright?" she asked, concern lightly etching her pretty brow.

"Oh. I'm just fine. What time is it?"

She pointed delicately to the wall-clock above her head. It read nine o'clock. Dinner-time had come and gone quite a while ago. He had missed formation. The medic appeared to read his mind.

"There's no need to worry, dear. The Commander passed by more than an hour ago. Told us it was alright to bring dinner to the injured in the infirmary."

"The ... Commander?" Toni asked.

"Well, yes, of course. The entire base is out and about. Something's up, but I'm afraid I don't know what it is, so don't ask," she warned. The furrow of concern deepened.

"Listen, dear. I don't like how you're looking, nor did I like the strange noises you were making while you slept, so why don't you try resting a little more. I'll bring you your dinner just now, alright?" she proposed with a sweet smile.

Toni felt that her smile was disingenuous, but still felt obliged to comply. Presenting her with a smile of his own, he thanked her and returned to bed. As he lay down again, Toni realized he was still smiling, and quickly wiped it off his face. What had she meant by strange noises? Had he spoken out loud? He wondered what she must be thinking of him. And how had he not noticed the arrival of a full-blown Colonel in the bay?

He couldn't afford to lose his mind, not when the world was on the verge of becoming an interesting place.

Toni made his way back to the casern a few minutes before the call-to-silence horn. What he found there caught him by surprise.

The entire platoon had travel-gear spread out on the beds, and was prepping Tier Three travel-packs for locomotion. His own bed had one such T3 pack lying on it, but everyone appeared to be too busy to explain to him what to stow where, or why.

"Yo! Still in time to go back to Med Bay, Tonesy!" Toni heard someone bray from further down the compartment.

Ray's arms were dug in up to their elbows in his larger back-pack, and the Leibanese looked happier than Toni had seen him in a long while. He sauntered over to the busy cadet, hopeful for information.

"Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"Are you ready to fight a war?" Ray asked, giving him a wolfish grin. He then proceeded to explain.

Apparently, the CDF has finally gotten wind of the enemy's general location. Their defensive systems had proven so advanced that all unmanned aircraft in the vicinity had been incinerated. In fact, the weapons' range was so extensive that the venerable Adamastor, Capicua's one-time interstellar spaceship and sole remaining space station, had that very afternoon been knocked from its orbit as it passed overhead. All hands had been lost, elevating the body-count since the conflict's beginning to more than four hundred dead.

"Oh, and the Enemy's got an official name now. We'll be calling them Unmil from now on."

"Unmil? How did they figure that?"

Ray looked at Toni carefully for the first time that day.

"You alright, man? You usually pick that crap up faster than me."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I get it. Unknown Military, right?" Toni ventured, trying to look as excited as his friend was. Ray's preoccupation vanished at once and he proceeded to lay down facts more relevant to their immediate future.

The brass, in their infinite wisdom, had proposed to the government that MEWAC's entire ground force be committed to offensive action, aimed at striking a devastating blow against the Unmils before they got too well established. And somewhere along the line MEWAC's entire ground force had come to include the Moca Suits, momentarily tasked to a certain platoon of eager, if rather malcontent, cadets.

Hence the T3 packs.

"So you pack for extended operations, as per page one-oh-seven of the MEWAC Recruit Manual. Though they told us to pack it all very tightly, 'cause they're gonna have us stow three days' combat rations and a few extra Lacrau clips in there. Yo, master and commander! You got that pill for the Tones here?" he bellowed suddenly at Ian, who had been methodically running a pen through a checklist.

Apparently, the novel situation had put Ray in such high spirits that he had quite forgotten about his beef with the special one. Ian approached them quietly, taking a small capsule out of the breast pocket of his brand new dolmen as he did so. Toni accepted it reluctantly, deeply suspicious of anything Ian would offer him to swallow.

"It's a sleeping pill ..." Ian explained neutrally. "They want us to take one at the call-to-silence horn."

