Chapter Nine: Blood, Old & New


"It's him!" Vivian cried, "It has to be him! Frost. It's the same name I heard five years ago. That's the man who killed my friends!"

"Vivian, be quiet!" Jasmine cautioned, holding up both hands, "what if somebody comes by and hears you?"

"I don't care!" Vivian trembled, "I don't care! He's here on this ship, still alive after all these years, and I aim to take Holst and his ODSTs to his cabin and throw him in the smallest cell we have!"

It was the day after the awards ceremony. Vivian's blood was boiling and she had felt an anger that she had never experienced before. Her entire frame shook, her hands with curling and uncurling into fists. With eyes wide, she paced back and forth across Jasmine's office.

Yesterday, however, she had been different. She had kept her cool on the stage, trying not to look trapped, terrified, and appalled all at the same time. Disgust was what she felt, disgust that she had to shake his hand, to pin that medal on his chest. Vivian had wanted to vomit. Rather, she wanted to kill him right then and there. Tackle him to the ground and strangle the life out of him. But she hadn't. Throughout the ceremony, she had been able to restrain herself, but by the end she was ready to jump out of her skin. Jasmine had noticed and as the crowds dispersed she pulled her into a spot on the base where no one could see them. Vivian had sobbed then, burying her face in her hands. The memories had come flooding back. Resulting in tears of sorrow but also joy. By some miracle, here was the man she had hoped to find for five years. The man who killed her friends. He was here now, and she was in a position to levy justice against him, punish him in some way for the heinous crime he committed.

Even in her dreams, she saw him. Last night had been a relatively sleepless night, but what little she had, she saw him. When the memory replayed in her mind, he was no longer a shadowy figure lit up only by the muzzle flash of his rifle. Instead, she saw Frost as she saw him now, plain as day. And in her dreams, she killed him every time. "Not even a kidney, Frost?"

The restless night showed on Vivian's character. Her hair was frizzy and wisps of hair flew from her bun. Dark bags had settled under her eyes. But she wasn't deterred, wasn't weakened-never weakened.

Jasmine didn't look much better, her own hair trying to escape its ponytail and her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. She took off her glasses and roughly placed them on the desk before rubbing her hands against her face in aggravation. When she withdrew them, she said, "There is no way that it's the same guy. Frost isn't an uncommon last name. Do you know how many people there are in the galaxy, Viv? Billions! How can you possibly tell if this Frost is the Frost from five years ago?"

"Who else could it be?" Vivian asked exasperatedly.

"It could be a thousand, a hundred thousand different marines!"

"It's him. I know it's him."

Vivian braced her hands against the desk, letting her hang low, "for five years I've waited, hoped, dreamed of finding this...this man. This murderer, who butchered my friends. Five years of pure hell. But somehow, someway, he's ended up on my ship, and I can finally make him pay."

She looked at Jasmine, who glared back at her. The doctor said, "Don't go confusing justice with revenge."

"They're one in the same, Jas."

"No, they're not. You have no evidence, no proof that this man was on Skopje five years ago."

Vivian shot up and pointed a finger at her, "I spoke with him yesterday! I brought up Skopje and he seemed to recognize the name! Not to mention there's that friend of his, that Brit. He was the one who called him Jack the Ripper that night."

"That's not enough!" Jasmine yelled, finally losing her temper, "Are you serious, Vivian? You've got to be joking. All you've got is his name and that he almost mentioned something about Skopje and that he has an English friend? Are you so blind that you want to toss this man into the brig on just those three pieces of evidence? Does that seem convincing enough to you that it's the same man? What are you, a captain of a UNSC warship or a kid on the playground trying to tattle on somebody?"

Vivian was able to put aside her shock at Jasmine's anger and say, "That's enough evidence to start an investigation."

There was a long uneasy silence between the two friends. Both were braced, feet planted firmly on the floor, staring one another down as if they were two animals, waiting for the other to flinch before attacking.

"You don't even know him," Jasmine said quietly.

Vivian stood up straighter, "I do. His first name is Nathaniel. I've spoken to him a few. I asked him to hold special weapon instruction courses at the firing range. He was insane enough to land a Warthog on a Scarab and risked the lives of his men to stay behind to set off a nuke. And...and..." she struggled to find something else, "He's from Earth, Canada, and-."

"Nova Scotia, to be exact."

Vivian's eyes widened, "You've spoken with him?"

Jasmine looked guilty for a moment, her eyes falling to the floor-but only for that moment. A split second later they had risen again, beautiful and angry, "Yes. I stood with him over the corpse of his dead friend, listened to his concerns about becoming squad leader. I saw him burdened by this new command just like you are with yours. I saw a man concerned with the lives of not just the men under his command, but his friends, people he considers family. He's a good, honorable man."

Vivian took a fiery step forward, "Honor!? Honor!? Don't you speak to me about honor! What do you know about honor! You promised me a year ago, when we were still in OCS, that if you ever heard anything about the people who carried out that assault on Skopje, about the man who slaughtered my friends, you would tell me! And you've known Frost for how long? Where's the honor of our promise?"

