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Today marks my first week in the CHVLR program, and is the day of my first deployment to the field. My SCS was installed three days ago, and I’ve run a few training simulations, but it’s the first time I’ve even been in the cockpit. The Colonel says there is no other choice. The enemy is here and I have to stop them.
Gray Fox initializing. Systems green.
Val Starr, signing off.
I’ve finally got some time to myself to write one of these logs they want me to do. It’s been non-stop since like Monday with the SCS installation and calibration, the evaluation and training sims, and then there was the Gala. I didn’t mention it in my last log cause I only had a few minutes before I deployed, but it was an ordeal.
Col. Radix spent the whole evening dragging me from table to table to show me off to the fat cats and military button polishers. I guess that part wasn’t the worst. It was the first time someone recognized that I was good at something. That I could save the world. Not that I needed to be told. The evaluations were easy. I had been in scrapes before I knew how to fight. I didn’t have much time to actually eat though. Not that I would have eaten much anyway.
It all felt too weird. Just days ago I was some scruffy runaway barely managing to find my next meal, just like everyone else in San Francisco, but then all of a sudden I’m stuffed into some stiff uncomfortable tux and offered more food than I could eat in the shiniest place on Earth. Why? Just because some test told them I had good genes? The food I saw just that night could have fed half of ‘Cisco, and the forks alone could have been sold off to feed the other half. At least the leftover cutlery wouldn’t just get thrown away.
The next day was my deployment. The Col. sure sounded urgent when we were scrambled, but by “the enemy is here” he really meant the enemy was probably coming in the next 6-8 hours under the cover of a storm. Apparently, The Wolf unit was pulled from sentry duty, and we were next in line. It took some convincing, but I managed to get Dr. Sulac to tell me why. Apparently, Red Wolf’s SCS hit a glitch and needed an emergency reboot, so we got a whole morning of standing at the perimeter of Anubis station staring at nothing but the desert. The other pilots in my unit weren’t good company. They were all kids of button polishers. They weren’t even good pilots if their performance in our sims were anything to go by.
The storm was far fiercer than any I had experienced, but I welcomed it anyway. The rain drowned out the lame chatter of my unit. The view port darkened to an impenetrable grey. It was peaceful. I still kept an eye on the long range scanners, but leaned back and let the world outside Gray Fox drift away from me. It was surprisingly nice to be actually alone instead of just feeling alone. No one at Anubis really cares about me. They care about their "Predictive Genetic Test” and “my unique skills and experiences". But it's ok I don’t care about them either. A place to sleep, 3 hot meals a day, and something useful to do is far better than the streets of ‘Cisco.
We were attacked as predicted. Red, Black and White were slow to react. They probably weren’t paying attention, but I saw the Marsie strike force first. They were flying at us dark so I could barely see them myself. I would have been able to get a shot off too if it wasn’t for the crappy thing jamming. The first time I get to fire a real bolt and the thing jams. The rain would probably have made it hard to aim anyway. Before I could even think they were on me. I don’t remember it all, but I fought. It was like I was outside of myself and just observing as I tore at their rusty hulks of bolted plating. I became a weapon. I’d heard stories of the combat effectiveness of the CHVLRs, but now at the controls of one, their clear superiority over the Marsie frames was awe inspiring. Red, Black and White hung back covered my melee at range. I was lucky they didn’t hit me.
I was brought back to reality when Lightning struck the base somewhere behind me. I heard someone call out over coms for assistance giving their position somewhere near Vegas. By this point the rest of Fox unit were keeping the marsies busy so I responded that I was heading over. I was surprised and confused to find it was a Marsie calling out for aid. At some point during the fight he had managed to drag his half destroyed stellar frame all the way out to Vegas. I did my job and finished him off. Later, Ofc. Emmerich told me coms had been scrambled by the lightning and I somehow got patched into the enemy network.
One of the Marsie strikeforce snuck up on me when I was distracted by the mix up and landed a blow that shoved me through one of Vegas’ mega resorts. Not sure if they evacuated in preparation for the expected attack. They don’t tell us anything. But, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind it too much if some of the gala attendees were staying there. We were able to repel the attack of course. The storm wound up doing more damage to Anubis station.
That’s pretty much it for now, hopefully the Earth Alliance will take some pity and let me rest a few days before sending me back out.
Val Starr, signing off.
