Chapter Text
Valkyrie stands in front of the window in her shared room in the dorm. The spring sun shines into the interior on the room. Early morning cold air is blowing inside. There is a certain beauty in the whole morning scenery. Valkyrie sees it, she is somewhat fascinated by the atmosphere of that early morning.
She sees the beauty in it, as it looks like the calm before a storm.
Amya Bellweather, the High Atlantic, the member of American elite of the witch society, despite being the almighty High Atlantic, at the end a very fine lass, is sleeping soundly on the upper bank of the double bed. She knows what a true leader of the Unit should do, and she acts and behaves accordingly. The biggest inspiration of all, being Jem Bellweather, the Lioness of Juarez, Amya does her best to give the best performance at every presented opportunity. A classical, opportunistic Bellweather, what else to except.
Bria Craven, a charismatic young witch, who excels in the witch art of Knowing, is sleeping on the bottom beneath Amya. She, despite coming from a matrifocal compound, at it has been a tradition for the entire Craven matrilineage since the signing of the Salem Accord, is not at all naive about what the Witch Army stands for and what it requires from all of them. She did not join in out of curiosity, but because of a patriotic duty which she felt for her country and the legacy created by General Alder herself in the year 1692.
“What are you doing up, huh?” A voice asks and Valkyrie jumps a bit as she does not expect any of the girls waking up as soon as she does.
“Hey, Bria,” she says turning from the window and looks at the sleepy redhead, who blinks and yawns while trying to focus on the fully awake shorthaired blondie. “I am very sorry to wake you up, Red. I did not mean to do such a thing. I just cannot sleep, y’know?”
“Of course, of course,” the red says, now somewhat more awake. “I am the one who listens to your either weeping or talking out of the sleep, it depends on your mood, I reckon. What are you doing up so early though? You haven’t had any nightmare, right?” She is right, Valkyrie suffers from a lot of nightmares, and Bria is the one who always helps her from them.
A year it is 1917, three years into the European Continental War, as the Americans call the conflict between the Central Powers and the Entente. America, however, remains out of the conflict, despite having one of the strongest standing military forces, both human and of the witches, in the worlds. The only other unified army to American Witch Army is the french L'Armée Des Sorcières, which is the only witch military force on the European continent. There are things such as material support of the Entente powers, or sending of, human, military advisers to the front lines of both Europe and Africa by the Americans. But nothing else. Officially, the States remain neutral in both European and African affairs of war.
She ignores the asked question. Instead, she speaks of something else. “Graduation is coming. It is closer and closer. Weeks away now?” Valkyrie states, unable to smile innocently. “I am sure we will graduate, we will go to War College and we will rise and rise in the Army. As a good patriot should.”
“I would expect such kind of speech from Amya, but not you,” Redhead says, chuckling. “Do you, maybe, aim to be the unit leader, instead of her Majesty?”
“Me? A shitty Healer? Not a chance, plus as you have surely noticed in the past year, I am a terrible leader. I love to heal people, however.” Collar says, with her hands slowly moving up and down on her long braided blonde hair.
“You love to play Goddess. I know it. Amya knows. You know it. Everyone does. You love to be the one to have the ability to cheat the death itself. I admire that.”
“There is not much to admire,” Valkyrie says, lifting the nightdress above her breasts, uncovering a nasty scar – a scar done by a scourge. She got this after healing of a fellow soldier during the second month of the Basic, as the girl hurt herself during the scourge training and there was need of immediate action, waiting for the healers to come from the hospital wing was out of the question.
“I know of the scar, Val. I was there, we all were. When the healers finally came, you were laying there instead of the girl. And they had you taken to the hospital wing in her place, as she was healed by you.” In the way of how the redhead spoke of the event, she was proud of her sister. Very proud of her. That was an absolutely reasonable thing to, in fact, once Valkyrie awoke from the long sleep in the hospital bed, she found herself in a company of Drill-Sergeant Christine Chavez and the Healer-Sergeant Rachel Bennet, who both saluted her proudly as a homage for her dangerous, yet brave action.
