The Enemies

Name to a Face

Oden

I park close to one of the skyscrapers in the downtown Moneree which the leaders stubbornly use. The generators work in overdrive to feed the concrete monsters with electricity. Like in the case of all other cities we entered - Moneree is abandoned and deserted. Several Karmians stayed. Doubtfully, they could manage the system, as they simply wouldn't know how.

Moneree makes quite an impression. The city is magnificent with white buildings, wide boulevards, and grotesque verandas with green loans. The oaks growing right in the middle of the broad pavements, protected by small ring-fences. Moneree stretches far with houses morphing into the skyscrapers close to the center. The city somehow managed to keep nature in sync with concrete jungles. It is striking to see secular trees next to the glass monoliths staring down at them. The fountains everywhere, with strange trays and cups. And blinding blue sea with many entries and countless piers. The tiniest of things scream beauty and prosperity. The mosaic, the moldings, the statues, the lights. Everything is too large, too bright, too cheerful, mocking the Drellians, smirking in our faces.

Nonetheless, you can't help but love it. All of it. Even the smirking.

'So tell me, the major in the air force is a synonym of staying in a dimly lit room while your subordinates control the drones, isn't it? How is it even possible to make decisions without being in the heat of battle?'

I smile, taking my seat next to Crad, one of my fellows back in the academy. I know him well, and it is good to have a familiar face during the council. He is an energetic, hardworking, and dedicated man, who has just recently taken the position of Air Force Major. A familiar face on the council is an extinct creature - not many of us can reach the higher ranks before thirty.

'So says a wood-ranger. Be careful, I acquired a new position and almost married. I am a serious man now. They tell me you about to tie the knot, as well?'

'The knots are not my thing. Rifles are. Congratulations, though.'

Crad starts to say something but General enters the room.

Werner Tronton, one of the leaders of Drellian forces. Odd, that he will do the briefing. Usually, the only thing he does is interrupting and correcting the speaker. Tough, ambitious, and quite straightforward. So straightforward, he would ask if he could smoke after a fuck before he even bought a woman a drink. But then again, he might never even ask. No one really wants to be on the other side of the argument with him, even when he is indeed mistaken. The pure power and authority are solely what he respects. He is a good friend of my brother, Heston.

Half listening about the details of the upcoming operation, my thoughts return to the monumentally troublesome conversation with Roleen. I have to do it. Tronton goes on about the arrangements all of us already know, and I raise, when presume he is finished. Tronton's degrading stare is more than enough to put my ass back on my seat.

'At first, we treated it as a matter only for special intelligence forces. Two faces resurfaced very recently. The Karmian degenerates that deserve to die excruciating and cruel death as they did things unimaginable and dark. In two months, they killed hundreds of our fellow comrades as well as commoners in Drell. We need them captured. Or dead. They must be eliminated in any way possible. That's an order for you and your divisions.'

The image switches and shows five faces of men and women I have seen before. There are two new ones at the top, however. Man's face is unfamiliar. But another face I know. The G390 girl, the green eyes. The one that I saved in Rottbery. Finally, the pieces fall into place. With striking clarity, I realize why she hid in that house.

With her head slightly tilted down, some inhuman version of Rhea gazes at the camera from under her thick brows, an evil sneer on her face. Her eyes sparkle with the devilish excitement. Her hair is in a lazy ponytail with strands swept in the wind. In her hands are two Karmian long blades with blood dripping from the edges. The ones I saw on the nightstand in Rotberry, the ones I held in my own hands, right after she slaughtered the entire Drellian base. A picture of utter madness. Nothing like the girl, I met.

Vaguely I hear Tronton preaching on the significance of eliminating the top list targets. My heartbeat is in my ears and palms sweaty. What have I done? Why they decided to show those faces with such a delay? I saved one of the bloodthirsty savages of Karm. I am absolutely not sharing this with anyone. Telling the truth means saying goodbye to my team, everything I have built and respect I earned. I will deal with that privately if I ever have a chance.

'You have probably heard we held captive the children of commander in chief Teo Flexibald in the village of Croom. There was a small base of twenty-five men whose specific task was to guard those children. The plan was to make Flexibald step down. Without Commander in Chief Stolnter could have been taken by winter. Rhea Flint murdered everyone on site and left a message.'

The picture switches to read 'Get out of Karm. Rhea'. The wicked ways this girl explores go far beyond anything I have ever imagined as violence. Bodies of fallen soldiers' form letters. If one body does not suffice, there are several. All of the dead have their eyes open or so it seems, though sometimes it is hard to tell – they are burnt. As if they were trash, she set them on fire.

'She rescued the children and left no survivors. That one is smart, ruthless, meticulous, and very unstable. We just discovered Flint was also responsible for the attack on Dronland, the second-largest attack of the war. We were certain Evans was the one who destroyed Dronland, but Flint, in her last message, admitted to being the one who did it. Intelligence suspects, there is some connection between those two. Evans is the bomber and works with explosives, usually together with the joined forces. The Redburn, Cramsfield, Nowatown in Drell are all his doings.'

He flips the pictures of dead bodies covered in blood and dirt, lying in piles. I watch in horror. How anyone can be that cruel to do such a thing?

We are at war, but all the murders look very personal. This is slaughtering. Untrusting, I have to see the video myself.

'They resurfaced quite recently. However, as much as we searched for any data on Flint and Evans, there is none. They did not appear from the thin area, and we need to know who they are to track, capture, or better kill them.'

At last, after a dramatic pause and a look of infinite concern, he leaves the room.

Now I can put a name to the beautiful face. Rhea Flint. She is not a useless damsel in distress. She has never been in distress. She is distress, a savage, and my target-to-be. Essentially, I could have captured that monster. Rhea Flint killed an entire squad of my comrades, and I helped her live. Me. The well-regarded and highly esteemed Major Oden Candred. An idiot.

I hurry to the house barely noticing the surroundings, shaking from ill-content fury. I put the video on play right after the entrance door shuts behind me.

How could I be so full of myself assuming I was stronger and smarter? My freaking pride is of the same skyscraper size as Heston's. How wrong I was, thinking that her beauty was nothing. It was her superpower in that storage room. She needed a miracle to get out of that house alive, and her beauty bought her that miracle.

There wasonly one fool – me.