Chapter 115: Waste Disposal
Leonard stepped into the command tent, his imposing presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone inside. The tent was bustling with activity, maps spread across tables, radios crackling with reports, and staff coordinating operations. At the center of it all stood O5-10 and Franz, calmly overseeing the chaos.
As Leonard entered, the entire tent rose to attention. Without breaking stride, he waved them off. "At ease," he said, his tone steady yet commanding. He walked directly to O5-10 and Franz, who both greeted him with a nod.
"Boss?" they said in unison.
Leonard wasted no time. "What's the situation?"
O5-10 was the first to respond. "I've ordered the deployment of Nu-7, 'Hammer Down.' All subordinate and reserve units have been activated. A significant portion of the force is already on the front line, and reinforcements are still arriving. Additionally, I've deployed Beta-777, 'Hecate's Spear.' Their expertise in thaumaturgical combat will be invaluable.
"The Cryptozoology Division has also submitted a request to deploy Gamma-4, 'Green Stags,' to study and recover anomalous fauna in the Nexus. TA-A and I decided to wait for your authorization before proceeding."
Leonard's expression didn't waver. "Request approved," he said simply.
O5-10 nodded sharply, immediately signaling an assistant to relay the authorization. Turning back to Leonard, he continued, "Our forces have made remarkable progress. Thanks to the element of surprise, we've secured over 60 kilometers of territory. However, we've detected a massive enemy force regrouping and moving toward us.
"Our analysts predict they'll have to pass through a valley to reach us. The commander of Nu-7 has submitted a proposal to neutralize the bulk of their forces there."
Leonard replied, "Go on."
O5-10 retrieved a tablet and transferred its contents to a nearby holographic projector. A three-dimensional map of a valley appeared, its terrain meticulously detailed. O5-10 gestured to the map, his voice steady and professional.
"The plan will be executed in several phases," he began. "Phase one: we allow the enemy forces to enter the valley. Once the majority of their forces are inside, we'll detonate explosives placed at both ends of the valley's entrances. This will trigger landslides, sealing or partially blocking their escape routes."
He swiped on the tablet, highlighting key points along the map. "Phase two: with their forces trapped, we'll initiate a saturation bombardment using artillery and missile strikes. The goal is total annihilation of the enemy forces within the valley."
O5-10's tone was calm, almost clinical, as he continued. "Phase three: once the bombardment subsides, we'll deploy an AC-130 gunship to eliminate any surviving stragglers. This ensures complete mission success."
Leonard stared at the hologram, his expression unreadable. The light of the display reflected on his mask as silence settled over the tent.
"…," Leonard muttered, his voice low but deliberate.
The tension in the room grew palpable as everyone awaited his verdict.
Finally, Leonard responded, his voice carrying a weight of both contemplation and resolve. "If it were the old me, I would have outright rejected this operation. Simply because it would be too cruel toward them. But I've been fortunate, or perhaps cursed, to have received this system. And after spending so much time with you, I think you've all turned me into one of you bastards."
The room filled with laughter at his remark, several staff members chuckling while Franz and O5-10 exchanged amused smirks. But Leonard's expression quickly shifted, his tone hardening as he continued.
"Compassion toward the enemy is cruelty toward ourselves," he declared. "They were the ones who chose to invade us first. They've kidnapped innocent civilians, looted without restraint, and murdered without mercy. Such actions deserve no pity, no leniency."
He turned his gaze to O5-10 and Franz, his voice cutting through the air like steel. "I approve the annihilation plan. Execute it."
The room fell silent, save for the quiet hum of the hologram. The decision had been made.
---
The valley stretched wide beneath a canopy of emerald skies, where the gentle whispers of the wind danced through the leaves. Birds sang in harmonious cadence, their melodies weaving seamlessly with the babbling of a brook threading its way between moss-covered stones. Towering trees framed the serene landscape, their ancient trunks standing as silent sentinels to a land untouched by strife. Sunlight pierced through the foliage in golden rays, scattering dappled patterns on the forest floor, where flowers of every hue bloomed in delicate clusters.
