Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
By Portrait of a Scribe
"When we assumed the soldier, we did not lay aside the citizen."
-George Washington
Chapter 6.
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2041 A.D. - RRTS Barracks, Twentynine Palms, California - 1200 hours
They'd had a long run that morning, and Amanda could swear that whenever she took a step her legs were going to buckle beneath her. However, she was grinning as she fixed herself a BLT with some of the leftover bacon from that morning.
"Hey, Sarge?" she called out behind her.
"What?" he returned after a second. Amanda heard him swallow.
"I was talking to my mom and dad on the phone the other day," she began, "and we were wondering if it would be alright for the squad to come to Missouri for Independence Day this year. Mom and dad want to meet y'all."
Silence fell in the kitchen, and Amanda looked up to see seven pairs of eyes staring at her. She frowned.
"Whaaat?" she drawled, putting a hand on her hip. "Did you all really think my family wouldn't care about who I live and work with?" Amanda shook her head. "They've only talked to you guys on the phone. They like you from what they've heard, and they wanna meet the guys who are practically becoming my extended family."
"They really want to meet us?" asked Pug, his sapphire eyes wide.
"Even me?" asked Portman. A leer formed on his face. "Aww, that's sweet! I'm gonna meet my in-laws!"
Amanda snarled, her hand going to the KA-BAR at her hip.
"For the last time today, Portman, I am not going to fuck with you!" Amanda spat viciously. Hound rocked backwards, holding his hands up.
"Whoa, I think she's fucking serious, man!" he exclaimed, his Mexican accent popping out.
"Damn fucking right, I am!" Amanda snapped. "I've had enough of your shit for today, Portman!"
"Enough!" barked Sarge. Amanda growled, but backed down. "Portman, you will shut the fuck up. And Halley, you will take your sandwich and head out to the firing range, right now. Bring your sniper rifle, you're going to break that baby in."
Amanda grumbled, but grabbed her sandwich and stalked out of the kitchen.
"Some fuckin' shitty birthday this is," she muttered as she passed Goat and took a bite of her sandwich. He cast her a reassuring look.
"I would like to meet your family," he said to her, voice quiet. Amanda paused in the doorway.
"T'anks, Goat," she said around her mouthful. Then she was gone.
Silence reigned for a second. Then Sarge spoke.
"Anyone who wants to take her up on her offer for Independance Day is free to do so," Sarge said. "You've all got a four-week leave scheduled for July, anyway."
Whoops echoed throughout the kitchen as the men began to make plans.
Amanda, meanwhile, had retrieved her sniper rifle and submachine gun, and was heading out to the firing range with the firearms slung over her shoulder. She polished off her sandwich as she neared the area, and then entered the shooter's shelter at the near end of the range. Sighing, Amanda put her comm piece in her ear and switched it on from the unit at her hip.
"Sarge, I'm at the range," she said, knowing that it would broadcast over the team comms that the rest of the squad always carried in their belt pouches. There was a second of radio silence, and then Amanda heard Sarge put his earpiece in.
"Sight 'er in, then," he said.
"Yessir," she mumbled frostily. Sighing heavily, Amanda set her submachine gun down to her side and set up her sniper rifle's bipod. She attached the scope, and then laid prone on the ground behind it, loading a round into the chamber.
"You want the silencer on, Sarge?" she asked.
"Just shoot the damn gun, Marine," he growled in response. Amanda rolled her eyes, and then sighted up the target that was posted at the opposite end of the range, approximately two-hundred-fifty yards away.
Amanda focused herself, slowly blocking out everything but that little black dot in her scope, a bullseye painted on the forehead of a crash dummy. She took a moment to guage wind direction and speed, the slope of the earth stretching between her and her target. She breathed slowly, in, out, in, out, in-
Amanda held her breath and squeezed the trigger.
"Fuck!" The report blasted her eardrums so badly that they rang for a few seconds, and she swore violently at the loud noise. She hurriedly reloaded the rifle, the shell of the last round falling to the ground. Amanda couldn't hear its clinking over the ringing in her ears, but she knew that the sound was there.
A few seconds passed, and gradually she found that she was able to hear properly again. In her ear, Sarge was swearing at her, and she could hear various cuss words coming from her teammates.
"Amanda, answer me, goddamn it! Report!" Sarge shouted.
