I'm Alone

by AmbroseVox

As the Human-Covenant War rages on, a tight-knit band of marines find themselves fighting side by side the dedicated crew of the super heavy cruiser UNSC I'm Alone, but the ship's commanding officer shares a bond of fury and anguish against one of the marines, which will ignite a personal conflict that could divide the titanium world they live in and last throughout the war.

36. Chapter 36: A Name

Chapter 36: A Name

---

Jasmine sent another report to the I'm Alone. Satisfied with the state of the field hospital, despite the influx of casualties, she went over to a nearby tent that she had devoted to Frost's wounded men. Bishop was sitting on the edge of his bed, clad in his fatigues, staring straight ahead. Maddox was on the bed across from him, smoking a cigarette, his cast-covered arm in a sling. She was worried about Bishop. Aside from a few mess hall greetings and his rant in her office, she hadn't had much interaction with the man. But it didn't take a doctor to see that something was wrong. Langley had relayed to her the other night how she had found him. Being alone-trapped-in that blockhouse, in the dark all day and for a moderate portion of the night, hunted by the enemy put an unspeakable amount of stress on the body, mind, and spirit. Soldiers saw all manner of horrors in their daily lives. Consistency, Jasmine found, was their key to mental and emotional salvation. The same faces, the same routines. In there, Bishop had been cut off from his most trusted companions and the familiarity of frontline combat for a whole day. All it took was a single day to break someone. No doubt, he had to fight like a rat in there to survive. Was he broken? Her gut told her no, but he was far from solid. When Frost returned, she planned to advise him that Bishop should pursue therapy, and she'd take extra time for him.

"How are you holding up?"

Bishop merely grunted.

"Bored as hell," Maddox mumbled. "I'd rather be out there fighting with the squad."

"You wouldn't do much good for anybody with an injured hand," Jasmine told him. Maddox snorted.

"Wouldn't have been that way if Carris and Steele hadn't gotten in my way. We could have gone out there, grabbed our boy, and been back in no time flat." Maddox wrinkled his nose and his eyebrows narrowed. "If it weren't for her, my hand wouldn't be busted up like this. If it weren't for her, Bishop wouldn't have been left behind"

"That's a lot of blame to levy onto one person," Jasmine said disapprovingly.

"Yeah, well, she deserves it, Doc. She ain't like you and me."

"I thought you were friends."

"We were. But anybody who can plant themselves in the sand and says you can't go back out to get your best friend of eight years, and not betray a hint of emotion? That ain't right. She-"

"She wears a fully enclosed helmet," Bishop finally said, his usually tough voice soft. "How can you tell what emotion she was feeling?"

"I just can. You don't actually have to see a person's face to-"

"Kyle, shut the fuck up," Bishop said emotionlessly.

Jasmine sighed and walked out of the tent as Maddox angrily rolled on his side, turning his back to Bishop. As she did, a Pelican came flying in fast overhead.

"This is Triple Seven," came the voice of the pilot Jasper, "we have a critical casualty on board. Repeat, critical casualty."

A team was already prepared, rushing a stretcher bed out to the pad. Jasmine followed. The Pelican landed and the rear hatch opened. Captain De Vos, the crew chief and copilot, as well as Frost's squad and numerous others, all bloodied and scarred, jumped out and began carefully moving the casualty onto the stretcher bed. Jasmine searched the dread-filled faces; Frost was not among the standing.

Running over and looking at the bloodied, blackened casualty, her heart stopped. Frost lay on the roller stretcher, eyes vacant.

"Nathaniel!" she cried.

Frost's eyes, distant and gray, opened a little wider. He coughed and looked over at her as they began wheeling him towards the hospital.

"Jasmine..." he choked.

"Get him over here!" Jasmine ordered, pointing to one of the tents where they performed critical operations. She looked at him again, moving in between the other medical staff who were administering an IV. Two spiker rounds were embedded in his left leg and he was so bloody; his armor was practically gone and his fatigues were ripped up. She could see bits of shrapnel sticking out from exposed skin. There was a terrible, horizontal gash, starting from the bridge of his nose that went about three quarters of the water under his left eye. A white bandage was wrapped around what was left of his left middle finger and she could see bone on his index. Whirling around, she walked with Steele beside the stretcher bed. "What happened?"

"He got hit by rounds from a Brute shot," he said, visibly distressed. "And he got those spikes in his leg, and, and, his fuckin' finger is missing-"

"Is everybody here?" Frost croaked. "Louie, count them off..."

"Everybody's here, man," Steele said, leaning over and taking his right hand, "everyone's here, we're all okay. Don't talk brother, okay? Don't say anything, yeah?"

Jasmine turned around and jogged into the tent. Frost had just been moved to an operating table. She quickly slid on a pair of gloves. Inside, she wanted to break down, curl into a ball, and sob. But she refused. She was not going to stand by while he was hurt and let somebody else operate on him.

"Louie," Frost croaked. Jasmine looked over. Steele bent his head and Frost whispered something into his ear. He then pointed down. A large blood stain was on his crotch. Steele nodded and unzipped his trousers.

"Just blood coming down from your stomach wounds, bruv."

"You sure?"

"Right as rain," Steele said with a smile. "Nothing to be envious of, but..."

Frost laughed which led to a bad coughing fit. Jasmine, now prepared, came over and put a hand on his face.

"Don't worry, Nathaniel, don't worry. I'm going to fix you, okay? I promise. I'm going to fix you." Frost had tears in his eyes then, and he nodded. Jasmine looked up at Steele. "Corporal you need to leave." She looked over and realized that the rest of the squad, the crew of Triple Seven, and Captain De Vos were all standing there, crammed into the surgical tent.

"What are you all doing!?" Jasmine yelled at them. "Get out! We need room to operate! All of you get out, now!"

Reluctantly they all began to file out. All except for Steele.

"I'm not going anywhere. He's my bruvva."

"Corporal, get out of this tent before I have somebody throw you out." That lit a fire in his eyes.

"He's my bruvva!" Steele shouted. "What if he needs blood? We're both AB positive! I can give him blood!"

"We're administering fluids right now and we have plenty of plasma. The best thing you can do for him is to give us space."

"I'm not leaving," Steele said, his voice cracking. Just as Jasmine was about to give an order to get a few orderlies to manhandle him out, Carris approached him.

"Come with me Louis," she said, her tone almost sweet. She reached down with her gauntleted hand and gently took his wrist. Steele looked at her. Carris bent over a little so that she was eye-level with him. Her smile was gentle and understanding. Steele looked terrified. "Come with me."

With only a few words, she cast some spell over the sniper, and without another word he let her lead him from the tent.

Jasmine turned around and put on a mask. One of the orderlies came and put an operating gown on her. The staff was prepared, the instruments were on the table, medicine had been administered to him, assisted breathing established. Once she took a few deep breaths, she was ready.

"One spike to the calf, one spike to the thigh," she said to the team, "we'll have to remove one side of the calf spike with the buzzsaw. The spikes could be preventing major bleeding, we'll wait on those. Cap the finger with biofoam, we'll work on that later. Priority is the shrapnel." Sweat dripped down her forehead. "Multiple shrapnel wounds to the lower chest and stomach." None of them had been too deep, none were high enough on the torso to threaten his heart, and although his voice was fatigued and heavy, it made no tell-tale sounds of a lung wound. He was definitely weak and losing blood.

Jasmine grabbed a pair of forceps and began to pulling out shards of metal. Some came easier than others. Once she carefully removed one, one of the operating staff would quickly swab and she would stitch the wound. One after the other; remove, swab, stitch. Remove, swab, stitch. It took a great deal of self-control not to glance up at his face. He was unconscious from the medicine. A part of her still worried-a jump in her stomach each time she yanked a piece out-that it still caused him pain.

How did this happen to you? What did you do? Why aren't you wearing your armor, Nathaniel?

The pan on the stand beside her was now filled with metal scraps. By her count, she had extracted nearly thirty pieces of shrapnel. Very small bits of his armor had been blown into his skin as well when it had been practically disintegrated by the explosives. Those proved the most difficult ones to pull out; he was lucky they hadn't gone too deep. An equal number of short, black lines of stitches decorated his stomach and chest. Jasmine looked at the spikes in his leg.

"Get the saw."

###

Jasmine washed her hands and stepped out of the tent. Right outside, camped out near a medical crate, was Steele and Carris. The former was seated on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and his head down. The latter was kneeling in front of him.

"Look up, Louis."

He shook his head. Carris leaned a bit closer. "Look at me, please." Corporal Steele slowly raised his head. There was a cut on his cheek. Dousing a clean cloth with water from a canteen, she carefully ran it across the cut. Then, she reached into her first aid kit and procured anti-bacterial cream, dabbed it on the same cloth, and pushed into his wound. Hissing, the sniper began to recoil but Carris held his head in place with her other hand. Afterwards, she took out an adhesive bandage and applied over his cheek. "There you go."

"Thanks love," Steele mumbled. He then set eyes on Jasmine, who was approaching. Jumping to his feet, he ran up to her and grabbed her by the arms.

"Is he alive!?"

"Yes, he is," Jasmine answered calmly. Limply, he let go and sighed. After a moment of utter silence, he looked her in the eye.

"What's the damage?"

Jasmine offered a tender smile.

"You can go in and see for yourself." Steele appeared more hopeful, and went to walk by him. But Jasmine planted a hand on the center of his chest. Confused, he glanced at her. "Corporal, what the hell happened out there? This morning he came back with a smile on his face, and now he's returned all..."

The words stuck in her mouth. "What happened?"

Steele shook his head.

"I..."

"Doctor."

Everyone turned their attention to Katz. Where he had been and where he had come from, Jasmine did not know. From the look on his face, she didn't care either.

Katz was holding his video camera in his hands. Sheepishly, he walked up, holding it like a child who was holding something they shouldn't have had. "I filmed what happened. You should take a look.

