(Warning: Published for Proofreading; Read at your own risk or don't read at all)
. . .
Greissha Ricci made quite a stir on her return to the barracks. Different tables with different conversations dropped her name during lunch. The UIF soldiers hung up on her identity.
"Have you ever heard of something like," a curly-haired soldier turned toward his comrades. "If your comrades die, it's their fault for not being good enough, also your fault for not covering them better, and your captain's fault for not planning his best?"
The table with a group of eight soldiers spent their time recollecting some thoughts. They've read thousands of books just to get inside the UIF, trained for more than half their lives, and followed different mentors, but would never forget these lines.
"I heard that before," an Aussie soldier replied. With his right hand on his chin, and the other on his sandwich, he looked at everyone in the eye. "It's from Sun Tzu's Art of War."
A few groans begged to disagree.
"You're wrong. I can't believe you've never heard of her before," another soldier with a thick Italian accent replied. He stood up, hoisted his leg up to the bench, and sought everyone's attention. "The first ever woman to become the captain of Hiehr Special Forces said those lines. She's a legend in every military camp, and many said she was quite a beauty."
"Hiehr Special Forces?" the Aussie soldier asked, his eyes gleaming in disbelief. "The Hiehr Special Forces that I know of? The renowned Hiehr Special Forces?"
Another soldier chimed in. "Yeah. Rumor has it that she's currently working as a captain in the UIF, and I know a lot of soldiers who admitted she was the reason they joined the union. I don't know if it's real, but she made quite a buzz ten years ago after defeating numerous generals who were twice her age in combat."
While the others remained indifferent, already well aware of this rumor, the curly-haired soldier and the Aussie recruit expressed their amusement. Both were too engrossed in the story, their sandwiches getting cold by the second.
"Twice her age?" the Aussie asked. "How old was she then?"
The soldiers shrugged their shoulders. "We don't know. Maybe it was just a rumor. Twenty or something is overkill, right?"
They all reached a consensus, partially agreeing that everything was probably make-believe before going back to their food. But the curly-haired soldier just had too much to ask. He dropped his sandwich once again and sought his comrades' attention.
"Wait. To whom was she directing those words?" he asked. "Did she write them? Why would Greissha Ricci say something similar?"
They all looked at one another—the same questions running coherently inside their heads. How did a random civilian coincidentally utter the words only military men should know of? How was Greissha Ricci connected to this famed captain?
"Maybe she's been reading some military books in her spare time?" the Aussie recruit said.
The soldier, with the thick Italian accent, scoffed, his hand stuffing his mouth with the last bite of his sandwich. "What would a mere businesswoman find interesting in a military book? She probably heard it from our commander before. They obviously share a history."
"You're right," another soldier said. "I can still feel the tension from inside that room yesterday. They must have known each other for a long time to hate each other that much, right?"
Another soldier, obviously younger, with his blue eyes and blonde hair, leaned forward and beckoned for his comrades' ears to come closer. "Is she... our commander's ex-flame?"
The soldiers held each other's gaze in complete silence before erupting in waves of laughter. All of them found the blonde guy's speculation ridiculous, and as their faces turned red from laughing, he got red from embarrassment.
"A woman?" the Italian soldier scoffed. "You think our commander would ever give a damn about a woman? You're too young to know things around here, kid."
Every UIF soldier knew about Jinno Di Angelo's clear aversion toward women. He does not simply hate them; he loathes them and looks at them as if they were pests—disgustingly weak, useless, and troublesome. There was only one woman in every one million men in the UIF. Sergeant Garcia, for example, was the only woman on this base.
"Greissha Ricci, huh?" Lieutenant Kuznetsovsk, who had been listening quietly to this conversation from the next table, murmured to himself. "Interesting. I have to see this woman for myself."
. . .
Greissha headed straight to the commander's quarters after their operation. She was not gonna let her new perfume go to waste.
The commander was busy on his papers, obviously in a bad mood when she walked in, too distracted to even notice her thin fingers locking the door. Greissha ambled toward his desk; slipping a note over his papers with a mischievous smile on her lips.