When I ended the last log hoping for a few days off, a hospital stay was not what I had in mind. At least the mission itself went well overall. It was only a day after the last deployment when Col. Radix briefed Fox unit on a Marsie or rather “Martian Liberation Alliance” (because apparently freedom of speech isn’t something the Earth Alliance values in their “official pilot logs”) forward base had been set up on the west coast near San Diego. We were sent alongside the Coyote and Jackal units to wipe it out. They were underprepared for 3 units of CHVLRs bearing down on them.
The weirdest thing happened though. I had just begun to engage the enemy when this weird zappy feeling ran down my spine. I thought that was going to be it for me to be honest. I figured the SCS had gone berserk like Red Wolf’s, and was in the process of frying my brain, but it wasn’t, quite the opposite. It was sorta like that time during my last mission when I zoned out and fought on instinct, like I wasn’t in my body anymore, but instead of being an observer I was Gray Fox. I was in more control than ever, not less, and it felt good. More than good. Gray Fox wasn’t a weapon I wielded anymore. She was me and I was her.
We’d nearly cleared the base when I made a dumb mistake. I rushed into a melee with an MLA frame without cover, and was blindsided by his buddy. He charged and tackled me. His heavy frame managed to cripple Gray Fox. I wasn’t really aware of my body so I don’t know exactly how, but I was later told I broke 8 bones. I didn’t feel it. The SCS had completely blocked out any sensation, but I knew something was wrong when I couldn’t move. Gray Fox I mean. I couldn’t get her to move.
Red and Black Fox saved my butt by jumping in and taking care of the MLA frames, but EA couldn’t organize evac till the fighting was done. All I could do was wait and stare out at the ocean. It’s supposed to have been blue once, and teeming with life. It’s red now and probably totally lifeless. Maybe it was contaminated with industrial runoff. Maybe it’s been permanently stained with the blood of soldiers like me. I never bothered asking how. The world is broken, falling apart. Even if war can stop the decay, will it even be possible to put it back together?
The hospital stay must be getting to me. A soldier like me shouldn’t be getting so philosophical. I haven’t had any visitors. Not even Fox Red, Black, or White have bothered to visit. Not that I expected them to. I’ve only known them for about 2 weeks, and have barely talked to them. They don’t care about me; they have no reason to. It would have been nice to see someone other than Dr. Sulac, but I can deal. I learned years ago no company is better than bad company.
To be honest I shouldn’t still be confined to the infirmary. It’s been over a week, and I feel fine now. I even went on a little walk. I wasn’t supposed to of course, but Dr. Sulac can’t keep eyes on me all the time, and I figured a little bit of exercise is probably better for me than rotting in bed. I overheard something strange on that walk as I was passing Col. Radix’s office. He was having a hushed meeting with faceless figures. At first it sounded like good news. It sounds like a ceasefire was called. I wish someone had taken the time to tell me that in the last few days. Some people are optimistic that the war could end. I don’t believe that. There have been a few ceasefires and none of them have stuck. But then the topic of conversation shifted. Something about a pilot achieving perfect synchronization. Apparently this hasn’t been recorded before. The pilot had apparently been injured during the event and while he was well enough to be returned to active duty he was being held at the infirmary for observation and further testing. They were talking about me. I had achieved perfect synchronization. They haven’t yet been able to figure out how. Their testing turned up no anomalies, but one of the figures recommended a full psych eval. so I guess I have that to look forward to.
Anyway, I’m back in my hospital bed now, and we’re all pretending I’m not fit for active duty. They’ll run out of excuses to keep me here soon I'm sure. I'm bored as hell and itching to get back into Gray Fox. I know it’s dumb, she's just a highly advanced piece of military equipment, but it almost feels like she cares about me as much as I care about her.
Val Starr, signing off.
Finally got out of the hospital and back into the cockpit. No psych eval yet so maybe Col Radix doesn’t think it’ll be useful or necessary to determine how I managed perfect synch. The mission was supposed to be simple. The Fox unit was chosen to escort General Paris to the Martian peace talks in Byrgius city on Luna. Probably because I am the EA’s golden boy and the pride of the PGT program. In the eyes of some of the EA I am already a war hero. It was my first time off planet. I expected to feel nervous, but in Gray Fox, I feel invincible. I’m told that’ll get me into trouble but I don’t care.