For a moment, the valley seemed eternal, a haven of peace where the world's burdens held no sway. Yet, the silence was soon broken by the crunch of boots on the underbrush. Emerging from the shadows of the forest, a group of foundation operators clad in tactical gear moved with precision, their steps swift and deliberate.
Their dark uniforms blended into the natural palette of greens and browns, the faint glint of their weaponry hinting at their purpose. One by one, they slipped through the trees, forming a tight formation as they reached the edge of the clearing.
The lead operator held up a clenched fist, signaling the others to halt. The group scanned their surroundings with practiced eyes, their presence starkly juxtaposed against the tranquil beauty of the valley. Moments later, the team regrouped beneath the shelter of a massive oak, their silent movements betraying the weight of the mission ahead.
Commander of MTF Titan-1 "Off The Books," known by his call sign Blackout, activated his helmet's communication link. His voice came through calm but commanding:
"Blackout to Overwatch, my team is 300 meters from Point Echo-4."
A crisp response followed almost immediately:
"Copy that, Blackout. Make it quick. Hostile forces are estimated to reach the area in ten minutes. Over."
Blackout turned to his team, his visor reflecting the dim glow of their HUDs in the shadows of the dense forest. His tone left no room for debate:
"You heard the orders. Move it!"
Without another word, Blackout stepped onto the narrow dirt path that wound through the forest, his weapon at the ready. His team fell in behind him, their movements disciplined and synchronized.
The forest grew denser as they advanced, the sound of boots crunching against gravel the only noise breaking the stillness. Each operator scanned their surroundings with methodical precision, eyes flickering between their surroundings and the tactical displays projected inside their visors.
The urgency of their mission pressed upon them, but the team moved with unwavering focus, their dark figures weaving through the ancient trees like shadows on the hunt. Time ticked down as they closed in on Point Echo-4.
The team arrived at a narrow path skirting the edge of a sheer cliff. Blackout let out a low whistle as he surveyed the area.
"Man, Thomas," he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a wry grin. "Never thought I'd see the day when I'd actually appreciate you this much."
He turned back to his operators, who stood ready, weapons slung and gear prepped for action. His tone shifted to one of firm command:
"Alright, gentlemen, you all know the drill. Let's get to work. Move!"
Without hesitation, the team dispersed. Some began scaling the cliff with practiced precision, hauling themselves up with ropes and climbing gear. Others set about planting explosive charges along the rocky base, working swiftly yet meticulously to ensure the charges were concealed and strategically placed.
The vice-commander of Titan-1, a seasoned operator in his own right, stepped forward to stand beside Blackout. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.
"Thomas? You mean Thomas MacLean? Commander of Nu-7?"
Blackout smirked, his visor reflecting the blinking red lights of the planted charges.
"Yeah, him. He's my drinking buddy. You should've seen the grin on my face when I heard his plan at the high-level MTF meeting. Pure Thomas, classic 'Overkill.'"
The vice-commander chuckled, glancing at the operators hard at work.
"I'll admit, when I first heard his nickname, I didn't get it. But then he suggested dropping a nuke on this valley during the meeting. That's when it clicked." He shook his head with an amused sigh. "Good thing the O5 shut that down immediately and went with the saturation bombardment instead. Though, to be honest, Thomas didn't seem too happy walking out of that room."
Blackout laughed softly, the sound filtered through his comms.
"Yeah, that tracks. Guy's been itching for something big ever since we received the notice about invading this Nexus. Let him pout, it's better this way. Now let's focus. We've got a schedule to keep."
The vice-commander nodded, and the two returned their attention to the mission, the tension in the air palpable as the operators worked like clockwork to prepare the cliffside for its destructive purpose.
A few minutes later, one of the operators crackled through the radio, his voice steady and professional:
"Sir, the charges are in place."