He returned to his list without another word.

"Yeah, that's right! We gotta take it at the call-too-shilence hawn! But you'd better put a hold on that until you got everything packed. Help me out, and then I'll give you a hand, arright?"

Ray's enthusiasm proved infectious, and soon Toni found himself forgetting about what happened at the infirmary as they set to work. By eleven o'clock, even Toni's backpack was neatly stowed, Ray having already gotten good practice sorting his and Gordie's out, and by then both had decided to swallow their little ivory-colored pills. The drug appeared to have no effect on their disposition, making them wonder after a while whether they'd been given a placebo.

As the remainder of their fellow cadets slept like the dead, the two friends clasped hands aggressively. With not the least care for any lurking sergeants or officers, they slapped each other's faces, laughing and promising one another that they would cut a fair length of Unmil-throat before the campaign's end.

As Toni finally lay down in his bed, a genuine smile spread across his face as he wallowed in his good mood, he peered around at the remaining members of his platoon, wondering idly whether any would die over the following weeks. They certainly looked dead at the moment, not a single one stirring except for Ray, who was rolling under the bed sheets as awake as he was.

Sleep fell on him like a thief, stealing from him the memory of any dreams he might have had.

Dawn proved to be a particularly windy one, and it was the music the gusts made against the casern's exterior that woke him. He hid his head under his pillow, trying hard to shut out the sound, made worse by the loud conversations taking place all around him. His shoulder was shaken twice before he found the resolve to look around.

Gordie was once more among them. As the cadet laughed with his mates, ecstatic to be among his own again, Toni noticed only some puffiness around his eyes. Other than that he was no worse for wear.

The wall-clock read four o'clock in the morning.

Yet another shove on his shoulder finally got him onto his feet. Moving like a drunk, he uniformed himself, not caring to wash. He'd do that after the morning run. Then he remembered there would be no morning run.

Sergeant Mason stomped into the compartment, and Toni discovered what his face looked like without its characteristic smirk. It seemed to be carved from stone.

The platoon stood immediately at attention beside the beds.

"At ease, cadets," he began, dispensing with his usual game of stare and intimidation. "I'll say this now, 'cause this is the last chance I'll get to say it. I'm dead sure none of you are ready for this. Not a one! None of you should have been pulled from your training for this!" he growled.

The cadets watched their sergeant silently, none daring to agree, disagree or state any otherwise opinion.

"In fifteen minutes you will all form up before the company building for a briefing by our Company Commander. You will leave your equipment inside your casern. After a short briefing you will be distributed PDWs and corresponding ammunition, an anti-trauma suit and helmet, three combat rations, one box of combat nootropics and one pair of binoculars. None of what I've referred to is to be stowed in the Moca Suit. Instead it will be worn on your person or stashed inside your T-packs. No exceptions!

"There is one last thing I need to say before formation," he added after a short pause. He observed them one at a time, and for once he had no sneer reserved for Toni.

"What's going to happen can end a million different ways, but there's only two ways this will end quickly. Either the Unmils are a bunch of pussies, and we'll sweep the Cap free of them in a day, or they will be far superior to us on every level, and they'll defeat us decisively. In my view, and considering we don't have a clue as to the technology gap between both forces, the first battle may well result in one of these two scenarios.

"Considering this, I'd like to offer you all maybe the best advice you'll ever get from a soldier in this army. No matter what the brass tells you on that parade today, if you come into contact with the enemy, and they're plowing through us like they're fixing to sow the field, then forget about attacking, exacting revenge, or any other foolish idea that jumps into those juvenile minds of yours. You're not gonna turn the battle around with obsolete equipment and incomplete training! Remember the following three Rs: Retreat, regroup and retire! A battleground is no place for cadets! We understood?" he barked, his neck muscles taut as he waited for their answer.

There were several reluctant yessirs and a few nods around the room. Toni didn't say a word; he was too busy marveling at the change of demeanor.