---

Earlier that day...

"Running low on ammo!"

"I know Grant, I know!"

"The Warthog carrying the supplies just got hit!" yelled Borko.

"Fuck!"

"Loading!"

"Toss me a mag!"

"Where the hell is our air support!?"

"They're tied up at the center of the line!"

"Gunnery Sergeant!" Carris cried over the calamity of gunfire and plasma, "Permission to assault the Covenant position!"

"Denied! Hold your position! We're in no position to mount an assault!"

"Sarge, do you think I should pick up a gun!?"

"Keep your head down Katz, and mind your camera!"

Frost grabbed a bandolier from the chest of a fallen trooper, loading one of the fresh clips into his empty assault rifle. Fog had rolled in with the late morning sky, and along with his squad and other soldiers, had taken cover in a long, shallow ditch in the land. Many mangled, twisted bodies lay in the ditch and around it. They had advanced beyond the Covenant base, which was nothing but a smoldering ruin. The task force had come in hard with armored, artillery, and air support, rolling over their defenses. Momentum carried them after the retreating Covenant as they made for a stretch of forest half a mile behind their base. Having regrouped there, they were now laying thick plasma fire onto the forward UNSC troops, which Frost and his squad were a part of. Pockets of resistance had destroyed half a dozen Scorpions, and a dozen more had been disabled. Covenant numbers were still high, many of them Brutes, who were putting up a stiff fight. Artillery was pounding away at the forest, felling trees, sending columns of earth and fire heavenward. Plasma fire was intensifying and they were using the cover of the forest combined with the thick fog to their advantage. UNSC troops were bogged down in crags, ditches, trenches, and rock formations. Being so far from the remains of the Covenant base left them in the open and exposed. Mopping-up operations were still taking place behind Frost and the others, and if the main body of the attacking force didn't regroup, they'd have to fall back in the case of a counterattack.

"CP, this is Frost!" he yelled over the comms, "We are heavily outnumbered and need reinforcements, ASAP!"

"Covenant holdouts are still giving the troops behind you trouble. The line is fractured. Recommend you pull out and regroup with units further back, over."

"We're almost dry, we lost our ammo wagon! We need air support!"

"Air is tied up right now. Wait one..." Plasma sizzled over Frost's head. "I have a platoon of ODSTs from the I'm Alone prepping for a drop. I'm Alone needs ten mikes to get into position for a drop. The Helljumpers will deploy and escort you out of the hotzone!"

"No time!" Frost yelled as plasma fire intensified. "I'm pulling us back while we have time!"

He looked up over the edge of the ditch. Blue, green, and red plasma bolts came blazing out of the fog. Three hundred yards ahead of their ditch was a shell crater. Nabiyev and his men were pinned down.
"Nebiyev, fall back to our position, we're going to withdraw to the Covenant base to link up with friendly forces. We're too exposed out here. We'll provide covering fire for you," Frost yelled to him over the comms.

"Roger!"

Frost turned to the others.

"Alright, on my command, lay down suppressive fire! We need to have fire superiority! As soon as Nebiyev and his boys get here, we're falling back!""

"I'm down to one clip!" Grant yelled.

"I'm out on my primary!" Moser hollered, drawing his pistol. Frost gave them a fleeting glance. Everyone was filthy and looked shaken. Katz was on his knees, shaking like a leaf, slowly rising up to try and record the battle on his video camera.

"Use everything you've got," Frost yelled, wishing that Bishop and Maddox were with them then. "Fire!"

Everyone raised themselves to a crouch and began firing away. Frost had five clips for his MA5B, but he knew the others would have to begin drawing their sidearms soon. "Nebiyev, move!"

As plasma fire dwindled, Nebiyev ordered his squad to get on their feet. They came sprinting out of the crater, bucketing along as fast as they could. Nebiyev was the last man out, but a moment later he was struck in the hip by a bolt from a Brute plasma rifle. He fell hard on his side. One of his men, his Air Force comms specialist, Sánchez, was the closest one to him. Wheeling around, he ran back and grabbed Nebiyev by a strap on the back of his battle armor, and began dragging him. Nebiyev picked up his assault rifle and began firing back, but his last clip was soon spent. With others down the line crying that they were out, the pair would be defenseless out in the field.

More shadows appeared in the fog. They came closer and closer. Some were slim and short, darting around. Others were large and cantankerous. Skirmishers and Brutes were coming. Frost grimaced. Nebiyev and Sánchez were still out there, and wouldn't be able to get back before their alien assailants overtook them. As soon as the Covenant got to them, they would be torn to shreds.

"I'm out!" came the cry down the line.

"Out!"

"Empty!"

Frost crouched down, panting, thinking, harking to a time when a squad, bereft of ammo, was ripped to pieces by assaulting Brutes. He had the ammo in his hands; he was so close he could have tossed the clips to them. Instead, he had just stayed there, letting the Covenant pin him down. All he had to do was get up and run to them; he could have saved them. Yet, he stayed and let them die. It was not the rebels who had killed them. No, it had been him. Not again.

He looked at the men on either side of him. Katz was doing his best to film the the battle in front of him but was ducking his head down every few moments. The others were in various positions; flat on their bellies, hunched down, kneeling and reloading. Steele got to his feet and fired the last clip from his sniper rifle in quick succession, before tossing it to the ground and drawing his sidearm. A needler round whizzed by, grazing his cheek, leaving a thin red line. He didn't seem to notice, blazing away on his pistol while blood began to roll down his cheek. Grant stood up and lobbed his last grenade, and caught a plasma bolt in the center of the armor. The impact made him lose his footing and he fell on his back; he let out a cry of shock. M52B armor could stop a single bolt, but the heat still cooked a Marine in his armor just a little. Another Marine, who was just lobbing a grenade was struck in the face by a bolt and he clutched it with both hands as he fell back onto his knees, screaming. A corpsman who began to run over was hit in the side by a carbine round. Still, he began to treat the wounded man. Lieutenant Conroy was holding a blue plasma rifle he had ripped from the hands of a dead Elite; a Brute spike was lodged in his left shoulder. Moser had spent all of his pistol ammunition in just a few moments and had gotten back down on the ground. He was drawing his knife. If it came to close quarters, they were going to lose people. They were stretched thin, exposed, out in the open, not in the funneling confines of an ammo-packed basement, with no support, and were dealing with an enemy that had nothing to lose and no regard for their lives.

Grenades detonated near Frost and his ears began to ring. He could hear his own breathing begin to slow. Frost closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let his mind wander. Who was he? Jack the Ripper, the avenger of lost soldiers. A legend, a ghost, a tale that scared the enemy at night. No longer would his moniker stand for such causes. The past would remain unchanged, no matter what he did to undo it. Retribution had been meted out; the honor of those who had been wronged had been upheld and defended. These men needed him now. Not the vindicator, but the warrior. Not a monster, but a man. A soldier.

Frost stood up. Plasma bolts sizzled past him. He needed to be fast. First he threw down his helmet, then took off the pauldrons of his M52B body armor, then unclipped the chestplate, revealing the black ballistic and heat reductive material underneath. Steele stopped firing to look at him, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Louie," Frost said, throwing his armor to the ground and picking up his assault rifle, "round them up and get out of here."

"Nate, what're you doing!?" Steele cried. Frost ignored him, taking off his helmet and dropping it.

I am Sergeant Frost. I will feel no fear.

Frost ran forward until he reached Nebiyev and Sánchez, and placed himself in front of them. Skirmishers rushed out of the fog, enraged, squawking, mad for blood. He gunned them down, one after the other after the other. Dozens of Skirmishers fell with each burst of his rifle. Even when the bodies began falling at his feet, he held his ground. Looking over his shoulder, he checked to see if Sánchez had gotten Nebiyev back to the ditch. No; they needed more time. He pressed forward into the fog.

Sidestepping a charging Skirmisher, Frost dropped his assault rifle, letting it hang by the sling, and drew his knife. It came at him again, raising its fist, but Frost deflected it with a deft hand, and slashed the creature across its chest, opening it from shoulder to middle. Turning around, more came at him. One of them raised a needler rifle to strike him with the stock, but with great strength, he stopped the blow with his free hand. The creature had the nerve to look surprised. Frost took the blade and drove it into the Skirmisher's belly, then withdrew it, letting the alien drop. Another came from the side, attempting to tackle him. Frost grabbed it by its frail neck, planted his leg behind it, and tripped the beast. Once it was on its back, he stabbed the Skirmisher in the heart. He slashed at another, who blocked the blow with its shield gauntlet. But he brought his knee into its gut, causing it to keel over. Frost then opened its throat with the blade. As more came, Frost drew his second knife and rushed into them. More and more came at him. He weaved and flowed around their blows, slashing, stabbing, cutting, striking as he did. Many fell, clutching at fatal wounds they could not heal. Frost lost count of how many he killed, but the field was littered with Covenant dead and dying. His vision blackened like last night. His instincts, his training, the fire inside, was taking over. It felt good. At first he held his ground, but Frost realized he was moving forward, cutting down each Skirmisher as he went. As the carnage unfolded, he found it strange. He did not feel afraid. Nor did he feel the rage like he did rage like before. Something in the darkness was holding him, guiding him. Purpose.