"I met him when we first rescued the 89th on Ambition," Jasmine admitted, "but I just didn't think this is the man you're looking for. So I didn't tell you, I'm sorry."

Her voice was filled with indignant venom. Jasmine's brow furrowed, "You know him too. You told me how you congratulated the man and his squad when we first picked them up. If I recall when we spoke about it afterwards, you thought he was courageous, brave in fact. And you're even on a first name basis with him. So don't try to pin this all on me!"

Vivian shook her head and waved her hand dismissively, "I didn't know, I never heard anybody call him by his last name."

"That doesn't matter. What happened to the admiration you had for him?"

"I was wrong!"

"All of it just gets wiped away because he might be the man who killed your friends?"

"So you do think there's a chance he is?"

"No! Don't twist my words around, Vivian! You're becoming unreasonable."

"What am I supposed to do?" Vivian snarled, "what if it is him? What if I just let him slip through my fingers?"

"Did you ever consider what you'll achieve by arresting him? Killing him? What good will that do?"

"My friends will be avenged, and their killer will be given what he's due. One life for five."

"That won't bring them back," Jasmine said coldly.

The words struck her like an icy dagger. Vivian hated to hear it, because she knew it was true. Yes, nothing she could ever do would bring them back from the dead. They were gone, buried in Skopje's soil in a city cemetery. But her vengeance, their vengeance, would be satisfied. Their killer didn't deserve to roam free, without guilt, without paying for his crime. But Jasmine was right.

Vivian leaned against the desk, a hand planted firmly on its edge. She felt like she might collapse.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" She asked Jasmine quietly, "Do nothing? Do nothing at all when there's a chance?"

Jasmine reflected on this for a time. Eventually, she came closer and said, "I'll make you a deal."

Vivian stared at her with hard emerald eyes, "a deal?"

"So, you have a name, his friend is from England, and he might have some kind of knowledge on your homeworld. That won't be enough for an official investigation, but then again, we don't have the time, manpower, or resources to carry one out anyways, especially since we're waiting to be deployed."

Jasmine went to the other side of her desk and sat down in her chair, folding her hands on the desk, "However, that can't and won't stop you. I know it won't. So, you carry out your own unofficial one, discretely. Find me two or three more pieces of evidence, some kind of proof, condemning proof, and we'll bring it up with Travers. Travers is the overseer of this project and thus is responsible for every individual that's a part of this mission. Hayes won't ever issue an investigation against his own men, that much is very clear. Travers will."

She sighed, then said, "But you have to promise me that this won't be your priority. This is a ship of war and the entire crew and now the task force are depending on you for leadership. The marines adore you, and the crew worship you. They are your priority, and always should be, not ghosts and killers."

Vivian mulled it over. Jasmine was convincing enough, so she relented, "Okay."

"Say I promise."

"I promise."

Jasmine nodded silently.

Vivian exhaled and ran a hand across her forward, "I'm...I'm sorry."

"Forget it," Jasmine said, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Decatur then flashed up on the AI pedestal.

"Madam!" he saluted Vivian, then bowed towards Jasmine, "my good doctor, forgive the interruption, but Admiral Travers has come aboard. He says he has your first orders, and requests your presence on the bridge."

Vivian nodded, "I'll be there momentarily. Thank you, Decatur."

"Very good, captain!" the AI exclaimed with a smile, then blinked away.

Vivian sighed. She quickly smoothed out her hair and her tunic. Although Frost consumed her mind, other duties seeped their way back in, blurring his image.

"I'll catch you later, Jas," Vivian said, heading towards the door, "I expect we'll be departing today or tomorrow. Make sure you and the staff are prepared for either."

"We already are. Fully stocked and ready to go."

"Good," Vivian paused in the doorway and looked back with a smile, "by the way, you mentioned those advanced first aid classes you wanted to proctor for the crew and marines some time ago?"

"Yes?"

"You have my consent. Begin organizing classes and times as soon as you're able."

Jasmine blinked in surprise, then she smiled, "I will. Thank you."

Vivian exchanged a nodded and left.

She stormed through the hallways and corridors. Sailors who walked by were blurs. Any marine she came across looked like him. Every time she their olive drab armor she wanted to draw her sidearm and start firing. "Not even a kidney, Frost?" The words echoed, the scene replayed, a green ghost in front of her, out of reach, five ghosts behind her, propelling her towards them. He was walking on this ship, laughing, smiling and joking and chatting and sleeping and eating and training and getting away with it. Her thoughts felt like fire ants, crawling in her head and on her skin, burning her. It was unbearable. Just thinking about it made her heart beat hard and sight grow red and her body shake with rage. Why did murderers get to walk free? She needed a plan, needed to get information.

Her thoughts consumed her so greatly that even her vision began to darken. People disappeared, the walls began to disappear, there was only darkness and a phantom marine leading her own. She could see faces of teenage girls, see their blood-soaked bodies. They looked at her with hopeful and eager eyes, eyes that demanded blood for blood. It wasn't until she reached the bridge that she seemed to be back on the I'm Alone.

