Unit 734-K

  The communications center door slammed open with a sharp crack that made the operators' heads turn. It wasn't common for anyone to burst into the high command room like that, much less an officer from the elite unit.

  But Unit RUSALKA wasn't one for protocols.

  She crossed the room with long strides, her face completely impassive—as always—but something in the rigidity of her shoulders, in the way her fingers pressed the tablet against her chest, betrayed a tension her comrades would never have known how to read.

  She didn't understand why her body felt this way either.

  "Colonel Volkov." Her voice was flat, serene, without a single inflection—a perfect monotone. Not a hint of urgency.

  "I need to speak with you. It's a priority."

  "First Lieutenant," Volkov grunted without looking up.

  "You're supposed to be at your observation post."

  "I have temporarily abandoned my post due to a critical-level emergency," the girl replied in a bored tone.

  Volkov looked up. Frowned.

  "Critical emergency? The only critical emergencies here are the White Army's tanks crossing the damn river."

  "Have you seen them? No. Because you were stopping them. Or aren't you anymore?"

  "The White Army is not the immediate problem," said RUSALKA, and something inside her screamed My God, listen to me, this is important! but her face remained as expressionless as stone.

  "There's a new variable on the battlefield. An enemy walker. Unknown model, Western origin, capabilities far superior to Russian standards. Color red."

  "A red walker?" Volkov let out a dry laugh.

  "And you abandon your post for that? It's just one more enemy in the grand scheme of things."

  "The standard operating procedure is: if there's something unknown on the front lines, we blow it to pieces and ask questions later. It's not that hard."

  "This one is not like the others, sir."

  RUSALKA activated her tactical tablet and placed it on the table. The images began to play: the crimson silhouette of the Crimson Empress moving between buildings, dodging a shot that should have been lethal, disappearing behind the Winter Palace.

  RUSALKA stood erect before the command console, holding the tablet with both gloved hands, her posture impeccable and rigid, like that of a porcelain doll displayed in a showcase. Her dark uniform fit perfectly, without a single wrinkle, and contrasted with her pale, almost unreal skin. Long, spiral curls of black hair fell on either side of her expressionless face, framing her crimson eyes—eyes that were too large, serene, lusterless, almost dead for a human's. There was no nervousness in her demeanor nor urgency in her voice as she explained how she had carried out the shot; only an artificial, unsettling calm, as if the excessive beauty of her appearance were not an ornament, but a silent testament that something about her had been engineered not to fail.

  "Observation one," she said, with the same flat voice.

  "I detected its presence at 11:32. Executed an elimination shot with optimal parameters.

  "Distance: 2.1 kilometers. Angle: 4.3 degrees.

  "Wind speed: 47 km/h with gusts up to 68 km/h.

  "Compensation applied: 2.7 milliradians.

  "The shot should have impacted the enemy walker's center of mass."

  "And?"

  "It missed."

  Volkov blinked.

  "Missed? A sniper of your caliber, with all those support systems, misses a shot at two kilometers?"

  "The enemy walker initiated an evasive maneuver 0.5 seconds before impact," RUSALKA replied.

  "The standard human reaction window is 0.8 seconds under optimal conditions.

  "Considering the projectile's flight time (1.7 seconds), the effective reaction margin was 1.4 seconds from detection to maneuver execution.

  "That exceeds the average human reaction time by 75%. Possibility of advanced warning systems, or..."

  "Or?"

  "Or the pilot is simply faster than anything we've faced."

  Volkov leaned forward, interested despite himself.

  "That doesn't mean anything. Could have been a premonition, a soldier's sixth sense, chance, luck."

  "Things like this happen every day in the world."

  "But continue."

  "After the first shot, the enemy walker positioned itself behind the Winter Palace and... did nothing."

  "For forty minutes. It didn't return fire, didn't try to cross the river, didn't call for support. It simply... waited."

  "Waited? For what?"

  "For me to make a mistake."

  RUSALKA showed the next sequence: her harassing shots, the absolute silence, the red walker's maneuver moving briefly between buildings.

  "During that period..."

  "..."

  "The walker, or its pilot, likely executed a series of movements designed specifically to gather information about my position and capabilities."

  "When I attempted to relocate my observation point, the walker had... disappeared."

  "Disappeared? How does a fifty-ton walker disappear?"

  "That's the point, Colonel. It didn't disappear. The walker remained in its original position."

  The silence stretched.

  "Explain yourself, Lieutenant. Now."

  RUSALKA showed the last image: Elise's face, smiling directly at the camera, a knife in her hand.

  "The pilot abandoned her walker."

  "She crossed the river on foot. Over the ice."

  "With no detectable thermal protection. She entered the building where I had established my remote observation post."

  "And she reached my decoy walker without being detected by any surveillance system. Then she opened the decoy Walker's hatch and looked at the camera."

  Volkov stared at the image. Elise's smile seemed to challenge him personally.