Blackout, halfway up the cliff, paused briefly as he secured his footing. He looked down at the others below him and replied through his comms:
"Copy that. Stay put. We're on our way."
Acknowledgments echoed back over the channel, and he resumed his climb. His breathing was controlled, his movements efficient as he hauled himself closer to the cliff's edge. Activating his comms again, he reported:
"Blackout to Overwatch. Charges at point Echo-4 are set. We're proceeding with the evacuation. What's the ETA on hostile forces reaching our position?"
The response came quickly, crisp and clear:
"Overwatch to Blackout. Enemy forces ETA two minutes. Evacuate the area immediately. An extraction chopper is awaiting you at the designated evac point."
"Understood, Overwatch. Blackout out."
Moments later, Blackout pulled himself over the edge of the cliff. He straightened, brushing dirt off his gloves, and scanned the area. Several of his subordinates were already on watch, their weapons raised and eyes trained on the forest's edge. Below, the rest of the team ascended, moving with urgency but not panic.
When the last operator crested the cliff, Blackout ensured everyone was accounted for before speaking again.
"Good work, team. Let's move."
Before following the others into the forest, he cast a final glance at the dirt road far below. A distant plume of dust and smoke was rising on the horizon, marking the enemy's approach.
He tightened his grip on his weapon and turned toward the dense greenery ahead. Without another word, the team disappeared into the forest, their forms swallowed by the undergrowth and shadows as they moved like ghosts through the trees.
---
Inside the command tent, Leonard stood before the central screen, its holographic display outlining the positions of the Foundation's teams and the charges they had planted throughout the valley. O5-10 and Franz flanked him, their attention similarly fixed on the unfolding operation.
An assistant approached, clipboard in hand, and reported:
"Sir, all charges have been placed, and the teams on-site are currently evacuating. Enemy forces have begun entering the valley. We've also prepared our bombardment forces, which include 20 M142 HIMARS, 5 TOS-2 Tosochka, and over 6 M777 howitzers."
Leonard, though familiar with the HIMARS by name, frowned at the unfamiliar term. "What's a… Toch…ooka?" he asked, stumbling over the pronunciation.
O5-10, standing nearby, answered with a calm tone. "Tosochka. It's a next-generation Russian multiple rocket launcher system. Extremely effective for area denial."
Leonard nodded in understanding. "Got it. How long until we initiate Phase Two?"
O5-10 glanced at a data pad and replied, "According to our analysts, the entirety of the enemy forces will have entered the trap zone in 40 minutes. Using data processed by multiple AIs, we estimate their numbers exceed 15,000."
Leonard took a moment to process the scale of the operation. His eyes lingered on the display, where red dots representing enemy positions crept steadily deeper into the valley. He could almost feel the weight of what was to come.
"Good. Let me know the moment we're ready to proceed," he said, his voice steady but firm.
"Understood, sir," O5-10 replied with a curt nod.
Leonard turned back to the screen, his gaze sharpening. The trap was set, and the enemy was walking right into it. There was no turning back now.
---
Above the dense canopy of clouds, the whir of rotors from a Foundation reconnaissance drone broke the silence of heavens. Its sleek frame glided effortlessly through the sky, a marvel of precision engineering designed for intelligence gathering and situational awareness.
Inside the mobile command center, the drone operator adjusted the controls, speaking into their headset:
"Drone Operator to Overwatch. The UAV has arrived on station. Switching to thermal imaging."
A brief pause followed as the operator toggled the thermal scan. The display on their console shifted, painting the valley below in stark contrasts of heat signatures.
"Overwatch to Drone Operator. Acknowledged. Enemy forces are expected to be within the designated kill zone. Confirm their position."
The drone banked sharply, its cameras pivoting to align with the operator's commands. Its sensors swept the terrain below, dissecting every rise and shadow for enemy movement. The operator leaned forward, scrutinizing the data.
"Hostile forces confirmed," the operator reported. "They've fully entered the valley."
"Copy that," Overwatch responded, the voice calm and methodical. "Continue surveillance and maintain visual on the area. Stand by for further instructions."
