Fabienne Gschwind - The Fallen Heroine

My father had said encouragingly, "La Rochelle, that's where the legendary Captain Tamara Arlette is stationed, the most famous repro-hunter in France, and even world-wide. You'll really learn something there."

He and my brother would occasionally watch the live missions broadcasted on the ReS channel. The ones from ReS La Rochelle were the most popular. Only I, of all people, had always refused to watch these brutal recordings. Ironically, I was now one of them.

The commander of ReS La Rochelle, Tamara Arlette, was a living legend with superhero status not only in France but around the world. Thousands of people owed their lives directly to her and tens of thousands indirectly, as she saved entire cities from repro catastrophe with ingenious strategies and unmatched intuition. Her heroic deeds were told all over the world. Not only told, she and her troops always wore helmet cameras during missions and these films were broadcast by ReS headquarters on a dedicated channel. It was rumored that the income from these films alone covered a large part of the costs of the ReS. The other part was covered by the repro propagation softwares that the captain programmed herself.

But then there was her shadowy character: notoriously irascible, she snapped and yelled at her soldiers or anyone else who got in her way. No less often she enforced her will at gunpoint. There were more than enough videos where she threatened a restaurant owner to get free food. And she liked to mess with politicians and aristocrats. These videos gave her even more popularity. She could easily pay the fines she got and nobody dared to lock her up...

So, of course, the ReS headquarters asked me to write down exactly what this superheroine was doing all day. That meant to look exactly what Tamara Arlette does and makes the whole day and even thinks. It will be not only a Diary but a kind testament should I nevertheless perish. Even an unfinished work would bring a lot of money to my family....

Then I heard a metallic clacking. It was Thibault with his automated exoskeleton, because five years ago he had fallen under the stomp of a repro elephant. Despite the modern nerve growth boosters, there was no saving his almost completely shattered spine. He was a paraplegic from the shoulder down.

"Moussaillon, there you are. Is Tartelette there too?"

Since I was the apprentice, I was called all sorts of nicknames by my colleagues, such as Moussaillon , ship's boy namely, Junior or Kid. But that's not a problem and I've already gotten used to it. By the way, our team is great, everyone has a great sense of humor, and not a day goes by without a few jokes. Sometimes the sparks fly when it comes to a fight and Tartelette makes wild threats, but a few hours later everyone is reconciled again. So it wasn't as bad as everyone had described Tamara to me, she had even been very caring with me...at least until now.

"No, the captain hasn't arrived yet, ...but I can go to the bakery already."

When Tartelette arrived, breakfast was the first thing and I was in charge of croissants and coffee.

"That would be nice, boy."

With that, the exoskeleton turned with a jerk and Thibault stomped out of the room. I quickly threw on my fancy uniform jacket and hurried to the bakery across the street.

Two weeks earlier, Tartelette had guideded me through all the bakeries, butcher shops, traiteurs and bistros in the vicinity. This has the advantage that they all know me and the things I buy go straight to the ReS's account.

So I returned to the barracks with a dozen croissants, a baguette for Gabin, and a large thermos of the finest French coffee. Back at the barracks I collided with Tartelette, who was just stepping into the office and putting on her combat gear.

She is the only one in the troop who always wears her hightech combat armor. If I don't wear combat gear, no one will recognize me , she told me on the first day.

Tartelette is a sturdy woman in her fifties. Her grayish hair is cut short and she has the wiry, well-toned body of an athlete. During the first Training, I had already painfully learned that she is considerably stronger than she looks.

I unloaded the groceries on the table.

"Cadet, did you buy me an extra baguette? That's sweet."

Gabin patted me on the shoulders so hard my collarbone cracked. He sat down and broke his baguette into four pieces before eating them conscientiously. Gabin was our strongman, a two meter guy who had dreamed of serving in a ReS unit from a young age, just like his father, sisters, and brothers. In La Rochelle, he was called 'the hunk' and probably could have won bodybuilding contests or strongman competitions with ease. As the others had told me, he regularly demolished the weight machines in our gym because he put more weights on them than the machine could hold.

Emily now joined us. Small and chubby as she was, she sat down next to Gabin and spread an extra helping of butter on a croissant. Every now and then her wavy, dark blond hair fell in front of her eyes and she routinely wiped it back. She, too, had been forcibly recruited, but very late. She already had another profession when her talent became apparent. But she, too, had been given no choice. She was always very serious.

Thibault sat down on a chair with his exoskeleton. Tartelette helped him and sniffed the croissant. I had sat down between Thibault and Emily and poured myself a large cup of coffee while listening with half an ear to the banter of my colleagues. Tartelette, as usual, was sharing the latest gossip about the many other ReS patrols. Her favorite gossip was about how inefficient the others were, and then she vented about her favorite topic: Her vision of how the ReS system should be organized.

Then it was back to work. For me, that first meant nipping at Tartelette's heels and keeping my eyes and ears open. In addition, there were manuals with theory units that I learned by heart and the famous shooting and simulation theater, where I spent a lot of time. Plus, of course, frequent fitness training, because we had to trim our bodies for top performance like top athletes. Today was no different.

"Kid, I evaluated your shooting results, you've made good progress. That means you're coming along on the next emergency call. Now go to the shooting cellar and keep practicing."

I obediently set off for the shooting exercises, even though I felt sick with fear. After two weeks of training, I was already supposed to be fighting real repros? But there was no point in arguing, I had made the mistake on the first day of doubting some request of the commander. Then she had fetched my employment contract and read to me with pleasure the paragraph about disobeying orders.

The ReS belonged to the army and was organized militarily.

We had three main weapons: the zapper, a slender electro pulse pistol that briefly overloaded the repros' muscles and nerves, paralyzing them. Then we had a long and extremely sharp machete to decapitate the repros. And last, a kind of old-fashioned shotgun loaded with explosive ammunition. It could be used to take down whole flocks of repro birds or blow the heads off animals. Tartelette would have liked a few more weapons. But it was too expensive for ReS headquarters and they had forbidden the purchase of more weapons.

I had started the training program, zapped three simulated boars, and decapitated a dummy when my communications device, which we merely called 'radio,' beeped:

"Alert! Get your gear on!"

So I quickly sprinted to the locker room and squeezed into the tailored combat armor. The combat armor was a kind of tight-fitting state-of-the-art knight's armor that completely encased our bodies. The helmet was seamlessly screwed onto it, and a visor with an intelligent lens hermetically sealed it. The blue armor weighed quite a bit, but had light muscle enhancers, so it was easy to move around in.