  "Are you telling me an enemy pilot abandoned her walker in hostile territory, crossed a frozen river under sniper fire, located your position, and then took the time to... smile at a camera?"

  "Yes, Colonel. That's exactly what I'm telling you."

  "And where is she now?"

  "She survived the artillery barrage I requested on her position. Sensors in the basement of building D-4 show her alive."

  "After re-integrating with her walker, she resumed her movement north."

  Volkov rose from his chair. He began to pace, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  "Let me see if I understand this."

  "..."

  "I spent a full artillery salvo, a full damn salvo, on a position you yourself identified and marked."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "And the target... survived?"

  "Correct, Colonel."

  "And you have the nerve to come here, in front of me and these officers, to report your own failure as if you were reading a shopping list?"

  "It is my duty to report critical threats, Colonel."

  "My personal feelings about the failure are not relevant to the security of the operation."

  One of the officers let out a nervous giggle, quickly stifling it. Volkov shot him a murderous look before refocusing on RUSALKA.

  "You know what the worst thing about you is, Lieutenant? I never know if you're incredibly brave, incredibly stupid, or just... not right in the head."

  "We've been working together for months and I still haven't managed to get a single facial expression out of you. Are you scared? Ashamed? Do you care about anything?"

  RUSALKA blinked. Inside her chest, something twisted. Fear. Shame. Yes, they were there. But when she tried to access them, to show them, it was like searching for water in the desert. Her face simply... didn't cooperate.

  "I understand your frustration, Colonel. May I continue with the report?"

  "I have analyzed her vector of movement."

  "From her initial insertion point to her current location, the trajectory describes a straight line with a standard deviation of 0.3 degrees."

  "Direction: southeast to northwest. Probable destination: the Raven residence."

  Volkov stopped dead.

  "Damien? She's going for Damien?"

  "It's the only logical conclusion. The rest of the city is in flames. Military targets are to the north and east."

  "The Raven residence is isolated, poorly defended, and contains technologically invaluable assets."

  "Likely an Alliance Black Ops operative tasked with extracting Damien Raven from the city without compromising his combat capabilities."

  "But you said she's alone. One walker, one pilot."

  "Correct."

  "And you believe a single unit can pose a significant threat to our plans?"

  RUSALKA felt something inside her. A pressure. A desire to scream: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME! THAT WOMAN CROSSED A RIVER UNDER FIRE IN HER ORGANIC FORM AND SURVIVED A KATYUSHA SALVO! SHE'S A MONSTER!

  But when she spoke, her voice remained a perfect monotone.

  "Colonel, with all due respect, this enemy unit has demonstrated capabilities that should not be possible.

  "Ability to operate in extreme conditions without protective gear."

  "Skill to anticipate tactical movements with millimeter precision."

  "And a... psychological quality I cannot quantify."

  "She is not afraid. Or if she is, it doesn't stop her from doing exactly what she wants, when she wants."

  "That's called being a good soldier, Lieutenant."

  "No, Colonel. That's called being something we haven't seen before. And I have a proposal."

  Volkov looked at her, expectant.

  "Currently, our orders are to capture Damien Raven before Western forces can extract him.

  "But that forces us to divide resources, to protect multiple access points, to anticipate movements we cannot predict."

  "And what do you suggest?"

  "I suggest we let her do it for us."

  "..."

  "The enemy walker is heading for the Raven residence. It will arrive before our main forces. It will extract Damien. And then... it will flee."

  "Flee? To where? The whole city is a battlefield."

  RUSALKA activated another map, overlaying the lines of the St. Petersburg metro onto the satellite image.

  "The bridges are destroyed. The roads to the west are mined and fortified."

  "The sea is frozen and unsafe."

  "The only viable route for a walker that needs to move fast and secretly is the metro."

  "The tunnels were recently reinforced to allow walker passage. They connect St. Petersburg with Moscow, and from there to anywhere in Russia or its borders."

  "Are you suggesting that..."

  "That we set up an ambush point in the tunnels."

  "We let her do the dirty work: enter the residence, face whatever defenses remain, extract Raven."

  "Then, when she's inside the metro, exhausted, focused on protecting her target, we attack her."

  "A single checkpoint. Concentrated forces. No chance of escape."

  Volkov was silent for a long moment.

  "It's... not a bad idea," he admitted.

  "Tactically sound. Economical. Efficient."

  "Thank you, Colonel."

  "But I have a problem."

  "Sir?"

  Volkov approached her. His voice dropped, became sharp as a blade.

  "My problem is that I just lost an artillery salvo, a damn salvo, on an operation you yourself requested."

  "My problem is that salvo cost more than your walker, more than your training, more than everything you've contributed to this campaign in the last few weeks."

  "My problem is that you come here now, with your porcelain doll face and your computer voice, telling me the solution is... to wait?"

