Chapter Fifty: Interruptions
July 24, 2552 (Military Calendar) \
Reach, Epsilon Eridani System
When you're constantly fighting for the greater part of your life, you don't exactly become a jolly, emotional teddy-bear. I was no exception. I wouldn't exactly say I'm humorless—I've still got a bit of the spark I had as a teenager…but even the simple act of smiling was becoming more and more alien to me. Soon, I would probably end up like one of those washed-up vets who live out the rest of their lives in a whiskey bottle.
But when Dempsey took off his helmet and revealed himself, I let out an ecstatic whoop—quite out of character for a forty-four year old Gunnery Sergeant—and gripped my oldest friend in a powerful bear hug.
"What's this, they made your dumb ass a Staff Sergeant?" I laughed as we released each other.
Dempsey nodded. "You leaving the 9th sucked beyond all imagination, don't get me wrong, but it did leave a vacant squad leader's position that I—out of the goodness of my heart—decided to fill. Then, after three years, I made platoon Staff Sergeant."
"Who has the old squad, then?"
"Sergeant Esposito."
"Get outta town; Miguél Esposito's still alive?"
"No, he died. It's his corpse that's in command of the squad."
"Oh, hardy-fucking-har…"
Dempsey and I were like two old vets in a bar, hacking and jawing over old war stories. We went on for about four or five minutes before we remembered where we were and who we were with.
"This is part of your old squad," Dempsey gestured to the other four marines with him. The girl and two of the guys were younger kids—early twenties—and Dempsey nodded to them, saying, "You wouldn't know these supersoldiers; they came in with our latest batch of replacements on Trinidad last year, before we got transferred to the Hathcock Garrison. But Singh…" he nodded at the Indian marine, "I'm sure you remember."
And I did. Singh had been one of the replacements I'd welcomed into my squad back when the 9th was stationed on New Harmony. That had been my final battle with the 9th Force Recon Battalion; I had been granted entry into the Helljumpers afterwards.
I glanced at Singh's hair and mustache. Last time I had seen him, he had been practically hairless. "Esposito treating you boys right?" I asked them.
"It's Esposito, sir," Singh chuckled. "Don't need to say anything more than that."
I then introduced Celt and Cajun to Dempsey. The fact that he had also been part of the Harvest Militia caught their attention; members of the Harvest Militia were well-known throughout the UNSC as having the distinction of being the first unit to fight the Covenant.
In the surprise of finding my oldest friend here at the firing range, I realized that I had forgotten one of the most important implications of his presence. If he was here, that meant the rest of the 9th was, too.
"Is…uh…" I leaned in close. "Where's…?"
Dempsey's mouth curved upwards in a wry grin. "Back at our company barracks. Why don't you come back with me? I could think of a few people who wouldn't mind seeing you again."
I traded glances with Celt and Cajun, silently asking them if they wanted to come along. Celt shook his head, holding up his assault rifle. "They be your friends, Scar, not ours. You go ahead."
The marines and my squadmates returned to their places on the firing range and resumed their target practice. Dempsey laid an arm around my shoulders and steered me away from the range and back down towards the barracks. "Not the friendliest guys I've ever met," he remarked, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at my two squadmates.
"You were in the Harvest Militia; they respect you," I told him. "You should see how they treat people they don't like…"
"So you've been here for the past six days, and you never thought it would be nice to drop by and say hello?"
"I knew the 9th was on Reach, but I didn't know it was in Camp Hathcock," I explained. "I mean, us being in the same damn camp would have been extremely good luck. And since when do we have good luck?"
Dempsey gave an innocent shrug. "We're still alive…"
"Well, besides that."
"…after thirty years."
"I said besides that."
"…when billions of others have died."
"Okay, fine," I rolled my eyes to the heavens. "We're two extremely lucky guys. There."
Dempsey's only response was a hearty chuckle. We moved along quietly for another few minutes, but as we reached the residential compounds my friend broke the silence once more. "I've missed these conversations," he admitted. "You've been gone too long."
"Amen…" I murmured. "Though I have to say…I haven't missed the trenches."
"Can't argue with you there."
"What about McCandlish?" I asked about my old platoon leader. "Is he still around?"
