At this point, I am satisfied with this lore piece. But please, criticise it as harshly as you can- I'd really like the Espionage Credit for best entry.
E: Slight changes. Mainly to add more injuries.
Xilmal Jagpal, female, 25 years old. Sikari commando. Short stature, dark hair, tan skin. Improbably resilient.
Recommend continued observation.
-[REDACTED] case file.
---
"Breathe", her father said.
They were hunting together, as had become their custom since he returned from the war. He led and spotted, she held the rifle and took the shots. She had to hold the rifle, as her father had come back an arm short- he didn't like to talk about how exactly he lost it, at least not with her. She'd heard him talk with her mother sometimes, at night when she was supposed to be asleep. She had heard him crying; her father, the invincible, all-knowing, unbreakable Sikari veteran.
Xilmal shifted slightly, careful not to create a sound as she did so.
They were hunting in the jungle north of their village- only a few miles from their home, and the canopy was so dense overhead that she couldn't see the sky. The air was thick with moisture and the myriad of fragrances that the foliage provided. Indeed, they had positioned themselves near a Scented Fern, the overpowering smell of which would mask their presence from the deer they were hunting.
She raised the rifle- her father's Samarata '02, heavily used-, until the stag was in her sights.
Theirs was a Sikari family. Their village was a Sikari village. Here, they had kept the borders of Embrallia- the Embral people's ancestral homeland- secure for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Wars come and go, kings rise and fall, cities are taken and lost, but Embrallia stands eternal, surrounded by dense jungle where the Sikari hunt. She had been told tales about how her ancestors had been amongst the first 'modern' Sikari, who had forgone the spears and javelins of their forefathers for muzzle-loaded rifles, and led the charge that had restored the Embral Empire to glory. Her great-grandfather had been a Sikari in the Legions. Her grandfather had been a Sikari in the Legions. Her father had been a Sikari in the Legions. And as her father's only child, she fully intended to go on to be a Sikari in the Legions herself.
"Now", her father whispered, as the stag nibbled on some leaves.
Her mother disagreed with her wish. "I almost lost your father, I don't want to lose you", went the common refrain. Xilmal argued back that the key word was 'almost'; and besides, if her country needed soldiers- and her country definitely needed soldiers- why should she let the fear of death stop her? Her father was silent during these arguments. It was clear that he was conflicted on the issue, however- on the one hand, he agreed that there was no greater calling; on the other, he did not want to lose his only child. Xilmal didn't care. She was going to join the Legions anyway, as soon as she was old enough, which was to say four years from now. In the meantime, hunting with her father would help her gain experience.
She held her breath and pulled the trigger. The rifle bruised her shoulder as the shot rang out. The stag... jumped up and ran, unharmed.
"Do you know why you missed?", her father asked. She shook her head.
"Breathe", her father said, again.
---
Ironic, Xilmal thinks, for that incident to come to mind now. She takes a breath through the rebreather, the stale air an unnatural feeling, and turns her SEAL towards the shore. Or tries to, at least. With growing alarm, she realises that the controls have become stuck. Breathe, she thinks, calming herself. The vertical controls still work, and at her current heading she should still hit the shore eventually.
[...]
She shudders as she steps out of her wetsuit. The temperature on this side of the channel was notably colder, and she's heard it only gets worse further north. Not for the first time Xilmal longs for the warm jungles of home. Joining the Legions seems like a much worse decision now, shivering on a rocky beach in the icy rain, upon this hell-scape of an island on the other side of the world.
[...]
The light dims in the Inithari soldier's eyes, a fresh orifice in his head courtesy of his own rifle. As Xilmal awkwardly pulls his jacket off (grateful for another layer to put between her and the rain), she wonders if her father ever did this sort of thing. Probably. Sikari were trained to operate without equipment, and the first lesson was not to be shy about taking the enemy's.
[...]
