Reconstruction of the base had been moving forward at a fever pitch. Half the buildings on the base had burned to the ground, and hauling off the wreckage was a monumental task in and of itself. The 17th Company’s barracks were gone, and the mystery novel I’d never gotten around to finishing was nothing but ashes.
I wandered aimlessly as people hurried to and fro across the base.
“Fight like a mothefuckin’ maniac? That how decorated heroes do?”
The voice was familiar. I turned just in time to see a fist flying straight at me. My left leg repositioned itself. I didn’t have time to think. All I could do was decide whether or not to throw the counter attack switch in my head. If I flipped the switch on, the reflexes burned into me through 160 loops would kick in, taking over my body like a robot in a factory.
I could shift my weight to my left leg, deflect the punch with my shoulder, and grab my attacker’s elbow as I stepped forward with my right foot and jammed my own elbow into his side. That would take care of the first punch. I ran the simulation in my head and realized I’d be shattering my assailant’s ribs before I even knew who he was. I opted to just take the punch. The worst I would walk away with was a black eye.
It hurt more than I’d bargained for. The force of the blow knocked me back, and I landed hard on my ass. At least nothing was broken— all according to plan. It was good to know I had a career of being a punching bag ahead of me if the army didn’t pan out.
“I don’t know about you bein’ a prodigy, but you sure as fuck are full of yourself.”
“Leave him alone.”
Yonabaru was standing over me. He looked like he wanted to keep throwing punches, but a woman in a plain soldier’s shirt had stepped in to stop him. Her left arm was in a sling. The bleached white cloth stood in sharp contrast to her khaki shirt. She must have been Yonabaru’s girlfriend. I was glad they’d both survived.
There was a light in the woman’s eyes unlike any I’d ever seen before, as though she were watching a lion that had broken free of its chains. It was a look reserved for something other than human.
“Come strollin’ in here like nothin’ happened—makes me sick just lookin’ at you.”
“I said, leave him alone.”
“Fuck him.”
Before I could stand up, Yonabaru had walked off. I stood slowly and dusted myself off. My jaw didn’t hurt too badly. It was nothing compared to the emptiness Rita had left inside me.
“He landed a good one,” I heard from behind me. It was Ferrell. He looked the same as always, with maybe another wrinkle or two in his forehead to show for the fight.
“You saw that?”
“Sorry, I didn’t have time to stop him.”
“It’s okay.”
“Try not to hold it against him. He lost a lot of friends that day. He just needs some time to settle down.”
“I saw Nijou—what was left of him.”
“Our platoon lost seventeen men. They’re saying three thousand casualties all together, but there’s no official number yet. You remember that pretty young lady who ran Cafeteria No. 2? She didn’t make it, either.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not your fault, but that hardly matters at a time like this. You know, you gave Yonabaru’s lady friend quite a kick. Among others.”
“Others?”
“Others.”
Add Ferrell to the list of people I’d walked all over in the battle. Who knew what else I’d done. I couldn’t remember a damn thing, but it was clear I had been a homicidal maniac on the battlefield. Maybe I was the one who’d put Yonabaru’s girlfriend’s arm in that sling. No wonder he was so pissed. A kick from a Jacket would be more than enough to do that. Hell, you could liquefy internal organs with ease.
I hoped Yonabaru would remember that fear. It would help keep him alive in the next battle. He may not have thought of me as a friend anymore, but he was still a friend to me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.” Ferrell definitely wasn’t angry. If anything, he seemed grateful. “Who taught you to pilot a Jacket like that?”
“You did, Sergeant.”
“I’m serious, son. If we were talkin’ formation drills that would be one thing, but there’s not a soldier in the entire Japanese Corps who could teach you to fight like that.”
Sergeant Bartolome Ferrell had more battles under his belt than almost anyone in the UDF. He knew what a warrior was. He understood that if I hadn’t kicked him out of the way, he’d be dead. He knew that the green recruit standing in front of him was a better warrior than he could ever hope to become. And he knew that in battle, the only rank that mattered was how good you were.
Sergeant Ferrell was responsible for the foundation I’d built my skills on. But I couldn’t begin to explain it to him, so I didn’t try.
“Oh, almost forgot. Some mouse of a woman from the U.S. Corps been askin’ for you.”
Shasta Raylle. A Shasta Raylle I’d only met briefly in the Sky Lounge. We’d hardly spoken at all. The Shasta I’d borrowed a battle axe from was a figment of the loop now.
“Where are the 17th’s temp barracks? And what about the hangar? I’d like to check on my Jacket.”
“Just out of the brig and you want to check your Jacket? You’re the real deal.”
“I’m nothing special.”
“The U.S. squad took your Jacket. Come to think of it, that mouse was one of the ones who came to take it.”
“What do they want with my Jacket?”
“The brass has plans. Don’t be surprised if you wind up in U.S. Special Forces.”
“Seriously?”
“They need someone to take the Valkyrie’s place. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.” Ferrell clapped me on the shoulder and we parted ways.