The drone adjusted its trajectory, silently circling the valley like a predatory bird, feeding critical intelligence to the command network. Below, the trap was closing, and the enemy remained oblivious to the eyes above.
---
Inside the command tent, the atmosphere was electric with tension. Screens displayed a live feed from the drone, showcasing the vast valley now teeming with enemy forces. The hum of equipment and the muted voices of analysts filled the air.
An assistant approached the trio standing at the center, Leonard, O5-10, and Franz, his posture rigid.
"Sir, enemy forces have fully entered the target zone," he reported crisply.
Leonard, his eyes fixed on the real-time thermal imaging feed, nodded without looking away.
"I see that," he replied, his tone measured. "Initiate Phase 2."
The assistant snapped to attention and saluted.
"Yes, sir."
Turning swiftly, the assistant grabbed his radio, his voice clear and authoritative as he relayed the order:
"All units, this is Command. Phase 2 is now in effect. Repeat, initiate Phase 2. Detonate charges on my mark."
The command tent fell silent as the weight of the operation pressed on everyone present. Leonard folded his arms, his gaze unwavering. The moment of reckoning was upon them.
---
A few kilometers away from the valley, a massive army was positioned, their ranks organized with precision. At the heart of the formation stood an imposing artillery array, its weapons primed and aimed toward the valley. Within the mobile command center, Commander Thomas MacLean leaned over a map display, his expression calm yet brimming with anticipation.
An operator hurried toward him, slightly out of breath.
"Commander, we've received authorization to fire," he reported.
MacLean's lips curled into a grin as he straightened up. Without a word, he stepped out of the vehicle and into the crisp air. His boots crunched against the gravel as he approached the officer in charge of the artillery.
"Son, we're finally cleared to fire," MacLean announced, his tone laced with satisfaction.
The artillery officer's face lit up with excitement.
"About time," he replied with a smirk. "Commander, would you like the honor of firing the first 'firework'?"
MacLean chuckled, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable.
"With pleasure," he said.
He strode confidently toward one of the HIMARS launchers, climbing into the control cabin. An operator inside nodded respectfully and pointed to a prominent red button on the console.
"This is the launch trigger, sir," the operator explained.
MacLean rested his hand on the console, his grin widening.
"Rest in Shit," he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying a mix of humor and ruthlessness.
Then, with deliberate intent, he pressed the button.
The ground beneath the HIMARS rumbled as its missile roared to life, streaking into the sky with a deafening roar. It left a fiery trail as it surged toward the valley, signaling the beginning of devastation. Outside, the artillery crews began to cheer, the other launchers following and firing.
---
In the heart of the valley, the kingdom's army marched in tight formation, their banners fluttering proudly in the wind. The clatter of hooves and armor echoed between the towering cliffs, creating a foreboding atmosphere. Several knights walked side by side, their conversation dripping with disdain for the enemy they were about to face.
"These so-called Earthlings," growled a knight with a deep voice, his polished helmet gleaming under the muted sunlight. "Impure creatures without honor or faith. They dare to lay their filthy hands upon our sacred lands."
Another knight, younger but equally haughty, nodded in agreement.
"Inferior beings," he sneered. "They cannot even begin to comprehend the greatness of our kingdom. Their weapons may be strange, but they are wielded by cowards and savages."
A third knight laughed harshly.
"They rely on tricks and machines to compensate for their weakness. They are not warriors, they are invaders, and they will die like the vermin they are."
The first knight tightened his grip on his lance, his voice cold and resolute.
"They think themselves superior with their unnatural tools and their lack of discipline. But we shall show them what it means to face true warriors, guided by righteousness and strength."
The younger knight gestured to the soldiers around them, a smirk on his face.
"Let them come. We will crush them beneath our boots and leave their broken bodies as a warning to any others who dare to invade our lands."
The knights chuckled among themselves, their arrogance feeding off one another, unaware of the danger closing in above the valley.