Time slows down as the soldier by the door spots her. She raises the purloined rifle with what seems like agonising slowness, every millisecond one closer to him raising the alarm. She feels her heart beating, the rush of blood drowning out all other sounds until she- Breathe. "Clack, Clack" the rifle says. The Inithari soldier says nothing, just slumps backwards.
---
Xilmal's bedroom was small, and contained little by way of unnecessary luxuries. Even less, now that she had packed her most important possessions and had them in a sack over her shoulder. The clothes she was wearing were dark, but not black. Black is obvious, her father had taught her. People notice black. They don't notice dark green.
She opened her bedroom door. It swung outwards, silently on recently-oiled hinges. The corridor beyond was dark, but for faint moonlight filtering in through a small window.
She approached the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards. The house had been built by her grandfather in the previous century, as changing times meant that adobe huts with thatched rooves were no longer considered practical. Nevertheless, it had been carefully built, blending in with the landscape as best it could, windows oriented such that the prevailing wind would cool the interior in the summer.
She placed one foot onto the first step. Her shoes were designed with stealth in mind, to which end part of the sole was slightly padded, so that one could place one's foot just so, thereby creating almost no noise, and still move at an appreciable pace. They had been a gift from her father exactly one year and several hours ago, after she had begged for a pair. He had shown her how to walk the Sikari walk, until she could jog through jungle without making a sound.
Slowly, meticulously, she made her way down the stairs. Her parent's bedroom was next to the stairs, and her mother was a light sleeper. They had discussed her desire to enlist less than a week ago, and her mother had made it clear that she would not allow it. Thus, her current situation.
Kuta, the family dog, was snoozing in the living room. Unfortunately, she was a well-trained guard dog, who had a tendency to bark at the slightest provocation. There was, however, a weakness that could be exploited. Know thy enemy and know thyself, her father said. She carefully unwrapped the venison steak she was carrying. Kuta's ears perked up almost immediately, her nose well acquainted with the smell. Xilmal carefully tossed the steak onto the carpet where Kuta was lying. Kuta, predictably, wasted no time digging in, getting her teeth stuck in the tough and gamey meat, crucially preventing her from barking.
She passed through the kitchen, avoiding the loose tile, and carefully opened the front door. She had oiled its hinges recently as well, and she stepped out into the night undetected. The street was dark, not a lantern in sight- someone not from Embrallia had once suggested installing streetlamps, and people had laughed at him. Any Sikari worth their rifle could navigate in the dark, and so could their family.
Down the street, past neighbours' houses, onto the main road (paved, unlike her street). At this point, she was more or less free- sure, she had some walking to do to get into town and the enlistment centre, but she was not adverse to a lengthy hike. She almost laughed at how easy it had been, after all her worries.
That is, until she passed the big tree at the outskirts of town, and her father stepped out of the shadows, unshuttering a lantern and shining it in her face.
"How?", she asked, dumbfounded.
"The most important rule of stealth", her father told her, "Is not being where your enemy expects you to be."
Her mother, emerging from a different shadow, shook her head sadly. "You were right, dear", she lamented, "There's no stopping her. She's Sikari through and through."
Xilmal started to say something, but her father cut her off. "You'll need this", he said, as her mother handed her a suspiciously rifle-shaped package. "Consider it a belated birthday present."
She took it, confused. Her mother, with tears running down her face, held her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "Come back. Promise me you'll come back."
"I- I promise, mum", Xilmal stammered.
"Do me proud, girl", her father said, and shuttered the lantern, leaving Xilmal night-blind. By the time her night vision returned, her parents were gone.
---
The shadows inside the poorly lit bunker would be more than sufficient for her father to disappear in. The creaking of the bunker door as she closes it briefly makes her wish she had a can of oil with her.
[...]
Inithari boots are anything but quiet, not to mention they aren't her size. Still, she does her best, as she creeps through the bunker towards the sound of voices.
[...]
Part of being Sikari is making hard decisions quickly. The three unarmed Inithari soldiers have a brief moment to look surprised before she unloads the Nima into them.
[...]
