*

 

The sound of heavy boots echoes in the assembly hall. Thousands of soldiers gather, a flock of red-and-white uniforms (the blue long gone; Jimin never thought he’d see the day he would witness the battle gear out in the open) and take their predestined seat with a deep thud. In front of a gigantic tapestry showing the Base’s flag stands lieutenant Min. This is the second time Jimin has been in this position, as goes for the other soldiers here, but he feels no more at ease than when Yoongi had first announced that the state of war had officially been declared by the Central Government. Why should he be? Nothing has changed. They’re still going to die – only now they’ll hear how. Maybe they will be put onto ships that are going to be blown to pieces, maybe they will have to go undersea. The truly unlucky bastards will have to die on foot. Jimin considers himself lucky there; at least he is a mechanic. He can’t be put to work like a soldier can, with guts and screams and tears and people begging for life.

 

The cadets around him try to put on a brave face, but Jimin can see through all of them. These past few days he has heard nervous calls through thin walls at night; calls that connect lines through entire galaxies, yet the fear in the caller’s voice is always the same. He has not had to make such a call himself. After all – Jimin has no family anymore. His was stolen away by the war; and now it is time for Jimin to steal away other people’s beloved ones.

 

Jimin swallows thickly. He tries to focus on Yoongi, busy conversing with another high-ranking officer, when a face he doesn’t know comes to sit next to him. Which is odd, because although Jimin can’t be bothered to remember the names of a thousand soldiers, he knows Jaemin is always the one sitting next to him on assemblies; the one he does his trainings with (they are, respectfully, 1566709 and 1566710). The person sitting next to him now certainly isn’t Jaemin. For one thing, he isn’t female.

 

A new recruit? At this stage?

 

‘’Hey,’’ Jimin barks, in lieu of a greeting. The black-haired boy, who was looking straight ahead, turns his head to look at him. He points at himself, questioning.

 

‘’Yeah, you,’’ Jimin nods, ‘’What’s your name?’’

 

He points at the three white stars on his shoulder. They are embroidered on the red cotton, a point the young boy doesn’t miss. When he looks at his own shoulder, he finds no stars. It’s a declaration of hierarchy, of submissive and dominant factors, and it makes the boy sigh in irritation.

 

‘’My name is Jungkook.’’ He grumbles, obviously not pleased with the attention. Jimin doesn’t doubt that he must be tired – nights with death awaiting you not making for much sleep – and perhaps he thinks it is no use to make any new friends at this time. But Jimin has never seen his face before and there is a suspicious feeling in his gut. He has learnt to trust that feeling.

 

Something is off.

 

‘’Jungkook,’’ he repeats, his tongue moving languidly over each syllable, ‘’how come I’ve never seen you before? Are you a mechanic?’’

 

‘’My name is Kim Jungkook, and I’m a pilot. I was transferred from the main base of planet Earth. Lieutenant Min personally requested my service in this battle.’’ The boy brags. He tilts his chin up ever so slightly, accentuating the wideness of his jaw arrogantly.

 

‘’He requested your service?’’ Jimin chuckles, ‘’And why might that be?’’

 

The boy turns his head back to the main podium, where Yoongi is almost ready for his speech. His eyes are small and incredibly dark; his pupils nearly drowning in a sea of charcoal black, and though his mouth is small and pink, his expression makes it so that he doesn’t look young. Jimin knows he must be; he can tell by the pubescent slightness of his body. The boy gives a little smirk.

 

‘’You’ll find out soon enough, commander.’’

 

*

 

The heavy wind rattles the screens of the tent, the live birds screeching and chirping away, letting their discomfort at the harsh weather be heard. A sandstorm is on its way; this Namjoon knows. The ship is waiting for them in the harbour, ready to be flown to the Base where Min Yoongi is waiting with the rest of their team. The tight marshal’s uniform seems to fit too narrow to his body after years of only wearing a loose professor’s robe, the stars on his shoulders a sign of really nothing at all. Namjoon does not know what he has done to deserve such a high position in this war, but he knows he is willing to die for its cause.

 

As he looks around him, he can only find more evidence of the fact: Eacraithne has fallen lower than ever before. Half-ruins of houses that people barely live in, clothes ripped and worn, youths with hollow orbs where eyes filled with delight should be. All this time at the Academy, he wasn’t able to do anything for those people. But now Namjoon will make sure his home planet will return to its former glory – or at the least a small fraction of it.

 

Hoseok stands a couple of meters removed from him, his wife clutching her handkerchief that has become dirty with the sand, her wrapping of shawls swaying wildly with the wind. Tears stream from her eyes as she stands quietly sobbing. Hoseok crouches down to his daughter, and clutches her little hand between his.

 

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