Survivors Chapter I:
The Mercenary

"Jammer"
Hulst Desert, Helghan
December 2, 2359
1120 hours

Harrison and I casually walked through the shattered remnants of what appeared to be the cruiser's mess hall. They seemed to take the word "mess" a bit literally, as the floor around me was littered with rifles, MREs, weapons containers (both ISA and Helghast), sleeping bags, and other miscellaneous crap.

Past the wreckage, I could see a group of about five ISA grunts huddled around a lantern like a group of kids at a campfire. Two of the soldiers—one of them a big, burly, giant of a man sporting a blue bandana atop his head, and the other a petite, red-haired woman with a handful of cards in her left hand—were locked in a game of Poker with each other. The big guy across from me was staring nervously at his cards and was trying desperately not to screw up, while the woman on the other side wore a cool, confident smile and paid more attention watching the other player's distress than at her cards. You didn't need to be a Poker expert to tell who was winning.

Suddenly, the large soldier let out a huge smile across his face and shouted, "Ha! I finally got your ass, this time, Crowther!" He threw his cards onto the floor and cried, "Four of a kind! Top that, bitch!" The soldiers around him were amazed at the impressive hand he'd just made, but the red-haired woman's relaxed, confident demeanor remained. "Not bad, Natko." She said in a smooth, Southern Belle accent. "You might even beat me this time." She looked at her cards on her left hand, and placed them on the ground. Instantly, the large soldier's proud smile turned into a shocked, disbelieving grimace.

"A—A straight…flush!?" He stuttered. The other soldiers all around him were just as stunned as he was.

"Sorry, sugar," the redhead soldier giggled, "But I win again."

"LIKE HELL YOU DID!" roared the large soldier. He rose and pointed an accusing finger at the winner and shouted, "I KNOW YOU FUCKING CHEATED YOU LITTLE LIAR!"

"You can think whatever ya want Natko, but I didn't cheat. I won. You lost. End of story. But hey, I'm always willin' to play you again if ya like."

"You little—I ain't lettin' you getting away with this shit, Crowther! Nobody cheats Shawn Natko!"

Harrison and the other soldiers ganged up on "Natko" and did their best to restrain him.

"Jesus, Natko! It's just a stupid game!"

"None of us could beat her anyway!"

"Want McClellan to have you shot?"

I wasn't happy with this sore loser's behavior either, so I decided to get into his face and verbally put him in his place. "Hey, man! Why don't you just back the Hell off!? The lady beat you fair and square! Are you gonna take it like a man and accept it, or just be a little whiny bitch about it!?"

"Why you—who the Hell are you, anyway!?"

"My name's Jammer, and unless you want a girl to kick your ass in a fistfight as well as Poker, I suggest you swallow your stupid pride and get over it!"

Natko's anger didn't subside, but he surprisingly still had the self-control to obey my warning and back off. He shrugged off the other soldiers' arms and walked away without saying a word.

Harrison rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment and sighed, "I'm really sorry you had to see that, Jammer. Natko doesn't act like that all the time—he just really hates losing."

"Aw, don't worry. Trust me, my sergeant acts the same way, and I had to deal with him for two weeks. I can handle guys like him and Natko pretty well." I turned to the around to the winner of the Poker game and told her, "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Oh, please." She laughed. "I ain't mad, hon. This ain't the first time I beat 'im, either. I get a kick outta watchin' him lose his cool. But yer welcome to play me if you want."

Harrison tapped my shoulder and said, "Hey Jammer, do you want to meet the other survivors here, or do you want me to leave you with her?"

"I think I'll just sit here, thanks. You go make sure that other guy doesn't kill everyone in this Goddamn cruiser."

"Sure thing, see ya." He quickly left and went further ahead in the mess hall. I sat down on a locked weapons container right next to the female soldier.

