Season 1, Episode 3 - The Ring Dings VIII - "Night Raid 2221"

"No, no, NO!"

Hanai folded his arms, unable to accept defeat. In the past twenty minutes, Privates Axelman and Loper had sprinted the fifteen blocks to Clayton's apartment and brought back his bag of rice, along with a rice cooker. In the mean time, Fargo grabbed a spare generator and set it up just as the two privates returned. They then waited the twenty or so minutes it took to cook a few cups of rice (Clayton had a pretty nice rice cooker).

"See?" Clayton asked as they ate. "No difference in taste whatsoever."

"I like it unwashed, sir," Fargo admitted, finishing the last of the rice in his metal cup.

"This is unacceptable!" Hanai declared, suddenly standing. "This is a faulty test! There's no control! How can you say there's no difference in taste, let alone difference in presentation and soul, by not tasting it my way! And for God's sake, there's no soy sauce! It's plain rice! Unacceptable!"

Hanai pointed at Axelman and Loper, who were subtly sneaking away from their unruly commanders to rejoin their position on the line.

"Privates! Take this!"

Hanai tossed over his apartment key to Axelman, who simply sighed.

"Go to my apartment and grab MY bag of rice and my SOY SAUCE! They'll be in the cabinet below my sink. We'll wash them here, and I'll let the entire platoon know of the glory of washed rice!"

"Uh, sir, with all due respect," Axelman said, "Isn't the operation about to start?"

"The operation will only last a night, while your newfound respect for the culinary arts will last a lifetime! Now go forth, privates!"

Axelman and Loper saluted, looked at each other, then ran away toward Hanai's apartment, twelve blocks away.

Hanai watched them go, then sighed. "What's taking Kelb so long? I don't like how we set up so early. I know you've had your powers on this whole time, Clayton, but still..."

Much like an old-fashioned Prussian admiral of the Great War, Kelb possessed little desire to send his finely-trained unit into their first battle with a well-armed opposition. Sure, everything seemed good on paper, but no plan survives first contact with the enemy. And to have two high school students as your vanguard...

The Military Police conducted their last minute preparations in their staging area – the parking lot outside of their district headquarters. MPs loaded themselves onto the two troop trucks that would bring them to the target. Rear echelon troops, mechanics, and other logistical men carried supplies over to the trucks – spare ammunition, search lights, extra medical supplies. This would be the first real test for Kelb's men – he trained them as best he could. He hoped all of them would return from the operation no worse for the wear.

"18th Platoon is in position, sir," radio operator Nikolai Dimitrij said as he approached Kelb. Nikolai's hair was long, brown, and slightly messy for a man in uniform. They both wore green camouflage uniforms, the yellow scales of justice embroidered onto patches on their sleeves designating them as Military Police.

Kelb nodded. "Good. Tell them we'll be leaving shortly."

Dimitrij saluted and began relaying the message through his radio. Captain Kelb drifted off, leaving Dimitrij to his work.

Truth be told, the men were untested. So was Kelb himself. Most Military Police matters in Elizabeth Pond involved low-stakes missions – if you could call them that - to keep the peace, such as setting up parades and charity events. Many other districts saw random acts of violence and individual rebellion, forcing the Military Police garrisons in those areas to always be on alert. Always on edge. And always ready.

But Elizabeth Pond was quaint. Being a Rddhi district, it was one of the nicest areas in the capital. Occasionally, a youth bike gang might rumble their way across town, but that was the extent of it. Everyone always talked about war this and war that, but war seemed so far away from the sleepy district.

Until autumn started, at least. Foreign spies infiltrated the Academy, and then the subsequent operation took place in the sewers. The Rddhi users handled all that, while the Military Police stood by in a supporting role. But tonight, tonight would be the night the Military Police led the charge.

Almost, at least. Kelb arrived at the back of the two trucks, idling side by side. Most of the troops involved in the operation were already good to go, sitting around on the benches that lined both sides of the long truck bed, cracking jokes, telling stories, making bets, anything to keep their minds at ease, since they were just as green as Kelb when it came to actual combat.

And there they were. Isaac and the New Yorker sat silently on the end of one truck's benches, keeping to themselves. Kelb knew Isaac already fought in the school and the sewers...but it's always tough to trust someone young when you haven't actually seen them perform for themselves. Unaware he was being watched, Isaac tilted his face upwards, looking for a moon that wasn't there at the moment.

Next to him sat the New Yorker, the anti-Rddhi device locked tightly around his main weapon, that right hand of his. He looked bored and annoyed, wanting the operation to be over with.