Her arm hurts like hell, but at least she still has an arm to feel pain from. With the bolt firmly in place, she turns back to the firing slit, and regards her stockpile of ammunition. Time to see what sort of havoc she can cause from this position.
[...]
She hears the sound of soldiers outside the door. Judging by their graceless footfalls and limited speech, they must be Inithari, and not her fellow Sikari here to rescue her. The door will hold for a moment, but she knows that enough Refocyte rounds will blow the rusty thing clean open. She considers her options. There is no other exit. The only good place to hide is the closet to her right. A shot hits the other side of the door, and it begins to buckle.
[...]
The Inithari soldiers pour into the room. At first glance, it seems empty, but for the corpses piled against the left wall. But one makes a gesture, and all three turn towards the closet. It is closed, but shows signs of having recently been opened. They wordlessly approach, and then, as one, riddle the closet with bullets.
The closet door, not designed for this kind of abuse, breaks, falling into the room, revealing mostly empty space. Then one of the soldiers falls forwards, a hole in his back. The other two spin round, though one doesn't make it, a second bullet piercing his side as he turns. The third is briefly confused, only seeing the barrel poking out from between the corpses when it is too late. He receives a shot to the chest, and stumbles backwards, raising his rifle as he coughs up blood, firing haphazardly at the corpses. A muffled yelp indicates a hit, but another bullet seals his fate before he can do more.
[...]
Xilmal pushes the corpses off of her, clutching her bleeding leg. "Most important rule of stealth", she mumbles, as she bandages the wound with a strip of cloth. She staggers to her feet, experimentally putting pressure on the injured limb. It hurts, but she'll live. Provided, that is, she can get out of here.
---
Xilmal stood outside of Legion Training Camp VII. It was a huge facility- almost a small town. She was standing amongst a group of young men and women- most of whom were taller than her-, trying to hear what the Centurion was saying. Recruits were called up by group, and given directions to one barrack or another. The crowd dwindled, until only a dozen remained.
Now the Centurion called on the remainder by name, having them come forwards one at a time. Finally, he got round to her.
"Xilmal Jagpal", he announced, and she stepped forwards. "Jagpal, eh? I suppose you think having that name will get you into the Sikari automatically?"
"No sir!", she replied.
"Good. Because names mean nothing in the Sikari. Skill matters. Alright, all of you follow me. There are tests before you get assigned barracks"
The tests started off simple. Long-range shooting (she was forced to use the provided rifle, rather than her father's); easy. Endurance running; easy. Crossing a dark room without being spotted; easy. She passed every test with flying colours, while others struggled. She couldn't help but feel slightly superior. And then there was the last test.
Three Sikari officers sat behind desks, and asked her questions. She answered as best she could, although for some of the questions it wasn't clear what they had to do with being Sikari. The first two seemed satisfied, but the third- a Centurion by the name of Adhik- had more questions.
"There's a Union soldier over there. He hasn't seen you yet. How do you kill him?"
"I shoot him with my rifle, sir."
"You don't have a rifle. How do you kill him?"
"I... cut his throat with my knife, sir."
"You lost your knife. How do you kill him?"
"...um. I... strangle him?"
"How do you strangle him?
"With my hands?"
"What if you aren't strong enough?"
Xilmal started to sweat.
"I guess I can't kill him then. I would retr-"
"Not good enough. The man has to die. How do you kill him?"
Xilmal looked around the room. The other two officers seemed interested in her response. Adhik was frowning. She suddenly started to worry that she might not be Sikari material. That her dreams would end here, unable to answer this pointless riddle. She stared at her feet, about to apologise and excuse herself-
She looked up.
"I could remove my bootlaces, and use those to strangle him, sir."
The man gave a slight nod.
"Alright. Now what if you have no shoes?"
---
Centurion Adhik would've known what to do in this situation. She is stranded behind enemy lines, with a limp, a dislocated shoulder, and someone else's shoes, although at least she has a stolen rifle. The three dead soldiers generously donate their remaining ammunition to her cause, but she knows more will be on their way soon, to find out why their buddies haven't returned. She has to move- and somehow survive long enough to get back to friendly territory.
