Chapter 38: Openings

There was a collective blankness on the faces of the men and women of the I'm Alone. As numerous transported shuttled more personnel from the massive ship lingering in orbit, disgorging their occupants on the Port's central airfield, they all stared ahead with a particularly sad emptiness. At first, they exercised the motions, the muscle memory of riding on the dropships for so many years. Waiting for the hatch to open and the engines' output to decrease before hopping onto the tarmac. For those first few steps, they walked purposefully and quickly towards their post. But instead of clearing the airfield, they slowed down for a few more steps and came to a complete stop. Slowly, one by one, every single Marine, soldier, airman, and sailor surveyed the base around them. Familiar concrete walls with titanium and steel plates bolted to the front, automated turrets slowly turning back and forth, sand entries patrolling the ramparts and leaning out of guard towers. Trucks and M12's rumbled by, delivering supplies and personnel to different compounds across the entire base. UH144's practicing maneuvers buzzed overhead. Gate guards chewed fat while sergeants and petty officers barked orders as their subordinates.

Nothing changed in their absence. Some of the base personnel didn't even seem to notice them. Everyone blinked at the familiar sights as if they were mirages. When they finally realized where they were, their shoulders sagged, their heads hung low, and they trudged onward to the gate. Nobody moved with purpose or enthusiasm like the day they first left the Port for Operation: EXALT. Morale was not falling; it had plummeted all the way to the bottom.

Vivian stood by the gate as her crew filtered by with their ship bags. She flew down ahead of everyone else in order to greet them all. At the very least, they would be able to see their commanding officer instead of a stranger in uniform as they returned to their planetside quarters. But seeing their depleted postures and disinterested expressions made it harder for Vivian to put on a brave face. All the same, she did her best to smile.

"Drop your gear and head to the mess hall. They'll have anything and everything. Get whatever you want," she kept telling them, hoping the promise of hot food and cool drinks would be a proper convalescence. A few managed to smile weakly at her but most just carried on without so much a word or glance. Some shook her hand but their grips were very weak. Nobody really looked her in the eye. After a while, Vivian was not sure she could meet their gazes anyways.

They were back where they started. Months ago they set out with a solid plan, high morale, and a feeling of invincibility. If there was anything she regretted it was the latter. Of all the lessons she was taught during OCS the instructors stressed overconfidence. It was a killer; it either resulted in people losing their lives or a steady deconstruction of morale after repeated setbacks. People who got used to winning did not take defeat well.

Evacuations were not victories. Giving ground to the enemy was not a victory. Everything thousands upon thousands of service members across all the service branches gave their lives and limbs for was gone. One could look at the tens of thousands of Covenant they killed or the countless ships they obliterated. But those were just inconsequential numbers, an irrelevant equation in a storm of colliding numbers that eventually came to one output: the UNSC was losing. Their ships were not being replaced fast enough. The Covenant had so much material the loss of a fleet was a small affair. Their reserves were not depleting while the UNSC was beginning to feel the hurt. Too many lives lost as they held what little ground they had left. And like so many other frontlines across the battlespace, they were back to their little foothold on the edge of Outer Colony space.

Brigadier General Amsterdam marched by with her retinue of staff officers. With her was Vice Admiral Travers with his own company of officers and senior enlisted personnel. Amsterdam looked utterly exhausted. Her right arm was still in a sling and half her face was bandaged. Travers was less wounded but had an adhesive bandage on his forehead and another on his neck. Instead of tying a knot with his empty sleeve, it flapped loosely as he walked. Both senior officers were talking quietly to one another.

Vivian nodded as they passed by. They didn't notice her and she didn't really care. Both of them were already trying to devise a counter-offensive to retake the ground they gave up. Pulling the garrison fleets and troops they left at the other planets back to the Port gave them some confidence. Admittedly, Vivian was impressed when she surveyed the fleet from the bridge before going planetside. There were many heavy ships present as well as high numbers of Army personnel. All of their equipment was recovered; nothing was left for the encroaching Covenant fleet.