When he stopped to get his bearings in the fog, a roar from behind made Frost turned around. A Brute threw away its weapons and charged at him. Frost ran at the monster, and dodged around its grab attempt. He quickly clambered onto its back, gouging out its eyes before it could put its mammoth hands on him. The Brute roared and shook, but Frost held on tight, until he sliced its throat. Another grabbed him and threw him off. After a few uncontrolled rolls, Frost recovered, stopping himself on all fours and then jumping to his feet. Stomping over, the Brute lunged. Frost darted back, then back in, stabbing the Brute's gut each time with both blades. This served to only infuriate it even further. Brutes had tough hides. After bleeding it enough, though, it felt to its knees, and Frost rammed the blades directly into the Brute's face, before letting it drop. Turning to face another, he narrowly avoided a punch to his chest. If he hadn't been fast enough, his rib cage would have been busted in half a hundred places. Gasping, he stumbled back and managed to dodge the next few strikes. Eventually, he ducked down and cut across the Brute's leg. The blow was severe enough to make it drop to one knee. Frost seized the opportunity and jammed the knives directly into the Brute's spine. Paralyzed, the beast felt. Frost drove both blade sinto side of its head before sheathing it.

"Frost, Frost!" someone cried. "Come back! We've got them! Fall back!"

But Frost ignored them. A darkness gripped his vision. Energy rippled through him. An urge to continue the fight. He kept pushing forward, farther from his team. Through the haze, he could his own voice.

I am Jack the Ripper! Nobody knows me!

Growling liken animal, he took his his MA5B back into his hands. Pushing on and on, his comrade's pleas fading, Frost fired at an approaching Brute. He was panting heavily, but he pushed past it. Brute minors were approaching. It took nearly twenty rounds to kill an unshielded Minor; if he fired in short bursts, he could take at least four down per clip. He fired, dropping it, then killed another, another another. Reloading, he strafed back and forth, ducking, dodging hails of spiker rounds and red plasma. Ammo was running out, but he kept firing.

Another Brute minor fell. Frost reloaded and turned to face the forest, cloaked in the fog. No targets were in his field of view. Then, he felt something strike the fleshy part of his calf. Frost felt to one knee, his wounded leg out stretched. The pain was terrible-heavy and burning-and he let out a quick, pained cry. Looking back at his leg, he saw that one of the superheated metallic rounds used by Brute spiker was sticking out of his calf. With much effort, he tried to stand up, but another struck him in the thigh of the same leg. Frost roared at the pain. Before he could try to turn, he heard the sound of a Brute shot being fired.

The first round land a few feet in front of him. Frost felt dozens of shards hit in his torso. The second round land right in front of him. Frost was flung back and landed on his back. His ears rang. Trying to sit up a bit, he saw his leg, where the spikes still stuck out. The ballistic gel layer had been torn apart and melted in some spots. His combat jacket was exposed, which was torn up and bloodied from below his sternum to his groin. Pain gripped his entire body, and there was an especially sharp pain in the center of his face.

As the fog finally cleared, blown away by a sudden wind, came a Brute major, holding the Type-25 grenade launcher. Minors also accompanied it. Grunting, Frost reached over and took his assault rifle in his hands. As he did, Frost realized that the middle finger of his left hand was missing, and he could see about a quarter of an inch of bone on the lower part of his index finger. Hissing from the pain, he aimed the assault rifle, which was fully loaded, and fired. One of the minors fell, and another appeared. Frost killed it too, and another. Click. His assault rifle was empty. More were coming; a pack led by a green-armored chieftain, toting a gravity hammer. Slowly, confidently, sinisterly, they approached. Drawing his pistol, he raised it, and fired. It had no effect; their armor repelled the rounds with ease. Click. It was empty. Frost dropped it and took the sheath of his blade in his left hand, and drew the knife with his right.

Brutes fanned out, firing at the marines behind Frost. Hopefully, they would be able to get away now. Standing over Frost, the chieftain snarled, as if he had found something that had disgusted him. Frost grinned at him, raising his knife, pointing it at the monster.

"I am Jack the Ripper," he said, hoarsely, "I am not afraid, of you."

With that, he laid his head back, putting his right hand on the center of his chest. The Brute raised its hammer. Frost's eyes went to the sky. As the clouds retreated, something caught his eye. Dark specs, that seemed to be growing larger. Suddenly, they appeared to be balls of flame falling from the sky-twenty of them-forming a perfect circle. The chieftain stopped and along with its minions, looked up, listening to the roaring of what sounded like rockets. No; like thunder.

The Brutes scattered. The objects fell with a tremendous sound and flurry of soil, falling one after another in a perfect ring around him. Frost finally realized what they were: HEV pods. The doors blew off and an ODST rushed out of each one, firing away with their classic suppressed SMGs.

"Form up!" cried a familiar voice.

One of the ODST, the insignia of a captain branded on the chestplate, crouched down over him. The visor depolarized, and Frost saw Captain De Vos looked at him.

"I've got you, Gunny!" she shouted, then to her troopers "Cover me!"

"My squad..." Frost croaked.

"They're right there, I'm bringing you over. Stay awake, Gunny."

De Vos picked Frost up, standing him up on his feet, before throwing him across her shoulders. As fast as she could, with her ODSTs in tow, carried him back towards the Marines. More pods dropped from the sky, unleashing Helljumpers against the Covenant. Frost, for some reason, despite the pain, despite the fog in his mind, felt himself smile.

"Frost!" he heard his squad yell, crowding around him.

"Get the biofoam!"

"He's got shrapnel all over his front!"

"The bleeding looks bad."

"Stay awake, man, stay awake," Steele urged him.

"This is Bravo One," Langley said into her radio, "requesting immediate CASEVAC at grid..."

The voices faded from his ears. He gripped his knife tightly.

I am...

---

Steele was back on the I'm Alone. Fingering the bandage on his cheek, he walked up to the bed where Jasmine had placed Frost. It was in the farthest corner of the medical bay with a blue sheet held up by a metal frame on wheels seated between his and the nearest bed. It was a good spot by all accounts; a bit farther away from the other beds with the benefit of the large window right next to it.

Jasmine was sitting on a chair she had pulled up next to his bed. She was near the head, and had a hand in Frost's messy brown hair. Steele pursed his lips; he felt like he was intruding then. The doctor was so focused on Frost that she didn't even notice him walk up. They had been taking shifts at his beside for two days. Frost's operation was a complete success but he had been in much pain afterwards. The medicine they were giving him was making him extremely groggy and he hadn't said more than a few slurred sentences since he was moved to the ship after the surgery. Mostly, he just slept.

To see him lying there in the white sheets, shirtless, with an IV in his right arm, hooked up to several machines, made him look small and vulnerable. Steele cleared his throat.

"I'm here, Doc."

Jasmine looked at him.

"Hello, corporal," she said softly. "He's sleeping still."

Steele looked at him for a moment. Frost seemed peaceful in his berth, his chest rising slowly, his breathing steady.

"Well, he deserves a rest."

"I wish he'd wake up, let us know how he's feeling." Jasmine's eyes began to glimmer and she quickly swiped at them. "I just want to know if he's in pain or not."

"The meds are working Doc. If he was in pain, he'd be awake. You...did a good job," Steele smiled. "I thought you were gonna have to take his leg off. I've known guys that got those spikes in the leg and had permanent nerve damage."

"My aptitude has nothing to do with it," she sighed, "Nathaniel's extremely lucky. No permanent damage to worry about. No deep wounds, no arterial damage, no nerve damage. We were even able to prevent substantial blood loss."

Steele nodded; even the most basic of medical language was rather beyond him. He didn't mind. Jasmine stood up and stepped closer to him.

"Corporal Steele, Frost fought on his own against dozens, maybe hundreds of Covenant. Why?"

He knew the question was going to come sooner or later. Frankly, he had been dreading it. Mainly because he didn't have an answer himself.

"If I knew, I'd tell you, Doc. Frost just stood up, took off his armor, and told me to police up the men and fall back." Steele's eyes drifted to the wall, remembering. "So strange. His voice was so calm and his eyes...they just went blank for a moment. They became so dark I swear they were nearly black. When he charged out there, it was like the fog was parting around him. We could see everything. Like it was making way for him. I've never seen anything like it."

Steele looked at Frost and smiled a little. Then he chuckled. Jasmine gave him a curious look. "Something you should know about Nathan is that..." Steele rubbed his chin for a moment, still smiling, "uh...is that when you're with him, something amazing isn't too far down the line."

Jasmine smiled.

"I think I know what you mean."

"Some of the things he's been through, we've been through, I mean, they were absolute hell at the time but I look back now and I can't believe how incredible some of those things were. All that I can think of and just be astounded, were with him."

Jasmine looked at him intently.

"You two have been through a great deal."

"Everything. Skopje, losing Wright and Ocampo and Teo, mission after mission, battle after battle, when we were wounded." Steele cleared his throat. "I don't think I can describe how it felt to wake up, after almost dying, and knowing, just knowing, that he was there. He's my brother. My real brother."

"I've heard it mentioned that you have family on Earth."

"Fuck'em," Steele grunted, "this guy's the only family I've got."

"He's very special to you."

Steele nodded. Jasmine seemed to shuffle her feet. "Very special..." Steele shot a mild glare at her.

"You ain't go nothing to worry about, Doc. It's just...he was first person in my life to ever show me kindness. Abused by my brother, treated like I was subhuman by my stepmother, neglected by my father, never met my real mother. She wanted nothing to do with me. Do you know what it's like to grow up for thirteen years of your life with that? I joined up to get away from it. And I met him."

Steele paused for a moment, thinking. He was resting one arm on the bed, the other on his thigh. His eyes were on Frosts. "My parents named Louis-Henry. God knows why. All my life, my family called me Henry. Everybody did. Not once did they use the first part of my name. When I enlisted in the program, he and I met when we choosing bunks in the barracks. We shook hands, and exchanged names..." Steele could hear their voices like it was yesterday.

"I'm Nathaniel J. Frost, of Halifax."

"Name's Louis-Henry Steele. London. Pleasure."

"Good to meet you, Louie. Mind if I take the top bunk?"

Steele looked up at Jasmine, gazing at him with some perplexity. "He called me Louie. The first time in my life I heard somebody say it. He was the first person who actually wanted to know me." Steele sighed. "I'll do anything to make sure he makes it through this. He's the kind of person who deserves to go home."