All of the bridge staff were at their stations, filing reports and checking systems. Vivian hadn't ordered them too. She appreciated their initiative and their agency. Good officers were ones that didn't rely solely on their superiors for directions, she thought.

Everyone stood and saluted but Vivian waved them back down, "As you were, as you were."

Admiral Travers stood in the center of the cavernous bridge, his one hand behind his back. He turned around, his face serious.

"Skip the formalities, Waters," he grumbled as she began to straighten for a sharp salute, "we've got a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"I should have mentioned this earlier, but I chose to withhold the information because of Oswald's trial and your promotion. If you recall, there was a second task force coming with another garrison of marines to replace the 89th. One of the ships, destroyer UNSC Best of the Best, has gone missing."

Vivian was surprised, "How did that come about, sir?"

Travers grumbled, "Human slipspace technology isn't foolproof. Mistakes can occur, and ships can end up far away from their destination. She somehow went off course into another system, not far from Reach, less than three days in slipspace away. She sent one distress call and since then we've had no contact. You're to begin this project's designed operations after you investigate the Best of the Best."

"What are we to do if we find them?"

"Assist them in anyway; if their ship is too heavily damaged, help repair them to the point where they can make a slipspace jump or hold position until we can get someone who can make repairs to you. If they're in an alright shape, they're to be attached to your task force. I won't have another setback for the project."

"A destroyer?" Vivian asked, "Under my command you'll place a carrier, two frigates, and a destroyer-on top of my own super heavy cruiser?"

Travers grinned, "You have a nice little armada, haven't you? With the addition of a destroyer, your fleet will be like a titanium fist in the Covenant's side."

Vivian quite liked the sound of that, but remained focused, "Decatur, what's the status of the I'm Alone and the other ships?"

Decatur appeared, tipping his commodore's hat, "The I'm Alone is fully stocked and manned, save for an extra complement of radio specialists we're bringing on board at this moment."

Vivian remembered; working with Kolchak and Alistair, they had devised a doctrine for supplying frigate support to Hayes' marines during surface engagements. Alistair had insisted that they supply communications operatives who had knowledge of complex codes and were well-versed in reading maps and coordinates. These operative were supposed to come from the Navy. However, comms specialists were in high demand, so they had gotten a group from the Navy and another from the Air Force. She made a mental note to meet them in the hanger.

With a clear of his holographic throat, Decatur continued, "The upgrades of Lion's Den and Determined Guardian are near enough to be considered to complete."

"What's left?"

"Their reactors have been fully upgraded as well as their weapons systems, and a list of other miscellaneous upgrades," the AI stroked his chin, "however, the retrofits to their crew and marine accommodations haven't been finished yet. If we were to depart now, I would gauge that ten percent of the marines on both ships wouldn't have the new accommodations."

"What about the carrier? Did Kelly pick a new name?"

"Indeed he did; the Burnside has been re-christened, Batavia"

"Batavia?" Vivian echoed. She made a second mental note to ask Kelly why he chose that name.

Decatur continued, "Captain Kelly has proved himself to be quite the ship builder; his knowledge of ship structure expedited the upgrade process and all of their major retrofits have been completed. Some other nonessential upgrades are still being installed."

Vivian contemplated the situation. Most of the important upgrades were finished, with only a few to go. Diverting ten percent of marines from either frigate to Batavia or I'm Alone remained a possibility, but subtracting personnel from both of the small ship's internal security worried her. With her own knowledge of shipbuilding, the remainder of the upgrades could be finished by tomorrow morning. But the longer they waited, the chance that the Covenant would find the ship would be higher, presuming it was still where its last distress signal was. Then again, if the Best of the Best was still there, it was a safe bet to guess that she wasn't going anywhere.

She made the decision.

"Decatur, keep tracking the status of the upgrades. I'll make a request to the head of operations here to add more personnel to the teams already working on the ships. With the extra hands and if they work overtime, we'll be ready to go by tomorrow morning at first light."

"Splendid, madam!" Decatur saluted.

Vivian turned to Travers, who began to speak, "You honestly think the best choice is to finish making accommodations for marines more cozy instead of getting out there and investigating? Don't you think-"

Vivian boldly cut him off, "It is. I won't steam out of port until we're completely ready. The extra time will give us a chance to formulate plans based on all possible situations. And Admiral, I understand why you withheld the information on the Best of the Best, but in the future, information such as that cannot be retained. If I'm to be the commander of this task force, I will require full transparency on your end."

Bold as it was to speak to an Admiral in such a manner, Travers simply grinned despite Vivian's apparent anger. If he was angry, he hid it well.

"You'll have it," he agreed, "but first, seeing as how Ebrahimi declined promotion to XO, I've brought along the replacement. Solak!"

A short, thin man in a gray tunic, holding the rank of commander, entered the bridge. His face was sharp, angular, and narrow, and his black hair was turning gray. He had dark eyes and an emotionless face.

Travers wrapped his good arm around him, "this man has been my assistant for fifteen years. He's articulate, efficient, hard-working, and he doesn't back-talk. Isn't that right?'

