Sovereign

"It is a stark disappointment for the world. Strike Force 7 is failing in their mission. Reports of 344 dead civilian women had reached the ears of the observers on the ground. Operation Anchor might just be another one of men's failures."

- The Arcane Updates

---

"And she won't give a crap about me…"

The lyrics emanated from one of the parked HMLV's radios. Accompanied by the drop of electric guitars and drums, the marines inside the stuck armored car sang along to break the lull of the traffic.

"Cuz I'm just a nasty rat, baby. Yeah, I'm just a nasty rat, baby…"

One could ask oneself, what indeed was the idea of heroism? Many men had fantasized about the idea of being the white knight, and these marines were no different. Indeed, 5 hours ago, they were such gallant knights.

Now, they were cattle herders stuck with angry cattle.

The advance of the MN's armored convoys had been stopped halfway through. Traffic jams and rubble had clogged the roads. Verily, the marines at the ground could not do much more, and thus the sluggish advance.

The lines of refugees were unending. Many people were stuck in jams and lines as they attempted to pass through roads still spared by the battle. And to spice the fun day further, the roads were also currently blocked and jammed by the Marines and their vehicles that advanced forward.

Thus the situation turned into one of competition - competition on who would pass through, the refugees, or the troops.

"Just walk straight through the road and follow the crowd, ma'am."

"How could I know if you rats have secured that path?"

"Ma'am you can see our vehicles in…"

"A bunch of fat tanks on the streets is no indication of safety!"

"It's a secured zone, ma'am. I assure you."

The once lively atmosphere of their earlier arrival had also turned into a tense standoff. Marines consoled, aided, and tried to give directions to the lines of panic-stricken civilians. Such efforts usually ended in vain.

Civilians were too out of mind to discuss matters with rationality. Especially when the lines near the port itself had extended for kilometers already, almost as if they were herds of cattle awaiting a single artillery strike.

Many women had especially expressed their displeasure in condescending hatred at the all-male force of the 5th and 7th Marine Divisions.

All their lives, they had looked down upon men. Coupled with their comfortable upbringing and the civil war started by the men of their Empire, distrust quickly grew against these Orlish Marines as the difficulties of the evacuation set in.

"Look ma'am, if you just follow-"

"Timmy, enough of that. Get in the HMLV, we're moving!"

Private Timmy turned around at the sergeant's orders. The lady she had been conversing with turned red. She had been asking him where she needed to go to evacuate, which immediately turned into a calm and reasonable discussion about the alleged "safeness" of their secured zones.

"Damned rats! Turning around when a woman is in need!"

He ignored her as he rejoined the convoy. Already, the tanks and armored vehicles at the front had driven off, although it seemed stuck further up the road as rubble once again blocked its path.

Even so, he entered the HMLV (High Mobility Light Vehicle) which his squad used. With a grunt, he secured his rifle in front of him. A tiny squeak sounded from his right, which came from the girl they had found.

Fear seemed to emanate from the kid. The four armed marines inside the vehicle would perhaps be the last types to be expected of excellence at dealing with children, much less a girl with what seemed to be an extreme case of trauma of armed young men.

"Don't spook her, moron." Their gunner, Oakley, who had taken her, quipped from his stand. He boredly operated the .50 cal HMG affixed atop their HMLV. Timmy frowned and shot back at his banter.

"I didn't. I just sat."

"Yeah, your fatass still spooked her. Maybe don't drop too hard on your seat next time."

"At least I ain't no lanky ass like you."

"Shut up, the two of you." The two promptly ended their back and forth as the sergeant entered the seat beside their laughing driver.

The girl seemed to have curled herself in the backseat that she occupied. This meant that should the vehicle move, a fall or a squeak of surprise would be the outcome.

Oakley, noticing such childish stupidity, promptly reminded her with fatherly gentleness as he looked down at her for a bit.

"Hey, kiddo, do hold on to stuff down there. The car's gonna move."

Without many words, she held onto her seat as the HMLV drove forward - for a few meters. It thus proved her attempt to brace, quite pointless indeed.

