The Road to Albia

The staccato report of gunfire echoed for a moment, then ceased, leaving an abrupt and ringing silence. In the security post, fifteen rogue soldiers crumpled to the ground, their bodies stitched with fresh, crimson holes. The entire engagement had lasted less than twenty seconds.

As the last wisp of smoke curled from his rifle’s suppressor, Captain Cutter gave a low whistle. "Not bad, Bard."

Bard clicked a fresh magazine into his Mk18 CQBR, a faint grin touching his lips. "Thank you, sir."

With my Type 91 assault rifle at the ready, I vaulted from the wagon and sprinted toward the position, Brielle following close at my heels.

The security post was little more than a crude thatch-and-wood cottage. Inside, we found the rescued girls. They were uninjured, but clad in flimsy, revealing clothes that left little to the imagination. No civilian casualties. I could see now why Bard had passed the Sea Dragons’ qualification test with flying colors.

Our sudden appearance startled the girls. "It's okay," Brielle said, her voice soft and reassuring. "We're not going to hurt you."

I jerked a thumb toward our transport. "Get to the wagon. We'll get you out of here. It isn't safe."

They nodded hesitantly and scurried toward it. My attention was drawn to one of the bodies sprawled near the entrance. His uniform was cleaner, of better quality than the others—a higher-ranking officer. The standard Albia Army uniform featured a crimson cape and a red breastplate emblazoned with an orange lion, but this was a splinter faction; the lion emblem was conspicuously absent.

I knelt and began to search the officer's uniform, my fingers finding a heavy pouch of coins in his pocket. I was so focused on my task that I failed to notice one of the other soldiers was still clinging to life. He staggered to his feet behind me, a blade flashing in his hand. Before his weapon could find its mark, Bard’s knife plunged into his throat from behind. The man choked, his attack faltering, and collapsed.

Bard let the body drop. "What did you find?" he asked.

"Just a sack of coins," I answered, getting to my feet and showing him the pouch.

He knelt and began his own, more thorough search of the officer's clothing. "Damn," he muttered, producing more coins, a small, ornate dagger, and even a few pieces of jewelry. "This guy had enough to buy a plot of land in Beverly Hills."

"We should probably just take the cash," I advised as we walked back to the wagon. "Anything more will just slow us down."

Our journey continued without further opposition. After a week of travel, we finally emerged from the dense Avani Forest into a wide, grassy plain, where we could finally afford to relax.

"...so Old Chuck betrayed me and started chasing me all over Veridia! I had to spend the whole night up a damn tree." We all broke into laughter as Bard finished his story about shooting his grandfather’s prize bull in the rear. It was a hilarious tale, though I felt a pang of sympathy for him. It had been a plastic airsoft gun, mind you, one that hadn't even broken the skin.

"How did you get down?" Brielle asked, trying to stifle her giggles.

"Grandpa and Pops got the bull calmed down and back in its pen," the Texan said, scratching his head. "But damn, Pops whipped my ass with his belt every night for a week. He only stopped after I won the junior rodeo competition a week later."

Bard cleared his throat, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. "Alright then, ladies and gentlemen, how about I tell you the story of how this badass, tree-hugging psycho here challenged me in a rodeo?"

"Seriously," I shot back, my voice cold. "If you tell them, I'll fuck you up." My bluntness made the rescued girls blush.

"Hehehe," he chuckled, giving me a shit-eating grin. "Still mad that Big Nick kicked you in the balls?"

Goddamn it, don't bring that up. I shuddered at the memory. The sheer, blinding pain of being kicked in the crotch by a half-ton horse was something I never wanted to revisit. If you're a man, you can imagine the agony.

"Yeah, I'm still mad," I replied, my tone deadpan. "I seriously considered slicing that horse up and making a nice Friday curry out of it." My flat delivery made the others chuckle, and this time, a few of the rescued girls joined in.

"Speaking of curry," Bard said as the laughter subsided. His stomach punctuated the thought with a ferocious growl. "I'm hungry," he admitted sheepishly. In response, my own stomach rumbled.

"Me too," I confessed.

"Arc, can I have your Beef Curry and Kanpan?" he asked, a wide, goofy grin on his face. "I'll trade you my beef rice with mushroom and a HOO-AH! Bar."

Normally, I would defend my beef curry with my life, but the mention of the OSN's 'Beef with Mushroom' made my mouth water. Plus, the HOO-AH! Bar was my favorite snack. For us, these Field Deployment Rations were a five-star meal, even if a civilian would consider them garbage. I suppose I'd become an FDR connoisseur.

"Okay," I said without hesitation.

I reached into my assault pack and pulled out the Beef Curry and Kanpan—my favorite ration (or, in this case, Bard's). I was about to grab a can of Vienna sausage for myself when Cutter snatched it from my hand.

"Sorry, Jax," he said, the apology contradicted by his wide smirk. "But your FDRs are too damn good. I can't help myself." It didn't matter. I wasn't a huge fan of the sausages anyway.

I traded my ration for Bard's and used hot water to activate the FDR's heating element. Once the 'magic' was done, I declared, "Itadakimasu!" and dug in. I was savoring a piece of tender beef when something wet hit my shoulder. I turned to my right to see a girl staring intently at my food, a trail of drool glistening on her chin. Wait, where did she come from? How did she get in the wagon?

Her wavy, blue hair was waist-length and tied into low twintails. She wore a light blue wizard's robe over loose-fitting pants of the same color. A pair of dog-like ears perched atop her head, and a tail swished gently behind her. She looked to be about twelve to fourteen, as if she'd just graduated from middle school.

"Cera?" Elara said, pointing at the girl who was still fixated on my meal. That was a fierce name for a girl.

Waking from her food-induced trance, Cera looked at Elara, then at Brielle. "Oh, Elara, Brielle. How are you guys?"

"We're fine, but... how did you get in this wagon?" Brielle asked.

"I fell asleep in here about a week ago," she said with unnerving innocence. "Julio told me to go to Maxton." Her stomach then let out a rumble that put mine and Bard's to shame. She turned her pleading eyes on Bard. "But I'm hungry... can I have something to eat?"

Bard produced a pack from his rucksack. "Here," he said, handing it to Cera. Wait a minute. Wasn't that a vegetarian FDR? You're a cruel man, Bard.

"Thank you!" Cera beamed, tearing the pack open. She began to devour the contents, her eyes sparkling. "Mmm, it's delicious!"

"WHAT?!" Bard, Cutter, and I—the three of us from Earth—exclaimed in unison, our jaws agape. The last time I ate those vegetables, I threw up. There was no way that meal could be described as delicious.

"Really?" Brielle asked as Elara took the pack from Cera. Before I could stop them, they had both taken a bite.

Just as I expected, their faces turned a sickly green. They scrambled to the back of the wagon and retched, expelling every last bit of the offending vegetables. "Yuck, it's so... tasteless," Brielle coughed out when she was done. "How can you say this is delicious?"

"I'm a vegetarian," Cera explained simply. That made sense, but still...

I heard more stomachs rumbling. The rescued girls were now eyeing my food. It was clear they hadn't eaten in a long time. I sighed and handed them my FDR. It was fine; I still had the HOO-AH! Bar.

"Thank you," the girls murmured in faint, timid voices.

Just then, Bard pushed his own curry in my direction. "You can have half of it," he offered.

I grinned and started eating. Even the avaricious Cutter shared some of his "stolen" sausages with Brielle and Elara.