"In a way," Dempsey's smiled widened a little further as we passed another barracks unit and stepped towards the adjacent one, which was labeled 'E-35'. "Captain Ryan from Delta Company swallowed a plasma bolt during Paris IV, three years ago, and Colonel Ndebele chose McCandlish to replace him. He was bumped up to Captain and transferred to Delta."
"Then…alright, then who's got the platoon?"
"The 2nd Looey who replaced McCandlish lasted about a week, and we haven't gotten another officer since then, so…technically I am, as platoon Staff Sergeant."
"Hah!" I snorted. "First you're a Staff Sergeant, now you're a fucking platoon leader…what's the universe coming to, eh?"
This time, Dempsey had no snappy retort. Just a weary grunt, followed by, "I can see why you don't miss being a squad leader."
"Yeah…" I held open the barracks entrance for Dempsey. "I miss the men and women I used to command…but I don't miss the job… And besides, I was never really cut out for it the way people like Macintyre or Byrne were."
Dempsey gave a shrug as he stepped inside. I followed him, shutting the entrance behind me. "You had a different way of doing it, that's all. Macintyre put the fear of God into all of us—even heathens like you. You were more…subtle. And speaking of old Macintyre, you should say hello if you see him around; he's our Company Gunny. But hey; it's all in the past now."
I saw a few familiar faces as I made my way through the barracks, but only a few. There were a scant handful of marines left from the old days. I knew the chances of visiting Alpha Company again had been slim… I confess; I had almost assumed that I would get a…I don't know; a 'happy reunion' of some kind...I'd never admit this to anyone, but it's one of those things you just begin to assume over the years. The depressing reality of the whole thing is that most of the men and women who would remember me were dead. Or transferred to another unit…though the former is more likely. But apart from trading nods with Esposito, Geoffries, and a few of the other veterans, the only kind of welcome I got were stares from younger marines—seeing a Helljumper in their midst would certainly break the monotony of garrison duty.
Sophie Devereux was lying in her bunk, which was right in front of one of the windows. A surge of emotion rose up the back of my neck as I beheld her. Lately, I had grown in a full beard—trimmed, of course—and it, along with the rest of my reddish-brown hair, was beginning to get shot through with flecks of gray. Devereux, however…she was more scarred up than I remember, but age otherwise doesn't seem to have affected her very much. If only we could all be so lucky.
"Mm... yeah, she's out," Dempsey observed, poking Devereux on the shoulder. The blonde Frenchwoman didn't even react.
I wasn't ready to give up. It had been a long time since I had seen Devereux face-to-face. After leaving the 9th on New Harmony fifteen years ago, I hadn't heard from her for at least three years—she still wouldn't tell me why—and after that I had only seen her sporadically. So, if she happened to be in one of her deep sleeps...it was time to get creative. "Toss me your canteen," I grinned.
Dempsey was hesitant, at first. "Uh...you sure that's a good idea?"
"Yeah. Toss me the canteen."
"She punched out the last guy who woke her up like that."
"Dempsey. Canteen. Now."
"Your funeral," Dempsey unclipped the canteen on his belt and tossed it over.
I caught it and unstoppered the cap, tilting it over Devereux's face. "Don't worry; I'm the one guy in the Orion Arm she'd never-"
I never got to finish that sentence. Even before I could say punch, a fist moving at what felt like Mach One connected with my jaw, sending me flying back into the adjacent bunk.
"You stupid bastards don't take a hint, do you? You splash me awake, you lose teeth; that's how it works!" Devereux swung out of her bunk, her fist raised as she prepared to bring it down on the splasher, who just so happened to be me.
"Stop it!" I vaulted over the bunk and crouched behind it, using it as a shield. "It's me, you crazy French bitch!"
Devereux stayed her fist, her brow furrowing in a frown. "…Alley?" The frown softened and a disbelieving smile broke through. "Alley?"
"Hey, Soph," I nodded quickly, a grin tugging at my mouth as well as I slowly stood back up to my full height. "You done with the punching?"
