Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
By Portrait of a Scribe

"Only a truly awesome artist can make a realistic Pikachu from fried pancake batter. You must be a crappy artist."
-anonymous

Chapter 5.

2041 A.D. - RRTS Barracks, Twentynine Palms, California - 0500 hours

Three months had passed since Amanda had been inducted into the Rapid Response Tactical Squad. At the moment, she had expected to have it hard, being the only woman in a squad of men. She had been right.

Every morning, Sarge woke them up at 0530 hours. The team dressed, ate breakfast, and then at 0600 hours they drove out to the nearby Joshua Tree National Park in full gear and fully armed. Once there, they ran twenty miles along the various trails of the park for one to two hours. Then they headed back to the barracks. What they did next depended on the day.

After their morning calisthenics, the team always came back and lifted weights until 1200 hours. Then they ate lunch, after which they did one of two things: Either they went out to the shooting range, or they did some other exercise that concentrated on their survival techniques. Such exercises varied from swimming and diving, to EMT tech manipulations, to close-combat fighting, among other things.

They would do any of those things until 1900 hours, at which time they came back in to shower, eat dinner, and then get a little on-base rest before bed. Their curfew was at 2200 hours.

However, every other Friday Sarge held a sparring tournament, which the whole team participated in. No weapons, no armor other than their jumpsuits and flak vests, no holds barred. They paired off by drawing names out of a hat. Then the winners would fight each other until there were only two people left. They then fought it out, and the winner got some kind of a prize.

Today was much like any other Thursday, but Amanda had risen early. Dressing in the dark room, she crept silently up the stairs, careful not to make a sound, and went into the deserted kitchen.

Once there, she picked up the land line that sat on the counter, and dialed the number for her home in Missouri. Forcing back the lump in her throat, Amanda put the receiver to her ear. The other end was picked up after two rings.

"Hello?" asked a woman's voice, groggy with sleep.

"Hey, mom," Amanda said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice.

"Amanda!" Marie Halley exclaimed. "Wow, is it February 7th already? Happy birthday, baby!"

"Thanks," Amanda replied dryly. "How're you doing?"

"We're all good," Marie replied. "You remember that your dad and grandpa are flying out today, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Amanda retorted, a smile coming to her face. "Dave's been ranting about it for a month." She lowered the pitch of her voice and began to whine. "'How come they get to go and I don't?' 'Amanda, mom won't let me come out!'" She sighed, and talked normally again. "You know how he is."

"Don't I." Marie's voice was as dry as Amanda's had been. "Hey, your dad wants to talk to you, so expect to get a call to your cell later on, or something."

"Right," Amanda said slowly. "Isn't he there now?"

"No, he had to run to the office to make sure they remembered that he has the next couple of days off," Marie explained. There was a pause. "I miss you, baby."

"Miss you, too, mom," Amanda told her quietly.

"I have to go wake David and Mary up, now," Marie said, her voice soothing. "Could you give us a call when you pick up dad and grandpa from the airport?"

"Sure," Amanda replied. "Did you tell them that I probably won't get out until about seven?"

"Yeah, they're taking the eleven o'clock flight out, and they've got a layover in Frisco before they take a plane down to Ontario International. That's where you'll have to pick them up from."

"Right, and then they're staying the weekend at the hotel in Twentynine Palms, right?" Amanda inquired.

"Right," Marie affirmed. "Just pick them up whenever you can."

"Yes, ma'am," Amanda said quietly, smiling to herself. "Have fun waking up Dave and Mary."

"I love you, Amanda," Marie said gently.

"Love you, too, mom." Amanda glanced at the clock. "I gotta go, the rest of RRTS'll be up soon, and I really don't wanna have Sarge on my case for not letting them all know I was calling you."

"Tell them all I said hi," Marie said with a laugh. Amanda smiled.

"Will do," she said. "I'll call you later. Love you."

"Love you, too," Marie chuckled. "Bye."

"Bye," Amanda said quietly. Then she hung up, letting her fingers rest on the receiver for a second before she took a breath and turned to the stove.

"It's been a while since I had a good Missouri breakfast," she murmured to herself. Then she frowned with determination, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.

She would conquer that finicky stove if it was the last thing she did!

2041 A.D. - RRTS Barracks, Twentynine Palms, California - 0530 hours

Amanda had heard Sarge go to get the men up, and when she heard him ask where she was, she hollered her location down the stairs. Sarge came up into the kitchen a second later.

As he opened the door, Amanda immediately turned to him and saluted, forgetting about the spatula she had in her hand. When she realized that she had just held a spatula up to her forehead, she grimaced and sheepishly hid it behind her back with a grin.

"Sorry, Sarge," she said, chuckling. Sarge's eyebrows shot up when he saw her standing there, and Amanda wondered briefly what she must look like.

"You've got flour in your hair," Sarge deadpanned. The corners of his mouth twitched, and Amanda knew he was trying to hide a smile. "And what's with the apron?"

"I was trying to stay somewhat clean, Sarge," Amanda shot back.

"It didn't work too well, did it?" By this time, he was chuckling, though the volume of his laughter was growing by the second. Amanda glanced down at herself. Every visible inch of her was covered in white powder.

She looked back up at Sarge with a blank look. "You wanna try this?" she asked incredulously.

Sarge held up one hand, bent over with his mirth. "Fuck, no!" he gasped out.

Amanda's eyes narrowed, and a tic started in her right eyebrow. Wordlessly, she grabbed the ladle from her bowl of pancake batter and emptied most of the liquid off. Then she flicked the remaining white goop at Sarge.

It splattered across his face.