A little further down the line, a group of foot soldiers trudged along the dusty path, their weapons slung over their shoulders and their expressions a mixture of exhaustion and unease. They cast sidelong glances at the knights ahead, their gleaming armor and confident strides a stark contrast to their own weathered gear. The foot soldiers could clearly hear the knights' arrogant boasts, their voices carrying easily over the march.
One of the soldiers, a young man with a worn breastplate and a patched-up helmet, muttered under his breath.
"Listen to them. Acting like they're invincible just because they're wrapped in steel and sitting on their high horses."
An older soldier next to him, his face lined with years of hard service, snorted softly.
"High horses and higher opinions of themselves. They forget that when the arrows start flying, we're the ones taking the brunt of it."
A third soldier, leaning on his spear as they walked, gazed at the knights with a mix of admiration and resentment.
"Still… you can't deny they look like they belong in a song. Shining armor, noble speeches. Makes you wonder what it'd be like to fight as one of them."
The older soldier shook his head, his voice low and gruff.
"Don't be fooled by the shine, lad. They talk big, but it's our blood that'll stain the ground first. And when it's over, it's their names that'll be sung, not ours."
Another soldier, his voice tinged with bitterness, added,
"Easy to be brave when you're not the one on the front line. They'll probably still be boasting when the earthlings' devilish machines start roaring."
The younger soldier glanced at the knights again, his envy simmering beneath his exhaustion.
"Still… wouldn't mind trading this rusty spear for one of their swords. Or just being able to march without feeling like a walking target."
The group fell into silence, the knights' voices growing fainter as they moved further ahead. The foot soldiers exchanged glances, each lost in their own thoughts, the reality of their position weighing heavily on them.
The serene air of the valley shattered with an ear-splitting shriek as the first volley of missiles sliced through the sky, their high-pitched whistles growing louder with each passing second. The soldiers paused, their conversations breaking off mid-sentence as a sense of foreboding crept over them. Heads turned upward, faces twisted in confusion and fear. The knights, so arrogant moments ago, were now silent, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons as they scanned the heavens for the source of the sound.
Before anyone could react, the first missile hit.
The explosion tore through the center of the formation with a thunderous roar, flinging bodies into the air like ragdolls. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering bones and rupturing eardrums of those within its radius. The ground itself seemed to convulse, soil and rock blasting upward in a geyser of fire and debris.
A second missile struck, then a third, then a dozen more.
The valley erupted into chaos. Flames leapt high into the sky, their searing heat turning metal armor into ovens and flesh into charred remains. The once-disciplined formations of the kingdom's army dissolved as soldiers screamed and scrambled for cover. Horses, maddened by the cacophony and the stench of burning bodies, reared and bolted, trampling their riders in their blind panic.
The knights, so proud and invincible, were no exception. One, still mounted, had his head torn clean from his shoulders as a fragment of shrapnel sliced through his neck. Another, his polished breastplate glowing red-hot from the heat, fell to his knees, clawing at his face as molten metal fused to his skin.
The foot soldiers fared no better. Groups of them, huddling together in a futile attempt at safety, were obliterated in single blasts. The force of the explosions turned bodies into unrecognizable chunks of meat, limbs and torsos strewn across the battlefield like discarded toys. Blood rained down in a grotesque mist, coating the earth in a slick, crimson sheen.
Then came the artillery.
From the distant ridges, the first salvo of shells screamed in, their trajectories marked by trails of smoke. When they landed, the devastation was unimaginable. Entire swathes of the valley vanished in pillars of dirt, flame, and flesh. Soldiers who weren't directly hit were thrown dozens of feet, their bodies broken by the sheer force of the blasts. Those unfortunate enough to be at the epicenter were simply vaporized, leaving only scorched craters where they once stood.
A young knight, barely past his initiation, crouched behind the remains of a shattered boulder, trembling uncontrollably. He peeked out, only to see a shell obliterate a group of his comrades just meters away. The impact sent their remains flying in a horrific spray of gore, their screams cut off as quickly as they had begun. The knight's stomach churned, bile rising to his throat, but he couldn't look away.
