As bloody and horrific as combat was, what followed in its wake was even worse.

The dead and wounded were everywhere, with their medical staff stretched to their limits, trying desperately to save those they could. They set up triage sites to assess their injuries, evacuating the worst cases back to the Aid Station for immediate surgery, while they treated the less severe cases on the spot before sending them back to the line. They made those they could do nothing for comfortable, as best they could. Most quietly bled out within the first hour.

Those that didn’t respond to sedatives died faster, screaming.

They laid out temporary morgues, segregated by Valkyrie and enemy. Their fallen comrades would be moved if possible, after the wounded, after they delivered necessary supplies where needed, after anything that might aid those still breathing. The sections reserved for the aliens were left undisturbed, the dead laid out in precise rows, their personal effects kept with their bodies to ease identification. They scavenged weapons when possible and divvied them out where they were needed, supplementing their own stores.

There were no atrocities taken against the enemy’s fallen, not with their own casualties lying scant meters away. While they had every intention of holding their ground, the sheer numbers arrayed against them told a different tale. If the enemy pushed them off the ridge, they’d be forced to abandon their dead. Better to show those they fought that they too were worthy of their respect.

Rúna and Arthur cleaned up their foxhole as best they could, removing the bodies and the dripping viscera, throwing fresh dirt over the blood and other fluids, but there was nothing they could do about the smell. It hung over the ridge and the hillside below like a miasma, permeating their clothes, their hair, their nostrils. There would be no escaping the stench, not on that bloody day.

Tomorrow’s forecast didn’t look any better.

“How are you holding up?”

She started, lost in her own reveries as Kai rested a hand upon her shoulder. “I’m okay,” she lied, shrugging off his concerns. Their eyes met, and they mirrored the pain and heartbreak she felt within those dark pools. “You?”

A weary smile, and a shrug of his own. “I’m good,” he told her, putting up a false front of his own.

They both nodded, each knowing full well no one was being fooled. “How bad is it?” she asked quietly.

“We’re not sure yet,” he answered, “things are still getting sorted out.”

“Kai,” she said wearily, “don’t patronize me.” He started to protest, but one look from her and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Fifty dead, plus or minus,” he reluctantly admitted. “Another two hundred wounded. Most of them are still here, triaged as survivable. About seventy or eighty were sent back to the Aid Station.”

The young corporal winced and then looked away. “That many,” she whispered.

“Hey.” Kai gently took her shoulders and turned her back to face him. “We’re still here, Rúna. Our people are still here, unharmed.”

She lifted her eyes up. “... for how long?” she asked simply.

The sergeant shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But you heard the colonel. This world, this ridge, is where we make our stand.”

Biting her lip, she slowly nodded. “Just… tell me it’s worth it,” she struggled. “Tell me what we’re doing here will make a difference.” She stared at him, desperate for answers. “Tell me our bones won’t just be left on this godforsaken hill, bleached and forgotten.”

Kai deliberated for a moment and then jerked his head. “Follow me,” he told her, taking up his rifle and heading down the ridgeline. Puzzled, she trailed along behind, following his lead as they wound their way through the foxholes lining the hilltop until finally, they came to a halt a couple of hundred meters away. He nodded towards the crest. “See for yourself,” he said cryptically.

Her confusion was growing by the second as she made her way up the rise when something caught her eye. Moving past a patch of scrub, something fluttered in the breeze, a tattered hunk of cloth hanging from a wooden pole. Her breath caught in her chest as she stood before the red and gold flag, before spotting the crude placard at its base:

CEMETERY RIDGE

Bought and paid for with Valkyrie blood

Semper Fi

Rúna fell to her knees, weeping silent tears beneath the old Terran flag, as powerful hands came up from behind and steadied her. She wasn’t sure how long they remained like that; too long, maybe, or perhaps not long enough. Some moments can’t be parsed, nor should they be, for how can a single person shed enough tears for all those lost? How do you properly mourn all the dead?

How do you mourn an entire world?

Eventually, she dried her tears. Rising slowly to her feet, she turned and faced Kai. The squad leader searched her face for despair, but instead, all he found was resolve.