"Sorry, Sarge, my ears were ringing," Amanda explained, some discomfort in her voice. "I couldn't hear you."
"What happened?"
Amanda looked down the sight to the target.
"Let's see," she muttered. Then she caught sight of her handiwork, and raised her eyebrows with a low, appreciative whistle.
"Well?"
"Sarge, I think you should come see this," Amanda said, her excitement showing through in her voice. "This thing blew a fucking hole in this target the size of a fucking canteloupe."
"How accurate was it?"
"Pretty fucking accurate, sir," she replied. "Scope's calibrated to about a tenth of an inch. I hit the target just barely off-center, but the hole's so fucking big that it's a wonder there's even any target left."
"Damn."
"I second that."
It took the squad another five minutes to get out to the range. By that time, Amanda had gone down to replace the crash dummy. She was halfway back when they arrived, and jogged the rest of the way to them, the disembodied head clutched in one hand, her rifle and submachine gun slung over her shoulders.
Amanda reached them, and held out the dummy's head to Sarge while the squad clustered around him to inspect the damage.
Sarge's eyebrows shot upward.
"You weren't fucking kidding," he stated, turning the head over and over in his hands. The front of the dummy was relatively clean, but the whole of the cranial cavity and part of what represented the frontal bone had been completely obliterated. The entry 'wound' was, as Amanda had said, only slightly off-center from the black circle painted on the dummy's forehead.
"Well, I think I just figured out your nickname," Indian announced suddenly. Everybody turned to him, and Amanda held her breath slightly, her heart pounding.
"Really?" she asked. This was the moment of truth, when she would be fully accepted into the squad.
"Tank," Indian stated. "Your nickname is Tank."
Amanda blinked, and then stared blankly at him. "Tank?" she repeated incredulously.
"You're practically our heavy artillery," Indian elaborated. "Tanks are heavy artillery. So, you're Tank."
"It kinda fits," Hound admitted. Amanda sighed.
"Tank it is, then," she muttered.
"Well, 'Tank'," Sarge said to her. She looked up and met his glare blankly. "I wanna see you repeat that fucking shot, with similar results."
Amanda, now Tank, saluted. "Sir!" she exclaimed.
Then she got down and did it again.
2041 A.D. - Ontario International Airport, Ontario, California - 1850 hours
Amanda "Tank" Halley parked the black RRTS humvee in a spot right outside of the atrium where she was supposed to meet the new recruit, and killed the engine. Then she pulled out her PDA and dialed her dad's cell number.
He picked up after three rings, his voice jovial.
"Hey, sweets!" he exclaimed. Amanda could hear the noise of the airport in the background.
"Heya, dad," she replied. "It's good to hear your voice. Where are you?"
"Waiting for you," he stated. "We're in the atrium."
"Oh, good," Amanda said. "I'm parked right outside. Black humvee. I'll come in and get you."
"Great!" her dad laughed. "See you in a minute."
"Love you," Amanda said, laughing a bit. "Be right there."
Then she hung up, grabbed the keys, and clambered out of the humvee, tightening the belt on her black jumpsuit as she went. She locked the doors, and then she headed in, her eyes scanning the atrium for a pair of familiar faces.
It didn't take Amanda long to locate her father and grandfather, since both of them had white or almost-white hair. When she spotted them, she headed over to them with a grin.
"Dad!" she called. Keith Halley's blue eyes landed on her, twinkling, and a second later, she reached them, and was swept into a big hug. Her dad laughed softly and ruffled her hair. Amanda tolerated it with admirable patience, and then she hugged Daniel Halley tightly.
"I missed you guys so much!" she exclaimed after she pulled away.
"We missed you, too," her grandfather said. Then her dad hugged her again.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart," he said. "I'm so proud of you."
"Aww, daaad!" Amanda whined playfully, squirming. "I'm a Marine! I'm not supposed to show emotion, let alone PDAs!"
He pulled away and frowned sternly at her, taking her chin in his hand. "I'm your father," he deadpanned. "You may be a Marine, but you will put up with public displays of affection from me and the rest of your family, just like you were doing a minute ago."
"I was just joking with you, jeesh!" Amanda exclaimed, exasperated. Her dad grinned at her.
"So, where to from here?" asked her grandfather. Amanda smiled at them, and then motioned for them to follow her as she headed back out toward the humvee.
