Fabienne Gschwind - The Fallen Heroine

That was it. The dreaded nuclear strike!

One's own country could make a request, or the neighboring states could. This usually happened when there was a danger of not being able to control a repro outbreak. Then there was nothing left but to destroy everything to avoid a major repro spread.

That was one of the reasons why Tamara was so famous: the last ten years she had been able to save at least fifteen cities from a nuclear strike. Most of the time, she had been hastily dispatched from ReS headquarters to the disaster site. There, with her instincts, fighting spirit, daring strategies, and organizational talent, she always somehow got the situation under control.

Still, I thought of the chaos that was now breaking out in La Rochelle and the surrounding area as everyone tried to get away as quickly as possible.

Meanwhile, Tartelette had not remained idle. For a heavy flying tank full of gun heads was speeding toward us. The boss had ordered him to wipe the beach and shore clean. She was convinced that the oyster bank was the only danger on this side of the island.

We barely made it to the vehicle before the military got going. Twice the shock waves of the explosions knocked me to the ground, but Gabin mercilessly dragged me on. Slowly I understood why Tartelette had always insisted that I should do more sports, especially endurance running. Even chubby Emily was panting far less than I was.

The driver put his foot down and at full speed we circled the tip of the island on the hover drive and chased to the other beach, which Tartelette calculated was the second most dangerous. The lighthouse of the Île de Ré loomed in the distance. While I barely had time to catch my breath, the others chased back down to the shore area. Even the light muscle boosters built into the combat gear didn't help.

"Don't look so dumb. Shoot the repro gulls down!" came the order from Tartelette. I raised the pump shotgun and took aim at the swarm that was bearing down on me. I emptied my magazine. But then another military decacopter arrived. It came flying at me from behind. Even under my combat helmet, I went half deaf as the high-tech helicopter mowed down the gulls four meters above me with its over-calibrated machine gun. I didn't even have to go chopping heads anymore, as only chunks of flesh rained down.

I took a deep breath and ran after my colleagues who were scanning the beach in a set pattern.

My lungs were burning and my legs felt like pudding. Despite the cooling of the combat suit, I was totally sweaty. Twice I stumbled and landed splat in the wet sand. "Driver, come here and pick up the boy, otherwise he'll collapse on us," I heard Tartelette order on the radio.

Just a few seconds later, the vehicle was beside me in active hover mode. I clung to the large rearview mirror and tried to somehow place my armored combat boots on the narrow running board. The driver drove along the high dunes and I focused on the stench as I tried to catch my breath.

The next few hours passed with searching, but no one found any evidence of any living thing that had been contaminated on the beach. More ReS troops had spread out on the other beaches, but other than our oyster colony, things were looking good.

Meanwhile, we had made it to the lighthouse, which was on another tip of the island. The driver had debarqued me as the vehicle's batteries were running low. Gabin opened his combat visor and I saw that he too was sweaty, "Well boss, does the Merkelist party still have their finger on the trigger?"

Actually, each of us had access to all radio traffic, but it seemed that only Tartelette managed to monitor everything and look for repros at the same time.

"Oh come on, by now it's our own people and our king president is supposedly almost shitting his pants over it."

"Why? Because he might have to give the death order for a few thousand people?" inquired Emily with a sniffle, because not all of them would get away in time.

"Bullshit, he's worried about his vacation villa on Île d'Oléron ..."

I saw our communications displays suddenly glow orange. This meant that the radio was now on a private channel and not broadcasting to the public. It was Thibault, who wanted to tell us something in confidence:

"Tamara, pay attention. We are live on the air. The king hates that kind of talk, you know that!"

"Yes, but the population loves it... We're going to have a snack and then search the rest." Determined, Tartelette headed for the small tourist district just below the lighthouse and made herself comfortable on the deserted terrace of the "Chez Marie" bistro.

"They make the best waffles around here. Cadet, go to the kitchen and take care of that. Gabin get something to drink and Emily see what ice cream is left." We all sprinted off to carry out the commander's orders while she herself went back to her simulations.

The waffle oven thing was easier than I thought it would be, and I managed to bake four waffles without burning them.

We all ate in silence and I laid my tired legs on a chair. Gabin did the same and was now lying there very comfortably. Too comfortable. Tartelette gave the chair legs a kick and Gabin flew to the floor.

Then the redeeming message, the nuclear strike had been lifted. The king himself announced that Commander Arlette, as he saw it, had the situation under control. Actually, that was high praise for our unit and for Tamara personally. But she did not respond.

We spent the rest of the day searching the coast. Unfortunately, the rest of the beach was more difficult to search, as it was no longer a sandy beach and we had to climb over overgrown boulders. Only in the evening we came to rest in Grignon near Ars-en-Ré. Since the island was still under quarantine, it had to be cleaned completely before we could leave.

"Thibault, any news from the other units?" asked Tartelette as she led us unerringly down a road.

Thibault briefly counted up the dead and wounded. "Otherwise, it's so boring that ReS headquarters has interrupted your broadcast."

I abruptly became aware again that the small cameras on our helmets were transmitting everything live. I had completely forgotten about that.

"I'm hungry, when are we going to take a break?" whined Gabin.

Tartelette had the solution for that right away and we stopped at a sinfully expensive wellness hotel. I looked for an empty room and was glad to finally get out of my hygienic underpants. They were a kind of diapers, like astronauts wore. Because during missions, we had a hard time taking off our combat gear.

Finally, we bathed together in the hot tub. Red, ugly welts on Tartelette's back caught my eye and I wondered what animal had injured her like that.

"After that we'll have something to eat and then we'll do some training on the beach and search the rest..." the captain mused to herself, not even seeming to think that maybe we were all knackered from today. I was sure she was joking.

But Tartelette's announcement was all seriousness on her part. We ate, standing in the kitchen, and then it was back to the beach. I was terribly tired and watched sleepily as an Army decacopter supplied us with extra ammunition and other equipment the boss had ordered.

Gabin thrust into my hand some sort of juggling club that looked like a primitive grenade. "Did you get those in World War I?", I asked, yawning. A hard slap on the back made my jaws snap together painfully.

"So kid, if you're tired, you take a shot of Adalin.”

Yes, the Adalin, that was a military sleep inhibitor, strictly forbidden outside the army. I watched as the boss operated my combat mount controls, and the hidden injector on my upper left arm itched briefly. After a few minutes, I felt refreshed. As if I had slept fourteen hours, and I was much more composed than before. By sundown, Tartelette had us doing wrestling drills in the sand and throwing rocks.