“Let’s do this,” she growled, her voice low and hungry.

It was only a couple of hours later, the sun just past its crest, that Captain Inaba arrived with a squad of her own in tow. Kai stood at her elbow, his face a mask.

“Show them where you’re dug in, and brief them on your sector,” she ordered. “We’ve got a mission for you.”

Her paranoia immediately went on high alert. “What kind of mission, Ma’am?” she asked warily.

“Security detail,” the captain explained. “Our neighbors across the way want to talk.” She nodded towards the enemy encampment for emphasis. “In fact, they specifically asked for you,” she continued. “Seems your old buddy the Paygan is in charge of the delegation.”

“Bloody hell,” she swore under her breath.

“Yeah,” Inaba nodded, as she glanced over at Kai. “I’m afraid you’ve been marked.”

Her jaw set in a hard line. “When?” she bit off.

“Thirty minutes,” she told her, “and the fact they’re rushing this does not bode well. Get your replacements briefed and get moving.”

“Aye aye, Ma’am,” she said sourly, as she whistled for Becca and the others.

Just as they had with the Sonoitii and the Administrator from EA, First squad once again stood ready as a mixed group made their way up the hill. There appeared to be half a dozen of them; two representatives from each of the three mercenary bands, and just as the captain had warned them, the blue-skinned Ixi warrior was leading the pack. They came to a halt several meters away, wary of the Terrans awaiting them, their hands twitching for the weapons they had not been allowed to bring. Reduced to only sidearms… and swords, in the Ixi’s case… they eyed Tawfiq’s machine gun and Arthur’s grenade launcher with suspicious intent. Stepping forward, their old acquaintance bowed once more.

“I am Paygan Kuosha Xeing, representing the Ixi,” he informed them. “To my left is Decurion Yaannissi, of the Legion, and to my right is Bratok Uja Dolth, of the Zaitai.” The legionnaire managed a curt nod, while the Zaitain merely glared. “To whom are we speaking?”

“I am Colonel Holme, commanding the Second Battalion, Second Regiment of the Terran Valkyries,” the colonel answered. “To my left is Captain Inaba, one of my company commanders.” He paused for a moment, glancing at the detail. “I believe you are already acquainted with the others.”

“Indeed, I am,” the Paygan nodded, giving them a brief look as well.

“So,” the colonel continued, standing at parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back, “it was you that requested this meeting. By all means, speak your minds.”

“Thank you.” The Paygan smiled, but there was no warmth to be found in it. “You and your people fought bravely today. You stood against a force many times your size and drove them back. I commend you for that achievement.”

“Thank you,” Holme answered, “but something tells me you didn’t come here simply to offer your congratulations.”

“We did not,” he concurred. “Your defense of this ridge was both well planned and hard-fought. You have proven yourselves to be true warriors, this day. No one, not even the mighty Troika themselves, can take that from you.” He inclined his head in respect, before drawing himself up to his full height. “But now it must end, Colonel.”

“And why is that Paygan?” he asked.

“Because should you choose to continue in this folly, the Troika will take this from you, despite my previous words,” he warned. “I suspect I am revealing to you nothing you do not already know when I name our paymasters.” The Zaitain gave him the evil eye, while the Decurion pointedly looked elsewhere. “For millennia they have been the strongest and most powerful, and when they move, the universe trembles.” He spread his hands in benediction. “Such has it always been since time immemorial. To stand against their will is madness. Surely you see that.”

“You would have us break faith with our clients, Paygan?” the colonel asked dryly. “To do as you suggest would betray the trust they have placed in us.”

“As have many before you, when faced with the cold realities that govern this region of space,” he explained. “While regrettable, there is no shame in accepting what even you know to be true. What the Troika wants… it shall have.”

“And the Sonoitii?” he said softly. “What happens to them? Every year they grow fewer, as they take more and more of their offspring. How long before they are hunted to extinction?” He cocked his head, regarding the Ixi warrior. “How long before any of us are?”

“I have no quarrel with the Sonoitii,” the Paygan said evenly, “and I regret the necessity of our actions. But these are perilous times we live in, Colonel, and I must look to my own house.” He took a deep breath, and said firmly, “As should you.”