Commander Solak slowly looked over at Travers with a blank face, then looked over at Vivian, "I served under Rear Admiral Travers as his XO when he was still in command of warships. Afterwards, I served as his assistant, handling appointments with senior members of the UNSC as well with potential officers for projects, organizing his projects, handling minor duties that would otherwise consume his attention..."

Travers laughed and pinched Solak's cheek, which the XO didn't show any reaction to. Travers then said, "He's the Spock to my Kirk."

"Come again?" Vivian asked.

"Nothing. He'll keep things organized and fluid for you."

"I'll submit a request for more workers immediately," the XO said, found his station which was to the side of the captain's chair, and began tapping away immediately.

Vivian and Travers departed from the bridge afterwards. They headed to the hanger, with little said between them. When they reached it, they found a large crowd of Air Force and Navy personnel sitting in the center, where their Pelicans had left them. They sat or leaned against their duffel bags, while others fiddled with their radio sets.

"Solak seems a little..."

"Dead? Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it. If he does his job well you'll barely see him. Also don't look into his eyes, you'll see the end of the universe in them."

Travers bellowed with laughed until a Pelican landed nearby. He stopped, and sighed.

"That's my ride out of here," he said, turning to Vivian, "this will be the last we see each other face to face in a long time, Captain. By the way, your task force has been given a proper callsign. Rapier."

Vivian nodded, finding the name agreeable. The two shook hands, their grips amicable and tight. He offered a smile, "Some people aren't meant to command. Others train themselves until they are. But there's a few that are born for it."

That was the last thing he said to her before climbing into his Pelican. With his trademark shark-smile, he waved goodbye as the rear door closed. Vivian watched in silence as the Pelican rose and left the hanger. Her expression betrayed nothing. If someone had been looking, they would not have known the great sadness she felt at that moment.

Vivian recovered and went to inspect the comms specialists. There were a few shouts now and she saw a female specialist, young, with golden hair and hazel eyes. Her face was filled with fire as she shoved another of the specialists down, a man practically twice her size.

The young specialist shouted in German, standing over the other man who was laughing at her.

"What's going on here?" Vivian asked, loud and sharp.

Everyone turned, saw her rank, and jumped to their feet in attention. The girl was the last one to do so.

"This man called me a kraut!" she answered gruffly.

Vivian turned her gaze on the airman in question, who had just gotten to his feet.

"I won't tolerate any discriminatory remarks among the personnel under my command. The UNSC is a multinational and racial organization, and any slander such as that will resulted in punishment. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," the big airman said meekly.

"What's your name, airman?"

"Senior Airman Vaughn, ma'am."

"Airman Vaughn, one more comment like that and I'll see you demoted and put on the janitorial duty for a month. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am..." he murmured.

Vivian turned, folding her hands behind her back. She gazed among the Navy and Air Force personnel. They had been issued fatigues identical to the marines, but they had no weaponry, armor, or field gear with them besides their radios. All of them would have to be outfitted; she would leave that to the marines they were attached to. They would know better than her. The thought of the marines brought Frost into her mind. The short beard on his face, his sharp features, those gray eyes: all hiding something sinister.

She shook him from her mind, "I'm Captain Vivian Waters, master of the I'm Alone and commander of Task Force Rapier. While you have already been briefed on your duties, I will reiterate that you are essential ground personnel, and will provide the link between the marines and the ships. Your ability to communicate clearly and quickly can be the decisive factor on the battlefield. But, you are also serving as replacements; every single one of you will be added to a squad, to bring the MEU's number back up as well as increase flexibility in ground-to-orbit communication. "

There were no murmurings or whispers. Vivian looked at the girl in front of her. She looked eager and excited, yet there was a toughness in her bright eyes.

As if on cue, a complement of officers from the marines arrived. Vivian turned her attention back to the crowd, "You'll be split into groups and be assigned to a squad now."

As the marines began to hustle and guide the radio operators away, Vivian turned to the German girl.

"What's your name?"

"Senior Airman Nora Langley, ma'am!"

Vivian was confused, "Pardon me, Senior Airman, but didn't you say you were German?"

Langley grinned, "I am, ma'am! But I get my name from my father, he's an Englishman who moved to Germany. My mum took his last name, so we don't have a German last name. It confuses everyone, ma'am."

Vivian smiled, "Come with me, I know just where to assign you."


Nora Langley carried her duffel down the corridor of the ship, striding next to Captain Waters. She had taken a liking to the captain already. Her presence was demanding but she was also kind. Although, Langley was intrigued as to why she had asked her to follow her.

Langley swept her short golden hair from her face, which was smooth and small. She was small, but strong. When Captain Waters stated that she'd be joining a squad of five year veterans, she had felt at first intimidated, but she had thought about it, and was determined to make her place if they gave her any guff.

"The squad leader is a man by the name Frost," Captain Waters said, slow and sly, "he's an...interesting individual."

"In what way, ma'am?"

"He's a brave man, but..." Waters seemed to think for a moment, "but I'm contemplating putting in a request for an officer's commission. . I think his talents are better suited beyond the squad level. Can I trust you keep me informed of his actions as squad leader?"