"Well, from here we drive back out west to Twentynine Palms," she said. "Sarge said that I have to bring both of you to the barracks after we get you checked into the hotel, though. It'll take us about two hours to get back to Twentynine Palms, give or take."
"I see," Daniel said. They reached the humvee, and Amanda unlocked the back doors. She helped load her grandfather's suitcase in, and then she toted Keith's into the back, also. Then she clambered back out of the humvee and locked it back up.
"We might as well find a bench to sit on," she said. "We'll probably be waiting for a little while."
"Why's that?" asked Keith as she led them over to a bench.
"We're getting a new recruit that Sarge is having me pick up while I'm here," Amanda explained. "If his flight's late, then it'll probably be a while."
"Do you know what he looks like?" Daniel inquired. Amanda shrugged.
"Sarge just told me that he's about six-four, has dark brown hair and hazel eyes, and will be wearing a jumpsuit kinda like mine," Amanda said. "And if he's not wearing a jumpsuit, then he'll be carrying a standard seabag and he'll be looking for me."
"Aha," Keith said suddenly. "You mean like that guy right there?" He pointed, and Amanda followed his directions to a young man of about Amanda's own age who was heading towards the trio. The man was wearing a jumpsuit almost identical to her own.
"That'll be him," Amanda sighed, standing and walking to meet him. He had dark brown hair that was cropped short for efficiency, and his sand-colored skin belied his extensive training as a Marine. His hazel eyes, startlingly familiar, landed on Amanda as she neared him.
Once she reached the man, Amanda snapped into a salute. He returned it, and then they dropped the rigidity.
"I'm Tank," Amanda said. "You here for RRTS Six?"
"Lance Corporal John Grimm," the man replied. "And yes, I'm here for RRTS."
Amanda blinked at the name, and took a closer look at him, frowning faintly.
"John Grimm?" she repeated. "As in the son of the famous researchers?"
"Yes ma'am," he said tightly. Amanda smiled.
"At ease, Marine," she said, "I may be your senior, but I'm the same rank as you." She gestured for him to follow her. "Come on."
John fell in behind her, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Amanda led him back over to her father and grandfather and stopped.
"Dad, grandpa, this is Lance Corporal John Grimm, RRTS's newest recruit," Amanda said, and then turned back to John. "John Grimm, this is my father, Keith Halley, and my grandfather, Daniel Halley."
"Nice to meet you," her dad said, extending his hand toward John. John shook both Keith's and Daniel's hands, nodding in greeting.
"Now, let's get this show on the road," Amanda said, and led the men back over to the humvee. She allowed John to put his duffel in the back of the HMMWV, and then she unlocked the doors and everyone climbed in. John sat in the driver-side pilot's seat behind Amanda, and Daniel took shotgun. Keith took the passenger-side pilot's seat, and Amanda slipped in behind the wheel.
Keith leaned forward to look at his father and John, and grinned teasingly. "Better buckle up," he joked. "You'll need it."
Amanda scowled at her father in the rearview mirror as she started the engine. "I'm not a bad driver, dad, or they wouldn't let me operate the humvee," she deadpanned.
Then she carefully backed out of the space, and they were off.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doom or anything related to it. I only own the original characters you may see.
I'm back! After a two-week hiatus, I have finally returned! And here is the fruit of my efforts. Hope you liked John's introduction.
I realize that some of the characters may be slightly out of character, but please remember that they are younger here than in the movie by several years. They haven't seen as much pain and death and utter loss at this time, and so are bound to act differently. After all, people change, though that change doesn't occur overnight. It is a gradual transition from what you are one day to the next. This is the rate at which the characters in here will change.
By the way, I noticed that, even with two weeks, nobody reviewed my last chapter. That's rather disappointing, since the interaction between Sarge and Amanda in the last chapter was some of my favorite dialogue.
Oh, and if anybody is dismayed by the lack of action and blood in this fic, don't worry. There'll be a big fight scene coming up sometime soon, probably within the next four chapters or so. It'll be a whole long chapter of nothing but tactics, marksmanship, and guts, I promise.
I'll probably post the next chapter tomorrow or so. I'm tired. I drove all the way from Indianapolis to east St. Louis last night from around 11 o'clock or so to about half-past midnight. Not the most energy-producing thing.
Of course, I slept until four this afternoon, but that's beside the point.
Will update soon. Promise.
-Portrait of a Scribe
