They can see how worried I am, he thought, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He paused, studying the lines on his face while wiping away some of the grit from his reflection. When I go out there, they’ll know. They already know. What good am I? I don’t deserve to lead them. Every damn one of them has sacrificed more than I’ll ever have.

He straightened the mirror, took one last look, and walked down the dirty, poorly lit hallway to his office. It was temporary, this command center. Used to be some sort of school administration building, he remembered hearing. Definitely no learning going on here now. They’d moved in barely a cycle ago, after a long, messy battle for this sector. Too many were lost to hold this position. What was that called?, he thought, Pyrrhic or something? He remembered reading about that back at the academy. Didn’t seem important then. A lot of things didn’t. He got it now.

It had been nearly four cycles since he was put in charge of this division, after the last commander got fried in a high voltage accident near Chicago. His field promotion wasn’t anything he wanted. He had been happy, relatively so, just keeping to himself and leading his old unit. The problem was that they had been successful, both in Chicago and later in Indianapolis, and this got noticed.

He got noticed.

The new division, under his command, really made progress. He trusted his direct reports and his non-coms. He stepped back and let them show their expertise, their experience. All he did was nudge them now and then, point them in the right direction, let them know when he felt they were on the wrong track. He insisted they do the same with him. He didn’t want or need a chorus of sycophants.

Yet now they were here. They were here in this absolute cluster that they didn’t create, bogged down between Indiana and Ohio of all places – and he was somehow in charge. Cluster-in-Chief.

He knew no orders were coming to pull back. Their situation was known up and down the Chain. He’d reached out more than once, practically begging. He had some direct contacts there – not many, but ones he thought he could trust. They couldn’t tell him anything. Or, maybe they wouldn’t tell him anything? It didn’t really matter, he thought. We’re nearly out of fuel and precision munitions. If they don’t get us support soon we won't be able to pull back.

“Commander Den!”, said a voice from back down the hallway. He could hear the footsteps coming closer, the pace picking up with each step. “Commander Den?”, asked the soldier, before entering.

“Come in, Lee. Close the door behind you.”

Lt. Commander Lee, leader of the 1st Reconnaissance Unit, supply chain genius, and sometimes purveyor of grey market electronics, served as the right-hand of Commander Den for the past seven cycles now. Lee, tall and lanky for his age, strode in assertively. He was reliable and creative, if a bit too earnest at times, and took great care of his appearance. He had seen Den at his best and at his worst.

“At ease, Lee”, said Den, switching off a monitor behind him and picking up an aluminum cup of coffee.

“We tried infiltrating their compound again. We got real close this time – right through the main gate, if you can believe it. We had Sal, Rev, and two others all decked out to look like more refugees. Had ‘em all armored-up, too, under all the rags, y’know, just to be safe.”

“And…?”

“And we got made before they even closed the gate! They have some sort of new detection equipment, something better than their old TD-40 mobile units. We can work around those, y’know?”

Den nodded.

“Sal and the other two got cut to pieces in the crossfire. Rev barely made it out before they closed the gates. She’s pretty bad. Said she got at least seven of them, maybe eight, before she was out.”

“Seven or eight? Really?”, Den asked.

“I think. She maybe exaggerates. I’d probably put it closer to four. Still, that’s pretty good given that she and the others got made.”

Den put his palm up to his face, thinking about anything he’d rather be doing than this, here. “Lee, this is not ‘pretty good’ – this is the opposite! We lost three. Their covers were blown. We totally screwed the mission. We’ve got zero intel aside from knowing they have a new way of detecting us. How is any of that ‘pretty good’?”

Lee looked down, not knowing what to say. Den knew Lee had always tried to stay upbeat, to look on the bright side whenever possible, and he appreciated that about him. Lee had a knack for staying focused, staying positive. But this was tough. Aside from that one win last cycle, they’d had failure after failure, after even more failure. If you don’t have the resources you don’t have a clear path to victory aside from wishful thinking.

Den missed Arch and knew Lee did, too. He didn’t think Rev would make it. He didn’t know the other two, not really, but Lee vouched for them. One of them was from Pittsburgh, he thought, or maybe Philly.

“I just meant…” Lee stammered.

“I know, I know.” Den walked around the desk and stood in front of his friend. Neither of them spoke. Both knew the situation was grave. Both knew they had to leave, but couldn’t.

“Coffee?” Den asked, handing him a dusty cup and motioning toward a cooktop. They could hear yet another mortar barrage launching outside, this time from the West.

“It’s bad, but the water’s still hot.”

“Thanks.”

They both raised their cups. “To Arch, and all of our fallen brethren”, Den said. Lee nodded and they both drank, trying to ignore the bitterness.