Up close, I could tell that something was a little bit…different about her. She didn't wear any ISA (or any military) garments except for a pair of old, tattered combat boots with the ISA logo on the sides nearly worn away. The rest of her clothes were entirely civilian: A set of thin glasses that emphasized her serene brown eyes, a pair of aged blue jeans, a thick brown leather jacket, and a light gray t-shirt showing a picture of a bulls-eye and bold text that read, "The only shot that counts…is the first one." It wasn't just her appearance that made her strange, but the way she behaved as well. Any ISA soldier (including myself and Rico) who'd survived longer than a day on this Godforsaken planet would've seen experienced things far too horrendous and damaging for one person to handle without going batshit insane. This woman seemed so…relaxed. So unfazed by the fact that she's trapped on a dilapidated cruiser on a hostile planet with a bunch of strangers (one of whom would've broken her arm for beating him at a Poker game). I was a bit worried by her cavalier behavior, but had no real reason to be suspicious. Yet. So I kept my worries to myself and let her begin the conversation.

"You probably heard it already, but my name's Jane Crowther. Been here about a month or so. Didn't think I'd see a new face here so soon." She spoke.

"Yeah, well, you can call me 'Jammer'."

" 'Jammer'? Now that's an interestin' name. I suppose yer some kinda tech expert, then?"

"A pilot, actually. E-3. Air and Space Force."

"Ahh, a pilot. Nice. We could use a couple more 'round here, since we only got two pilots out of the thirty of us, an' one's a rookie who can barely fly and the other's…well, a dumbass."

We both laughed at her joke, and I secretly enjoyed at the idea of showing off to the other two aforementioned pilots.

"What about you?" I asked back.

"Sniper."

"Sweet. Which branch?"

Crowther looked at me as if that was a strange thing to ask. "What d'ya mean?"

"I mean, what branch of the ISA are you with? The Marines? Navy? Special Forces?"

All of a sudden, the redhead sniper let out a huge gush of laughter, as if what I'd asked her was the most naive question she'd ever heard. When she calmed down, she answered, "You see, darlin': I ain't with the ISA. Ain't with the Helghast either."

Okay, not liking where this is going. I could feel my stomach turn into mush as I fearfully imagined what the sniper meant. I nervously asked the next question: "Then…who are you with?"

"I'm what you might call…a wartime opportunist."

I fumbled with her words. "A wartime opport—" At last, my worst fear had been realized.

"You're a…mercenary!?"

"Yep. But I hate the word 'mercenary'. Jus' sounds so cold and ruthless."

If there's one thing that we Vektans and the Helghast had in common (besides our hate for each other), it's our fear of mercs. See, with the Higs, we knew how to deal with them. We had training. We had combat experience. We had centuries of political, economic, and racial animosity towards them. In other words, they were always going to be the enemy, and we knew how to deal with the enemy: by shooting them before they shoot us. With mercenaries, you never know what to expect. Unlike the Higs and the ISA, mercs aren't driven by patriotism or a desire for victory, but simply a desire for money. They don't care who they fight for, as long as that side makes the pay worthwhile. That makes them far less predictable, as they can be you friend one minute and your enemy the next. Not only that, but I personally despised mercs for how they selfishly exploit war and death for their own gain. To me, they were like parasites, leeching on the blood of all the man and women they butchered to keep themselves alive.

I didn't want to take any more chances with this chick, so I cautiously reached down my right hip where my M4 Revolver was holstered. As I reached down, the mercenary laughed once again, saying "I know jus' what yer' thinkin, darling: 'How can I trust a merc?' She teased. 'They're all backstabbin' cowards. What if there's a price on my head? How do I know she won't turn me in to the Higs or jus' kill me right here?' Relax, willya? If I wanted to kill ya, I'd have done it already. Got no reason to, since we jus' met five minutes ago."

I wasn't satisfied with her answer. "How do I know you're not gonna try to kill me later on? When I'm off guard?"