The screaming was relentless.
"Retreat!" someone shouted, but the order was drowned out by the unending symphony of destruction. Officers bellowed commands, but their voices were lost amidst the roar of the explosions. The soldiers tried to flee, but the valley had become a deathtrap. The natural walls funneled them into narrow paths where the artillery fire was concentrated. There was no escape.
The ground, once firm, had turned into a grotesque quagmire of blood, mud, and viscera. Soldiers stumbled and fell, their bodies swallowed by the carnage. One man, missing his lower half, clawed at the ground, his bloodied fingers leaving streaks in the dirt as he tried to drag himself away from the chaos. His pleas for help went unanswered as another shell landed nearby, turning him into nothing more than a smear.
Amidst the carnage, an officer clad in ornate armor tried to rally his men. "Stand your ground! For the kingdom!" he bellowed, raising his sword high. His voice carried for a brief moment, a beacon of defiance in the sea of despair. It was cut short as a missile struck directly behind him, the explosion incinerating him and the soldiers around him in a blinding flash. When the smoke cleared, nothing remained but a smoldering crater.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning flesh and gunpowder. Visibility was reduced to mere feet as smoke blanketed the valley, turning day into an eerie twilight. The few remaining soldiers staggered aimlessly, their ears ringing, their minds shattered by the horrors they had witnessed.
One soldier, his armor battered and his face streaked with blood, collapsed to his knees amidst the carnage. He stared at his trembling hands, as if unable to comprehend the nightmare unfolding around him. He didn't even notice the artillery shell whistling down toward him until it struck, ending his torment in an instant.
By the time the barrage ceased, the valley was unrecognizable. What had once been a pristine landscape of rolling hills and lush greenery was now a hellscape of craters, fire, and mutilated bodies. Rivers of blood carved paths through the debris, pooling in the lowlands and soaking into the earth.
Above it all, the drone hovered silently, its camera capturing every horrific detail.
Back in the command tent, Leonard watched the screen in grim silence. The feeds showed nothing but destruction, the annihilation of an entire army in mere minutes. He leaned forward, his expression unreadable, as he issued the next order:
"Proceed to Phase Three."
---
The battlefield was a living hell, a panorama of fire, blood, and despair. From the center of a crater blackened by relentless explosions, a figure crawled out, dragging itself across the scorched earth. A soldier of the kingdom, covered in dust and blood, screamed in agony, his cries cutting through the air already thick with the stench of charred corpses and overturned soil.
He had no legs. Where his lower limbs had once been were now torn stumps, gushing blood in violent spurts that painted the ground beneath him in vivid red. Every inch he moved seemed to amplify his suffering, but he persisted, his face twisted in anguish and desperation.
The soldier's wild eyes darted around the battlefield, taking in the horrific carnage surrounding him. Bodies lay strewn across the valley, some burnt beyond recognition, others shredded by the relentless bombardment. Horses and men alike were reduced to grotesque piles of flesh, scattered amidst shattered armor and broken weapons. The once-proud banners of the kingdom were now reduced to ash, fluttering briefly in the air before disintegrating into nothing.
Between ragged breaths, he muttered, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and incomprehension:
"God… what have we done to deserve this? What sin have we committed to earn such wrath?"
Suddenly, an unfamiliar noise cut through the chaos, a low, droning hum that grew louder with each passing second. The soldier froze, his bloodshot eyes scanning the sky. Then he saw it: a silhouette against the smoke-filled heavens, a shape resembling an enormous bird of metal.
The soldier's lips quivered as he whispered, "A bird…?"
The "bird" turned, and from its wings erupted streams of smoke, curling and spreading like ethereal feathers in the sky. But before the soldier could finish his thought, the bird released its payload. Objects hurtled toward the ground, streaking through the air like falling stars. When they hit, the earth erupted in waves of fire and destruction.
