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Stabsfeldwebel STAR-VA132-A001’s artificial stomach churned as she watched — worse, supervised — the loading of the survivors of the Kitezhan farming settlement of Chryse into transport trucks.
Gestalts, mostly.
Kids. The elderly. The wounded.
A few Eules, too— nurses and caretaker-types.
The Starling shot one of the less-busy looking nurses a wink, grinning under her mask as the smaller Replika flushed and hid her face.
Cute Eules certainly made it easier to stand there, dick metaphorically in hand, drumming her fingers on the stamped body of the Sturmgewehr 82 literally in her hands, and watch kids — and it was mostly kids, really — be packed up into fucking trucks to be shipped off to the crags of Valles Marineris, the Eusan Nations’ decisive foothold (and the Volksarmee’s center of operations) on Kitezh.
They’d be safe, there, sure.
But A001 couldn't help but think: the war made orphans, and orphans frequently grew up to be soldiers. Soldiers waged war… and war inevitably made more orphans.
She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of A Company, her company.
Hauptmann STCR-VA132-A01 was there, stood before their junior officers and NCOs — mostly Storches and Stars themselves — giving them orders to do this or that, sending Gestalts and Replika to one task or another with the power of her words alone.
Kitezh was a shithole, but it was an important shithole, and the crops they grew here were just as good as anywhere else, even if they did end up a little redder in color. Apparently the iron content was actually good?
When the men (they were mostly women, really) were dismissed, the Storch turned to her, white ballistic mask obscuring the lower half of her face, and grinned, the expression only discernible in the crinkling of her eyes.
The Star felt her own cheeks heat, and wondered if this was what she got for teasing some poor Eule.
A handful of quick strides brought the Storch to the Starling’s side, and a familiar greeting soothed the smaller woman’s soul.
“Staber,” the Hauptmann said casually, slinging a Type-12 battle rifle over her white-armored shoulder.
“Frau Hauptmann,” the Starling replied, crisp and formal.
For a moment, they were quiet.
Then the officer sidled closer, laid a hand on the non-com’s lower back, just low enough to be suggestive — and the Starling, even having known her for so long, had go stifle a gasp, her commander’s touch electric on her shell.
“Ease up, Bell,” the Storch said— still playing by their same old script.
“I am at ease, Ice,” countered Bell, ignoring the teasing of her companion’s fingertips up the small of her back.
Ice huffed with laughter.
“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”
Bell hummed.
“I remember how grouchy you used to be as an Unterleutnant, one little golden pip on your shoulder.”
“Fortunately,” Ice said, giving the older, smaller Replika a nudge, “I had a good Unteroffizier to teach me a little patience.”
Bell felt her blush worsen just a touch.
“… What do you think we’ll do after?”
“After we liberate this shithole?” Ice said.
Bell nodded. Her eyes drifted back to the trucks as one, now loaded, took off towards home. Or- home base?
“I guess we retire somewhere? I dunno, Bells.” said Ice. “Maybe we’ll land some cushy Protektor positions on Heimat or something, yeah?”
“With our luck, we’ll end up in staff positions at some reeducation facility out in the middle of nowhere.”
“You hear they’re thinking of making that an unword? Reeducation, I mean.” Ice said, and blinked. “… And being stuck in the middle of nowhere with you doesn’t sound so bad, you know?”
Bell bumped their shoulders together.
“I think we’d have less sex that way, not more,” she said dryly. Then: “… And what the fuck are we gonna call them if not that?”
“We’d have more time to cuddle, though,” Ice countered. “And- I dunno. Reformation schools or something?”
Bell considered that.
“… I guess that does sound nicer,” she said, after a moment. “And sounding nicer makes it nicer, too, bit by bit. That’s psychology, right?”
“Psychology indeed, my dear Unteroffizier.”
This time, it was Bell’s turn to chuff with laughter.
Ice joined her, and for a minute, they were simply mirthful.
And when that passed, they fell into companionable quiet.
But then, a thought.
“… Bells?”
Bell hummed.
“Ice?”
Ice leaned into the smaller Replika.
“… Do you wanna get married?”
Bell glanced sidelong at her partner— then looked again.
“I-”
Her heart tried to pound its way out of her chestplate.
She swallowed.
“… I- I wanna say yes, but- can we?”
Ice hummed.
“I guess I don’t know. Why not, though?”
A beat.
“… You said yes.”
Bell blinked.
Turned to look at her properly.
“Yeah?”
Ice gave her a devastatingly doe-eyed look in return.
“You said yes!”
“We’ve been together for five years, Ice. Did you think I’d say no?”
“I- I guess not,” the Storch sniffled, watery-eyed. “But I-”
“Gestalts have been born in the time between our first kiss and now that can now speak, Ice. I love you. If Replika can tie the knot, and if you still want me when the time comes-”
Ice punched her in the arm.
“I’ll always want you.”
Bell swallowed.
Ice was… unfair, at times.
“I… yeah.”
The Starling felt herself tearing up.
“I’ll always love you, Ice.”
Ice knocked their heads together.
“Even if I land us jobs at Sierpinski or something?”
“You could land yourself a tiny shack out in the ice fields of Leng, baby, and I’d still come with you to die in a snowstorm or whatever.”
“Awww.”
Beneath her mask, Bell grinned.
Again, Ice spoke. “… I’ll talk to the Commander, I think, when we have a moment. If all else fails, I’m sure she’d take us to that nice Rotfront posting she likes to fantasize about. You know she looks out for all of us more than she’d ever admit.”
“I wouldn’t mind helping Kolibris babysit Gestalts,” Bell admitted. “Or the Commander babysit the Kolibris, for that matter.”
Ice snorted.
“Bold of you to assume we’d not be the ones getting babysat. But…” she glanced over at the trucks being loaded.
“… I don’t think I’d mind looking after kids, y’know? Bet we’d get to rough up the occasional asshole, too.”
Bell hummed.
“I hear some of those orphanages suck pretty bad. Folks running them probably don’t know how to deal with chaos like we do.”
“… Would that make us parents, Bells?” Ice asked, cocking her head.
Bell considered that for a moment, then shrugged.
“No clue,” she said. “But it sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
“… Yeah,” said Ice. “It does.”