His eyebrow rose. “Is that a threat, Paygan?”

“A friendly warning, from one warrior to another,” the Ixi said carefully. “I also have no quarrel with you, or any Terran. In fact, while my experience with your race is limited, I have found you to be an honorable people.” He bowed once more, but this time he turned and faced Rúna as he did so. Much to her surprise, she returned the gesture.

The colonel’s expression grew positively wintry. “It is difficult to hear the words of someone who speaks both of honor and betrayal in the same breath, Paygan,” he said bluntly. “As my people would say... pick a side.”

A dark flush came over the Ixi’s face, “I am a realist, Colonel. I may dislike what I am occasionally required to do, but I will not risk the lives of my people over a point of principle.”

“Some would say that is when it demands you do so,” Holme countered, “for what is left, when honor is lost?”

“Survival, Colonel,” the Ixi snapped, “and do not presume to tell me you have not made the same choice yourself, many times. While I have not faced your kind in battle before now, I have made it my business to acquaint myself with you Terrans. One should know one’s potential enemies, don’t you agree?” The colonel bowed his head, conceding the point. “Your clan has not survived this long by fighting hopeless battles it cannot win. Do not allow yourself to be seduced by such recklessness now.”

“...you’re right,” he admitted, “far too often I’ve made the safe choice. The smart choice, I told myself, for the reasons you just spelled out. There are so few of us left; how could I possibly put my people in that kind of danger?” Something caught in his voice, and for just a moment, Rúna saw the mask slip.

The colonel cared for them, she realized, as deeply as she cared for her own people… and he would fight just as hard as she would to protect them. The Commandant’s decision for this world to be where the Valkyries threw down the gauntlet, to openly defy the Troika, and all they stood for, had to be eating him alive.

His next words, however, told a vastly different tale.

“For two hundred years, my people have fought to survive,” he said with quiet strength. “Not just the Valkyries, but all Terrans. We have made deals and compacts and alliances that we knew were wrong, because we were weak, and they were powerful. Too many times we have looked away while true evil reigned supreme, telling ourselves that there was nothing we could do, that to even try would be foolhardy. We’ve made one compromise after another, all in the name of survival, until the day finally came when we could no longer remember who we were.”

“And who are you, Colonel?” the Paygan asked. There was something about the way he phrased the question that turned Rúna’s head.

“A deeply flawed species,” he told him, “who has spent the entirety of their existence in pursuit of a single goal.” He paused and then smiled. “To do better tomorrow than we did today.”

“Commendable,” the Ixi said after a moment’s reflection, “but I am afraid it changes nothing. I know your plan, Colonel, for it is the same one that I would attempt, were our situations reversed. You hope to bleed us, to incite our warriors to riot, to rebel against their own leaders rather than face you once again in battle. You hope to make the price too high for us to willingly pay.”

Colonel Holme said nothing, merely waited for what was coming next.

The Paygan looked around to the others; to Inaba, and Kai, and the rest of the squad. “I regret to inform you that plan will fail, for when we took the Troika’s contract, they added a stipulation.” He stepped forward, meeting the colonel’s gaze once more. “That if we do not obtain that which they seek, they will destroy us down to the last. Right alongside you.” He spread his hands once more. “So you see, I have no choice in this matter. Move aside, Colonel, for the good of your people... or we will destroy you.”

Holme took a step forward as well. “You do have a choice, Paygan,” he implored him. “Join us. Stand with us… all of you,” he said to the other bands. “The Troika is weakening, surely you can see that. If we stand together, just as we did against the Yīqún, so long ago, we can end their threat once and for all.”

“And what did that stand cost you, Colonel?” he asked gently, before shaking his head. “No. I am sorry, but I will not join your suicidal crusade. Come the dawn,” he warned, his gloved hand now pointing at his chest, “we will finish this. And you.”

He turned; his expression as frigid as if it were carved from ice. “And I will come for my sword as well,” he cautioned her.

“I’ll be waiting,” Rúna informed him, in unyielding tones.