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Vi dressed in her uniform, aware for the umpteenth time that she wore more gear to go to her day job than Buffy ever had when she patrolled the Hellmouth. But there was a war going on, and just like the last time, the traditional demons in England were causing problems while humans waged the public, televised war against the Mimics.
They’d originally been labeled HETs: Hostile Extra-Terrestrials. Vi just KNEW Riley’s group had a hand in naming them. Unfortunately, nobody would be asking Riley or Samantha Finn anything, since their unit had been wiped out years ago when the second form of the aliens appeared. Now everyone just called the aliens Mimics. Vi really didn’t care anymore. Not since Xander.
Vi was angry with herself for letting her thoughts stray, and was very careful not to rip any buttons or start any seams. A cold-forged iron stiletto and a hickory stake were sheathed on opposite ankles, discretely covered by her trousers. Vi slid on her uniform jacket and checked the enspelled buttons that detected supernatural beings and enchantments. Her service pistol, belted around her waist, was loaded with Andrew’s powdered silver and sawdust-filled specialty rounds.
A woman in the UDF uniform of a first lieutenant looked back at her from the mirror with eyes damp from unshed tears. “Get a fucking grip,” said the reflection in the mirror.
Half an hour later, a very serious private opened the door to a small room in the Ministry of Defense. “Sergeant Vrataski, Lieutenant Johnson is here to speak with you.” The guard closed the door, leaving the two women alone in the room.
Vi focused on the woman who’d stood at attention when the guard announced her. The look on Rita’s face wasn’t the thousand yard stare Vi had seen on far too many soldiers (and quite a few Slayers) these days. It was worse. The woman was waiting to die, just going through the motions until the universe threw a big bad she couldn’t overcome. It was the look Vi saw in the mirror most days.
“Do I have something on my face?”
Vi almost flinched at the tone. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for a while now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do I have something on my face,” Rita asked again.
“I’m sorry, sergeant,” Vi said, the tiniest bit flustered. “I’m just...I’m here to interview you-”
“About the bloody battle. Again. That’s all anyone wants to do, is talk about the battle.”
“Look, let’s sit down and start over.”
Confusion flickered across the blonde’s face, then The Look was back. When both were seated Vi tried again. “I’m Violet Johnson.”
“Violet, I’m Rita. Everyone calls me ‘the Bitch’ behind my back.”
“Oh. Well, the newsies are now calling you the Angel of Verdun, if that makes-”
Rita stood, pivoted, and threw her chair at the window of the small room, all in one smooth motion. "AAAHHH!"
The guard burst in, taser up and searching for a target. He aimed in Rita’s general direction, as Vi was seated calmly at the table. His eyes flicked to the stamped metal chair on the floor next to the broken window, then back to Rita.
“As you were, private,” Vi said.
“But ma’am-”
“As. You. Were.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Vi was almost certain the interview was in vain. No indications from her enspelled buttons on her cuffs, and although the sergeant moved more smoothly than anyone except Buffy or Faith, she didn’t have the brute strength. Rita had perfect control and balance, but Vi doubted she could beat most men in an arm wrestling contest.
“Tell me about the battle of Verdun, sergeant.” And Vi conducted her interview, rarely interrupting, as Rita told her story. Vi listened to the cadence of the other woman’s voice, aware that the sergeant was becoming more agitated as she approached some crucial point in the narrative.
“That was when the lieutenant told us to extend out on the left to try and close the gap with the platoon on that flank. And then-” Rita stopped, tried to regain her narrative. “And the lieutenant-”
“Died,” Vi finished for the traumatized sergeant. “What was his name?”
“Hendricks.” And Rita looked stricken, as if she was unable to believe the name had come from her mouth. “He was annoying, always trying to crack a joke when things in training were rough. But he always encouraged us, tried to take our mind off the bad stuff.”
“He was your Xander,” Vi said gently.
“What?”
Vi said, “He was there for you, he kept you grounded, he made everything seem not quite so dark.”
Rita nodded. “I watched him die. He had a family, a new baby. He was so proud. And I couldn’t stop the fucking Mimics from killing him. Three hundred times.” The last bit was whispered so quietly that only Vi’s enhanced hearing caught it.
Vi looked at her notes to give the other woman a moment to compose herself. “How did you do it? You had no combat time in a LifeJacket prior to the battle.”
“Something...happened.”
Vi perked up. Had she made a mistake? “Were you ready to be strong?”
“What? No.” Rita frowned. “I just, I had this thing, and now it’s gone. I was badly wounded and then after the transfusions I lost it.”
Vi bit back a sigh. So the woman was not an overlooked Slayer. She was something else. But it wasn’t Vi’s job to worry about that so long as the person aided the war effort. The interview was over and Vi should just go. And open her mouth. “So now you’re just going through the routine.”
Rita’s face, so carefully earnest for most of the interview, now fell and tears started down her cheeks. “One day at a time,” she whispered.
Long moments passed before the redhead stood, followed a split second later by the other woman, who had finally composed herself. “Sergeant, if you have no questions for me?”
“Ma’am—Lieutenant Johnson—I’d really like to talk to you again sometime.”
“Rita, you can call me Vi.”
FIN