A stunned silence hung in the air for almost five minutes. Then Amanda smelled burning bread, and squeaked, turning back to the pan and rushing to flip the pancake that was on the griddle.

Sarge erupted with roaring laughter.

This was how the rest of the team found them half a minute later. Sarge was bent over, in stitches, with pancake batter dripping down his cheek, nose, and forehead, and Amanda was cussing like a sailor at a pan on the stove.

"Get off there, you dickheaded, mother-fuckin', sonuvabitchin' shitface of a flapjack!" she was shouting at it, trying to work a spatula under a particularly stuck-on pancake.

"Ya know, I dun think I've ever heard a girl cuss that bad 'cept when her lover pisses her off," Destroyer muttered to Goat. Goat just smiled. Amanda yelled with victory when she finally scraped the ruined flapjack off of the griddle and hurled it viciously against the far wall.

Amanda held the spatula out toward the defeated black lump of bread like a sword, her left hand fisted on her hip. Her eyes were lit maniacally, and she smirked down at the inanimate blob.

"Take that, you vile thing!" she crowed victoriously. "That'll teach ya who's boss 'round here, you stubborn-ass motherfucker! Ha!"

Then she turned, greased the pan again, and calmly ladled a few more dollops of pancake batter onto the hot skillet.

Aside, Hound was muttering to Indian, "Dude, she totally just went Shakespeare on that thing."

Indian just sniggered in reply.

"Breathe, Sarge," she drawled, "I'd rather not have to perform CPR on your ugly mug."

Sarge, gasping, reached up and wiped some of the pancake batter off of his face. "I oughta discipline you for assaulting a commanding officer," he choked out. "But, since it was only pancake batter, I think I'll just have you go pick up our new recruit after training today."

That got everybody's attention, even Amanda's.

"New recruit?" parroted Pug curiously.

"Is there an echo in here?" asked Sarge, voice incredulous. "Yes, we are getting a new recruit today." He finally straightened up and looked back over at Amanda. "And Corporal Halley will be picking him up."

Amanda sighed, and blew a flour-covered strand of hair out of her face. It immediately fell back down, weighted by the white powder.

"Where from, and when?" she drawled.

"From Ontario International airport at around 1900 hours," Sarge told her. "You'll leave the target range early, but I hope for your sake you can drive without getting road hypnosis, 'cause you're driving there and back tonight."

"Okay," Amanda said, nodding. Then she cocked her head at Sarge. "Do you mind if I pick up my dad and grandpa from the airport while I'm there? They'll be in at around the same time."

Sarge and the rest of the squad looked at her with varying degrees of curiosity and incredulity.

"Why are you picking them up?" Sarge asked, voice deceptively calm. Amanda blinked, and the blanched underneath the flour on her face. Her eyes darted from side to side, seeking an escape.

"Hey, uh, Sarge, how do you like your eggs?" Amanda's attempt to redirect the conversation didn't deter him, however.

"You'll tell me now, Marine," Sarge growled. Amanda sighed, and, to everyone else's faint surprise, looked at her feet, tucking her hands behind her back and scuffing the toe of her boot against the concrete floor. She looked remarkably like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"They're coming out to see me today," she explained sheepishly. "I was going to pick them up tonight after training, and we were going to go out to the bar and have a drink together."

"And why's that?" prodded Sarge, voice level.

"It's my twenty-first birthday today, sir," Amanda murmured. "I always promised that my dad, grandpa, and I would go out and have a drink on my birthday when I became legal. They're flying out tonight, and staying in Twentynine Palms until Sunday."

There was silence for a second. Then Pug rushed forward and pulled Amanda into a hug, babbling in German.

"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!" he said. Amanda blinked and pulled away from him, looking at Pug weirdly.

"Um, bless you?" she asked. Pug blinked, and then seemed to realize what he was doing, for he laughed.

"What I meant to say was Happy Birthday," he told her, grinning. Amanda chuckled.

"Thanks, Pug," she said softly.

"Yeah, happy birthday, kid," said Sarge.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell us?!" exclaimed Hellraiser, while Indian and Destroyer just sedately wished her a happy birthday, as well.

"This calls for celebration!" cried Hound. "I'm makin' enchiladas for dinner tonight!"

"Fuck off, Hound," Portman drawled, and eyed Amanda. "I'm gettin' some tequila and me an' sugar-baby are gonna have some fun tonight."

"Not if you wanna keep your family jewels," Amanda said, and brandished her spatula at the blond man before expertly flipping the pancakes on the griddle.

"You tell him," Goat said, quietly supporting her. "Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks, Goat," Amanda said. Then she flashed a look at them all. "Pancakes are in the microwave if you want 'em, and I'll have some eggs finished in a few minutes. Just save some of the fuckin' bacon for me, and nobody'll get shot."

Laughing, they all got out plates and tucked in.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doom or any of its characters. I only own the people you don't recognize.

Hope you all liked it. My favorite part to write was the pancake battle. That's totally something that I could see myself doing. But that aside... John Grimm will be making an appearance soon. I swear it.

By the way, if anybody knows German and notices that I've gotten it wrong, then please correct me. I was using Dictionary (dot) com's translator, and I'm unsure of how accurate it is.

Huge thank you to EnigmaticPseudonym for reviewing the last chapter. You rock!

Just to warn you all, I'm going on vacation for two weeks starting next Sunday. I probably won't have internet access while I'm there, so don't expect any chapters to get posted. I'll try to post one before I leave, but no promises except that I'll make up for it when I get back from my vacation. Figure that I'll get back on the 9th or so.

Next chapter will be posted 8-10-09, or thereabouts.

-Portrait of a Scribe