Daughter of Albion

“My dad once told me about the night my mom first tasted the bitterness of sorrow and confusion.

“She felt a deep sadness watching Freddy march off with the other soldiers ten hours later, just as the sun was barely peeking over the ash-dusted horizon. She was confused by the gaping void he’d left in her heart.

“Freddy had given a small wave, then turned and vanished. She’d rushed to the window, watching the tanks roll away down the winding path.

“By the time she returned to her room, she was crying. She knew she’d never see him again, and that tonight another would come and she’d have to watch him leave too. Every single night.”

The man rakes his fingers through his hair and offers a faint smile.

“Freddy never fathered a son. Neither did any of the other boys she bid farewell to each morning. Some nights, she’d spend hours talking to them.

“They’d share stories about their lives, their schools, their training. Some would teach her about their education, sketching out the shape of the planet on her wall, showing her where they were headed.

“One, brimming with excitement about his future, shared intricate details of the plans to attack the Chinese, who held the small city of Stanley, which was still, according to him, part of Albion.

“One was more fascinated with how bombs were made and bombarded her with questions.

“Some just wanted to know about her life, asked her about her education and her health. Some just wanted someone to hold. Some needed a shoulder to cry on.

“She never told anyone about the boys who cried. She cried with them. There were pilots, foot soldiers, marines, specialized forces…she met them all. And she fell for them all, every night.

“The thing to understand about the physical relationship between two Perfects is that they were raised with mutual respect. Boys and girls were brought up the same way.

“Creating life was a sacred experience, a duty to their nation. There was only profound tenderness. The boys were taught to ensure the girls always felt safe and secure.

“The girls were taught to make sure the boys also felt safe and to give them something to dream about, months from now, when they’d be fighting Foreigners on foreign soil, so far from home.

“My mom was only happy when she made them smile. They were happy when they saw her eyes sparkle as they told their stories, when they thought of her, belly full of Perfect baby.

“They left her, thinking only of protecting her and their potential child. From an outsider’s perspective today, it seems horrific. To them, it was the highest form of showing tenderness and love. Everything was shared between them.

“When my mom woke up two weeks after her arrival, she discovered her sheets were stained with blood.

“For a week she was confined to her room, allowed to come down to eat and work, but not allowed to leave while the soldiers were in the establishment. When her period ended, she was allowed out again.

“At the same time, Beth found out she was pregnant and was immediately whisked away to a nursery. Being left alone might have scared some girls, made them think they were Defective, but it just made my mom sad.

“A month later, when her period returned, she stayed in her room, worked harder in the workshop and thought of the boys she’d met and lost. She found comfort in new friends, talking with the older girls who’d already had babies.

“One morning, she laid in bed, watching her window as the soldiers drove off. The soldier who had left was Archie.”

“He was very energetic, intense in his desire to know about her, passionate about his friend James, and a master at making wild faces.

“He’d spent half the night bouncing on her bed, telling her wild stories about him and James getting into trouble at school and of his dreams to be a Master.

“She thought of his wild laughter as she rolled over in bed and let her heavy eyelids droop. It was late morning by the time she woke up again and made it downstairs to the dining room.

“The curtains were drawn back, and a pale sun lit up the gray room. All of the other girls had already eaten and moved off to their workshops on the top floor.

“You see, they didn’t have strict schedules in the establishments. As long as they stayed healthy, they could do as they pleased. And what pleased them was to help their country make weapons.

“She was picking at the bitter lettuce leaves, revolted by the smell of the strawberries that had been set out, when a siren pierced the air. Sirens always served the same purpose; they’re a warning, a warning before death.

“The last time my mom had heard the sirens was when a bomb exploded near her school a few years before. A whole class of girls just a little older than her were exposed to the fumes outside and had to be disposed of.

“Since she was little, she was programmed to fear sirens because most of the time, when a bomb was dropped, there was no hope of survival.

“Though they were well hidden in the gray land, sirens meant that the enemy had discovered a school or an establishment and that they would kill everyone inside.

“The point of this war, no one really remembered anymore. No one knew, but they weren’t fighting for territory, they were fighting to be the last people alive.

“A Perfect soldier’s true purpose was to kill as many as he could before someone killed him. The point was to annihilate the enemy completely.

“Though the Asian alliance knew that establishments, schools, and nurseries were the home of the women and children, they felt no guilt in destroying them.

“Women were in fact the main targets during the war because they were the ones making more soldiers, creating life, when the point was to destroy life.

“Establishments were, therefore, the most sought out by the enemies. Establishments were life, new life, every day. They were the core of the war.

“If the establishments were all destroyed, the alliance could annihilate all the Perfect soldiers in a matter of weeks. There wouldn’t be any more replacements.

“That was why the girls, though locked up in schools, establishments, and nurseries their whole lives, were in fact the most important part of the war. They, above all Masters and soldiers, had to survive.

“Because they, with only one surviving man, could create a new army.