"Not you?"

"Ain't got much to look forward to, Doctor. He's got a family waiting for him. One he doesn't talk to enough," he sighed. He looked at her. "Doesn't ever write them. Think you can say something to him? Doesn't matter when, just, he ought to talk to'em more."

"Sure." Jasmine inhaled a little. "Well, I'll leave you alone. I'll be back in a couple hours."

Steele nodded and turned his gaze back to Frost. He reached over and put a hand on Frost's forearm, and shook his head.

"Louie, you called me..."

---

To his front was an impenetrable darkness. Then a snowy hillside. Blood in the grass. Trees swayed in the wind. Snowflakes landed on his cheeks. Half-stripped girls, their bare skin blued by the cold. Bloating corpses, tied like animals, their faces frozen in agony, eyes bulging. He came to one of the girls, a thin thing in a green combat jacket, long slender legs with blood between them. Kneeling, he took her in his arms, his hand on the back of her black haired head. Hot tears slid down his cheeks. An indiscernible whisper escaped his lips. Then, Frost was once more confronted with darkness. After some time, he heard a low murmur, the methodic beep of something mechanical. It stirred him more than it had before, and the darkness began to break, being replaced with stark white light.

Frost opened his eyes he found himself in one of the medical bays of the I'm Alone. He was on a bed; there was an IV in his arm, and he felt groggy and exhausted. Around him, however, were three stands with blue curtains. He could hear the moaning and grunting of wounded men around him.

Trying to sit up hurt him, but he straightened up a little bit. His chest felt incredibly sore, as did his leg. It was then he realized that Jasmine was there. She had pulled up a chair right next to his bed. Her arms were folded on the mattress and she had laid her head down on them; she was asleep. Thick, black hair spilled over her face. Frost smiled a little, watching her that way for some time. In those moments, he felt warm, and the pain ceased. Eventually, he reached over and gently pushed a lock of her hair aside. Jasmine's eyes opened and she quickly sat up.

"Nathaniel, you're awake!" she said happily. Standing up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. Frost hugged her back. "I was so worried," she said into his neck. Frost could feel her hot tears rolling from her face onto his neck.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Frost said, his eyes closed, a smile plastered to his face.

"What in the world do you have to be sorry for?" she said, crying, sniffing. Jasmine withdrew a little, looking him over. "Sorry, was I hurting your chest?"

"No," Frost sighed. "How long have I been out? Few hours?"

"You've been in an out for a few days," Jasmine said.

"Shit."

"Don't worry. The Covenant have been eliminated and everyone's back on the I'm Alone."

"How's my squad?"

"As far as I know, they're holding up just fine." Jasmine blushed a little then. "I hope you don't mind, but your beard had gotten a little unruly over the past few days. You haven't had anytime to shave. I mean, you were out fighting..." Jasmine looked away briefly, still smiling. "So... I gave you a little trim."

Frost reached up with his right hand and felt his beard. It was almost down to stubble. Jasmine smiled a bit more. "I also shaved your mustache."

"Huh? Why?" Frost reached up, surprised to touch bare skin; it was the first time he had been without a mustache in some years.

Jasmine pulled her chair up to the head of the bed and sat down, putting one hand on his arm and resting the other in her lap.

"Because, if you want to kiss me again, I don't want to have it scratching my lip and nose."

"How do I look without it?"

"Very good. I think you look better without it."

Frost grunted unhappily. Jasmine snorted. "It's either grow a mustache or kiss me, which would you choose?"

"Well, if you're gonna twist my hand..." Frost chuckled. "So, what's my damage?"

"You had multiple pieces of shrapnel in your chest and stomach. You're extremely lucky, none of them were deep. If they had been...I don't want to think about it. But...you've, um, lost your middle finger."

Frost raised his left hand. His middle finger, save for the stub underneath the knuckle, was gone. For a few moments, he stared at it.

"Fuck," he breathed. "I don't know whether to feel sad or pissed. Can you reattach it?"

"No."

"But it's the 26th Century. Medical science can do anything, can't it?"

"We can't because it wasn't recovered from field. Captain De Vos told me there wasn't much time to look for it."

"Goddamn. I can still feel it. Like it hurts."

"That's called phantom pain. It's just a perception. If you want, we can make a robotic prosthetic finger for you."

Frost shook his head.

"No thanks. I don't fancy having something like that; I'm sure I can still do my job without it. What else happened to me?'

"As for your index finger, we irrigated the wound, performed a microsurgery to make sure your fine motor skills would be retained, and were able to transplant a skin graft. You have a pretty deep gash on your face; we cleaned and stitched it up. You'll have a very nasty scar, though. For the leg wounds, the spike in your thigh was a fairly simple extraction. We performed muscular repair and closed the wound. For the one in your calf, we cut off part of it with a metal-cutting buzzsaw, repaired the muscle, and closed it up. There was no damage to any arteries or organs."

"What's in store for me in terms of recovery?"

"Lots and lots of rest. Your wounds are extensive and there's no special surgery or machinery that can whip you back into shape any faster. You just need to lay here and rest-let your body heal."

"Great. I'm going to lose my mind."

"After what you've been through, you deserve the rest."

"But my squad-"

"They'll be just fine. When you're a bit more rested, I'll let you have a crutch to help with walking around. You need to mind that leg. Until then, you need to focus on resting.

Jasmine pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Nathaniel...I can't stress enough how lucky you are. This could have been so much worse. If those pieces of shrapnel had been deeper, or those spikes a few inches in another direction, you could have bled to death out there."

"I didn't, though," Frost said. This did not seem to lighten her mood.

"Steele told me what happened out there. He said he saw your eyes go blank and you ran out into the middle of exposed ground to cover two retreating soldiers. Your kill count was nearing forty by the time you were wounded, he told me. Katz was recording the whole thing on a video camera. You were fighting so many at the same time, and they were all trying to strike you. Why did you do it? Why stay out there once they were safe?"

"Because I had to."

"No you didn't!" Jasmine said sharply. "I can think of over a dozen different ways you could have done it!"

"Jasmine," Frost said, "because I had to. It had to be me."

"Why?"

"Because..." Frost sighed, looking ahead. "...because I've been thinking about what I've been doing all these years. Since Skopje, I've killed a lot of people. Trust me, look in the right places and rebels come out of the woodwork. Justice and vengeance, I told myself. But now I think, I've just been letting the guilt I felt push me harder, push me to do things to make up for it, because of what happened to those poor soldiers, the women left to die, the men butchered. Sometimes I've stayed awake at night, wondering if I had been faster up that mountain, I could have gotten to them."

"No, Nathaniel..." Jasmine whispered, tenderly touching his cheek, avoiding the bandages covering his wound, "...you can't do that to yourself."

"I was, though. For years. All I did after Skopje...it was to make the guilt go away. You helped me see that. Adley too. Here's this man, I have on his knees, I'm ready to blow his brains out, and he spoke to me like I was a lifelong friend." Frost paused. "I'll always be known as Jack the Ripper. It's my war name. It won't ever go away. But I've finally realized I don't have to be him anymore. It's-"

"It's just a name," Jasmine said with a sweet smile.

"Exactly. It all sank home. I'm not going to wait until people die to do something about it. Revenge won't save lives. Action, my action, will save lives."

"You've saved many lives," Jasmine said quietly, "including mine. What makes you think you have to do more?"

Frost smiled.

"Because, the Covenant are more deserving of my rage than so many scattered cells and militants and bands of outcasts. The rebels-the Skopje rebels-are far away. Part of me still thinks that one day I'll have to go back there. But the UNSC needs me here. My brothers need me. And you...I don't think it's so much that you need me, but that I need you." He reached out and touched her cheek.

Jasmine ran her hand through his hair, gently tangling her fingers in his mop.

"I worry that you are trading one guilt for another."

"No. This is how I serve. This is how I'm meant to be, Jasmine."

Jasmine's eyes were watering. She wiped them and continued smiling. Her mouth twitched, as if she were going to speak. But all she did was lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips.

Frost felt happy then. He was sore, and glad for the medicine in his veins despite how groggy it made him. Somehow, he felt more at peace. Hell, he could have forgotten he was wounded. Weights had been lifted from his shoulders, and he didn't feel so dark on the inside like he had for years, without even knowing. This is good.

Then Jasmine looked at him seriously once more.

"I have one more question. When everyone was calling you to come back, why didn't you? You could have made it. Why did you keep fighting?"

Frost looked away briefly, biting his lip.

"I was trying to buy them more time to retreat."

Jasmine appeared unconvinced.

"Nathan-"

"Hey Doc, I've come to..." Frost looked up. Steele stood at the end of his bed. His surprised expression changed into happy. "Hey, man!"

"Hey Louie," Frost said. Steele came around the other side of the bed and knelt down. He put a hand behind Frost's head.

"Bruv, you're awake. How are you? You okay?"

"My head's swimming from these meds, but I'm good. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Doing something new with the beard, huh? No stache."

"You've changed up a little too," Frost said. Steele had grown his mustache out so it came down around his lips a bit and he now had grown his soul patch out. "You look like a 1970's private eye. Or a pornstar."

Steele laughed.

"You kinda look like a rabbi or something." They laughed. Steele cleared his throat and his eyes turned a little red. "I'm just glad you're okay, man." Tears began to brim. Frost felt his own tears begin to form. Steele leaned forward and the pair hugged, sniffling.

"It's good to see you, man," Frost said.

"You too, bruv."

Jasmine had left them momentarily and returned then with a stool for Steele. When the pair parted, she was smiling warmly. Steele thanked her and sat down, and she took up her chair again.

"So, tell me all the news," Frost said. "What's happened to Adley?" he asked then. "Was he set free?"

An uneasy look settled into Jasmine's and Steele's faces.

"Yes...but..."

"But?" Frost echoed.

"I think you should wait, try to rest and-"

"Jasmine. What's happened?"