Anyway, the escort was painfully dull until I picked up a ping on the longrange scanners. It was in our range of interest so I signaled to Red Fox that I had a potential bogey and boosted off to check it out. I was gaining on the blip, until I wasn’t. One of my boosters died. The blip was moving too fast. I begrudgingly turned back, and found myself facing an ambush. Four stellar frames. Procedure required I retreat but with my dead booster that wasn’t an option. I did my best to hold my own and called for help.
We destroyed the frames of course, and the General made it to the talks on time, but it didn’t feel like a victory. MLA of course disavowed the attack, but the Stellar Frames were of the type used by their militia. They didn’t bear any MLA markings, and the bodies of the pilots were not ID’d to be MLA militia men. They did appear to be independent operators, but I don’t buy it. Regardless, the attacks certainly impacted the peace talks. They became less about peace and more about who to blame for the unprovoked attack.
Honestly, I’m more worried about Gray. The analysts say that I pushed the boosters too hard and one of them gave out, but I’m the best pilot in the EA. I wouldn’t make that mistake. I know Gray, probably better than I know myself. I think her booster was sabotaged. I don’t know if it’s another Fox unit pilot jealous of my abilities or a hostile spy from the MLA or this supposed new independent group. Maybe, I should start sleeping in Gray’s cockpit; just to keep an eye on her.
Val Starr, signing off.
I don’t even know where to start. I’ve restarted this log so many times now. I guess I’ll just try and get to the point. Gray went crazy. A few days ago, we were on a solo mission reconnoitering a suspected terrorist base, and we had standing orders not to engage without orders so as not to jeopardize the ongoing delicate cease fire. Something about staring out at the dead martian landscape and passing the struggling refugee camps on the way caused us to snap. This wasn’t like my first mission where I zoned out, or like the time I reached perfect synch. As far as I could tell, when we reached the terrorist base, I was completely locked out.
We did or rather she did… horrible things. Tore them to pieces. Not just the mechs, but the pilots too, and all I could do was watch. She snapped; stopped being a weapon and became an animal. A cruel one, and the worst part is it still felt like her. I know Gray, inside and out: better than I know myself as I’ve said, and it still felt like her. When most of the base was cleared command finally got through and forced a restart remotely. In the dark isolation of the powered down CHVLR I heard her. It must have been in my head, it had to be, but it was like I could actually hear her. I couldn’t make out words, but she spoke softly in a calm voice that felt immediately familiar. I couldn’t place it though. She sounded like someone I knew but I couldn’t figure it out.
When Gray was operational again Col. Radix immediately barked new orders over the coms. Reinforcements were coming, and an extraction back to Earth wouldn’t make it in time. I would have to stand my ground until a CHVLR support carrier could arrive. I was outnumbered 3 to 1. It was a wing of terrorist frames, and their leader was clearly someone special. Their frame had bright custom paintwork and two separate groups of tallies one for EA frames and one for MLA frames. The frame bore the nameplate Valkyrie
Something was different after Gray’s reboot. She felt flatter, stiffer. I don’t know how else to describe it, but less alive. I’d faced worse odds before, but Gray’s stiffness, and the distraction of my recent experience made the fight difficult. I am still the best pilot in the EA so I was able to destroy the two supporting frames, but it wasn’t so easy to forget there were living pilots in there. It was just me and Valkyrie. Whomever piloted Valkyrie (they never spoke on open coms) they were exceptional. The battle felt like it lasted hours. Were we both piloting CHVLRs I’m not sure I would have been able to hold my own. even with inferior equipment Valkyrie had me on the backfoot.
Then suddenly something clicked in my mind. It’s like I understood Valkyrie not like who she was or what she wanted but what she was thinking, and what her next move would be. It wasn’t a prediction, it was knowledge, like I had some access to her mind. This was the edge I needed and I was able to destroy Valkyrie. I ripped the nameplate off their chest. It sits on a wall in my quarters now. Sorta like a trophy, but also a reminder that I might be the best pilot in the EA, but I’m not the best pilot in the system. I know Valkyrie’s pilot made it out alive. I should probably tell Col. Radix about all this. I just hope the rest of Fox unit doesn’t find out about it. They’ll just think I’m making shit up to be special.
Val Starr, signing off.