A frustrated groan came from Timmy.

"Oh come on! We're stuck in traffic again?"

…

He slammed the desk with his fist.

"What do you mean they're sending them back?!"

Albert could not believe such nonsensical buffoonery. On the other side of the very line, Minister Adelaide tried to calmly explain the situation to him. To call such development dreadful was nothing short of an understatement.

"I'm sorry Albert, but no nearby nation would accept men as refugees. They announced that they don't want political extre-"

"These people are going to fucking die here! What kind of joke is this? We went here to evacuate civilians, not just women!"

"I'm really, really sorry Albert, but there's no other solution for this. The MN High Commissioner is also issuing another directive, so please, just listen calmly to this…"

"Oh, Minister Adelaide, I am very calm, yes." Evidently, with his shoes tapping rapidly on the floor, calm, he was not.

"They are ordering you…to block any men from clogging the evacuation lines. They want to further expedite the evacuation of women."

He laughed. He laughed and laughed as the other line barely spoke a word. It was such a massive joke to him.

"Minister, you know my troops are men right? And you're asking us…not only to abandon our fellow men, but block them from safety and separate them from women?"

"I'm sorry."

He shook his head, completely disillusioned at the mission given to them. Joke, it was no mere joke now, it was a circus, and they were the grunt rats that ran it.

He only had one response to such nonsense. Hate it as much as he'd like, but they were good soldiers. And good men too. Good men followed orders from the women…it was simply the structure of reality this order had.

Dripped in the thickest of sarcasm, he replied.

"Roger that, will execute with utmost grace."

"I apprec-"

He dropped the line rather quickly before she even had the time to finish. With a heavy breath, he turned around to Richmeister, who had stood behind him during the minutes-long discussion of their lovely screw-ups.

"You heard the lady colonel. No men are getting rescued today. And not tomorrow, nor the next day, nor the next next day. Nope, never."

Richmeister was the epitome of bitter calmness. Hands behind the back, with an expression unchanged regardless of the storm of fury inside, he merely made a grim nod.

"What about the men on the returning convoy?"

"...Make you sure they are vacated off the port in 20 minutes once they arrive."

"I'll make sure of that sir. Is violent force permitted?"

"You know what the answer would be."

The Colonel chuckled with bitter mirth. Truly, the epitome of men's global situation. Of course, that would be their policy.

"...I too, love being a rat, sir."

…

"We're sorry sir, but women and children only."

The Marines, begrudgingly, began separating men away from the lines of refugees permitted for the evacuation. The women could only look in momentary confusion at such a change of policy, but selfishness on a dangerous day would hardly prompt anyone to blame the ladies.

They moved on through the gates and the checkpoints, almost uninterrupted by the subtle atrocity beside them.

"Oh, evacuating women first? Well, when are we going to have our chance then?"

One civilian man asked in calmness. While one would expect rage and bitterness from these men, most promptly accepted their fate of being the last one out.

It was simply to be expected, anyways. The system had always demanded for men to the second, and to sacrifice themselves for the ladies. Raised in such a manner, the crowds of men merely complied and told their wives and children (if they had one) waves of goodbyes at the gates.

The marine however hadn't had an answer. Orders were simple, men would not be permitted. Nothing more. They had assumed that command was merely prioritizing women. Unfortunately, no one told them any such timetables to answer such questions.

With a grunt, the marine replied.

"We will have to wait for that, sir."

"Well, I see."

Hours passed on the sweltering sunny day in Ginzhu, as more and more civilians were shipped by the ships that arrived almost endlessly. That was when one such ship, strangely different from the other ones, arrived not empty - but instead filled with men that had evacuated earlier.

Agitatedly, the men in the ship disembarked. The message to them was a confused one. They were told that the nations they arrived in didn't accept men yet and that they should wait for their slots. Turned around at the ports, they were picked up by specific ships to be sent back to the city.

The Marines, with much equally confusing orders, escorted thousands after thousands of men off the port, then to the gates.

