Her instructions were clear. Kyyridh was to wait for the bombs, which had been carefully placed two weeks prior, to go off and then she and her team would sweep in and make five quick kills. Just five, and then they were to be gone. Anyone else who put up a fight was to be swiftly killed, also. She was very proud of her team, who took their five and then exited (though Rhuvon had run into a feisty one, whom he quickly put down and counted as the sixth) smoothly, calmly, and quickly. Normally she would offer them drinks after a successful mission. But not today. Though she was the lead for her squad, her [I]ipari[/I] was not taking orders from her. Not this time. Instead, a Taja was calling the shots. 

It was not the first time she'd had to surrender control to a Taja, nor would it be the last. Taja outranked even the highest, most esteemed Eija and had authority to swoop in to seize any number of hand-picked individual soldiers or whole [I]ipari[/I] for their purposes. And she always surrendered authority gracefully. But she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that his presence made her nervous. Undoubtedly, he would be reporting back to her Sila-Sol on her performance and she did not want to disappoint her Sol. 

"Kyyridh." The voice was cold, firm, demanding. It had every right to be. The Eija woman snapped to attention in front of Teyrvadin--the Taja overseeing this fragment of the operation--her chin lifted high and her knife drawn while the other hand rested on the pistol holster at her back, ready for command. "A count." It was not a statement, it was an order. 
"Six. We met only the one resistor. The rest were in panic and either fled or did not see us." 
Teyrvadin sneered and actually spat thickly on the rooftop where he stood, still surveying the wreckage he caused from afar. Black smoke choked the sky and everywhere the sounds of sirens wailed mournfully. "Pathetic," he jeered with all the hate he could muster; he was plainly not speaking about Kyyridh's team or their performance. 

The door to the stairwell opened and another figure came out onto the rooftop looking dusty and harried--much like Kyyridh. It was Oroban, the lead for the other strike team sent to do a similar task at another military outpost. Unlike Kyyridh, however, Oroban did not look so triumphant. Nevertheless, he marched up to Teyrvadin smartly and assumed a similar position as his peer: chin up, knife drawn, hand on his pistol. "Taja," he addressed him respectfully.
"A count." 
"Eight. We met...more resistance than we expected." 
"Mmm." The Taja's face was inscrutable. "Status of your [I]ipari[/I]." He looked briefly to both of them.
Kyyridh answered first. "They fight another day."
Oroban took a little longer to force his answer out, and in his hesitation Kyyridh noticed streaks through the dust and soot on his face. Tears. There was no other trace of them and Kyyridh did not ask about them. Oroban would not admit it anyway. But she knew before he spoke something had gone very wrong. "I lost two," he finally said. 
"They will be replaced, and their families will be notified," Teyrvadin said coldly, evenly. 
"And..." Oroban swallowed hard. "One of them..." He was visibly struggling to get the words out but he eventually managed, "L-lost his Ojih." 

The usually impassive, grim Teyrvadin rounded on him suddenly, eyes wide and fixed on the male Eija. "What?" The word came from clenched teeth.
"A chemical attack of some sort. Gas. It just...just..." He could not say it. He physically couldn't, so he instead put one hand in front of his face, fingers splayed out, and dropped it down as if to imitate something being wiped away. 

All three of them shared a silent space of horror. Kyyridh's success seemed empty and hollow as she watched her fellow Eija stand resolutely still and as blank faced as he could despite his obvious desire to either howl with rage or keen over the loss he so sharply felt. Oroban never once questioned his purpose, their purpose, as he thought back to the souls he'd lost. Even in his shaken horror, he remained certain beyond shaking of their mission. If anything, the memory of both his fallen comrade and the other more gruesome loss made him all the more sure that they were doing what was right. Centuries of disrespect, of exploitation, of arrogance--they would all pay for it now. Doubly so after what he'd seen today. He'd make sure of it. 

The look of disgust in Teyrvadin's gold-green eyes intensified. "These fools will come to regret that. They will regret it so deeply they will hang themselves in grief...Inform his family he is missing in action. Instruct your [I]ipari[/I] to speak of it to no one." 
Oroban nodded gravely. "Of course. Not a s--" His breath caught at the word 'soul'. What had once been such a commonplace expression now felt like a stab in the chest. He couldn't say it; he gave up trying to finish the word. Instead, he took a deep breath, straightened, and said, "Taja, I would like a chance to avenge my comrades." His voice was hard, sharp. 
"Granted. They will have begun to set up auxiliary medical centers to tend to all their wounded that will not fit in their hospitals. Find one. Burn it down. Do not wait for the cover of night. Go now and be swift." 

Oroban's jaw set and a vengeful sneer made the corner of his lip twitch, though it did not yet fully lift to a true snarl due to his efforts to keep his face blank. He hammered one fist against his chest and held it there despite the fact that it was still shaking slightly, then said, "For the Sota-Sol and her people." And then, swiftly, he was gone.