I told Col. Radix. Not everything, but a lot of it: the weird connection I felt with Valkyrie, and being locked out of Gray when she went crazy, but not that voice I heard or how dead for lack of a better word Gray seemed afterward. It was apparently enough for that full psych eval. that they had discussed at that meeting. No one was happy with the results; the colonial least of all. He had no choice but to take me off the roster for a minimum of four months until I could pass a psych eval. Four months of mandatory therapy and “relaxation”. Nevermind, nothing has ever felt more relaxing to me than piloting Gray, and the therapy was a joke. I don’t need therapy, I need to fight. I just told them whatever they wanted to hear so I could get out of there. Of course I was still left with a lot more time on my hands while I worked to convince them I was fine. No more synch tests, no more drills, just endless hours of nothing much.
Red, and Black reacted predictably with a smug air of self righteousness. So, I was surprised when White Fox’s pilot, Syrine, made a point to talk with me. I suppose she felt sorry for me, not that I needed her pity. Least of all pity from someone who didn’t hesitate to call me a standoffish dumbass. Despite that we took occasional meals together, when she wasn’t on a mission anyway, and we just talked. Not about our CHVLRs or the increasingly tenuous ceasefire with the MLA, or the mysterious terrorist threats, but about stuff we watched or read in our free time, or how much of a pain Col. Radix was.
Friends aren’t something that comes naturally to me. I’ve never really had any, but Syrine and I became friends. I felt an ease with her that I’ve never felt with anyone and shared things about myself I’d never dared speak aloud, why I ran away from my foster family, my growing sense of connection with Gray including that voice I heard when she went berserk, and the feeling of incompleteness now that she and I were separated. Syrine listened, not because she had to, but because she cared. She also came from a broken home. Not too surprising, there are few healthy and whole families left, especially military families. She came from Serenitatis, one of the Lunar colonies hit by the initial MLA strikes years ago. She was visiting family in Iridium on the other side of the moon. Her father, Lt. Ayouni, was out on deployment, but her mother was unable to evacuate in time. The attacks were so unexpected. The rest of Fox unit have similar stories.
I can’t say I particularly expected to spend a good portion of my medical leave with my unit. Honestly, I’ve probably now spent more time with them in the past few weeks than I have for my entire 6 month posting. Syrine managed to get us all to hang out, and it wasn’t terrible. They aren’t a bad bunch. I didn’t like them quite as much as Syrine. Red Fox, Eric Radix, perhaps has too much in common with his father, but even he wasn’t so bad. Turns out he knows more about CHVLRs than any other pilot. He'd have been a mechanic if it weren’t for his father’s pride. I actually learned a good amount about how to push the limits of Gray from him. Eventually, I was put back on the roster, but now with mandatory mental health check-ins.
Yesterday, Fox unit was permitted leave to a California beach. For once we could pretend we were just a bunch of normal kids. Jay brought along a volleyball and taught us all how to play. I felt a bit awkward being the only one without a swimsuit, EA wasn't about to provide me one, but my new friends made me feel welcome regardless. I felt more comfortable in a T-shirt and shorts anyway.
Of course, it couldn't last. We were immediately called in for deployment. I don't remember a lot of what happened next. It was so fast, I was so slow, and even the comfort and rightness of inhabiting Gray Fox didn't fully invigorate me. I remember we were given coordinates to provide support in defense of MLA diplomats. There was fighting when we got there. It was pretty dire, but with a complete CHVLR unit the balance quickly shifted. That is until it happened. I was pinned. Red Fox, Eric, pulled the frame off me, but didn't expect a plasma blade to shoot out from its elbow. It went right into the cockpit.
I couldn't move. The rest of Fox unit moved in to finish the terrorist frame off. I don't remember the rest of the fight. I don't even know if we were victorious or not. For once it didn't matter.
Val Starr, Signing off.
Things aren’t going well. The terrorists are getting bolder and more organized. Our supply lines are being targeted and it's been harder for the maintenance guys to get the tools and parts they need. Gray is not doing well. Every mission she starts leaking hydraulics or oil or whatever, and we've resorted to using scrap to patch her up. I know how she feels. The worst part of every mission is coming back. I know I should feel grateful to have survived, especially since what happened on my first mission back, but I just come back tired and more broken.
For some fucking reason I keep going back. I don't even try to run away. Maybe it's for Gray. Being able to get out of my own skin and *be* The Gray Fox is intoxicating. Like I become who I am always supposed to be. Also, if I left I'd have no one. We’re out in the Nevada desert and everyone I've known outside of the CHVLR program is miles away in ‘Cisco. I'd miss my unit; mostly Syrine.