Langley shot a quick glance over at Waters, who was staring straight ahead, her face betraying no emotion.

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"Are you asking me to spy on him, ma'am?"

Waters chuckled, "No, no. He's actually..." for a split second her eyes grew dark, her mouth seemed to curl in disgust, and then with a sigh she said, "he's actually a friend of mine. It's...a surprise, I guess. But I need to know if he's capable first."

Langley found it odd that a marine NCO and a commissioned officer in the navy had become friends. Perhaps she fancied him, or they were having some kind of steamy hidden romance. Maybe they were just a pair of regular chums-chums always got gifts for each other, and she supposed Captain Waters' idea of a gift was a commission. Langley didn't want to ask too much, she was new and was keen to make an impression, not out of vanity, but to prove she was capable as well.

"I'm more than happy to help, ma'am."

"Thank you, Langley."

The pair came to one of cabins in the barracks, and after a long pause, Waters rapped her fist on the door. Music was blaring on the inside.

"Who is it?" an English voice called.

"Captain Waters."

The music was turned down and the door slid open. Langley was greeted by a nauseating smell of foul cigarette smoke and body odor. Seven marines, spaced around the room, looked up. Some were lying on their beds, others in the chair, one was in his trousers with a towel around his neck. Four were smoking, and Langley couldn't help but cringe at the sight of a misty gray cloud hanging in the air.

Waters seemed undeterred, and she put on a smile that seemed almost forced to Langley, "Sergeant Frost."

"Captain Waters," greeted the NCO, warmly. He stood up with a smile as if he were meeting an old friend. "How can I help?"

"I'm sure you're aware that everyone is getting a new radio operator, from the Navy and Air Force."

Frost nodded, "Yep. We'll make nice." The squad leader turned, looked Langley up and down, "How much experience do you have?"

"I've been in the Air Force since I was sixteen."

"Combat experience, I mean."

Langley bristled and reluctantly said, "None."

The friendly looked disappeared from Frost's face. "None?"

"Yes, but-"

Frost cut her off, "Captain, I don't mean to question orders."

"Go ahead."

"Ma'am, Colonel Hayes has a special subsection within our MEU called the Vanguard. He puts the most elite units within it. My squad is a part of the Vanguard and having new blood might hamper us in the field."

"New blood?" Langley growled, "I've been in the UNSCAF for three years and-"

"I understand your reservations," Captain Waters cut in, raising a hand in front of Langley, "but I'm afraid this is nonnegotiable."

Frost sighed but nodded, "Yes, ma'am. We'll make sure she's outfitted."

"Good."

Langley looked at Waters, who smiled at her before she left.


Frost watched Vivian leave. She had regarded him with a coolness he had not seen before, but she was under a great deal of stress he imagined. New personnel on top of a new command of four ships? He wouldn't wish that on anybody. But he felt safer with her as the commanding officer, rather than somebody they didn't know yet.

But that left his thoughts quickly. His attention was focused on the short airman in front of him. One more life to take care of; that made it six. That didn't bother him as much as her inexperience. She glared back at him, defiantly. Her eyes were shining and her blonde hair glowed.

"If you've got no combat experience, what do you have?"
"Out of the batch of radio operators that were assigned this mission, I have the best scores in communications and coordination."

That was a silver lining, although Frost didn't plan to show his approval.

"Just because you're the specialist radio op doesn't mean all you'll be doing is sitting there chatting with the ships. I expect you to fight with the rest of us. I also expect you to follow orders."

The rookie rolled her eyes, "I think I can stick it out in the mud with a bunch of raggedy unshaven pigs like yourselves."

The squad laughed, including Frost, "You'll be able to pull your weight?"

"Give me some armor and a rifle."

Frost stepped closer, arms akimbo, towering over her. "Are you the soldier to toss a grenade into a Drone hive and jump after it?"

Any sane individual would have answered that it would be beyond foolish to dive after one's own grenade. But Frost was not looking for someone sane, and was satisfied when Langley belted, "I am!"

"Good. Set your bag down on one of the beds and let's go."

She was quick to set her bag down and was immediately by Frost's side as he went out the door.

"Steele, keep an eye on things."

"Bite me."

Frost laughed as they went down the hall. Langley looked confused, "do all of them talk back like that?"

"Huh? No, no. The 89th was part of the Earthen Youth Program. We all got recruited when we were younger and have known each other for eight years. The entire 89th is like that. That's why getting replacements is a little strange for us. We did have a radio operator but he died a long time ago. Best one in the MEU."

"I'm not here to fill anyone's shoes," Langley said respectfully.

"Good. Do your best not to dig. That's a lot of bad memories I don't want coming back. The squad will put you through a little bit of a hazing process, but you seem alright, I'll see that you don't get too much trouble from them. I just need you to do your job and don't go anything stupid; you're no good to me dead."

"I understand, sergeant."

"Frost is fine."