  "I'm not asking for resources, Colonel. I'm asking for authorization to adjust the strategy."

  "Adjust?" Volkov let out a humorless laugh.

  "There's nothing to adjust."

  "The plan remains the plan. We're going to take the Raven residence, we're going to capture Damien, and we're going to do it now."

  "Colonel, that enemy..."

  "That enemy is your problem!" Volkov cut her off, pointing his finger at her.

  "You lost her, you hunt her. You want to set an ambush? Fine. Do it."

  "But it's not going to be in the metro with a support team. It's going to be where you are now, with what you have."

  "Colonel, if you'd let me explain..."

  "No, Lieutenant. I will not. You listen to me carefully."

  Volkov pointed his finger at her.

  "You're going back to your post. You're getting your walker."

  "The real one, not that toy you left across the river."

  "And you're going to face that threat. Directly. No tricks. No traps. No hiding behind cameras and artillery."

  "Colonel, that's not the function of a sniper unit. Direct engagement with a combat walker..."

  "Are you telling me you can't?" Volkov interrupted.

  "The great RUSALKA, veteran of the Continental War, decorated with the Order of Valor, is telling me she can't handle one enemy pilot?"

  "That's not it, Colonel. It's just..."

  "It's just that I have no more resources to devote to your personal hunt. Understand? I have no more walkers, no more artillery, no more time."

  "All the equipment I have left is already accounted for to hold off the White Army's advance that's still out there, by the way."

  "You're not the only soldier in this city they want to kill."

  "So this is going to be done my way. You're going to be in those tunnels."

  "You're going to face that woman. And you're going to win. Is that clear?"

  RUSALKA looked at him. Inside, something twisted. Fear. Panic. A voice screaming: I'm not going to survive this. She's going to kill me. She's going to appear out of nowhere with that smile and she's going to kill me.

  But her face remained impassive.

  "Yes, Colonel. It's clear."

  "Good. Get out of here. I have a war to win."

  RUSALKA turned on her heel and walked toward the door. When her hand touched the handle, Volkov spoke again.

  "Lieutenant."

  She stopped.

  "One more thing."

  "Sir?"

  "Next time you abandon your post without authorization, I'll have you shot for desertion. Have I made myself clear?"

  "Perfectly, Colonel."

  Outside, in the bunker's freezing corridor, RUSALKA paused for a moment. She leaned a hand against the concrete wall. The cold didn't bother her—it never did—but the contact was... comforting. Solid. Real.

  "I don't understand why I feel like this."

  "I don't feel anything... I never do."

  "..."

  "But the emptiness, the eternal darkness..." she whispered, to no one.

  Sometimes, when she was alone, she allowed herself to talk. There was no one around to give her that strange look people got when she said "weird" things. Things like "I don't understand" or "why does it hurt here?".

  She knew she was different. Her comrades joked, laughed, got angry. She... didn't. She calculated, analyzed, processed. But she didn't feel. Or so she thought.

  And then, alone in the dimness, RUSALKA felt something strange. An emptiness in her chest. A memory that wasn't hers: a white room, cold lights, a mechanical voice saying *"Unit 734-K, activation complete. Your memories will be implanted in..."*

  "Your objective is to replace the real Anna, who we managed to neutralize yesterday, and take her place."

  "Just follow the designated worker; we can't let them suspect anything."

  "This way we can monitor both sides without issues."

  Then nothing.

  She shook her head. Stress. War did that. It made you imagine things.

  She started walking toward the hangar where her S-88 Strekoza awaited. The real one. The one she'd have to use to face that... that thing.

  But when she passed an officer who asked if she was okay, her face was still the same. Impassive. Calm. Almost dead.

  "I'm fine," she said, in her usual voice.

  Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. Gusts from the storm seeped through the broken windows, coating the floor with frost. RUSALKA walked quickly, but not because of the urgency of the order. She walked quickly because if she stopped, if she allowed her mind to be still for even a second, the fear would paralyze her.

  "If she dies in the process... it'll just be another casualty."

  Her fingers trembled slightly as she walked. She looked at her hands, confused. Why were they trembling? She never trembled. It was one of the things that made her different, she knew that. Her comrades sweated, laughed, cried, trembled. She didn't. She was always... still. Like a calm lake.

  But now her hands were trembling.

  It's not fear, she told herself, as she stepped outside and the icy wind lashed her face. It's the cold. It's just the cold.

  She didn't notice the cut on the back of her hands, how no blood came out, nor that there was only metal.

  Hi everyone.

  I just wanted to let you know that I've started working on a new project and wanted to share it with you.

  I created it mainly because I've had several issues and wanted to spend time distractedly by writing a bit more. However, due to how War Dragon Chronicles is structured and all the setting work behind each arc, there are long periods where I have to write many chapters that don't... help me relieve what I want, or allow me to write what I want at that moment in order to respect the events happening in the novel.