“It was a dangerous action,” a voice said from the upper bank. “But I am very proud of you.” Amya’s voice could be hardly even heard as she was talking into a pillow, but both Valkyrie and Bria heard her. “Just for your information, and my sake, graduation comes in a week. Try not to fail until then, we had gotten so far.” She continues speaking into the pillow. “Now, silence and go back to sleep again. We have a hard day ahead of us. You need to sleep, both of you.” Amya would say something more, but she did not. Because as she was about to, the morning bells began to ring the melody of theirs, the melody hated by every and all witch in Fort Salem. “Goddess!” That was all that Amya says in all the annoyance as she hears the terrible ringing sounds repeating themselves.
“Sorry,” both Valkyrie and Bria said in unison. They both feel slightly bad for waking their sister.
After a morning of listening to Amya’s complains about how Val makes it impossible for her to get at least a decent amount of sleep each day, all three of them carried on with their daily routine.
Morning field exercise. Breakfast. Battle seed sounds exercise. Scry seed sounds exercise. Healing exercise. Lunch. Every day, there was the same thing. Over and over again. Accompanied by constant shouting of the Drill-Sergeants, of course.
“If you really want to go to the War College, you have to show better. Much better,” Amya shouts as she watches her sisters performing the seed sounds of war, specifically wind-strikes. The strikes and more advanced offensive Works were a speciality of Amya, but if the unit wanted to get to the War College, they needed to show the best performance possible.
They all know it, but so too, all three of them knew that they are good at and at what not.
Amya is the just and righteous leader and a Blaster.
Bria is the cheerful sunshine, a realist and a Knower.
Valkyrie is a Healer, a Fixer, who wants to see the combat as soon as possible, despite wanting to rise in the ranks.
They are all different, in both the matter of their range of Work and the range of their Humanity. But that is exactly what unites them. What makes them who they are. The unit.
Day after day went by. Until, finally, there it is.
The Graduation day.
After a year, all the recruits who had gone through a year of Basic would go to the War College, and those who would fail the Basic are expected to be thrown to a meat-grinder that was there the petty wars, such the Separatist War in Alaska, or the still ongoing Mexican-Texas skirmishes, which had been going on since the middle 19th century when Mexicans tried to usurp the Republic of Texas from the United States, or the conflicts in Middle and South Americas.
These petty wars and skirmishes were not of huge importance, for the world, but for America they were essential. They were fought so the United States were either spared from spreading of separatistic tensions, as it was in Alaska and in Texas. And so they had naval and regional supremacy over all of the Americas, that is why they fought in Middle and South Americas. Those who failed the Basic would be sent to fight and die in one of these petty conflicts.
“Something is not alright,” Bria says. They are preparing for the Graduation ceremony, as the day finally comes, but something feels off. There is too much tension in the air. The officers of high command are behaving unusually.
Even Alder, from the small amount of time they notice her at all, seem off. Every time they see her, she is on an edge, angry, kind of desperate. Something is not alright for sure. But none of them knew what it might be. Later that day, when the total amount of ten thousand witches is assembled on the graduation yard, it is not a graduation atmosphere they all expect. Instead, it is dark, depressive atmosphere.
General Alder is standing on a small wooden boost in the ceremonial war uniform, with Biddies at her side, dressed the same way. In front of her, there are members of the War College, the General Staff, the Sergeants, the High Command of the Witch Army.
They are all there. Every last one of them wearing a ceremonial war uniform.
Behind them, ten thousand privates is standing in attention, waiting for commands. Faces of every member of the High Command are dark, quiet and without much emotion.
Everyone is looking straight at General Alder on the boost. General takes a deep breath, then she speaks. “I have just returned from the White House,” General begins, “Congress, under urges of the public after receiving news of five American merchant ships being sunk by German submarines, despite the ships being of the merchant class and the Unites States themselves being neutral to the European War, supports the decision of President Wilson to declare a state of war upon German Empire and its allies of the alliance of Central Powers. With an immediate effect, both Human and Witch Army are to begin transport to ports of our allies of the British Empire and the Republic of France, Empire of Russia and their satellites.” Alder herself speaks without slowing down, even once, she says it will the calm of voice which you would expect from her. She is used to such speeches, after the centuries of her life during which she had led witches into various wars.
But the same calmness is not present among the rest of witches. The young privates are scared. Some are crying, weeping, gasping. Other are whispering among themselves what to do, what to expect, how and what exactly they should tell their families.