She's kept me alive. We've been assigned long patrol missions trying our best to defend supply lines. We spend most of the time talking. Mostly about Eric. I regret not getting to know him sooner. Syrine makes it sound like he was pretty cool. We might have gotten along if I had only given him a chance. I feel so comfortable talking to Syrine. She's helped me a lot in figuring things out. I also talk with Jay. We get along now that my head’s out of my ass. He's pretty broken up about Eric. Apparently, they were pretty close. He doesn't seem to blame me, but I feel a bit weird about it. His friend died to save my life, and I know that a few months ago I wouldn't have done the same.
Val Starr, Signing off.
Every day seems to be getting worse. Morale is low and the higher ups are fucking clueless. They actually offered us the opportunity to call our families. As if it's some great treat when half of us don't even have a family to call. Feels more like they're just giving us a chance to say goodbye before we all die.
I don't need the reminder, none of us do. A few days ago we were deployed to keep an eye on a supply ship bound for MLA refugees from Martian cities hit hard by the terrorists. Part of some good will effort to bring a close to the long running peace talks. Gray’s fuel lines leaked into air recycling. Started filling the cabin with hydrogen gas. I had to shut Gray down and evacuate while a support unit came to pick us up. I was probably floating out in the open black for maybe 20 minutes. It felt a lot longer. I prefer space sorties. There's a freedom to not worrying about gravity, and air resistance. But, floating out there without the confines of the cockpit I discovered how terrifying freedom can be. Without my cockpit instruments, I had no sense of direction, no sense of time, no objectives, no power and heat management, just nothing. I relished the one restraint I had, the pressurized suit. Without it the molecules of my blood itself would seek their own sort of freedom; boiling away. I had never seen Gray from that angle either. She was inert and vulnerable. When she was at the hangar between missions it's like she was sleeping. There she was protected. Now she mirrored my own state; delicate and exposed. More than ever I felt that she and I were two parts of a whole entity; one that was on the brink of death.
Now that I had been more regularly piloting Gray I was growing close with her again. No where near the euphoric synchronicity from months ago. I think they altered my SCS after Gray went berserk. Since I've started reuniting with her, the implant has begun to itch regularly. It's like the subtle buzz of connecting to Gray in the cockpit, but less subtle and more uncomfortable. It only stops when I'm piloting. I've also become more aware of the way others look at me. I had deluded myself that they were in awe of my ability, but now I feel like I'm being studied; like some sort of dangerous alien organism or wild animal.
Maybe they're right to. During a sortie this morning I had disabled an enemy frame. I could have just left. The pilot was no threat. I… finished the fight. They were just one of many pilots I've killed in the past few months, but, now, all I can see when I shut my eyes is Eric.
Val Starr, Signing off.
They nuked ‘Cisco. How they got ahold of a nuke, and why San Francisco no one seems to know. I’ve asked everyone. The only theory anyone seems to entertain is that it’s some kind of shock and awe tactic. Some bullshit about high population density and large cultural footprint. It’s not fair. The worst part is I don’t know why I care so damned much. The cesspit I grew up in got blown to cinders, and here I am a week later holding back tears staring at the photos of its skeleton.
I tried to keep it under wraps, but Syrine has this uncanny ability to know about me. It’s kinda spooky. It’s like she knows me better than I know myself. She took me up to the roof of our barracks where we could see the whole of our compound. We watched the skyscraper sized solar panels turn to catch the last of the desert sun as the lights of the guard towers flick on and scan the desert. Automated platforms transport equipment for maintenance. I watched Gray Fox’s torso shuttled off to get its plasma blasted plating replaced and a diagnostic run on its SCS interface.
That happened that morning. We tanked a few hits, perhaps unnecessarily, but Gray and I could handle it. Doing so also got us in a good position to take our assailant down, but then something happened. It was almost like I could see the other pilot. Not really but in my mind. They were terrified. They knew their time was up. I readied my strike and… I just couldn’t. Suddenly the pilot in my mind’s eye was Eric. I knew I wouldn’t kill them. White hot blaze of nerve pain shot from the back of my neck throughout my body. Through the blinding pulse of luminescent agony I struggled to sever my connection with Gray. The pain ended as quickly as it started and I was left in the cold confining interior of the cockpit. I heard the distant thumping of the retreating terrorist frame, but muted without the sensory data from Gray. I felt small, numb, and wrong. More confined than ever, and yet delicate and exposed: like I was in a birdcage. My own body felt alien to me in a way that wasn’t unfamiliar. The direct contrast made me realize that being Gray felt more authentically me than being myself.