The soldier's already broken comrades were obliterated, their remains scattered in all directions, unrecognizable. Flames consumed the ground, and the shockwaves threw him back into the crater he had just crawled out of. His tears mixed with the blood on his face as he stared up at the descending "bird," its relentless attack leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.
With trembling hands, he reached upward, his voice barely a whisper:
"No… it's not a bird…we are suffering God's wrath… He has sent His angel… His angel of death…"
Before he could utter another word, the whirring sound of a gatling gun roared above him. A hail of bullets tore through his body, silencing him instantly. His lifeless form slumped back into the crater, joining the thousands of others who had perished in the valley.
High above, the AC-130 circled like a vulture, continuing its deadly work. The operators inside calmly unleashed hell upon the survivors, ensuring that no enemy would escape.
One of the weapon operators let out a low whistle, his voice dripping with dark humor:
"War crime going crazy…"
The gunner next to him didn't even look up, his hands deftly adjusting the controls as he aimed for the next cluster of targets.
"It's not a war crime," he replied, his tone as cold as the steel of the guns. "It's… uh… waste disposal."
The other operator sighed, saying nothing more. Together, they continued their work, the screams from below barely audible over the relentless roar of the AC-130's weapons, leaving nothing but death and silence in their wake.
---
Leonard stood in the command post, his eyes fixed on the numerous screens broadcasting the massacre in brutal clarity. His face was unreadable behind the cold facade of his mask, betraying no hint of emotion.
O5-10, standing beside him, delivered a concise report:
"Over 97% of enemy forces have been neutralized. The operation should conclude in less than 10 minutes. Just enough time to eliminate the remaining hostiles."
Without shifting his gaze from the screens, Leonard replied in a calm, measured tone:
"Understood. I'll step out. Notify me if there's any new development."
Franz and O5-10 exchanged a subtle, worried glance as Leonard turned to leave. They both saluted, their unease evident in the silence that lingered after his departure.
Leonard exited the tent, quickly surrounded by the operatives of Resh-1. He walked with purpose, his strides steady but tense as he made his way to his personal quarters. Entering alone, he closed the flap behind him and stood in stillness for a moment.
With a sharp motion, he removed his mask and tossed it onto the cot, the metallic clink echoing in the confined space. His breath quickened, and he hurried to the small, makeshift bathroom attached to the tent.
Kneeling in front of the toilet, he grasped its edges tightly and emptied his stomach, his body wracked with convulsions. The acidic burn in his throat and the bile in his mouth were nothing compared to the weight in his chest.
Leonard stayed there for a moment, his forehead pressed against the cold porcelain, his breathing ragged. Whispers of the devastation he had overseen echoed in his mind: the screams, the explosions, the lifeless forms strewn across the valley.
For all his resolve and composure in the command post, the reality of it all hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him trembling and hollow.
Leonard knelt by the toilet, his breathing uneven as his trembling hands gripped the rim tightly. Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the bile that clung to the corners of his mouth. He muttered in a voice low with frustration:
"Dammit… I'm still too weak."
His hands continued to shake uncontrollably, as if refusing his command to still. The images of the valley, the cries, and the flames lingered in his mind, a grotesque symphony he couldn't shut out.
From outside the tent, Graves' voice broke through the silence:
"Boss, are you okay? I heard something."
Leonard clenched his jaw, trying to force composure into his voice.
"I'm fine," he replied, his tone far from convincing.
The tent flap rustled, and Graves stepped inside cautiously. His sharp eyes took in the sight of Leonard, pale, hunched over, and visibly shaken. He frowned.
"Boss… are you sure?"
Leonard exhaled deeply, the weight of his composure crumbling under Graves' concerned gaze. He stood unsteadily, leaning against the wall for support. His voice came out uneven, a mix of anger and despair.
"No, Graves. I'm not. I keep telling myself I should be stronger, that I should be able to bear all this. But every time… every time I see what we've done, what I've authorized, it feels like I'm suffocating."