They continued down the hall, their booted footsteps heavy, listening to the complaining and angry shouting of squad leaders in the other cabins as the received their new replacements. There were different variations. Some squad leaders moaned to their superiors, others lost their tempers. Many friends had been lost over the years. Nobody wanted the new people. Frost understood why. Losing somebody you had known since you were a kid was like losing a limb. Getting to know somebody else, growing to love them and count on them, and then lose them? That was something soldiers feared most, the pain of lost friends. Loss was something that Frost had experienced many times, not just with men in his squad. Everybody knew everybody in the MEU, a well-known fact. Everyone knew everyone else's first, middle, and last names, their motherlands and hometowns, their likes and dislikes, their quirks and annoying habits and flaws, their positive qualities, their abilities in combat, what their religious and linguistic backgrounds were, what their families were like. There was Lieutenant Arjan Singh; most of the marines called him Arjan the Sikh. Like the rest of them, he had been away from Earth for five years. Although he had to keep his hair cut and wear a helmet, during Vaisakhi, the Sikh new year, he would don his turban, as would his entire platoon out of a sign of support and affection for their friend. They posed for a photo every year, and every year they would send a petition to the UEG asking them recant their regulations against wearing religious clothing, such as a turban. The UEG refused every time, but that never deterred them. There was Medal of Honor recipient PFC Jannek, a Sami from Norway. Every year he and his squad would celebrate Riddu Riđđu, a Sami music festival, having learned the songs and words from him, which he had learned from his parents and their parents before them. Everyone knew everyone, knew what was important to each other. That kind of knowing was dangerous for soldiers, Frost concluded.

He contemplated this tough looking girl beside him. Was she already dead? Did some cosmic entity predetermine her fate? When was it going to happen? How? His fear was already mounting, as if she were a reanimated corpse ambling along beside him.

"Aren't you the one they call Jack the Ripper?"

Frost blinked, torn from his thoughts, then bristled, "Yeah. Some people call me that."

"Aren't you some kind of legend?"

"No, I'm not. Quit asking." Frost stopped then and turned on her, poking her shoulder with his index finger. "Didn't I just tell you not to go digging in the past?"

Langley smacked his hand away, "You did. And I chose not to listen. I'm not a little kid. I have training with Pararescue."

That surprised Frost. "You were a PJ?"

Langley shook her head, "No. I wasn't. I was set to be a Para-Doctor, but I dropped out just before I finished and switched to communications."

"Why'd you drop out?"

Langley's face grew dark for a moment. If he hadn't been looking at her closely, he would have missed her expression. But then she looked over at him, and said with a cheeky smile, "Don't go digging in the past."

Frost couldn't help but laugh.

When they reached the armory, they went to the Armorsmith, where she listed her measurements and the outfitters there gave her a set body armor. They then went through her weapon scores. Langley was good with shotguns, better with SMGs, and excellent with assault rifles. She chose the MA5B, much to Frost's amusement; he'd rub it in Grant's face later.

Langley didn't complain like some of the other specialists were. Some of them seemed less than eager to fight. Listening to a couple of them chatting, he learned that a chunk of them used to be communications specialist on warships or at airbases. They had no ground experience, hadn't worn body armor since basic training, hadn't had weapon drills or hadn't held rifles for months, some for over a year. Frost grimaced. He understood the xenophobia between branches, yet didn't believe in any of it. He trusted his brothers and sisters from the Navy, Air Force, and Army, but he was unsure if these communications liaisons would be able to handle in the field. A few appeared to have seen action, but they weren't the ones complaining. He felt lucky for having Langley then. Pararescuemen were no joke. Their training lasted for two years and only around twenty percent ever made it. Seeing as she had almost finished training and hadn't been burned out, her physical and mental endurance was much higher than the average line marine. Despite her small frame, she was strong; one could see her toned muscles pushing against the over shirt over her fatigues. She had a determined, piercing glare to boot, and didn't seem to take guff from anyone, even Frost. Yes, she was a replacement, but not as green as they thought. Their squad was lucky enough to get a good one.

Watching her practice at the range, firing paint rounds from an assault rifle, Frost said, "Your medical training will be a real asset. I was going to ask Colonel Hayes if he could transfer a medic from another squad over, but I think you'll do just fine."

This seemed to make her uneasy. Her groupings on the target, shaped like an Elite, had been extremely tight. But after he said this, the next shot was far off.

"Radio op and medic? That's a lot of responsibility."

"You seem like you can handle it."

"Working the radio is fine, but I'd rather not be relied on as the medic."

Frost frowned, "Why not?"

"Just not comfortable with it."

"I thought it was a Pararescueman's duty was to save life and aid the injured," Frost said, quoting a part of their creed, "putting everything else before their personal desires and comforts."

That hit sharp, as she turned on him, heat and anger evident in her eyes, "Well, I'm not a Pararescueman. I'm a radio operator."

Frost wanted to remind her that she had to follow orders, but could see that he struck a nerve and relented, "have it your way."

"The wounded can be left to me," said Dr. Jasmine, who had just walked up behind them. Frost smiled. He felt better for seeing her. She smiled back. "Sergeant, could I have a word?"