"Don't make us wait!" he finally barked, about-facing snappily before he left the room.

"Pussy ..." Toni heard someone, probably Ray, breathe to his left.

The preparations for formation began to accelerate. The male cadets formed up a full minute before the expected time, and for once the femmes did not let them down, arriving only moments later at a brisk run.

Toni searched Rakaia's features as she formed up in front of him, hopeful that she hadn't spoken to anyone about their exchange. She gave him a look of pure venom before presenting him with her back.

Not the most encouraging sign, he thought sourly.

He glanced to his left, only to find Hannah peering back at him with an indecipherable expression. He raised his eyebrows pleadingly, hoping she'd recognize a wordless apology if she saw one.

"Eyes front," Ian ordered in a low voice.

"Cadet, direct the platoon to the briefing room," the LT called from behind.

Ian barked out a collection of orders and the platoon obeyed reflexively, forming quickly into a double column before marching towards the casern's briefing room.

Before entering, they were overtaken by the lieutenant, Mason, and a troop of sergeants and corporals. The corpies were carrying electronic equipment, and the sergeants several large scrolls.

The fourteen cadets silently took their seats, Lieutenant Templeton having waived formalities beforehand.

"Good morning, cadets," the lieutenant began. "So, before you all melt into the ground in sheer terror, I'd like to make the following quite clear: you will not be expected to directly engage the enemy."

He paused for a moment, silently observing as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across his subordinates' faces. What he saw there must have been amusing, for a wry smile began to spread across his narrow face.

"However much that might disappoint some of you. The current situation also seems to have gifted to the more troublesome members of this flock with a reprieve; any disciplinary proceedings regarding what happened yesterday have, at least for the time being, been suspended.

"I would, however, like to make something clear. A declaration of war is in effect and, in case you're not aware of what that means, the SIC's 1st platoon is forthwith an operational combat unit. As a direct result, any failure to comply with orders, as well as the committing of any other essentially military crime, will be dealt with severely. And when I say severely, I mean the firing squad. Taking this into consideration, and also considering that you are not expected to directly deal with the Unmils, you should be much more afraid of your own screw-ups than of enemy action. And so I expect you to listen to this briefing with great care, because I don't think that the "my mind was somewhere else" excuse is going to work in a court-martial. Corporals, if you'll please set up the holographics ..."

That took all of thirty seconds. As the corporals set up the display equipment, Toni took a good look at the strangers before him. There were the three corporals, certainly close ground support. The footies usually had a beefy look to them. The sergeants, however, were something else entirely. Young, thin, wiry, and lazy eyes born of self-confidence, they were beyond a doubt members of the ASC. And all three were distinctly displeased at their assignment. It was the disgusted look they were throwing the cadets that gave it away.

"Very well, thank you. I think before we get into the details of our current assignment, I'd like to outline the change in status. By order of our Commander, Colonel Masters, all training and the SIC itself are suspended until the end of the Wild Rose Campaign. Our former 1st platoon is now the Logistics Support Platoon, aka LOGIS which, due to obvious considerations, will be dedicated to second-line duties. This platoon has been divided into three sections, consisting of the following: In the 1st Section, under 2nd Sergeant "Dim" Dunn, we have Cadets Miura, Kimble, de Venter, Bowker and Grimm. In the 2nd Section, under 2nd Sergeant John Revone, we have Cadets Allerton, Cato, Tani, Winters and Yamato. And in the 3rd Section, under 2nd Sergeant Carl Jordan, we have Cadets Cassel, Arakaki, Rosa and Templeton. Once this briefing is over, these cadets are to join their respective section commanders."

There was no need to ask who his section leader was; every time the LT had called out a sergeant's name, one of them had stood at attention. His own leader was the pissed-off looking oriental who, incidentally, didn't look dim in the slightest. He got the impression that his new leader was the most displeased of the lot.