She takes one last look at the mess of maps on the table. They are all covered in bullshit Inithari squiggles, which probably mean something to them, but just look like a child's crayon drawing to her. Although... on closer inspection, a lot of the lines seem to concentrate on one particular bunker. She glances out of the observation slit again, and notes that there does indeed appear to be more activity around that location. Unfortunately, the naval bombardment was unfocused, and had entirely missed what was presumably a keystone of Inithar's defence.
She has no time to consider the problem. She grabs a few important looking documents, stuffs them into her pockets, and cautiously exits the room. Fortunately, the coast is clear. She considers exiting the bunker again, but that would be the expected course of action. Instead, she follows the old Abberan signs downwards, deeper into the labyrinthine bunker network.
[...]
She ducks into the open door, submersing herself in the shadows beyond. She readies the stolen rifle to shoot anyone bursting in after her, but it seems she managed to avoid getting spotted. After two tense minutes, she stops watching the door, and looks around her. The room appears to be a supply storage. There are some boxes of rations, what look like spare parts for some kind of engine, and- of course- dozens of paint cans. She briefly wonders about the logistics needed to support Inithar's unhealthy obsession, but is distracted by the sight of some crates further in- they do not appear to be Inithari. Indeed, closer inspection reveals them to be Abberan. She cautiously opens one. Empty. Another. Empty. The third- not empty. A handful of very dusty explosives. Not enough to cause significant damage, unfortunately. But maybe...
[...]
She lugs her creation outside. Fortunately, the fighting appears to have heated up again, and no one is looking her way. She carefully makes her way down the ridge, until she is directly above the presumed Inithari command centre. She looks around again, then places the device on the concrete, points it upwards, and pushes the ignition. The unnaturally silent motor whirs to life. The pressure valve rises. She lowers the payload into the chamber, crosses her fingers, and then hobbles back up the ridge, aware that if her plan works she will not want to be in the vicinity very soon.
[...]
An Inithari soldier spots a strange object above the command centre. He signals his comrades. They don't know what it is either. He clambers up. It appears to be a pile of awkwardly bolted-together junk- he recognises an auxiliary Refocyte motor, a motorised tire pump, and various other bits and pieces, though the purpose eludes him. He approaches cautiously, when suddenly the thing makes an uncomfortably loud noise (for his ears, at least), and something shoots out of the cylinder to the side with incredible force. His gaze rises, following the mystery object as it flies up, then yells in surprise when it explodes, a cloud of orange paint spreading through the air above him.
[...]
Captain Jahaz regards the cliffs in the distance. His ship has stopped firing, for risk of hitting friendlies, although their intel is unforgivably spotty- for all he knows, they've already been pushed back into the water. Suddenly, a binocular-wielding crewmember shouts.
"Something just happened- looks like a... flare? Do we have flares?"
Jahaz raises his own binoculars. A bright orange cloud has appeared over a section of the old bunker network. A section untouched by bombardment, looks like. He decides to take a chance.
"I want all guns firing on that position. Full barrage. Someone went to a lot of effort to point it out to us, I won't see it go to waste."
[...]
Xilmal uses her free hand to wave a strip of jacket that she dipped in orange paint. A pair of Embralish soldiers see it, and approach her. They lift the rubble off of her chest, and she sits up.
"By the shadows, are you one of ours?", one says.
"Xilmal Jagpal, Sikari commando", she wheezes. "I, uh, did the paint thing."
"If that's true, your actions won us Talwar Beach- their defence collapsed after naval fire took out that bunker. Oh, shit- are you okay?"
Xilmal regards her body- crushed leg, probably some cracked ribs, bruised everything- "I've been better", she says, before falling unconscious.
Also, votebox.
Author
Topic: Mechanized Warfare: Embral Thread / Final Phase, 1941 Cold Season (Read 24904 times)