“Forces of the Kusari Reclamation Government folds during the defense of Harkamal against combined MN forces. Reportedly, soldiers who previously served under the Kusari Empire are now facing off against their Empress’ troops, pressed and armed into service by the Kusari Reclamation Government and the occupying CFN forces. However, morale and equipment quality are suspectedly low, and the battle of Harkamal, which lasted only eighteen hours demonstrated that. The assaulting forces, made up of the Orlish 3rd KDU and 6th Marine Regiment led the assault, and are now finishing mop-up operations as two Asanaian armored brigades charge ahead of the city, chasing the fleeing Kusari and Larissan units that managed to escape.”

  - Geopol Press

  +++

  Empire of Kusari

  Harkamal City

  January 28, 2026

  6th Marine Regiment

  A Company/2nd Marine Battalion

  Gunfire petered out left and right at the street ahead of Oakley’s HMLV. He pressed on the trigger of his heavy machine gun, attempting his best to suppress the enemy troops hiding behind the shanty houses, their wooden and thin steel exteriors barely holding up against even small-arms fire.

  Down below, Timmy and Sergeant Higgs kept their rifles opening fire at the left side of their vehicle, while Jerry slowly drove their HMLV backward, attempting to get out of the enemy’s field of fire.

  Behind them, advancing while taking cover in the rubble, were the dismounts from their company. Other marines took positions at some of the buildings that overlooked the slum area, their rifles and machine guns raining down lead at their opponents. Within minutes, the Kusari soldiers resisting seemed to have had enough.

  Groups of them began fleeing the weak and vulnerable structures that they were hiding behind. ICV-24 Stryders rolled in, their autocannons ripping through the fleeing enemy soldiers. Sergeant Higgs looked at the situation and gave the order to Jerry—advance briskly.

  “Timmy!” shouted Oakley. “Give me another belt!”

  “Roger,” replied the corporal, as he stowed away his rifle. Oakley felt their HMLV surging forward, bullets flying at their thin armor on the random. He kept his head low behind his gun shields, as he looked down and waited for Timmy to grab another belt of ammunition. Oakley reached down as Timmy handed it to him.

  “Careful!” Timmy warned while Oakley slammed it straight down his machine gun, placing the belt on the case. Oakley gave a grim nod, before readying himself.

  More orders came over the radio—charge forward, their lieutenant ordered. Their platoon pushed ahead under the thick gunfire, while Oakley sprayed his guns at their front, and his left and right flanks, peppering the abandoned houses that they were passing through.

  He saw two unfortunate Kusari soldiers trying to flee one of the houses ahead of him, their backs already presented at their HMLV as they tried to cross the streets and hide. Oakley opened fire and killed both of them, the heavy machine gun’s rounds cutting their bodies to ribbons, their shoddy Kevlar armor having no chance to stop them.

  The battle came to a close as two L?we tanks, EP4Bs of the Royal Guard, barged into the slum area, not giving any toss about the buildings they demolished as the behemoths plowed through it. Their powerful 120mm guns sang—and explosions followed. It was a hideous display, and the Kusaris finally cracked.

  When Oakley’s ammunition dried out, a white flag had been raised. Their radios were filled with orders about ceasing the fighting as Kusari soldiers finally rose from their defensive positions, hands raised, and without their weapons.

  It was another easy victory for them.

  “Goddess,” Oakley breathed out, as he collapsed on the seat of their HMLV, grabbing his canteen to rehydrate himself. With quick controlled sips, Oakley felt himself refreshed, before muttering an exasperated sigh. “That was a fucken long one.”

  Timmy watched as the dismounted marines captured and detained their surrendering foes by the dozen, many of them begging for mercy as the Orlish soldiers struggled to understand them. Timmy breathed out, clearly equally tired, before planting his rifle to the side.

  “Can’t say I disagree with that,” Timmy tried to laugh. “Damned bastards should have surrendered before we entered this area. Why even fight like that.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Oakley said, as he relaxed himself.

  “Don’t get too comfortable you two,” Sergeant Higgs barked. “Get out now. We’ll support our buddies at detaining these fuckers.”

  “Rog, sarge,” Oakley and Timmy tiredly replied, before opening the side doors of their HMLV. They followed Sergeant Higgs outside, as they began rounding up the roughed-up Kusaris. They were, like the last group of Kusaris they encountered, in deplorable conditions.

  Many were malnourished, their clothes tattered and old. Some didn’t even wear vests, but instead, they only had simple steel plates, shoddily made, and probably more of a liability than protection. Within a few minutes, Oakley was standing guard in front of a wall where the Kusari soldiers were made to face off.

  With his rifle aimed low, he watched as Sergeant Higgs and another NCO (Non-Commissioned Officer) checked on the Kusari soldiers, patting their shoddy uniforms and clothing to check for anything suspicious. When they were done, the cleared Kusaris were allowed to get out and line up with the rest, who were marched out of the battlefield.

  The minutes dragged on, while members of the Royal Guard watched from behind on top of their tanks and vehicles, which were parked at the side. Oakley glanced sometimes at the young women watching them, many staring at them disapprovingly as they roughed up the Kusaris.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  They don’t understand.

  In these fields, even those who surrendered couldn’t be so easily trusted. Even Timmy shouted at one particularly shifty Kusari trooper who emerged from the rubble, the “man” clearly not even an adult yet as he placed his rifle on the road.