For what? Kelb wondered. Just to go back to your cell, counting the days down until you're free of being a lab rat?

Kelb wondered if the higher-ups would really let such a valuable asset go. Probably not.

Looking at the New Yorker's face, Kelb supposed he must have known that, too.

Kelb realized he had lost himself in thought. He sent the 18th Platoon of the Army in first, figuring that if a big firefight broke out, it would be better to have the actual, better-equipped soldiers on the front lines in the streets, with his own forces as reserves. But another conversation with Dimitrij at the foot of the two trucks dispelled all notions of early contact with the enemy.

Dimitrij saluted and went to take his seat in the cab of the leading truck, where Kelb would join him shortly after.

Kelb knew he dragged his feet slightly in getting to the site of the raid on time. Truth be told, he didn't want to give the order that could send any of his men to his deah. But Kelb had a job to do. He took one last look at the empty moon before clearing his throat loudly.

"Men of the 802nd Military Police Battalion, Second Shock Squadron!"

The anxious conversation died down as the MPs went to listen to what their captain had to say.

Kelb eyed them individually. He couldn't let them down.

"Tonight will be our first operation involving live combat. The enemy will have the defensive advantage, being at home inside the facility. But we will have the advantage in terms of firepower, numbers, and most importantly, spirit! They say our ancestors could reach full combat effectiveness with only a minute's notice. We've had an entire day! Fight for the man sitting next to you, fight for the men rushing in for you, fight for New England!"

Kelb raised a hand across his heart. "By the sword we seek peace!"

A squadron-sized chorus rose up to answer him, Isaac's voice included.

"By the sword we seek peace!"

Kelb climbed into a truck cabin next to Dimitrij and with that, they were off.

As a senior, and perhaps more importantly, a strategically-valuable senior, Hanai lived in a nice apartment located on the top floor of a concrete apartment complex. The building featured an Art Deco style, similar to the dozens of other buildings that lined one of the many avenues of Elizabeth Pond, a couple of stations away from the Academy. Axelman and Loper sighed in relief, seeing that the apartment had an elevator; nobody, not even trained soldiers, wanted to walk up the six flights of stairs to a top floor apartment. Most complexes didn't even have elevators.

"They must really think highly of Hanai," Axelman supposed as he hit the elevator button for floor six.

"He's a Rddhi user, and a top tier one at that," Loper said. "Imagine being able to shoot lava out of your hands?"

"He doesn't shoot lava out of his hands, genius," Axelman corrected him.

"Oh yeah? And how does it work, then?"

"Well, lava...what is lava, anyway?"

"I thought you were the expert."

"Shut it." Axelman thought long and hard about it. His education wasn't exactly the greatest; he went to public school on and off, his duties as a farmer's son much more important than schooling. At eighteen, he left home to join the military, as many third sons did.

But still, it was more than Loper, who hadn't even finished middle school before joining the workforce and eventually the Army.

"Lava's just hot rocks," Axelman explained, suspecting he was on the right track at least. "So he doesn't shoot it out of his hands. He infuses the earth below him with heat until it becomes lava."

"And what does he do with it?" Loper asked, already knowing the answer.

Axelman sighed. "...shoots it from his hands."

Loper laughed.

"Look, it's not like he's just materializing it in his hands," Axelman said in an attempted correction. "The lava has to come from somewhere. That's why he's Class 4 and Clayton's Class 5. Clayton has to transform the earth while Clayton can just manipulate the air around him."

"Which power do you think would be better in picking up chicks?" Loper asked.

"I don't know, man. I can barely pick up chicks as it is."

"You and me both, brother." Loper chuckled. "But I think you gotta go with wind. You lift girls up and stuff, fly them around. And you don't have to carry them if they ask you to carry them. Girls don't like it when you struggle with carrying them because it implies they're fat. Man, the thought processes that go on in some of these women's heads."

Axelman let out a discrete sigh. You're one to talk.

"Me? I don't care if someone could carry me or not," Loper continued. "As long as she puts in the effort, you? I respect a hard worker. I'm a simple guy."

In more ways than one.

"I doubt a girl could carry you," Axelman supposed.

Loper narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean, man?"

"What's what supposed to mean?"

"You saying girls can't carry me. Are you saying I'm fat, man?"

"...what?"

"I've been dieting, man," Loper explained, crossing his arms. "I know I used to be chunky back in boot camp. You remember, right? They called me Fatty Loper, just because it conveniently rhymes with Patty? I swear man, I'm not naming my kid no name that rhymes with something bad. Naming your kid with a bad rhyme, like Ray, or Rick, or, I don't know, Mulva, that sets up your kid for failure in life. Like the other day, I was in that Russian restaurant, you know the one downtown?"

