Pieces

1900 Hours, August 28, 2032.
D-Day Minus Three

The lights in the 132nd's Command and Control flickered as they always did. Major Masayuki Sakamoto glanced up to them from his map, tired eyes squinting from the glare.

[I]They're going to die soon,[/I] Masa thought. No new light bulbs had been made since the late 2000's, and he wondered what would happen once they failed. [I]But they couldn't fail, not now. They'd have to soldier on, to the very end, and the filaments were unable to carry a charge.

Just like my men. [/I]

He looked back down to his map, grabbing his pencil. It was only two days before Tech-Com would move out, but he had yet to fully plan out the orders for the second group: those that couldn't, or wouldn't take part in the assault. They would travel through various safe zones, until reaching Salinas. There had been much argument between the command, but it had been decided that the Resistance forces that survived Operation Daybreak would rally there and combine to form a larger unit. The refugees, the wounded and children, would wait there until the battle was done.

Of course, if the operation failed...200 men would be charged with the care of over 2000 civilians from all over Southern California. Even though Daybreak would result in the deaths of many, they would have to ensure enough survived to continue the greater fight. But again, at that point, it might not have mattered much anyway.

The mood of the bunker was uneasy, uncertain, undecided. It wavered between grim and anxious one hour, and confident and gung-ho the next. The usual yelling and joking around had subsided, and most rarely spoke above a hushed murmur. The only real commotion came from the traffic of supplies and men throughout the halls. It drove Masa mad, this silence. He wished that he could at least have the illusion that life would continue as normal, the sounds of children running up and down the hallway banging on doors, the normal bickering between enemies and spouses. The sound of silence was louder, barraging his eardrums.

"Sir?"

Masa whipped around, eyes unfocused as he tried to fix them onto the distraction.

Nigel shifted uneasily before the Major, holding a steaming tin mug. "Coffee, sir. You've been awake for 2 days straight." Masa furrowed his brow, then took the drink with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Nigel," he remarked, then sipped at it.

The hot drink was the medicine he needed. He felt awake, but simultaneously anxious and strained. Too strained to continue working for the moment. He gave another nod to the teen, and then rose to his feet. Like others in the past week, Nigel had been conscripted from the general population, but was ultimately too young to see combat. Masa had opted to allow him a job as the CNC's night radio operator and general runner, a job that Nigel had made no hesitation in filling. The boy's eagerness never failed to put a smile on Masa's face, as few people could share that same optimism in Tech-Com.

"I'm going to take a break. Have Lieutenant Conway take a look at the plots," he murmured as he stepped past. Masa heard Nigel's eager "Yes, sir!" but didn't acknowledge it with much more than a nod as he strolled to the other side of the room. Most of the other staff were equally as focused as Masa was, grimly attending to comm intercepts, map plots, and radio traffic. A solitary man pushed around small Risk pieces on a large tactical map of the San Fernando valley, representing current troop movements on both sides.

Masa blew air through his nose at the sight. [I]It feels like just a game sometimes,[/I] he mused. His men, and indeed himself, were nothing but pieces on a large board, both sides approaching and retreating from potential victory at any given moment, and perhaps the only thing that the Resistance and SkyNET shared. But how many more spouses, parents, and children would he have to send to their deaths before checkmate? One? Ten? A thousand? How many robots could SkyNET send at us before we were forced to toss out our pieces?

He took a swig of his coffee, watching the red footsoldiers surround the Golden Napoleon, gallantly sitting atop his horse atop Sector 12. Maybe this would be their Borodino, the battle that sent the great emperor and his great army reeling backwards, though at a great cost of their own lives. Whatever happened, Masa, as well as everyone else, knew that eventually the hammer would have to fall fast and hard. He just hoped that they would be remembered for it.