"Vivian told me last night..."

---

One day earlier...

Mopping-up operations had come to a conclusion. Long range air and ground patrols assisted by orbital scans revealed no surviving Covenant on the planet. No retaliatory fleets besides the first one had arrived either. All that remained of them was wreckage, corpses, and fields of junk floating in space. Another successful mission for Vivian's Pirates. Saying it like that, Vivian found, made the accomplishment feel more dashing. She couldn't help but smirk a little. Another victory for the men and women under her command. Like after every orbital engagement and siege they had partaken in, she was proud of them all. To see them all cheering on the ground, along with the mechanized troops, the Rangers, the Airborne, and regular Army troops was particularly satisfying. Now they could all settle in and enjoy a brief Christmas and New Year's celebration before they set about rebuilding the Horseshoe, and her soldiers would embark their ships and head off in the reaches of space once more. Humanity needed more triumphs such as this. But she was happy just to have saved the planet and its inhabitants. Hopefully, the Covenant would steer clear in the future. Her gut warned however that they'd be back someday, with a much more powerful fleet and a much larger army. Next time they came, it'd most likely be an evacuation than a battle.

Still, she tried not to let the possibilities of the future weigh her down. Adley was being released with all of the supplies she promised. She had offered him a lift back to his farm in a Falcon or Warthog. He had declined however. Something told her he was proud of the part he had played in the night before. Maybe there was a soldier in the making of a rebel turned farmer turned thief. To her, this man's adventures were almost comical.

Standing with Major Holst, Captain De Vos, and several ODSTs to one side, and Colonel Hayes and some of his officers on her other, she handed Adley the food parcels and medicine at the same spot he and Frost had departed the other day.

"We can send a medical flight to your home, bring them here for treatment."

"No, no. This will do just fine."

"You sure you don't want some kind of transport, Mr. Adley?"

"I'm sure, Captain," he said. He was still rather dirty from his adventures, so he wiped his free hand on the new jacket he had been given, and extended it to her. Vivian took his hand. "I should have come to you to not as a thief, but to tell you of the danger. I was wrong to try and take these from you."

"A man who does anything for his family in no criminal in my book," Vivian assured him. "Next time, though, come to us for care. Stealing only aggravates old soldiers like these," she said, motioning to the officers around her. Adley laughed a little.

"Goodbye, Captain Waters."

"Goodbye, Mr. Adley. Take care of yourself."

"I will. Will you extend the same to Sergeant Frost?"

Vivian nodded. Adley bowed his head briefly, and began walking away, over the short trench bridge, and then to the grasslands beyond.

As she turned away to head back to the airfield, Colonel Hayes stepped by her. He had a pistol in his hand and was pointing at it Adley.

"No!" Vivian cried, turning and shoving the colonel. The pistol fired as the two tumbled off the bridge and into the trench. Vivian immediately stood up and looked over the threshold. Adley had been shot in the shoulder; he was clutching the wound. Blood leaked from between his fingers. He looked back at the line with a mixture of shock and horror. "Run Adley, run!" she yelled at him. He did so, moving as fast he could, disappearing into the grass.

Vivian turned to Hayes, who stood up. Casually, he brushed flecks of dirt from his armor, then picked up his sidearm and slid it back into his holster. Vivian stormed over to him and punched him squarely across the face, before snatching the collar of his armor and pulling his face down to her level. "What do you think you're doing!? We made a deal with that man!"

He was about to speak when she heard a series of metallic clicks. She looked up. Hayes' men had drawn their sidearms.

"Let go of the Colonel, Captain Waters," one of them ordered menacingly.

"Put your weapons down now if you don't want to a bullet in your skull," came Holst's voice. He and his ODSTs flicked the safeties off their weapons and raised them slightly. Some of the marines turned to face them in response. De Vos was the only one who hadn't drawn her weapon.

"Everyone stand down! We're all on the same side here!" she commanded. Vivian slowly looked back at Hayes. With one of his big hands, he plucked her hands off his collar.

"I didn't make a deal with him. You did, Captain."

"What makes you think you have the right to shoot a man who aided the UNSC?"

"Because he was a thief and a rebel. And you just rewarded him. All rebels must die, Waters."

"I should have you arrested for this!"

"Just try it," Hayes said with a sinister grin. "Let's see what kind of argument you pose when you take the side of a criminal who just happened to also be an Insurrectionist. We're not supposed to make deals with criminals and traitors!"

Hayes looked up at his men. "Ease up, boys. Captain Waters is right after all. We are all on the same side." His officers obeyed, and the ODSTs put their barrels down as well. Climbing out of the trench, Hayes extended his hand to Waters. She swatted it away and clambered out herself.

"Make no mistake, Colonel Hayes, I'm aware of what you've done in the past. What the 89th has done."

Rashly, she pulled out one of the photographs and held it up to his face. "I know what you really are. If times were different, you'd be in the brig, shackled, and be on your way back to Reach for trial."

"How did you get those? I left a man in charge just to look after that collection..." Hayes said. Vivian didn't answer. Stuffing them back in her pocket, she pushed by him and his officers.

"Collect your men and get ready to head back to the I'm Alone. We'll have words on this later."

---

"Jesus..." Frost whispered.

Jasmine shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"I haven't had much interaction with the Colonel. But he always struck me as such a jovial fellow. Such an act seems so out of character for him."

"Not really, Jas. I have seen him when he's truly in a fury." Frost shook his head. "Whatever skills I have, Hayes has them in double. Don't let that smile and booming laugh fool you. He's a real warrior; a killer."

"He seemed so confident that he could get away it."

"Hayes has been in more than a few hunter-killer units that have been deployed throughout the war against Insurrectionist installations and cells. It was only eight years back when he came up with the Youth Programs."

"Hunter-killer units? Clandestine in nature, I'm guessing."

"We call them bush men. Specially trained light infantry units, going deep into Insurrectionist space to conduct guerilla warfare, smash and grab ops, intel acquisition, targeted killings, and manhunts for hostile agents in UNSC space. Many of the captains and majors and most of his support staff within the 89th served with him, as bush men."

"I thought all the members of the 89th were recruited as kids."

"Most of us are. Some have ascended the ladder. But the majority of the senior officers are bush men. You can tell; they're the ones older than us." Frost sighed. "Hayes will catch a lot of flak from Waters for that, but she won't be able to do much. He's got too much pull, too much gravitas."

"I know. But I can't believe how his officers were so quick to draw on Vivian."

"I'm not surprised. Those were bush men; they're loyal to him, and only him."

"They'd die for him, then?"

"They'd kill for him."

"You don't sound too fond of them."

"I hold no ill-will. But I know them well. They're quite dangerous."

"As dangerous as you?" Jasmine asked with a slight smile. Frost chuckled.

"Almost."

Frost turned his attention to Steele. "What about the squad? What's the skinny?"

Steele sighed heavily.

"They're a bit distraught. After what happened with Bishop they're still pretty shaken. Maddox is still royally pissed at me and Carris. And with you wounded, they're all a bit in a tizzy, out of focus But they'll be okay, they'll get over it. Bishop's the one I'm worried about."

"Why's that?"

"He's been acting strange. We've all gotten shore leave and he's been going out around late afternoon and doesn't come back until almost midnight. I think he's been hitting the city's bars. He reeks of whiskey. When he's here, he either doesn't say a damned thing or lashes out at the first person who looks at him the wrong way. And yesterday, he was already drunk, and did something very strange."

---

The day before...

Steele and Carris had finished their meals early and had left the rest of the squad at the mess hall while they finished up. He had wanted to go check on Frost, as his shift was coming up soon, but Carris had asked if they could check on Bishop first. It would only take a moment, he thought, so they might as well.

The pair came up to the door of their barracks. For some reason, Steele stopped right in front of it. Something felt off.

"What is it?" Carris asked.

"I dunno. I think we should knock."

"Why? This is our barracks."

"I know, but I just think we should."

"If you say so."

Steele rapped his knuckles on the door a few times.

"Bishop? You in there?"

"What...of course he's in there," Carris said, "we've only been gone for fifteen minutes."

"Shush, girl," Steele hissed. "Bishop?"

There was no response. Steele looked up at Carris and she shrugged. He opened the door; it slid away and he was confronted with an impenetrable blackness. The lights were all off and the light from the hall only illuminated a bit of the room.

Steele and Carris stepped in slowly, side by side. Looking around, they heard and saw nothing. Both of them jumped a little when the door slid shut behind them. "Fuck," Steele swore quietly. Carris turned around and opened it back up, and pressed a button on the door control pad that would keep it open. Back in the light again, they peered towards the left side of the room where Bishop's bed was. "Why didn't you just turn the lights on?"

"I can't find the switch..."

"Ah Christ...Bishop?"

"Frank?" Carris piped up.

They heard a metallic click. Steele's hand instinctively went to his holster. Carris reached over and caught his wrist. He wasn't sure if it was to stop him or because she had gotten a little scared. His gut told him it was the former, but he was wrong all the same. She had spotted, as he did then, the small flicker of orange flame from a lighter in the darkness. Briefly, it illuminated Bishop's bearded face. Click. His face disappeared again. Instead, only the small orange circle of a burning cigarette was visible in his darkened section of the room.

"Frank?" Steele asked slowly. "You okay?"

"They'll see me..."

"What did you say?"
"If the lights are on, they'll see me."

"What the fuck are you on about, mate?" Steele asked. He listened to Bishop get up from his bed and approach. All of a sudden the cigarette flicked out and hit him in the chest. "Ow!" Steele said, brushing away the sparks. "What the fuck man?"

Bishop said nothing, brushing past them both. Steele grabbed him by the arm but Bishop roughly pulled it away.

"Fuck off!" he snarled. His breath reeked of whiskey. Bishop went to the door, turned on the lights to the room, and left.