"Yes, ma'am," he turned to Langley, "alright airman, we're done here. Head back to the cabin and get settled, then tell the squad to get something to eat, which means you too."

"What if they don't listen to me?"

"Clout them upside the head," Frost joked, "you seemed ready to clout me a second ago."


The airman left, leaving Jasmine with Frost. He smiled pleasantly, "How can I help?"

"Would you mind walking with me?"

"It'd be a pleasure."

Walking side by side, they exited the armory and began walking down the corridor. Jasmine didn't have any set destination in mind. In actuality, she had no idea what she was doing. After Vivian had left, she had sat her office, trying to type a report on a sailor who had appendicitis. But her hands had just floated above the keyboard, her fingers frozen. She had a terrible feeling her gut.

Vivian was on a warpath. Jasmine trusted her to run this ship, to see everyone through whatever hardships were to come. But the deal they made would be burning in her mind constantly. If by some chance the man beside her was the one who had killed Vivian's friends five years ago, she would seek some sort of revenge. Maybe in her mind she thought that she could get him thrown in the stockade. But Jasmine knew Vivian better; a great loathing had consumed her for five years, of a shadowy figure in battle armor. That wasn't going to dissipate in the face of a new promotion. She would kill him if she found the truth. With that thought cemented her mind, Jasmine had felt compelled to find Frost and speak with him. She hadn't been sure what they were going to speak of, and as she walked beside him now, she still didn't.

"I see you're taking to your command with more ease than you thought."

Frost chuckled, "I don't have much of a choice, do I? Most squads will have a tough time adjusting to their new blood, but we got one that will fit right in I think."

"I'm glad to hear it. The last thing I need is a case of emotional breakdown due to hazing."

This earned her a laugh from Frost.

"How does the squad feel?"

"We didn't really have time to talk about it. I think once they figure out she's not as green as they think she is, they'll warm up to her." The marine seemed to think for a moment, growing a bit sadder. "It's not easy having new people come in when you have people who have been together for so long they're like family. Before we lost Teo, it was Williams and Gaspar. Gaspar especially; he was our radio operator before this new one. They died years ago fighting in the Inner Colonies."

Jasmine pushed up her glasses, while Frost jammed his hands into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to sag then and his expression sadden.

She wanted to push, ask him how. The Inner Colonies could provide a lead, an answer.

"I'm sorry you've lost many friends to the Covenant."

"Yeah. I try to think of funny things about them. When Gaspar got too excited during combat, he'd start talking in Portuguese over the comms. Man, everyone would get pissed at him. Williams' mother was a Jamaican zoologist, and when he came to help somebody when they were wounded, he'd tell them about an animal. I remember I got a graze round on my side and while he treated it, he told me about the coney...or hutia...whatever the damned thing's called."

Jasmine smiled, but inwardly cursed herself. Whatever lead there had been passed. She was caught between respecting him and his past and finding out information. Or perhaps she was nervous about appearing awkward.

As many times as she scolded Vivian for never seeking was, Jasmine had to remember she wasn't one for socializing either. Her youth had been spent traveling and reading. Talking to others proved to be a challenge for her, from her youth to adulthood. Angrily, she cursed herself for letting social anxiety for preventing her from asking questions. How ironic, she contemplated, that person who had trouble speaking to others should become a therapist.

They had walked in silence for a while, but Frost stirred her from her thoughts, "are these walks going to become a regular thing?'

Jasmine raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"

"Well, you're the one who told me not too long ago that you're therapist. Can't help but worry you think I'm some kind of basket case."

"Oh! No, no, sergeant." Jasmine answered, both embarrassed and shocked that he seemed to have read her mind.

"Good. Not that I don't like walking with someone. It's nice."

"It is?"

"Teo and I used to walk together a lot. He would hold my arm and have his shoulder pressed up against mine whenever we walked some place."

"Why's that?"

"He told me that lots of people where he came from walked together like that."

"Well, I hope you don't mind but I'll refrain. We'd up breaking some regulations about fraternization."

Frost laughed, "I don't think Captain Waters would like that. She seems unhappy today."

"She did?" Jasmine, already aware of the answer.

"When she dropped off that rookie I was with back there," Frost said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the armory, "she seemed tightened up. Cold."

Jasmine nodded, "She's preoccupied with many matters, and they might just be taking their toll."

"That's what I figured."

"Vivian is a complex person," Jasmine said suddenly. She was surprised to hear herself say them, as if they had escaped without her knowledge. She continued, "she's been through a lot recently, and growing up wasn't exactly easy for her. Being in uniform doesn't make the past go away."

Jasmine blinked, soaking in her words. Vivian had been living in the past for five years. She had been torn apart by survivor's guilt and a hatred so black that it was etched into her being. Since they had known each other and she had revealed this story, Jasmine had always thought her thirst for revenge against an unknowable man was not unjustified, but unrealistic. If she could help Vivian see that the present and the future were more important than the past, then she could finally find some peace. There had been a hope that a command such as she had now would bring the best out of her and leave her fractured past behind. But Jasmine realized now that she was wrong. Uniforms didn't make a person disappear, and it was wrong of her to expect Vivian to just separate from a part of who she was. What right did she have to deny her friend's vengeance? What was stopping Jasmine from asking Frost, simply and honestly, if he had killed five girls on Skopje five years ago? His answer could bring this to an end, or ignite a fury that had been growing in intensity for years. What kind of friend would she be if she asked, heard the truth, and withheld that information?