"June 30, 12 PM at FH&Q Korea," she said. "That's where the bombing's gonna take place."
Jinno Di Angelo spared her no glance, his eyes still browsing through various documents. "You don't have to tell me again. I heard everything."
With a quick examination with her eyes, Greissha surveyed the commander up and down. For someone like Jinno Di Angelo, who had god-given proportions and physique, spotting a flaw was as easy as the day for Greissha. The commander was slightly slouching, his posture losing its usual gallantness and formidability. Something was not right with the commander.
Greissha went around his table in a quick motion to satisfy her curiosity, her feet stopping right in front of his swivel chair. With a slight tug, she turned his seat to face her direction, immediately earning a deathly glare from the paling commander.
"What the fucking hell do you think you're doing?" He firmly said, his willfulness fighting off his weakening voice. "Go away."
Greissha ignored him, her right hand going for his forehead while the other shook of his shaky hand that could have stopped her from doing a check up if he had even an ounce of strength left. The commander's icy demeanor would fool anyone, but not Greissha Ricci. With a hand on his forehead, it was common sense to assume he was having a fever.
"You're sick?" She said. "I didn't know devils can get sick."
Jinno Di Angelo aggressively stood from his seat, gripping on Greissha's arm tightly while staring directly into her eyes. His eyes were too honest for his own good, revealing his hatred, contempt, and pain.
"Don't you dare touch me again, woman," he said through gritted teeth. He pushed her hand away and took a step back, his body flailing from fever. "You're disgusting."
Greissha scoffed. With her arms crossed, she watched the commander massage his temples while barely maintaining his balance. "Just because I had fun?" She said. "Grow up man, it's 2024."
The commander walked like the undead toward his bed while Greissha watched him suffer, amusement plastered on her face.
"Get the fuck out of here," he said. "This is where our cooperation ends. Don't let me see your face ever again."
Greissha smiled, gracefully clasping both arms behind her back as she took measured, unhurried strides. Her steps mimicked those of a casual museum-goer, nonchalantly savoring the art before her. The masterpiece for today's exhibit was a devilishly handsome but pale-faced commander who was slowly losing his consciousness.
Her lips formed a pout; fingers twirling a few strands of hair in front of her face like a spoiled brat. "That can't be," she said with a six-year-old's voice, obviously annoying the commander more than his predicament. "You haven't cleared my name yet. That's not what you promised."
The commander's laughter amplified the coldness inside that room, his voice icier and more sinister. "You don't get to decide that. You're nothing here. Just a businesswoman who's suspected of coup d'état, and I?" He said. "I am the commander. I am the law."
Greissha's childlike smile remained—her face devoid of fear and distress as she pursued this role-play. Unlike what the commander assumed, she was not going to be a naïve little red riding hood with a wolf about to swallow her whole. Today, she was Goldilocks who she gets to feign innocence up until the last minute as if she didn't have any nasty trick up her sleeves.
"You're the law, alright… but not when you're sick and drugged," she giggled. "Did you like my new perfume? Senor Dado gave them as souvenir."
The commander's eyes went rigid, his face devoid of emotion but horror. His lips quivered, words struggling to form in his mouth. "What the hell did you do?" He said, his voice getting weaker and his breathing getting heavier. "You wench!"
That was his last straw before his knees gave out, his back falling flat into his bed. His vision started getting blurry, his head began to turn. From a distance, he watched as Greissha Ricci began to approach him with a devilish smile on her lips.
"I know you. I know you too much to know what sets you off," she said, her voice echoing slowly inside his head. "You hate fun, and you hate me. So probably, you'd hate to have fun the most if you're doing it with me, right?"
Jinno Di Angelo's breathing became more labored, his voice weak and sultry. "Don't you dare get close. I swear to the heavens—"
Greissha sat on the bed and leaned forward, pressing a finger on his lips. "Shh," she whispered. "I promise this is gonna be fun."
. . .