"That was odd," Carris said.

"Odd? Odd? That was a tad bit more than odd, love!" Steele said, exasperated.

---

As Frost let the story sink in, Jasmine spoke up.

"I think Bishop should see me for counseling," Jasmine said. Steele folded his arms across his chest.

"I think so too. He won't even talk to Nora. Whatever happened in the blockhouse, it's hitting him pretty hard. Drowning it in booze won't help the situation either. And that's coming from me so you know this is pretty serious."

"Mm," Frost grunted. "Alright, leave him be in the meantime. Right now, I think he needs a little space. Once I'm up on my feet again, I'll ask him to see Jasmine."

"Are you sure it's wise to wait? I wouldn't recommend getting back on your feet for at least another two or three days," Jasmine informed him.

"What's a couple of days gonna do?" Steele asked before Frost could say anything.

"Even one day leaves a number of possibilities. Heavy drinking is an early sign of self-destructive behavior. We should see to his emotional and mental stability immediately."

"I know Frankie," Frost said, "he's a cantankerous fellow. Not like Maddox, but catch him in the wrong mood and he'll knock you on your ass. Give him some time, and he'll be more open to the idea."

Frost yawned a little. "Man, I'm already tired."

"You should get some rest," Jasmine said sweetly, "Corporal, if you wouldn't mind staying with him in the meantime? I have to see to my staff."

"Of course, Doc, of course."

"Thank you."

"Jasmine, before you go, think you can move this sheet? I don't like being boxed in like this."

"Sure," Jasmine said. She summoned an orderly, who wheeled the curtain away. Before she left, she planted a kiss on his cheek, and left. Steele watched her go and smiled at Frost.

"What?" Frost asked.

"Oh, nothing at all," Steele said, looking up at the ceiling.

Frost knew what he was thinking and looked away, embarrassed. Around him were hundreds of wounded men, some out of surgery, some being carted for an operation. Many were covered with blood bandages around arms, legs, necks, faces. Some had missing limbs. Others had robot prosthetics attached and were staring aimlessly at their new mechanical appendages. The low moaning seemed to grow louder, accompanied by shrieks of pain. Directly across from him was a man with a mangled leg, who stared out the window directly beside their beds. Frost took a breath. He had seen worse battlegrounds.

---

Vivian stormed down the hallway to the offices for the 89th MEU. I'm Alone and the rest of the battlegroup were holding tight over the colony, restocking supplies and helping with the transfers and care of the wounded. Most of the troops recovering in the medical bay were from the multiple Army divisions below. Once their casualty state was better maintained, than they could depart once more. Despite all of Jasmine's controlling the influx of wounded over the course of the prolonged battle, there were still many who couldn't be moved from their ships yet. Civil hospitals were filled to capacity, as were the fields hospitals in the Horseshoe. She wasn't going to steam away from a friendly force that needed aid. Furthermore, it provided ample time to repair damage to ships from the last engagement as well as stock up on necessary supplies, as usual. It occurred to her than that Travers' grand plan for having her miniature fleet remain in Covenant territory were far fetched indeed. Battles with the Covenant, whether they were brief or extended, put a massive drain on ammunition, food, medical stores, water, spare parts, fuel, body armor, vehicles, and much more. Trying to moderate usage of said materials was a fool's gambit. No logical soldier would wait to use his biggest guns on the enemy, unless bound by ridiculous bureaucratic rules of engagement to save agricultural land. Vivian was still sore about such outrageous legislation. To go out into space under-supplied would be a major mistake on her part as the task force commander. No combat leader would embark on a mission without the proper equipment and materials unless absolutely pressed. Only in an extreme case would Vivian do so, such as in the case of a falling colony or another fleet in distress. Until then, she would stay to help her Army cousins, utilizing the time to give her own personnel shore leave to rest after a hard fight.

She had a bone to pick with Hayes. If spirits hadn't been so high yesterday after the defeat of the Covenant, she would have confronted him sooner. Morale needed to stay high so she gave him some time before they had their conversation. Word got around the ship fast; it was only a miracle the entire crew hadn't found out about her and Frost's shared past.

That made her think of Jasmine. For as long as she had known her, she had admired the young doctor. Seeing her diligence over him in the medical bay was different. Qualms about a relationship affecting her work had been dissipated. Throughout the time after his operation to today, she had been both watching him unendingly while still running her infirmary. Reports didn't arrive on time; they arrived early. Medical teams were rotated without a hitch, operations were being completed at a record rate, and transfers from ground to orbit, orbit to ground, were going smoothly. All of it, conducted and overseen by Jasmine, from Frost's bedside. Vivian was proud of her. Very proud. A good friend would visit her, so she decided that after her visit with Hayes, she'd check up on her.

When she entered the same offices she had some days ago, she saw the same rows of desks bolted in the decks. This time, she had expected to see them all manned with staff and senior officers busily crafting after action reports and other paperwork she knew she'd have to complete as well. Instead, they were empty. At the other end of the room, at the filing cabinets, was a crowd of young officers, huddled around something. They were swearing, shouting, hurling insults.

"You little shit, you gave her the photos!"

"Who's side are you on, you runt!?"

"What kind of dipshit lets some swabbie go rooting around in our history!? Huh?"

"What's going on here!?" Vivian shouted. All of the officers turned around to face her. Vivian's eyes widened. Two men were holding Lompar, the Montenegrin officer who had shown her the book of photos, against the cabinets. His nose was bloodied, he had a gash in his brow, his bottom lip was swelling, blood dripped from his mouth. Bruises coated his face. Her eyes saw the blood on the hands of the other Marines, the result of so many blows.

"Unhand him!" she ordered, putting a hand on her holster. Her heart jumped; she expected them to go for theirs. Instead, they exchanged a few glances before throwing Lombar to the deck. "I'm going to have you all arrested."

"No, you won't."

Vivian turned around. Colonel Hayes stood behind her. His expression was stern. "You're all dismissed."

All of his officers slowly filed out of the room. Vivian stepped aside, glaring at each one as they marched passed. Some were smiling. The bastards. Hayes looked at Lompar, who had just pushed himself onto his knees, with grim indifference. "That means you too, Lompar. Head to the infirmary and see those cuts tended to."

"You stay right there, Lompar," Vivian ordered. She turned to the tall officer and pointed at him. "What kind of officer are you, letting one of your own men get mercilessly beaten on by your staff? You won't levy any punishment? Not even chew them out? What's wrong with you?"

"Did I say I wasn't going to take action against this behavior?" Hayes asked defensively. "No. I will proceed with the necessary measures to make sure that this will never happen again."

"Oh, bullshit, Hayes!" Vivian said, throwing her hand into the air, walking a bit further into the room. "You won't even lift a finger to help this man."

"Soldiers fight with one another all the time, Captain Waters. It's normal. Sometimes it gets rough and-"

"Shove it up your ass, Colonel!" Vivian shouted. "This was no play fighting! This was an assault on an officer! Those men should be arrested and court martialed."

"That will not be happening, Captain. I need every single one of my officers. It was just a little brawl to get some excess energy out and it got out of hand, isn't that right Lompar?"

Vivian whirled around and set her gaze on Lompar. The young officer met her eyes with his own, before shamefully looking at the floor.

"Yes, sir."

Vivian's jaw dropped with shock.

"Lompar..."

"See? No worries, Captain. I'll make sure my men are disciplined for getting too rough. Until then, I'm sure you have something else to discuss with me."

Vivian glared at him.

"Yesterday you tried to shoot an innocent man-"

"Let me stop you right there, Captain. That man, was not innocent. He attempted to steal UNSC military supplies even though he could have been patient and joined the other civilians asking for food and medicine. The last time I looked at the rulebook, we don't make deals with criminals. And that's exactly what you did."

"Colonel, he had pertinent information on Covenant whereabouts. Without that information, our air support could have suffered and we would have lost the initiative. Adley went out there, unarmed, and showed Frost the way to the stronghold, and came back instead of fleeing back to his home. For that, he deserved the supplies and for his name to be cleared."

"No. He doesn't. The only reason I didn't speak up more than I did was because I didn't want to question your authority in front of that pissant Holst. Sending one Marine and a criminal out on an operation a platoon should have been sent on was a gross mistake on your part."

"Oh really? When the mission was a success?"

"One of my best soldiers almost died."

"He volunteered."

"At your behest."

"He's alive now."

"He belongs to me!" Hayes bellowed. "I am his commander, his father! He's my boy; they're all my boys! I have to protect to him, and ensure that his life, if I must spend it, is spent for something worthwhile, not some counterattack that could have happened and we could have crushed."

"I guess Lompar isn't one of your boys though, huh? You're so concerned about your little prodigy that you can't be asked to help one of your clerks."

Hayes poked her hard in the shoulder.

"Captain, I've been at war before you were even born. I know this game better than you. A platoon could have slipped in undetected. And we wouldn't have needed him to guide the way. They could have just headed west and found it! You're too gullible and too eager to put Frost in harm's way."

"Gullible, am I? Trying to avoid the fog of war so I don't send our people into the hornet's nest? I'm gullible for that!?"

"You honestly believe he doesn't know maps or can describe a path? He made himself essential so that we wouldn't throw him in a cell and he'd get the supplies he needed. You played right into his hands."

"I looked him right in the eye when I shook his hand! He regretted not coming to us sooner! Can you really fault a man for putting his family first!?"

"Yes I can!"

"Says a man who calls his men his sons!"

"Captain Waters, you're an excellent naval officer but you have to leave ground operations to myself and the Major. I will not allow you to use my men in such a way again."

"Don't try to distract from the point; we're discussing the fact you shot an unarmed civilian. You were going to kill him!"
"You're damned right I was! You were letting a rebel thief walk away from us! That man should have been detained and forced to give up the name of his past associates, so we could crush the cell on that planet."