“Upon hearing the sirens, my mom was very efficient. She had been trained, drilled for it since she was a small child. She flew out of the room and toward the basement.

“Every school, every institution, every nursery has a garden bunker in the basement. It’s a place where people can survive for months, waiting for rescue.

“My mom was halfway down the stairs when the first missile hit. The ground shook, the air split with the sound, and she was knocked to her knees, her head spinning. She couldn’t tell which way was up.

“Blinking, she realized she was still on the basement stairs, that the walls around her were still standing. She hadn’t been exposed to the toxins outside.

“When she got back on her feet, she heard the screams. But they weren’t coming from the bunker below her, they were coming from above. From the workshop on the third floor. She hesitated on the stairs.

“Her training told her to save herself first. Especially since she could already be pregnant with a Perfect child.

“The screams sounded again. She gritted her teeth, picked up her skirts, and ran back upstairs, even as the bombs kept falling.

“The curtains had been pulled open, and as she ran through the hallways, she caught sight of a large green plane circling in the sky. She’d never seen an enemy plane before, but she knew what they looked like.

“The plane had a long, flat nose and long arching wings, a thin body, which meant not a big crew, but it was full of bombs. On the tail, arching into the sky, was a big red sun. Japan.

“It was a Japanese warplane. The Japanese, my mom knew, were Albion’s fiercest enemy.

“My mom found the staircase leading to the third floor. She saw that the first bomb had caused a large piece of the ceiling to fall, blocking the exit from the workshop.

“She heard screams from inside, pounding against the door. Ignoring her instincts to save herself downstairs, she started pulling at the debris in front of the door.

“She heard the warplane circling above, the siren still echoing in the air, and the sound of more planes arriving. They were Albion planes; my mom recognized the gray bodies and phoenixes rising from the ashes.

“A small spark of hope started in her heart, and she pulled at the debris more fiercely. She could see the Albion planes chasing the Japanese one in circles, but the Japanese kept dropping their bombs.

“Another bomb landed close to the building, and my mom was knocked backward. But she didn’t let it stop her. She pushed and pulled the plaster and concrete away and ripped the workshop doors open.

“The women poured out screaming. They were unhurt but terrified. They started running down the stairs, trampling each other. My mom fell to the ground and barely rolled out of the way of their many feet.

“The women raced past her downstairs to the safety of the bunkers. No one got hurt. No one was exposed, at least, that they knew of. A few carried bruises from being trampled, but there were no casualties.”

“So she saved them?”

“Yes, she saved them.” The man rubbed his hands together. “Do you have anything to drink?”

The journalist was somewhat startled. “Yes, of course. Please wait here.”

She jumped up quickly and raced into her kitchen, where dirty dishes filled the sink. She’d insisted on doing the interview the moment he showed up at her doorstep and hadn’t thought to clean anything up.

She opened her fridge and frowned. “I have a couple of beers or tea,” she told him, poking her head out of the kitchen.

He smiled at her. “A beer would be lovely, thanks.”

She nodded and opened two beers, poured them into two mugs, and brought them back into her living room. He arched his brows as she handed him the mug of beer.

“There were no clean glasses,” she murmured, sitting down across from him again.

“No worries.” He took a sip, then leaned back further in his seat, smiling.

His smile changed his face. His hard, angular features relaxed and softened. Deep inside, the journalist felt her breath catch.

The man took another sip, then set the cup down. She did the same and picked up her paper again. She hadn’t stopped her recorder, which was still sitting on the glass coffee table in front of him.

He looked at it, then up at her again. His dark, almond-shaped eyes met hers like before.

“Do you want to know what happened to the warplanes?” he asked. She nodded quickly. “Two of the Albion planes came down on fire and exploded when they hit the ground.

“The Japanese plane, however, was hit and crash-landed a little further off. There was only one survivor. He was taken prisoner. He was taken to a war camp a few miles away, deep in the moors.

“They tortured him there, but he never spoke. He never said a word. He could speak English, of course—that wasn’t why he stayed silent. In the end, they sent him to work in a factory with other foreign war prisoners.”

“What did they ask him?”

The man arched his brows. “I don’t know.”

“What about your mother? Was she rewarded for her courage?”

“Her courage? Clearing the debris, you mean? Of course not. I’m not sure she even told anyone she did that. To her, it wasn’t an act of bravery, it was an action for Albion.

“She disobeyed her training to save herself. It wasn’t something she wanted to boast about. The building’s generator had been hit, and the lights had gone off, even inside the bunker.

“They waited in the dark for a few hours only. Masters arrived and sealed the building. It hadn’t been badly hit. Then they brought the girls back up from the bunkers, and they all grouped in the main hall.

“The girls laughed and cried, happy to be alive and grateful to the Masters who had saved them all.

“The Masters told them about the bravery of the soldiers in the planes who had gone down and the brutal deaths of the enemy that they had caused. The girls loved hearing such news.

“That night, the Masters decided to stay the night to keep the women safe.”