She pulled me into a firm embrace, not bothering to answer that last question. She didn't need to. I guess I kind of deserved it for waking her up with water…but damn, she sure could throw a punch…
"Told you it was a bad idea," Dempsey shrugged, though there was no real emotion behind the words besides amusement.
"You want to…get outta here for a little while?" I gestured with my head towards the entrance of the barracks.
"I know a place," Devereux slipped her hand into mine and we left the barracks together. We moved across the greens and onto the nearby gravel road that ran up to the inner compound. We crossed the road and walked a short distance across the plateau to one of the ridges overlooking the Sáragres Valley, over which Camp Hathcock was built. The final rays of the sun were gradually succumbing to the darker blues of impending dusk, the sun having already set a short while ago.
Devereux and I sat in front of a large poplar tree, watching the dwindling sunlight in the west. We talked for a while, mostly filling each other in on our lost time—there was plenty of it. I told her all about my time as a Helljumper—omitting the more sensitive details of the black ops my squad had taken part in.
After I left the 9th Force Recon, apparently they had gone on to fight in nearly every major engagement, including New Constantinople, Irivet V, Paris IV, Trinidad…the more Devereux told me, the less surprised I was to find that most of the faces I remembered from Alpha Company were no longer here.
A light breeze breathed across the ridge, rustling the foliage. I blew several of Devereux's hairs out of my face. "It's been too long, Soph."
"Way too long," she agreed.
By now, the sun was long gone, along with the red twilight glow. The night sky gradually darkened enough to reveal the twinkling canopy of stars. An owl—or at least something that sounded exactly like one—began hooting somewhere nearby. After a few seconds, it was answered by another, more distant bird.
"Ask you something?" I murmured to Devereux.
"What?"
"After New Harmony, when I left… you didn't respond to any of my mail. I didn't hear from you for three years…three years, Soph. Mind telling me why?"
Devereux's expression darkened a little bit. "I'd rather not talk too much about it… I got involved in some drinking, is all."
I gave a cynical snort at that. "What self-respecting marine hasn't?"
"No, I mean drinking. Heavy drinking. Fried most of my liver, had to get a flash-clone replacement, nearly overdosed on anti-depressants…"
"Oh…" I hesitated. "Shit…"
"Oui, certainement…" she agreed.
"Can I ask why?" Sure, sometimes we fell of the wagon every once in a while, but what she was describing was pretty…extreme. I wouldn't mind knowing what would drive a person to abuse themselves like that…especially if that person was the closest thing I had to a romantic partner.
Devereux was silent for a few minutes, not answering my question. I wanted to press the issue, but I knew that wouldn't get me anywhere. She'd open up when she wanted to. Not that it mattered; neither of us got the chance to speak of it again—at that moment, a loud, blaring klaxon alarm began to wail, echoing off the cliff faces of the nearby mountains.
"The hell?" I twisted around glancing up the rise of the plateau.
"We should head back," Devereux sighed. "Alarms aren't good things to miss…"
When we got back to the outer compound, the whole place was buzzing with activity. Marines were moving this way and that, reporting to posts, securing gear, following and taking orders; just an hour or two ago, the whole place had been practically asleep—it was disconcerting to see everyone thrown into such a frenzy.
"Nom d'un nom, you'd think they found Covies in one of the tents…" Devereux muttered as we walked into the compound.
"Hey, buddy!" I called over to a passing marine. "What the hell's going on?"
"End of the fuckin' world, that's what!" the marine snapped, brushing by without another word.
I barely had enough time to holler insults at the asshole as he walked off before I heard my name being called. I turned in the direction of the person who was shouting it and instantly picked out the Master Sergeant from the rest of the fray, standing out in his ODST armor. "Scar!" he was shouting, trying to get my attention.
"Sarge!" I shouted back, waving over to him.
"Pack your gear, Scar! We're moving out!"
"Sarge, what the fuck's going on?" I exclaimed as Devereux and I made our way over to my squad leader so that I wouldn't have to shout. "Everyone's acting like it's the-"
"Haven't you heard?" the Master Sergeant asked. "Word came in from Visegrad. No idea what those Spartans found out there, but Admiral Whitcomb just declared WINTER CONTINGENCY. The Covenant is on Reach."