  “I bet you’re hiding a grenade over there or something!” accused Timmy, as he pointed his gun at the trousers of the Kusari soldier. “Strip down now!”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “I said strip down!” Timmy stopped, as he felt Oakley place his hand on his shoulder. “What are you—”

  “Stop it, man,” Oakley said. “The ladies are watching. Besides, this guy’s spooked already. I’ll check him myself.”

  “What? That’s dangerous, and who cares about what they think of us?”

  “Shut up,” Oakley said. “We gotta keep our honor intact sometimes, Timmy.”

  Oakley approached and began patting the Kusari soldier’s clothing, feeling for any metal that might be on him. When he was clear, Oakley gestured for the man to join the lines of surrendered Kusari soldiers. The young soldier nodded gratefully at Oakley for his mercy, before moving forward.

  “See,” Oakley turned to Timmy. “It’s not so hard, man.”

  “Sure,” Timmy groaned as he shook his head. “If that’s what you think so.”

  +++

  The night soon fell in the Kusari city, yet gunfire could still be heard from its other, uncleared districts. While there wasn’t any ongoing pitched battle anymore, the fight for the city still seemed to be far from over.

  Regardless, Oakley’s platoon finally found themselves awarded the right to rest for a while, parked at a nicer subdivision of the city. There were barely civilians around the area, and those that were in the subdivision hid behind their family homes, only watching cautiously through their windows.

  Oakley on the other hand prepared a two rations on his hand. Walking through the streets, he tried to find someone that he could barter with, as the two rations he had was the same damned meal he had been eating for two days straight already.

  That was when he ran to a familiar tank. He remembered that he had seen it earlier during the fight in the slums.

  Is that…Captain Lurois’ tank?

  Their unit participated in the assault on the city, but Oakley wasn’t expecting this, that they fought together this time again.

  “Hey!” someone called out from below. It was a woman, her hair light pink in color, and her face that of the youthful brightness of someone fresh out of high school. He remembered her to be Captain Lurois’ gunner, but he hadn’t remembered her name exactly. “I think I know you, you’re…Corporal Oakley Fried?”

  Oakley looked around, noticing that no one was near their tank except for this woman. So she must be guarding it for now. Then, he turned to her and cautiously nodded, his instinctual reaction of shrinking in the presence of a lady reacting out of his control.

  “I am…I’m surprised you remember me,” Oakley replied. “I think I remember you guys back then at Lieplatz.”

  “Right,” the young woman’s eyes beamed brightly. “I’m Corporal Freya Blum by the way, I operate the gun of our tank. I think I saw your HMLV earlier during the fight at the slums.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah,” Freya nodded. “You guys also charged through that thick gunfire like it was nothing. How do you even do that when you’re in a thin-skinned HMLV? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  Oakley chuckled awkwardly.

  “Our HMLV is up-armored, you know,” he replied. “Besides, it’s war. We always charge forward to face death. That’s our job.”

  “...I guess you’re right,” Freya nodded. She curiously eyed the rations that Oakley was holding. “Actually, what are you doing with that, walking around the streets, carrying those? Are you bringing it to your team?”

  “This? Uh, no,” Oakley shook his head. “I’m just going to go to those guys over there to trade with them.”

  He pointed at a group of marines playing cards and drinking right beside two parked HMLVs. Freya looked at them, before nodding.

  “Ah, I see, bartering,” Freya said. “Actually! I might have something.”

  “Something?” Oakley watched as Freya suddenly climbed her tank, before entering their turret’s hatch. “Uh, hey, if you have one, sure, but make sure it’s a full meal I can eat. I’m not trading this for sweets!”

  A muffled voice replied.

  “Noted!”

  “Right,” Oakley awkwardly backed off, looking back down at his ration. It was nothing but old boring meals, pork sausage on gravy. That sounded better outside, but it was essentially not even real meat, and it was exactly why Oakley wanted to hopefully trade two of them for one better meal.

  Still, for a woman from the Royal Guard to trade with me. Oakley was bewildered. That’s strange…

  Freya emerged from her tank, carrying a white pouch with her. She climbed down her tank, before presenting it to Oakley. The first thing that caught his eye was its different packaging, alongside the insignia on it. It was of course special supplies for the Royal Guard.

  “Here,” Freya smiled. “It’s Rebenslof-style chicken soup with peas. It’s one of my favorites, and very nutritious too. I swear by its quality.”

  Oakley eyed it suspiciously.

  “Does that have real meat?” he cautiously asked.

  Freya tilted her head to the side.

  “Don't those pouches have real meat too?” she asked, bewildered.

  “These in particular don’t. The sausages are obviously made with some meat, but…”

  “Ah, I see,” a melancholic smile took over her face. “No need to keep explaining. Take this then.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep!” Freya handed it to him, and Oakley graciously accepted it. She then eyed the rations on Oakley’s other hand. “Hmm, I’ll take one of those. I’ve always been curious about what you guys in the Army eat anyway.”

  “Marines,” Oakley corrected, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “I’m a marine.”

  “Oh, yeah!” Freya laughed as she took Oakley’s ration. “I forgot. Sorry, I was being silly there. Anyhow, thanks for this, Corporal Fried.”

  “Thanks too,” Oakley said, looking at the white pouch given to him. “You can take two for this since yours is of higher quality.”

  “Nah,” she waved him off. “Trade it with those guys. I’m fine.”

  So they can be so kind at times…

  Oakley finally smiled a bit.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Nice doing business with you, Corporal Blum. I appreciate this greatly.”

  “I’m glad to hear that!”

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