They walk closely together, shoulders occasionally bumping as they scan the surroundings for straggling soldiers. Bass has one hand on the hilt of his blade, his gun in the other, pointed at the shrubbery.
Charlie only has her gun out, quite confident that the forest has emptied of enemy combatants by now. Still, she misses the familiar weight of her crossbow, which she had to leave back at the camp.
They are both silent, weary of alerting anyone to their location. They're both content to focus on the danger, keeping the attention away from the potentially awkward conversation that is sure to come up sometime soon.
Monroe still can't quite believe that Charlotte actually kissed him. Sure, he's made no secret of his attraction for her, and she has made no secret of hers, but actually acting on it hasn't really occurred to him.
He knows better than anyone how destructive his relationships get. Charlie and Bass are too explosive to work. He's known that since he snapped and tried to kill her.
It's why he's so confused. Their first kiss had been quiet and gentle after him confessing something that only Miles has had knowledge of for almost two decades. The exact opposite of the fiery passion and roughness he'd been expecting.
Normally, he would be talking to Miles about this. While his best friend doesn't really do feelings himself, he is strangely accomplished at giving fitting advice. However, he would have to tell Miles that his niece had kissed him, and he was lacking a death wish.
This is why he looks Jeremy up the moment they reach camp and Charlie goes to change her mud-soaked clothes. The captain is sleeping with his feet on his pillow, a blanket half-way to the floor and his arm twisted under his body.
Bass grins at his friend and shakes his head. He walks toward the cot and crouches next to the captain. "Baker," he addresses in the best imitation of his old drill sergeant. Jeremy shoots upright and goes down just as quickly, landing on the ground in a pile of limbs.
Blearily, he opens one eye with a groan and finds his president looming over him with his arms crossed. "Boss, the Georgians here?" he asks, scrambling to his feet and reaching for his boot, its twin already on his foot.
"Hardly, they've retreated. I'm here about Charlotte." He sits down at the small desk that every highly ranked officer gets and feels around for the bottle of bourbon that he knows is there.
"What did you do?" Jeremy asks with a sigh, reaching over Monroe to grab the bottle taped to the underside of the piece of furniture and brings it to his lips. It says a lot about the man that he is more interested in Bass' personal drama than the sudden halt to a devastating attack.
"She kissed me," he confesses, stealing the bottle and reveling in the taste, even though the quality hardly matches the cheapest bottle in a pre-blackout convenience store.
"So? Everyone saw that one coming." Two glasses appear out of nowhere so they can drink at the same time. "Heck, even Miles knew it was only a matter of time. You're worrying too much."
"If I screw this up, I lose them both." Bass empties his glass in one big swallow, coughing slightly. "I'm entitled to worry as much as I want."
"Then don't. Problem solved." Baker is still not completely awake it seems. He would have been a lot more subtle if he was. On the other hand, it's good to see his friend this careless around him again. Baker is no longer looking like every move he makes might get him killed by the president himself.
"You warned me to stay away from her, remember?" Jeremy had reminded him of the Guy Code with Charlie in mind, had told him to restrain himself if he wished to keep his family.
"Yeah, but that was a long time ago," the captain shrugs carelessly.
"It hasn't even been a month, Jeremy."
"And in that month, Charlie has brought Miles back to us, spend every second –awake and asleep- by your side, travelled with you, fought beside you and apparently stopped an army from showing up at our doorstep." Bass is about to brag how Charlie came up with the plan but can't speak through Jeremy's hand on his mouth.
"I don't wanna know."
"Your preference for ignorance is going to get you killed someday, my friend," Bass scolds. Jeremy has succeeded though. He's managed to change the subject. Charlie will be back any second.
"I know you don't understand. You and Miles have always been too curious. It is as much as a virtue as it is a vice. You forget, knowing too much can get you killed just as easily."
Bass thinks of the choppers arriving in an hour at the most. The knowledge that Rachel could turn the power back on in exchange for her son's life. He can see Jeremy's point, but he also knows that if he has to choose between ignorance and cognizance, he will always pick the second option.
"Come outside," Charlie interrupts from the tent flap. Her smile reaches her eyes, "you have to see this."
Bass already recognizes the sound long before he sees them. Two Black Hawks are approaching rapidly from the north. The sound of the engine rouses the whole camp. Soldiers step into the open to see a sight that's fifteen years old.
When they are close enough to land in the clearing everyone can see the Republic's logo in reflecting white, the 'M' clear even in the darkness of the night. When the truth finally gets through their thick skulls, the men and women start cheering.
Miles steps out in his uniform, watching the growing crowd admire the choppers with disbelieving glee. He finds Bass and Charlie in the mass of soldiers without any trouble, waiting for them to come to him.
Charlie makes her way to him with happiness oozing from every pore of her body. She gives him a quick sideways hug, accepting his hand in her hair with a squeeze and watches as Miles turns his attention to Bass.
"They've retreated and won't be coming back. I say we leave them be as long as they do the same. The treaty is still in place. Fry will inform Texas, he got our message."
"Good. Our spy with the rebels told me that they will be attacking tomorrow when they have confirmed you and I are gone. We'll need to head back right away. "
They both nod in agreement at the shortened debrief, Jeremy placing their bags in the chopper. "You might want to address them first," Jeremy says with a nod at the crowd over his shoulder.
"Your job," Miles is quick to delegate. He hates public speaking and usually has the charm of a schmuck, as Bass likes to say. Charlie hides with him after getting her hair ruffled by Jeremy, taking a seat in the Hawk.
With a sigh, Bass turns to the crowd. "General Matheson and I are proud to inform you that after years of hard work we have succeeded in getting our choppers off the ground. It is a success that has cost us a lot, and regrettably, the power we have is limited, and by far not enough to return our world to the way it once was." The hope in the crowd dims a little, but strangely enough not all that much.
People have gotten used to this new way of life, they have only feared the war that was quickly becoming their destruction. The quickest minds have figured out why the enemy suddenly retreated, and the knowledge spreads quietly while their president continues. "The treaty with Georgia is intact and permanent as far as we can tell. We will be contacting Texas soon to start negotiations for the same agreement." Whatever hope ebbed comes back with vengeance. They are safe, they won't be going to war, they won't be dying any time soon.
Bass knew the exact order to bring the news to his troops. He has always been a skilled speaker, and experience has only increased his ability. He shuts his mouth about the imminent attack on Philly, knowing that panicking the soldiers won't get him anywhere when they can't get home quickly enough to help.
"Your new orders will be given tomorrow morning, speak to your commanding officer. We will be decreasing our presence at the border so we can focus more on our own citizens. It is time to better the lives that we have sworn to protect."
Cheers and salutes dismiss him as he joins Miles, Charlie, the pilot and three former members of Special Forces that came along just in case. The choppers ascend in tandem with a deafening roar. "Let's make a detour," Bass suggests with a sadistic grin. Miles grins back, while Charlie looks at the man. "Proof of power?" she questions.
"Proof of power," Miles nods, staring at the ground where thousands of soldiers are marching through south through the night a few miles ahead. When they get close to the giant black mass he can see the people. The lights of the chopper bade the Georgians and Texans in yellow, eyes pointed at the sky where their greatest nightmares are approaching.
"Enough," Miles says when the screams reach their ears, "we're going home."