"There are like six Russian restaurants I can think of," Axelman said dryly, impatiently watching as the elevator indicated it was passing the fourth floor.

"You know the one I'm talking about. We went last year, we met the owner that night. Big Russian dude, nice beard. I'm jealous, man. I wish I could grow a beard like that. But it's the Mediterranean part of me. I can't even grow a mustache because it doesn't connect in the middle yet. I'm twenty-two and my mustache still doesn't connect! That's why I go around with a goatee, because some facial hair is better than none, know what I'm saying?"

Axelman felt his cleanly-shaven face.

"No."

"Well anyway, I was in that restaurant, and this guy comes in to pick up a thing of takeout. And get this. He goes, 'The order's for Donald McDonald.' Can you believe that? Donald McDonald! Now that's setting up your kid for failure in your life."

The dinging of the elevator as it reached floor six interrupted Loper's spiel and saved Axelman from throttling him.

"Let's just get this and get out of here," Axelman said as he searched the hallway for Hanai's room. Upon arriving at room 616, he inserted the key and sighed in relief as the door opened smoothly.

Upon seeing the student's apartment, Loper whistled. "Sure is better than the goddamn barracks."

"Ain't that the truth."

As befitting a Class 4 senior student, Hanai's apartment looked well-furnished with a spacious living room, kitchen, and bedroom, all of which were semi-independent of each other. The walls featured a nice coat of blue paint, sporting works of art and photographs as decorations. A number of potted plants dotted the apartment, while a particular wall above the kitchen table featured a framed piece of calligraphy that read "はないはざき".

"What do you think that means?" Loper asked.

"How should I know?" Axelman said. "This kid's probably a descendant of those old Asian investors. Would explain the decorations, the wealth...would explain a lot of things."

Axelman sighed, comparing a heritage of rich, overseas immigrants to his own rural family, farmers since the Unleashing, most likely farmers forever. Ah well, at least some people are making it.

"Woah, check it out," Loper said, holding up a picture frame. The black-and-white photo depicted a cheery-looking Hanai with a rather-shy looking Esther at what must have been the new year school year orientation ceremony. "Guess somebody's in love."

"Knock it off," Axelman said, though for a moment he thought of his own high school love. Joanna, wherever you are...

Axelman shook his head. "Let's just get the rice and get out of here." Remembering Hanai's instructions, Axelman knelt down below the sink and opened the cabinet, finding the bag of rice inside.

"Found the soy sauce," Loper explained as Axelman hoisted the bag of rice up out of the cabinet.

"Here, let's trade," Axelman said, exchanging his fifteen-pound bag of rice for Loper's half-pound bottle of soy sauce.

"Why do I have to carry it?"

"Let's go," Axelman said, ignoring the question. Loper sighed and followed him out the door.

"Isn't a little strange that they sent us to do something stupid like this right before an operation?" Loper asked as they walked down the hallway.

"They're just kids, Loper. They're probably doing it to distract themselves from the fact they're leading soldiers into battle."

"I guess so. Kinda weird they're having high schoolers command soldiers, though."

"Some of those Rddhi kids are tactical and strategic geniuses. They want them to lead armies in the Second American War. Better they learn now than when we're knee-deep in a New York borough."

"Suppose so. You think an artillery barrage could knock down the Empire State Building?"

"Not if you're firing it."

They arrived in the elevator and Axelman hit the button for the first floor. The doors slowly closed, groaning from age, and the elevator began its descent.

"It can't be that hard to fire artillery," Loper said. "Or aim it, rather. I mean, it's a skyscraper. Just point at it and fire."

"You might fire too short."

"Then I'd just tilt the artillery back a little more."

"Careful not to hit your own guys in the process."

"Don't worry, man. You better tell your unit to give you space though, since I'd be gunning for you-"

A sudden screeching noise ended their conversation. The two soldiers realized they were no longer moving downward.

"For Christ's sake." Axelman sighed and repeatedly hit the first floor button.

Nothing interesting happened.

"Let me try," Loper said, stepping in front of Axelman. Fifty-odd button hits later, the elevator remained in place, stuck between the third and fourth floors.

"Great, just great," Axelman said. He pushed the emergency button on the elevator then sat on the floor in defeat.

Loper sat next to him and set down the rice cooker.

"Ah, don't worry, man, help will come," Loper said cheerfully. "In the meantime, this will finally give me enough time to tell you all about the time I went to the dentist..."

Axelman groaned.