Whose friendship did she value more, Vivian's, or this man she had known for a few weeks and had only a few conversations with? It felt wrong to reduce their interactions to just that. Jasmine had stood beside him while he was in a state of complete invulnerability and heard him out-a stranger. He had told her things he would probably never tell anybody else. Knowledge created a certain bond between people, she realized, and felt responsible to him, for him. Vivian had made a deal, a promise. But Jasmine knew her. If the truth he would tell swayed in one direction, the direction she wanted it to, she would never seem him go to trial. One way or another, he would die. Jasmine couldn't live with herself if her words brought the death of a man she knew, whether or not he was guilty in this case.

In a moment of internal despair, Jasmine felt trapped, between doing right by a treasured friend and doing right by a stranger. She wanted to do what was right. But which one was right?

"Sergeant Frost," Jasmine said, stopping. Frost stopped, eyes widening a bit in confusion.

"Dr. Jasmine?"

She stared at him, long and hard. Looked into his eyes. They were gray, but when the light caught them, they shone like silver. She could see shards of pale blue around his pupils. In them, she saw many things. Beauty and ugliness, innocence and guilt, happiness and sadness. Jasmine saw the same in Vivian's eyes every time she looked at them.

"Please just be aware of the stress Captain Waters-Vivian-is under. I'd advise you to just let her be and stay out of her way for a while."

"Did I do something?"

"No. I'd tell anybody else on the ship to do the same," Jasmine said.

Frost still seemed perplexed, but he nodded slowly.

Jasmine settled into her decision. Being right meant being neutral. Neutrality meant silence. If she had been planning some sort of investigation of her own, she abandoned it, there and then. She would play no part in it, save for owning up to her promise to Vivian if she came forward with proof. But she promised herself she wouldn't let this man suffer an unjust punishment.

Frost smiled, "We going to keep walking?"

Jasmine smiled, "Yes. I'd like that."

In that moment, she thought he was a kind man. He had a gentle smile despite having a hard face marked by war. Yes, she had seen many things in his eyes. But a murderer, she could not.


Sorry for the short chapter everybody, but in all honesty it kind of had to be this way. I wanted everyone to get a good look into everyone's heads on the situation, as well as introduce a new character, RoseHarmony's Nora Langley. RoseHarmony is here on FF and also on DA, she's a good pal, give her a look-see and you might find something you like, she gets a lot of work out there.

Let's get to the comment responses. A quick side note, for some reason FF hasn't been showing any of the new comments I received after my last chapter submission. This may create some difficulty in my responding to your comments, but I keep track of them via my email so I'll be able to see them there, but if I missed yours I'm sorry, let me know, and I'll get back to you next time.

MightBeGone: If there's one thing I hate MBG, it's when authors, artists, musicians, etc. put their content out there and when people comment, and they blow them off. I've tried initiating conversations with numerous people on DA and FF and they just don't plain response. Knowing how much it absolutely blows to not have a response or have somebody be rude to you, I've made it a point to be transparent with my situation and response to any and all comments. I wasn't that good at first, the first couple of people who commented had to wait a long time (apologies to you all) but I've improved, I hope. And yeah, that guy was a prick. And I appreciate your feedback and tips; I have to admit, I'm in this weird paradox of being the writer of this story-my creation-but also being a reader as well. As a reader I just want the characters to spit it out and reconcile but the writer part of me can't do that because we'd lose a major point to the story. Part of the reading experience I've tried to instill here is seeing the same situation through different eyes, which is why I have a couple of POVs per chapter, usually, and us being the all-knowing reader having to watch the character stumble around in...not-knowingness...man that was dumb, but you get my point. But thanks for commenting, I'd love to hear more in the future.

AlphaHighBreed: You and I chatted via PM about that, but I'll reiterate here that I don't want readers to feel like they can't criticize me constructively. I know how much it stinks to read a story that is fraught with so many mechanical errors that it becomes a hassle to actually read. So I thank you, hopefully I did better this time.

Now to address the reading body; I thank you for devoting your valuable time to reading my story when there are thousands out there, it means a great deal to me. But it is important to me that you let me know what you like and dislike, so I can better improve my story for your reading pleasure. Alpha was kind enough to point out my many spelling and grammar and missing word problems; nobody should be afraid to do that. I want the review section to not just be a place to comment but also a place to start a conversation with me. I'm transparent and I'm not shy to talk to you fine folks. If you don't want to leave a comment send me a PM and we'll chat through there. I'm not a godly overlord who will smite you if you dare to question me; I'm just a dude who loves writing and has a special place in his heart for the Halo games, so please, talk to me folks. But as always, thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading, and I will see you next chapter, which will hopefully be longer!