2042_POST-WW3 - GIRLS' FRONTLINE FANFICTION.

INSIDERS_14: END_OF_THE_DAY_.

"PMCs in Bolakos Theater"
May 7th, 2041

By the time May 7th rolled around, I was numb to the news of reinforcements. We'd been hearing about new battalions arriving, fresh faces ready to fight, but it never seemed to change the fact that we were still out here, grinding through the same war, the same battles. But when word came down that the Bersikan Federation had hired Marcus International PMC—the largest private military company in the world—it felt different. There was an edge to it, something that said this wasn't just another wave of boots on the ground. This was a game changer.

The PMC boys were supposed to arrive on May 11th, bringing with them the kind of specialized skills and manpower that we sorely needed. Advanced tactics, flexible response—fancy words, but I knew what they really meant. They were mercenaries, pure and simple. They fought for money, not for ideals, and that always made me wary. But I couldn't deny the reality of the situation. We were stretched thin. Too many of our guys had been killed or wounded, and the BMF wasn't slowing down. If these PMC guys could help us hold the line, then we'd take it.

Still, I wasn't sure what to expect. PMCs were a different breed of soldier. They didn't have the same camaraderie, the same sense of duty. For them, this was a job. A paycheck. And for us? It was survival.

On May 12th, things got even more complicated. We had just taken Kazanka, and the battle had been brutal—fortified positions, sniper fire, and streets littered with IEDs. As we moved in to secure the area, Alfa-Nokav Infantry Brigade confirmed something we had all suspected for weeks: the presence of Iranian Foreign Forces (IFF). The IFF had been supporting the Bolakos Rebellious Liberation Forces (BRLF) for months, but now we had undeniable proof.

We found their weapons, their gear—everything. The IFF had supplied the BRLF with sophisticated weaponry, the kind that could turn the tide of battle. The cache we uncovered in Kazanka was massive, filled with crates of AK-103s, RPGs, and even some ATGMs. It was a wake-up call for all of us. This wasn't just a local rebellion anymore. It was an international conflict, with foreign powers pouring in resources to keep the fight going.

The capture of Kazanka had been a victory, but it felt hollow. The war was getting bigger, more tangled, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were just pawns in a much larger game.

But amidst the chaos, something else happened. Something I hadn't expected.

I finally saw her again.

It was in Sofiivka, where we had set up a temporary FOB after securing the province. I had just finished my patrol when I noticed a convoy rolling into the town—G&K insignia stamped on the trucks. My heart skipped a beat when I realized what it meant. AK-74M. She was here.

I found her standing by one of the trucks, her crimson-red beret unmistakable against the gray backdrop of war. She looked the same as she had the last time I'd seen her—calm, composed, with those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through me. But there was something different this time, too. A weight in her gaze, as if the war had finally started to press down on her the same way it had on all of us.

"Borislav," she said, her voice steady as always, but I could hear the undercurrent of fatigue. "It's been a while."

"Too long," I replied, stepping closer, my heart pounding in my chest. "I didn't think I'd see you again."

She gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Neither did I."

We started walking, just the two of us, the sounds of war distant for a moment as we moved through the ruined streets of Sofiivka. There was so much I wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, we just talked—about the war, about the PMCs arriving soon, about the IFF. She listened quietly, her face thoughtful as I rambled on about everything that had been happening. It felt strange, almost surreal, to be talking like this—like two old friends catching up after a long time apart. But in a way, that's exactly what we were.

Eventually, we found ourselves inside an abandoned house, the walls cracked, but still standing. We sat on an old wooden couches, the air thick with dust, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to relax.

"It's been hard," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this."

She looked at me, her expression softening in a way I hadn't seen before. "I understand," she said quietly. "I feel it too. But we don't have a choice, do we?"

I shook my head, staring down at my hands. "No, I guess we don't."

We sat in silence for a long time, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between us. Finally, she reached out and placed her hand on mine, the gesture simple but grounding. I looked up at her, and for the first time, I saw something vulnerable in her eyes. She wasn't just a T-Doll, a soldier built for war. She was more than that. And in that moment, I realized how much she meant to me.

Later that night, after the day's operations had wound down, I was out on patrol again, this time with Sgt. Gromov and a few other guys from my unit. We were sweeping the outskirts of Sofiivka, looking for stragglers or any sign of BMF activity. It was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of silence that made you uneasy.

That's when we found them.

A small group of deserted POWs—Iranians, from the looks of them. They were huddled together in a half-collapsed building, their weapons discarded, their faces drawn with exhaustion. They didn't resist when we approached, their hands raised in surrender. I could see the fear in their eyes, the realization that they were on the losing side of a war that wasn't theirs.

We took them back to the FOB, where they were processed by BGF command. But even as we led them away, I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pity for them. They were just like us—soldiers caught in a war they had no control over, doing whatever it took to survive.

When I finally returned to the makeshift barracks later that night, AK-74M was waiting for me. She was sitting by the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over her face. I sat down beside her, and for a while, we didn't say anything. We didn't need to. The silence was enough.

"You look tired," she said softly, her voice carrying the same calmness I had come to rely on.

"I am," I admitted, leaning back against the wall. "Aren't you?"

She looked away, her expression thoughtful. "I don't get tired the way you do, Borislav. But that doesn't mean I don't feel it. The weight of all this. The endlessness of it."

I nodded, understanding more than I could express. "It's too much sometimes."

She turned to face me, her eyes searching mine. "You're not alone in this. I'm here. I'll always be here."

Those words, simple as they were, hit me harder than anything else that day. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. Instead, I reached out, pulling her close, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to let go of the war, just for a moment.

That night, we slept side by side, the world outside forgotten for a while. The war would still be there in the morning. But for now, all that mattered was that we were here, together.

And that was enough.