"That man was probably ready to come back into the fold! Now you've just made him an enemy of the UNSC! You don't win hearts and minds by trying to kill someone!"

"We're not here to win hearts and minds Captain Waters! We're here to keep people from being obliterated by genocidal monsters! Anybody who isn't with us is against us!"

"You'd have me believe that some farmer who tried to take some medicine for his family is as grievous a threat as the Covenant!?"

"All threats to our operations should be treated with the same principle: extreme prejudice."

"Not in my task force. Not while I am in supreme command. You and I may be of equal rank, Hayes, but I am the master of this vessel and this battle group. The lives of all the seamen, Marines, air force personnel, and more, are under my protection and must follow my orders. Including you. My ship, my rules."

Hayes grinned at her.

"Your rules don't mean jack shit when you have experience. And connection. Besides, what argument do you have? Yes, I shot a civilian. But that civilian was once a rebel and attempted to steal from us. What judge will take your side? You haven't a hope of getting me or my men court martialed. So you'd best drop it."

Vivian felt her hands squeeze into fists. Hayes folded his arms triumphantly across his chest. "Now that we've cleared that up, I have to go deal with my men."

Hayes left then. Vivian seethed, letting out a short, angry cry. With one great effort, she heaved the contents off of a nearby desk. Breathing heavily, she slowly looked over at Lompar, sitting on the floor, head hung low.

"I hope that wasn't your desk," she said after a moment.

He shook his head. Regaining her composure, Vivian walked over and knelt beside him. "Are you okay? Here."

She took a handkerchief from her pocketing and wiped away some of the blood on his face. He winced a little.

"Thank you, Captain," he said meekly.

"You should file a complaint, speak out, do something to let me help you. If it comes from me, nobody listens. But if you do, if you tell the truth, we can get those officers off of this ship."

Lompar shook his head. His sandy blonde hair was swept back and his brown eyes were brimming with tears.

"It's easier just to stay quiet about these things."

"Has this happened before?"

"Not to this extreme. Lots of officers and troopers in the 89th insult me. Call me a coward."

"Why?"

"When we were first deployed, I refused to take part in operations against the Skopje rebels. I said that we had been chosen to fight Covenant, not rebels. They thought I was afraid. And I was-afraid of fracturing my morals. I was brought up not to harm anyone, no matter what. Because of my refusal, Hayes took me off combat duty and has me working the brunt of our administrative duties here. Ever since then, the officers treat me like a second class citizen. Even the NCOs make fun of me and call me names."

"I thought you were all so close," Vivian said, helping him stand up. She brought him over to his desk and sat him down. Vivian gave him the handkerchief and he gingerly touched it to one of the more serious cuts.

"I was never close with anyone. I always felt like an outsider. I never even wanted to join the military."

Vivian blinked. She was confused.

"I thought the Youth Programs gave you an option not to join?"

Lompar's eyes grew dark and angry.

"Yeah, in bold letters. I was fifteen then and smart enough to read the fine print with my parents. It was basically conscription under the guise of optional enlistment. If you didn't join, your family would have to pay more taxes and anything that could fall under 'excess assets,' like a house you could use to rent would be stripped from your possession and be 'used for the war effort,' as compensation. Make no mistake, it was a draft. You had to just so your family wouldn't fall into financial ruin."

"Hayes told me-"

"Fuck Hayes. Whatever he told you, he's lying through his teeth. He acts like this is some grand accomplishment, training kids into elite soldiers to fight in the war before they've even learned how to shave. This is child soldiering, Captain. Using children as soldiers is illegal. But because it's labeled as a special enlistment program, they get away with it."

"He told me some refused."

"Yeah-those that could afford it. All the rest accepted because they were too dumb to read the whole thing or because their family would be living on scraps for the rest of the war. Another dirty UNSC trick. Some of those bastards forced to join like me have probably forgotten why. They're a bunch of junkies now, doping on the combat high."

"Jesus..." Vivian whispered. "...and you haven't told anybody?"

"What's the point? It's all sanctioned by the very top. Nobody would care. Wartime, they say; exceptions have to be made because of the war. Captain Waters, the UNSC can get away with murder and all they have to do is use the war as an excuse." Lompar threw down the handkerchief. "Besides, if I tried to take it to somebody, they'd know. And they'd probably kill me and piss on my shallow grave just for good measure."

Vivian grunted.

"I've gotten stonewalled plenty of times these past months. I can sympathize." She looked at Lompar, sunken into his chair. She took a heavy breath. "I'm sorry you've had to go through this. I feel responsible for that attack, seeing as how I took the photos behind your back."

"I knew you would. I don't care," he mumbled. "I'm just glad somebody saw them."

Vivian took them out of her other pocket and handed them back to him. "I was going to keep these, use them as leverage, but...I don't want anymore harm to come to you. Put these back where they belong. Hopefully that'll pacify them."

"Are you sure? You don't really know me, Captain."

"I couldn't live with myself if I knew I was putting someone in harm's way like this. It's better that you have them. Do whatever you want with them. Put them back in the album, burn them, hide them," she paused, then joked, "hell, show'em to somebody if you want.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, gazing at them for some time. "Frost. He's been kinder to me than most. But I've seen these photos for years. I know what he's capable of. All of what he did, he said it was for revenge. For justice. I never believed him. That man's got a bloodlust. He enjoys the killing."

Vivian sighed. She thought it would be so rewarding to finally hear somebody else say what she had thought for some time. Instead, it just made her sad. At this point, there was no use that she could see. Child soldiers made up her Marine contingent, the reputation of their leaders and heroes along with the UNSC government's willingness to overlook so many problems made her goals untenable. As well, she had made a truce, and she wasn't going to be the one to break it.

She stood up.

"I agree with you."

Lompar smiled a little.

"It's nice to meet someone who actually does, ma'am."

"Make sure you go to the medical bay and have a doctor see to those. If you have any more trouble, you let me know. I can transfer you to another office."

"Thank you, Captain."

With guilt heavy on her shoulders, Vivian went to leave, but she stopped.

"Lompar, if you read between the lines, certainly some of the other men of the 89th have to. Nobody else shares your reservations?"

Lompar smiled softly.

"What kid wouldn't want to go?" he asked. "Get away from your family, your rotten school. Get to travel around the galaxy, shooting big guns, earning glory. What an adventure it is..." Lompar looked at the wall for a moment. "They're addicted to it. I'm telling you Captain, they love all this. Hayes, this unit, they've got the love of the brass, the reputation, and the willingness to kill. They can get away with anything. Law means nothing to them."

Vivian smiled bitterly.

"Silent enim leges inter arma."

Lompar chuckled.

"Laws are silent in times of war, indeed."

---

The next day, Steele and Jasmine had left to grab a quick lunch and pick up some real food for Frost. He was more awake than yesterday, and was pining for something other than bread and crackers. Jasmine had wanted him to keep it light but Steele had been able to convince her to give him a few pieces of chicken, as well as some macaroni and cheese without breading: Frost didn't like his mac with breading, Steele had explained.

On their way there, Colonel Hayes had stopped them momentarily. He seemed to be in a huff but gave Steele an NCO's cap wore when they were on the battle line to give to Frost. It was sort of a box hat with a flat brim. On the front, the hates usually bore an insignia; some had the emblem of the UNSC. Depending on the rank, it was either printed in black or gold. Some didn't have any emblem at all. In the case of Frost's soft cover, it was olive drab and lacked an insignia. Frost would have preferred his cap without one anyways. It was just a hat, but Steele couldn't help but feel a little excited to hand it over.

The pair entered the medical bay. It was filling with agonized men. Steele bristled at the sight. No matter how many battles he fought in, seeing so many soldiers afterwards writhing from the pain always sickened him. They walked down the aisle, doing their best to stay out of the way of nurses, doctors, and orderlies. When the got closer to Frost's bed at the very end, they stopped. A man was sitting in a chair beside Frost's bed. He had graying black hair and a somewhat scraggly beard. He was wearing fatigues but Steele knew who it was. It was Krupin, the Russian Orthodox priest. The UNSCMC didn't maintain religious personnel, but like in many other capacities, the Navy provided what they didn't have. Most warships had a large group of various military chaplains and other religious agents. This was due to the multi-religious personnel on naval ships and ground units. Steele wasn't too acquainted with them, aside from Krupin. From what he had learned, Krupin was an old friend of Hayes that had been with him since his days in the bush, despite being a noncombatant. At least three hundred of the men in the 89th were Russians, and as such, Hayes and his Russians attended Krupin's services regularly. Like Steele and most of the squad, Frost didn't belong to any particular religion. But since arriving on the I'm Alone, Frost had always had a cordial friendship with Krupin; Frost seemed interested in the Russian Orthodoxy in an almost academic way. They didn't talk often but when they did, their conversations, filled with debate and discussion, could go on for hours.

"Who is that?"

"Krupin," Steele said, and explained who he was. "They like to chat from time to time."

"Frost isn't religious from what I gather."

"Yep. But he likes to talk to the man regardless. Come on, Doc."

Steele and Jasmine approached. As they did, he could hear their conversation.

"Nevsky's victory at the Battle of the Ice was not the only event that solidified him as a leader and a saint," Krupin said in his heavily accented voice. "He was able to strengthen Kievan Rus and put it on the course of independence, by deflecting the west and appeasing the Golden Horde. He was not the first nor the last to practice such policy, but was by far deft in the practice."

"Nevsky's just a good soldier to me. Think about it; he led peasant foot soldiers against armored knights on horseback and won. No small accomplishment there, in my book."

"There is much debate even today on the battle. Some say it was insignificant, some say it wasn't. Others criticize the accuracy of army numbers and casualties. And if you believe ancient Communist propaganda, they'd have you believe the ice broke up and the Teutonic Knights went sliding into the water."

"Numbers and significance doesn't really matter to me. An army of common men against an elite order of knights, coming out on top, that'll always dazzle me."