"What the hell is happening man? Why are we sending them back?" One agitated marine asked his buddy, as the two manned a terminal where confused men were sent to.

"No idea mate."

The men outside who waited for their turn to get in were even more confused, their minds filled with uncomfortable questions as the men that were 'evacuated' earlier were seemingly pushed away off the ships and the port.

The confusion slowly grew amongst their ranks, until the man earlier had enough of the nonsense, and promptly demanded answers from one of the marines that manned the evacuation lines.

"What the hell is happening?"

"Prioritization policy, sir."

"No, answer me, soldier boy. Why are they sending men back?"

"Prioritization, sir."

These scowls and arguments slowly grew around the zones that the MN controlled. Unable to confront the armed marines, most men began to leave the evacuation lines as they realized the futility of it all.

No, the world, and these marines and the Orlish Navy weren't there for them, they realized. No one was there for them. Not the MN, not the women who escaped.

Whatever riot Albert had expected, merely fizzled before it materialized.

…

"Finally, we're moving forward." Came the dry voice of Private Timmy.

It was already dark at night when the armored column finally had the zones they had advanced through cleared and secured.

The refugees were finally herded into proper lines, while the roads were cleared from debris and rubble. Checkpoints and small garrisons were also established, in order to ensure that the rogue squads or paramilitaries of the junta would not harass the refugees.

The girl beside them had so far stayed silent during the debacle, merely keeping to herself as they worked through the day. Currently, her eyes were merely locked on the civilians they passed through outside.

It seemed as though she hoped her mother was there.

While they advanced forward, it was still at walking speed level, the marines on foot outside almost advancing at the same rate as them.

At such a point, their vehicles acted more as a message of intimidation to the Junta than an effective means of movement.

"You heard the news sarge?" Timmy asked from behind. The sergeant focused on his radio, only gave a grunt.

"News about what?"

"That they ain't letting men evacuate?"

Oakley looked down as well, as he was still standing to operate their mounted gun at the roof. Men wouldn't be evacuated? Unsurprising to him, he thought.

"The world's just that way, son." The sergeant said, returning back to his radio. Oakley and Timmy looked at each other, and Timmy seemed angry.

"That was a joke right?"

"Timmy you know, if that's a joke, we men are the punchline."

"Oh come on!"

With great outrage, Timmy turned to the little girl. His blood boiled further.

"Oakley, look at this bullshit. We're helping these girls and women, and they order us not to help our fellow men? Why do they repay our kind like this?"

"Timmy, don't you dare blame the poor girl."

"I'm just saying, man! They're the problem."

The girl began to cry, which earned a groan from Oakley.

"Oh come on, you fucking moron. Now she's crying."

"Oh shit…"

And thus began the two's impromptu session of desperately soothing the young girl's cries. It only took 5 minutes, which was quite an impressive track record for two bumbling Marines indeed.

By the time they were done, the convoy had stopped moving. In front of them, the Marines had begun deploying out of the tanks and vehicles.

"We're here boys, get your rifles ready."

Their HMLV rode through the side of the convoy, while other tanks and vehicles split away in the main highway to continue the drive east.

For them, they turned south, and finally, the first bridge was shown in all of its glory. They could also see the southern section of the city. The battle had destroyed all electrical lines, and thus, the skyline of the skyscrapers over the river was pitch black, with merely the occasional burning buildings illuminating the skyline.

Their HMLV led the way forward, followed by other HMLVs and the tanks behind. They stopped when suddenly, massive searchlights opened up from the bridge.

There, what awaited them was the junta, their flags waving atop behind their sandbag positions, which completely blocked the entrance to the bridge.

Their driver stopped their HMLV about 20 meters in front of the awaiting troops of the junta, with those behind them doing the same as the Marines disembarked their vehicles in haste.

Their sergeant cocked his pistol before he turned Timmy.

"You, get out of the car. Oakley, if they try something stupid, you fire that .50 cal under my command. Go! Go! Go!"