He gestured toward the floor as if the images of the massacre were imprinted there.
"Do you know what I saw out there? Pieces of men, scattered like debris. Blood soaking the earth, screams that won't leave my head. And I… I signed off on it all. I can't even keep myself together, and I'm supposed to lead."
His voice broke, the cracks in his facade now fully visible.
"I thought I could handle it, Graves. I thought I could be impassible, unflinching, like the others. But here I am, shaking like a damn coward. What kind of leader can't even stomach his own decisions?"
Graves let the words hang in the air for a moment before stepping closer. He rested a firm, reassuring hand on Leonard's shoulder.
"Boss, listen to me," Graves said, his voice steady and grounding. "The fact that you feel this way, that it's tearing you apart, doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."
Leonard looked up, his expression filled with doubt and guilt. Graves continued, his tone unwavering.
"Not like us, who don't feel a thing when we order a massacre like this. Cold, detached, machines in human skin. You're not like us, and thank God for that. This-" Graves gestured to Leonard, his trembling hands, his pale face, "-this is proof you care. It's proof you haven't lost your soul in all this madness."
Graves knelt slightly to meet Leonard's gaze more directly.
"Being a leader isn't about never feeling regret or guilt. It's about carrying that weight and still doing what needs to be done. You made the hard call, Boss. And yeah, it's eating you alive. But that's because you're trying to hold onto what's left of your humanity in a world that's constantly trying to strip it away. That's not weakness. That's strength."
Leonard's breathing slowed as Graves' words sank in. The shaking in his hands lessened, though the pain in his eyes remained. He swallowed hard and nodded, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe… maybe you're right."
Graves gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
"I know I'm right. And if you ever feel like it's too much, you've got people here who'll carry some of that weight with you. You're not alone in this, Boss. Don't forget that."
Leonard let out a shaky breath and managed a faint, grateful smile.
"Thanks, Graves. Really."
"Anytime," Graves said, stepping back and giving Leonard a firm nod. "Now you should clean yourself up. You've still got a war to win."
Leonard straightened, his resolve slowly returning. Though the burden hadn't lifted, it no longer felt unbearable. And for now, that was enough.
Graves stopped just short of the tent's entrance and turned back, his expression shifting as he remembered something important.
"Oh, and Boss, I completely forgot to report: we've managed to locate the hostages."
Leonard's eyes widened, the exhaustion momentarily lifting from his face.
"Where are they?"
Graves crossed his arms, his tone turning serious.
"They're being held in a prison called the Labyrinth of Shadows. Think of it as this kingdom's equivalent to Russia's Black Dolphin Prison, only there is Type Blues everywhere."
Leonard sprang to his feet, his earlier fatigue forgotten.
"We have to rescue them. That's the top priority!"
Graves raised a calming hand.
"Already handled. O5-1 dispatched Xi-13 'Sequeres Nos' and Tau-5 'Samsara' with a small squad from Beta-777 'Hecate Spear' for the extraction mission. They're already en route."
Leonard exhaled deeply, relief washing over him like a wave.
"Good. That's one less thing to worry about."
He sat back down on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process the weight of the day. After a moment, he glanced back at Graves.
"Ah, almost forgot, how are the preparations for Plan Chronus coming along?"
Graves nodded, his tone steady.
"Thanks to O5-7's personal involvement, the preparations are progressing rapidly. We should be ready very soon."
Leonard leaned back on his bed, a faint smile playing on his lips as some of the tension drained from his shoulders.
"Good. Soon, we'll finally be able to deal with those two damned reality benders once and for all."
He lay down fully, his eyes fixed on the canvas ceiling of the tent. For a moment, his expression softened, and his voice lowered to a whisper, almost too quiet to hear.
"Mom… I miss you."
Graves lingered for a moment, watching Leonard with a flicker of sympathy in his otherwise professional demeanor. Then, without another word, he stepped out of the tent, leaving Leonard alone with his thoughts.