This makes me out to be insane doesn’t it. Not that is news to anyone. I’ve been having this feeling since April that I’m being watched. Given the weird experience I had with Valkyrie I figured I’d mention it, no one believed me of course. At least Syrine doesn’t think I’m crazy. She’s the only one who actually takes me seriously. Despite the insane things I’ve told her, and somehow she always knows the right thing to say or do.
As we stared at the compound working to support me, us: clean up after our failures and keep us going. It occurred to me that all the people and machines here; we all want the same thing. For this insane war to end. For humanity to continue in peace. At least that’s what I want to believe.
Val Starr, Signing off.
They won’t tell me SHIT! Why can’t they just tell me! The last I saw her body was being loaded on an evac shuttle, but no one will tell me ANYTHING! It wasn’t even supposed to be a combat mission; strictly rescue. We all thought something had just gone wrong. No one even entertained the notion that the terrorists would be so vile as to target a civilian EA orbital colony: send the whole damn thing falling to Earth. Fox unit was deployed to aid in evacuation. We cleared the way for and in some cases even literally carried groups of colonists to evac shuttles. It felt good to help in a way that didn’t involve fighting and killing.
Midway through carrying a literal busload of colonists over the rubble of a skyscraper, I heard the distinct sounds of missile launches and explosions. I paused; about to put the colonists down and join the frey when I was reminded of Syrine’s family from Serenitatis. I couldn’t be there for them, but I could be there for these people and resumed my dash toward the evac shuttle. Syrene’s voice crackled over the coms; the signal was weak, but I remember exactly what she said: “White Fox to any available units: I’m pinned and in trouble could really use fire support.” Between Jay and I, I was closer, but I couldn’t abandon the colonists. The evac shuttle was close; they'd only delay me by about thirty seconds. They were the mission priority, and Syrine would want me to take care of them first. “Gray to White: Copy support gotta get civs safe. Wilco ASAP”. Her desperate voice reached back across the crumbling city “Copy Gray”. Her transmission ended abruptly.
I rushed to Syrine’s radar blip, and found the wreckage of White Fox. Without thinking, I ripped myself out of Grey’s cockpit to search the wreckage for White’s cockpit and hopefully the still living Syrine. The terrorist pilot was waiting for me. It made sense, a lone, unarmed pilot was much less of a threat than a fully armed CHVLR. What doesn’t is that he somehow expected me to disembark at all. I’m repeatedly assured that it's impossible, but I’m sure they’ve been hacking my SCS. That, or there’s someone feeding them information about me or sabotaging Gray, or… something. He saw me before I saw him: a look of pure hate on his face, and knife in his hand. He charged: I bolted. The wreckage proved to be enough of a labyrinth to lose him. I should have returned to my CHVLR but I couldn’t abandon Syrine; I had to find her. She was still in White’s cockpit, unconscious. I couldn’t tell if she was still breathing. I didn’t stop to check. Powered by pure adrenaline I carried her back to Gray and took her into the cockpit with me. As soon as Gray powered back up, I blasted what was left of White. It was a total loss anyway, I had to make sure that terrorist asshole was dead.
That’s probably what's got me confined to quarters. Turns out button polishers don’t like it when any possible salvageable remnants of their expensive toys get blasted to bits by one of their pilots. If I were to let Syrine die, on the other hand, that would just be an “acceptable loss.” I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s just Jay and I left.
Val Starr, Signing off.
I’m surprised they let me sortie again. Everyone is pretty pissed at me for decimating White’s wreckage. Jay is sympathetic of course. I’m not supposed to have visitors, being confined to quarters, but he figured out how to sneak in to check on me. He knows what it's like to lose a close friend. He told me Syrine is still alive, but comatose and in critical condition. I did start to feel some guilt for destroying what was left of White; Jay assures me he’d have done the same.
Our next deployment was a surprise. Not just because I was being called to active duty, but we were to support Wolf Unit in defense of an evacuating MLA city. Intel got a tip that it was a terrorist target. When the terrorists surfaced during the initial peace talks it was assumed they were an MLA splinter group unwilling to accept compromise, but their attacks on MLA targets, even civilian targets, were becoming more frequent. No one knows what they want. It is maddening.