"Come on, now, sugar. If I were to do somethin' like that, what d'ya think would happen to me? I'm outnumbered 30-1 here. My survival depends on whether 'r not I maintain everyone else's trust. If I killed you or any of th' survivors here, the others'd think I'm no better than the Higs. They'd have my ass dragged outside, put a bullet through my head, 'n leave my corpse for the Hig spiders. So relax. I ain't no threat to you. Besides, I ain't the one who's reachin' down for her gun right about now."

Shit. She's got a point. Though I didn't trust her completely, I reluctantly decided to trust the merc's words and took my hand away from my pistol.

"See? Now we can continue our conversation without pullin' guns on each other? So, where'd ya' learn to fly?"

I ignored her question and replied, "Don't go thinking that this makes us friends, Crowther."

"Come on! Jus' a minute ago, you had no problem sittin' next to me! Now ya hate me?"

"Even if you won't kill me, how can you expect me to trust someone who treats war like some kind of business? I know you're a merc, but you're also Vektan, aren't you!? How the Hell can you live with yourself knowing that you've killed people on both sides just to earn a bit of money? Where the Hell is your loyalty to your planet?"

Crowther shot me a slightly annoyed glare. "First of all, hon." She replied, "I ain't Vektan. I was raised on a minin' colony on Mars. Second, this war ain't as quite as heroic as you may think. Sure, the Higs' government has done some pretty shitty things the past few years. Hell, the head honcho Visari might even be the most dangerous war criminal since Osama bin Laden three centuries ago. But Vekta—at least its government—ain't much better than Visari or his senators. After all, it was Vekta's government that sent the original Helghans to die on this Godforsaken rock in the first place. Now, you don't haveta agree with me on this—and frankly, I couldn't care less if ya did—but as far as I care, the only thing patriotism n' loyalty are good far is gettin' your ass killed. I mean, yes, Visari's grunts were told all sorts of noble bullshit about how their planet 'is superior to all others' while many ISA grunts want payback for all the war crimes the Higs caused them on their planet. But in the end, where does all that loyalty and pride get 'em? Dead. ISA: dead. Higs: dead. Even the ones that don't get killed woulda' wished they had anyway, since they gotta live with all the memories of their friends bein' slaughtered. Well, they can have their little war—me, I'd rather not die in some forgotten hellhole because some asshole told me to. At least if I die for money, it'd be my choice."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! How could this woman have such a selfish outlook on this war!? Thousands upon thousands of ISA and Helghast troops had died trying to protect their respective planets, and this mercenary just says "screw them all"!? I honestly held far more respect for the Higs—at least they fight for a cause, even if that cause is to wipe out everyone on my side.

"That's what happens in war, Crowther!" I rebutted furiously, "If you were a real soldier, you'd realize that."

The redhead went from being slightly annoyed to outright pissed at me. "I was a real soldier, Jammer. If you weren't such a self-righteous bitch, maybe you'd realize that." And with that, our conversation had ended. I didn't mind being called a bitch; lots of people have called me that (hell, even Rico). I was just so ashamed and embarrassed of myself for making such an ugly accusation to her that I couldn't continue talking.

Crowther turned towards the large hole on the exterior of the cruiser and said, "If you'll excuse me, I gotta go find that idiot Natko 'fore he gets himself in more trouble. See ya." Crowther picked up her cards and weapons and walked further towards the bow of the ship.

I was left to contemplate her last words to me: I was a real soldier, Jammer. The more I thought of those words, the more my anger and contempt towards Crowther dissolved into pity and remorse. What the Hell happened to her in the past to give her such a cynical view on war? Was she an ISA soldier herself? Did she lose anyone close to her? Was it the Helghast's brutality that broke her, or the sheer negligence and self-interest of Vektan politicians? I guess I'll never know, and I don't think it's my right to know. I guess the only thing I can do is learn to accept that I have to fight alongside a merc and pray to God that she doesn't sell out this entire platoon for a little extra cash.