Steele walked up then. Krupin looked over and chuckled.

"It looks as though one of your druzhina has arrived. I'll take my leave of you, son."

"Thanks for checking up on me," Frost said. Krupin nodded and departed. Steele took his seat. Jasmine was curt but tender in her greeting with Frost. It was quite obvious she wanted to stay but her duties came first. Frost was understanding in the matter. Steele handed over the tray of food and Frost began eating. Despite missing his middle finger, he managed both the plastic knife and fork well enough. Steele had to help him a few times, though.

"Chatting history with the padre again?"

"Just making conversation. Get enough to eat?"

"Yep. How you doing?"

"Meds are keeping the pain at bay, so I'm alright. Wish I could get up and stretch my legs, but Jas says I'm not ready."

Steele nodded, breathing in slightly.

"Yeah, you gotta heal up, bruvva." Steele handed him the hat. "From Colonel Hayes. Says he wants you to start wearing the cap and look like a real NCO."

Frost chuckled as he turned around in his hands a few times.

"Thanks." He sighed. "I wish I was back with the squad. I'm worrying more about Bishop. Maddox's behavior towards you and Carris won't do well for morale either. I need to get back over there."

"Yeah, but I think your lady wouldn't appreciate that too much," Steele said, smiling. Frost looked almost shy then.

"Yeah, you're right."

Steele smirked and let the silence sink in for a few moments, tapping his knee with his good hand.

"So..." he said.

"So?" Frost replied slowly.

"You and the Doc. What a shock," Steele said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Frost turned a little red.

"What about it?"

"You gonna hit that?"

"Ah, fuck you," Frost said, tossing the hat at him. Steele laughed and gave it back.

"Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist. I promise I won't make jokes about you and your lady. I'm happy for you man, I am...maybe you can finally lose your virginity."

"Fuckin' asshole," Frost laughed. They both chortled for some time, talking endlessly to one another until evening arrived, when Carris came storming up to them.

---

Carris marched up to a surprised looking Frost and Steele. Steele had been gone all day and she had finally gotten sick of the sight in their room. Nobody was talking to each other, the air was tense, everyone was moping or keen to snap at one another. It was becoming unbearable. It was the first time she had seen him since late morning, and it was now getting close to six o'clock.

She came up to him.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked. Men were still groaning in the medical bay but it wasn't too overbearing-not loud enough to disturb someone from their slumber.

Steele nodded and looked up at her. Carris waited.

"What is it?" Steele asked.

"In private."

"Nobody's paying attention, love. Just say what you gotta say. I don't wanna leave his side."

"Listen, you have to come back to the barracks. Bishop's back early and he's passed out drunk on his bed. Maddox won't stop glaring at me, Grant is moping, and the others are just wound up like springs. They need to be occupied, Steele. They need some direction at a time like this."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, the squad leader is laid out on this bed right here," Steele hissed, swooping his arm in Frost's direction.

"Yes, but you're the ranking corporal. They need you right now; they need somebody to give them orders, give them direction, something to distract themselves or it's just going to get worse."

"You're a petty officer! You do something about it. If we're comparing ranks, you outrank me. You do it. They're your friends, they'll listen."

"No they won't. It'll mean something if it comes from you."

"Love, listen to me. That's not how we work. Putting you two ladies aside, we've all known each for eight years. We've slept together, fought together, ate together. We've done almost everything together. I even tried to share a woman with-" Steele coughed. "We're not typical soldiers who need a drill sergeant to kick us in the ass and bark inspiring speeches at us and made us polish each bullet in our fucking cartridge. I'm not going to make them do that shit, and neither would Frost. Hell, that was Teo's thing!"

"This is my point, Lou," she said. "You're all friends. Frost's wounded, Maddox is injured, and Bishop's still in shock from his ordeal. It's hitting everyone hard. You may not be able to see it, but I can. Sitting in that room is going to be miserable for everybody and won't make the waiting period any better. They need to be bossed around and occupied!"

"Hey, we've lost people before, alright? We've had worse."

"Yes, but Frost wasn't squad leader at the time, am I right?" Carris said.

"Right, so what?"

"Teo was your first squad leader. He was squad leader from the very beginning, correct?"

"Yeah."

"You've all told me that you're friends, but Teo was always the authoritarian figure in your squad. I've been told he was a rigid man, reserved, hard. Frost isn't like that. He was always on your level before becoming squad leader, and he's maintained a balance between being one of the guys and being the leader quite well. Tell me, was there ever a time when Teo was wounded like Frost is?"

"Yes..."

"How did the squad take it?"

"Not like this, I suppose."

"Right!" Carris said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "They're taking this harder because it's Frost, one of your own. No matter what you think of Teo, there was always a divide between him and the rest of you. I don't need to know him to understand that. You need to get in there and do something."

"Carris, love, the whole squad leader thing is a little beyond me. Frost practically shanghaied me into a promotion to corporal. I didn't want it. I'd be content to be a buck private my whole life."

"It doesn't matter what you want. The state of the squad is more important than whatever you want. So you need to march yourself back down to the barracks, take command, and figure out something to get their minds off these past few days."

Steele stared back at her with his blue eyes, hard and aggravated. After a few moments he looked at Frost, then at the floor.

"I can't leave him, love."

"He's in good hands. Doctor Ebrahimi will look after him."

"I don't give a damn, alright? I should be here for him. He's always had my back and I've always had his back. That's the way it is. I don't want to leave him alone in this fucking miserable place."

"What's more important to you, him, or the squad?"

"What's with the fucking questions, Carris?" Steele said angrily, trying to keep his voice down. "I don't need a lecture right now. I've known those guys for eight years. They can handle themselves. Frost can't right now. So I'm going to stay right fucking here, in this fucking chair, and the rest of the squad can fuck off for all I care."

"You're ignoring your responsibilities as his second in command."

"Oh am I? Why don't you go down there and-"

"Louie."

Carris and Steele both looked at Frost, who had been staring at them the whole time. Steele glanced at Carris and sighed.

"Sorry, bruv. You alright?"

"She's right."

"Aw, fuckin' hell..."

"Louie, I made you corporal because I need you to run things if I can't. If I fall in battle, if I'm not here, you have to take charge. That already happened, when I went on the op."

"Yeah but, I didn't really have to do anything, you know?"

"That's beside the point. I know you can lead the squad for a couple of days. That's why I chose you in the first place. And once I'm back on my feet, things won't be the same. When we form the new Raiders unit, I'm going to be in charge of fifteen, maybe even twenty marines. I can't just focus on the squad. I'm going to ask Hayes to give you another battlefield promotion; this time to sergeant."

"No way, no fucking way, man," Steele said, stepping closer and pointing at him. "You cannot just dump that responsibility on me."

"Steele, I was supposed to become the platoon sergeant when Hayes bumped me up to staff sergeant. You didn't know but I had to plead with him so that I could remain with you guys and not have to be with Conroy all the time. Now that I'm a gunnery sergeant, I'd have more than just advisement and combat duties. It's only because of the raiders unit that I can stay with you. Hayes has always wanted me to be in a large command capacity in this is our way of compromising. When we're raiding, I'm going to be in total command and I need to be aware of everyone. Having you as my sergeant, commanding our squad, means I don't have to worry as much. When we're not raiding, it'll be just like before. And you can still use your sniper rifle," he said with a smirk.

"Ha ha, very funny," Steele grumbled. "I don't want to leave you here by yourself."

"I've got plenty of people to look after me. Go on, I'll be alright. Oh, before I forget. Can you bring Moser and Langley tomorrow? I'd like to speak with them."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks, brother."

Reluctantly, Steele left with Carris. Nothing was said between the two. He glanced up at her. She wasn't smug or happy with herself. To her, this was a necessity. Steele had seen the squad dynamic shift over the past few days, and he was concerned, but not as much as her.

"Sergeant," he muttered. "I never even wanted to be corporal."

"Sergeant Steele," Carris said. She finally smirked. "It has a nice ring to it."

"Let's just keep it Steele. I don't think I could get used to the rank."

They reached their quarters and entered. Moser and Grant were sitting side by side on the former's bed; the latter was sitting with his knees drawn to his chest. Knight was on his bed with a book in his hands, but his empty eyes proved he wasn't reading. Langley was sitting beside Maddox on Bishop's bed. They had put him on his side in case he needed to vomit. Evidently, he already had; a trash bin was beside the bed and there were stains on his shirt.

Steele cleared his throat.

"Alright then," he said, being a bit loud. "Langley, help Maddox take Bishop into the bathroom. Take off his clothes and put him in the shower; cold water. Knight, run to the mess hall and get a couple bottles of water. A cup of coffee too. He needs to be hydrated. Grant, take his clothes and get them cleaned. Moser, take rubbish bin and empty it out. Give it a good rinse. On your way back, get some fresh fatigues for him. You know his size. Carris, go with Knight and get some stomach friendly food; something light and will sit well in his gut. I'll get his sheets clean and his bed made. Let's do it."

The squad took to their feet and began carrying out his orders. Steele watched them get to work. "Once he's settled, we'll each take a turn watching over him. The rest of us are going to get some exercise."

---

"Sleeplessly embracing,

Butterflies and needles,

Line my seamed-up join,

Encased in case I need it,

In my stomach, for my heart,

Chainmail...

Hunger of the pine...

Hunger of the pine...

Sleeplessly embracing,

Yawn yearns into me,

Plenty more tears in the sea,

And so you finally use it,

Bedding with me you see at night,

Your heart wears knight armor..."

-Hunger of the Pine by alt-J

---

Author's Note:

Boom there's another one. Hope you enjoyed. No comment responses, as you know. I'll delay a later chapter for responses. But thanks for stopping in, as usual, I am grateful for your continued viewership. By the way, doesn't the composition of the lyrics just above look like a table lamp, or is it just me?