Wolf Unit had taken some casualties of their own. Red Wolf’s SCS had given out and caused some severe synaptic damage. I think I overheard someone use the phrase “boiled his brain.” I tried not to think about it. I never even learned his name. Gray Wolf was also out of commission. Thankfully his pilot was fine, his CHVLR was just under repair. Between our two units we made one complete one.
The city evacuation was already underway when we arrived, but there was no sign yet of active combat. We fanned out to cover as much ground as we could with a small squad. That was when they appeared. 8 terrorist frames burst out of the martian sand surrounding the city. All we had for cover were civilian structures. They knew what they were doing, and it sickened me. With their numbers, we were evenly matched. I got in a lucky shot and knocked out one just after it surfaced, but the other was wilier. He dodged my fire well, but he was less prepared for melee strikes. Most pilots were. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Black Fox, Jay’s CHVLR, locked in a grapple with one of the terrorist frames, and behind him, another readying a shot.
I whipped my weapon around to aim at the flanking frame, and froze. There was half a city between me and it. If my aim was even slightly off… Images of the twisted wreckage of White, pictures of the ruins of the EA colony, and news footage of Serenitatis flashed through my mind. I heard the shot before I saw it. The sight of Syrine's unconscious body filled my mind. Without further thought I returned fire. “Thanks for the save Gray.” Jay’s voice snapped me back. I hadn’t hit any civilian structures, but the Terrorist’s shot had disabled Black Fox’s arm.
I try not to think about the civilian casualties. There were more than a handful. Most of them got out, and we even managed to save most of the city’s infrastructure too. EA will probably consider this a win. It doesn’t feel like one.
Val Starr, signing off
There have been so many evacuations. Earth seems to be one of the only places that offer a modicum of safety. Even then, there was what happened to ‘Cisco. It’s really no surprise a refugee shuttle got lost. EA lost contact with it in the orbital debris field. Jay calls it the junk drawer of the war. With so much combat in and around the lunar and orbital colonies it’s no surprise spent ammo, destroyed frames, and other war debris found its way into Earth orbit. Jay and I were sent out to find it. The CHVLR’s armor can deflect most of the debris. It’s still dangerous to navigate. Some debris still carries the momentum of combat over a year past. Inertia never forgets. We’re still in the same damn war almost 2 years later. The enemy has changed. The MLA are essentially our allies now as the terrorist forces seem increasingly indiscriminate. Our intel thinks, optimistically, that they’re on the back foot and getting desperate. Even if we do defeat them, what then? Go back to fighting the MLA until we’re on the back foot and the war drives some of our guys mad and they blow up a peace summit? I don’t think this will ever end.
I got kinda lost in thought when Jay warned me of the incoming husk of a broken terrorist frame. I moved to get out of its way, it moved to match me. I should have seen them coming. Hell, they might have destroyed the refugee ship to lure us in for an easy kill. Suddenly, I was surrounded. I didn't even have the chance to react as they tore Gray apart. I screamed as if it was my own body being torn to shreds. I don’t know if it was due to pain coming from high synchronization with Gray or if I was just certain that I was going to die. Gray’s arm floated by in my peripheral. I was about to black out when I saw Black Fox dispatch the frame directly in front of me. I hung limply in space as the black invaded my cockpit threatening to consume me.
“FIGHT DAMN IT! DON’T JUST GIVE UP VAL! OR WE’RE BOTH GONNA DIE!”
At first I thought it was Syrine, but it was Jay’s voice over the coms. I shook myself back to awareness, and wrestled control of Gray from the invading black. We fought off the rest of the ambush together. As the battle wound down, Jay spoke through panting breaths.
“Fuck… I thought I’d lost you too.”
I thanked him as if I really meant it.
We did eventually find the refugee shuttle. There were no survivors. They were taken down to Earth. They tried to find the families of the recovered refugees. They couldn’t find any still living, they disceminated their pictures hoping someone, anyone would claim them. No one did. EA organized a small memorial service where the bodies would be burned. Not many of us were there. Jay, myself, and a small honor guard assigned the duty. I guess everyone else was too busy.
Val Starr, signing off.
This will be my final log. They moved me to a new compound. The Nevada base was too exposed, or so I was told. I got pulled back to a more secure facility. I wasn’t told where. I think I can guess why. Over the past few months I’ve been told less and less about a lot of things. I’m too good of a pilot for them to get rid of, but they also suspect, with my SCS troubles, and my mental state, I’m a liability. That’s my guess anyway. They’re tucking me away until they know what to do with me.
My new quarters are a shithole. All the charm of an ancient bomb shelter. buzzing fluorescent lights, bare cracked concrete walls. It’s cold too. The bed sucks. I thought it was just lumpy until I found the diary hidden under it. Even taking that out it’s still uncomfortable. With nothing better to do I read the diary. Apparently, another CHVLR pilot lived here, near the start of the war with the MLA in 2040. The earliest entries are dated to mid January. Just under two years ago. Apparently the early days of the war were much better than now. Consistent victories, camaraderie with brothers and arms. I thought back to my first few months. There were victories, but I rejected camaraderie. Until it was too late anyway. Her name was Victoria. She was so full of hope. Every sortie brought the war closer to the end. There were failures, tragedies, even death, but they emboldened her to fight all the harder. Reading, I wish I could have taken her place, when the fighting was easier and we knew what our enemy wanted, and my friends were still alive. But then the entries just stopped. The words ended mid entry with a rushed scrawl explaining she was being called into action… then half a book of blank pages. I didn’t have to search the records to figure out what happened to her.
In the end it doesn’t really matter how good of a pilot you are, how many friends you have, how well the war is going. It’s all just luck. Draw a card, you live for another day, roll the dice the war inches closer to a distant resolution. Or the war doesn’t end. The card you draw means death, and it all just ends. It stops. I don’t think I have the strength to draw any more cards. What good would it even do? I’ve seen my recent metrics. Synch is down, combat effectiveness is down. Hell, it’s likely my mere presence is feeding intel to the terrorists. It would be better for everyone to stop now. I doubt they’ll let anyone read this, after what I’m about to do, but if this somehow reaches you, Jay or Syrine. I’m sorry. I can’t fight anymore. I just can’t.
Syrine put down the padd. She understood why they kept his logs classified till now. The war was over. For now anyway. The terrorist threat was quelled, and the peace talks with the MLA bore fruit. So the EA didn't give a shit what their veterans did with their lives. Sure they tried to give Martian war vets support for a comfortable life, but it would never be enough. Val’s story wasn't special. Even if they were still breathing, many other Martian vets didn't survive the war. Syrine was lucky to ride out most of the rest of it on a hospital bed. Jay less so. He survived the war, better than most, but learning about Val nearly finished him off.
She picked the padd back up still displaying the final entry. Val didn't deserve to be remembered by history as just another statistic; another casualty of a war that went too long, but neither did the thousands of others who died. Many of them accomplished much more, and many endured far worse. Did this particular record of one of many terrified traumatized children, forced to kill, matter? Syrine blinked away sudden tears, and put the padd back down. She buried her face in her hands and pressed her fingers into her eyes sending scintillating waves of color cascading across her vision. His death didn't matter. It was, at best a data point on a graph labled casualties from suicide. She refused to accept it. Every single data point was a story, one that needed to be told. She couldn't get everyone's story told, but she could tell his.
It was published 2 years later: The Logs of Valerian Starr, annotated by Syrine Ayouni. Jay wrote a forward. It quickly became the most downloaded modern historical text. In the end, Val’s logs sparked the right conversations. The way the war was discussed shifted away from the EA’s propaganda and became complicated. Col. Radix, and Dr. Sulac became villains of history as opposed to heroes. They never faced proper justice, they hadn't done anything wrong in the eyes of the EA, but they remained problematic figures who deserved worse than they got. The PGT program that recruited Val was discontinued. Later, so was the CHVLR program. The SCS, on which they relied to function effectively, was found to be critically flawed. A retroactive study of pilot logs like Val's found that, in addition to the risks that led to Red Wolf’s death, there were more subtle psychological symptoms: delusions and paranoia being chief among them. Public opinion on Val himself was, unsurprisingly, divided. Many missed the point and saw only a martyr: a brave young man who endured too much for the Earth Alliance. Others saw something closer to the truth: a victim of the meat grinder of war. Still others saw only an overconfident weakling who couldn't take the pressure and folded when things got tough.
None of these were what Syrine saw. She saw a scared kid who had never been allowed to become. She thought back to that brief summertime beach trip. All 4 of them were alive, and having fun before Eric died. For a moment, when she caught him smiling, she swore she could see Val for the first time. Really see, under the baggy T-shirt and shorts he wore, but even then, the chasm between him and the world was palpable. Out of everyone she knew him the best, but did she really know him? Even after reading his logs she suspected she didn't. The worst part of it was she knew she never would.