Yet, she was not inspired by sheer numbers. She saw UNSC orbital installations wreathed in flames, saw a heavy tonnage fleet lose half its ships, and saw the post-battle images of the massive ground task force destroyed on the desert sands. Had Amsterdam and Travers seen those sights? Surely, they must have. If they hadn't, Vivian was concerned they would come with a foolish plan. She was not looking forward to the eventual war council.

Familiar faces in the column of trudging personnel appeared. Corporal Steele appeared with Petty Officer Third Class Carris right behind him. As tall as the sniper was, she was even taller. They were a strange pair to look at, their heads above everyone else's. With them was the rest of their squad plus a few others. "Welcome back to the Port," she said to Steele. He either must have been too tired or depressed to bother offering some of his typical feedback. She expected the insubordinate Marine to mouth off and in a way, she wouldn't have cared. After all, she was the one who recommended his demotion.

Instead of offering a snappy or inflammatory remark, he nodded and tilted his soft cover cap back.

"Cheers, Captain," he said in a low tone.

"Do you need anything?" she asked.

"Squared away, Captain."

Vivian searches the squad filing by the sniper.

"Where's Gunnery Sergeant Frost?"

Steele's eyes seemed even more fatigued than before. With a sigh, he pointed upwards. Vivian didn't need to follow his gesture to know where Frost was. Something sparked inside her then. It was not just the average bite of curiosity, the irresistible notion of the mind just needing to know what was wrong. A flare, or perhaps a flash, of anger. It wasn't something personal. She remembered the battle they fought together, how he was in command of himself and his squad. Now he was absent and that was a bad sign for anyone in command. No matter the size of their section, a leader needed to be present.

Before she knew it, she was on the next Pelican ascending to the I'm Alone.

Steele sat as comfortably as he could on the examination table as he waited for Dr. Jasmine to arrive. Although the table was cushioned, it was thin and stiff. At least he was still in his fatigues and not in a hospital gown. If he was, he knew his backside would be freezing.

After a few minutes of staring at his boots, he looked up and took in the room. Hospitals didn't bother him like they used to. When he sustained his injury from Carris's ferocious punch all those months ago, he spent enough time looking at the walls and watching the staff go by that the sterile white aesthetic finally lost its indifferent quality. It wasn't the longest time he spent in a hospital setting; the recovery from his wounds sustained during the Skopje black op took months to heal. However, he was drugged for the majority and spent most of it asleep. Physical therapy was too intensive to take in one's surroundings.

The room was similar to the office he visited once or twice when he was a kid. This one was far more inviting. It was warmly lit compared to the bright white lights the UNSC military enjoyed installing everywhere. There were typical posters taped to the boards on the wall warning against the spread of disease, recommendations for sanitation, and reminding personnel to receive their annual booster shots. Everything was so clean that the metal of the hand sink and the trash bin were practically sparkling. Nothing was sanitized in the dingy office he visited as a kid. All the posters were tattered and from the previous century. He wasn't even sure the pediatrician who examined him was a certified doctor. But it was the only place they could afford to go. Getting sent into that room by his father was like receiving a death sentence. Steele didn't think about it often, but he sometimes marveled at how a life spent at war was better than the squalor and poverty he suffered as a child. Childhood was supposed to be the golden age of life and instead he was far happier as a warrior.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It creaked open and Jasmine walked in with a data-pad.

"Hello, Corporal, how are you?"

"About as well as I can be, Doc."

"Just what I want to hear from my patients," Jasmine chimed. She linked her data-pad to the terminal, plugged in some information, and then went through the first steps of the examination. Afterwards, she began to inspect the stitches for the shrapnel wounds across his face. Her gaze was very studious.

After a few minutes of turning his head each way and looking them over, she stepped back and added a few notes to her data-pad. "Right. No need for pain management as you stated during your previous visit. Your wounds have healed very well so if you'd like we can remove the stitches today."

"Yeah, that'd be swell."

Jasmine put on a pair of gloves and then took out a small kit from a drawer. She took out what looked like a pair of tweezers and began to carefully unravel the ends of the stitches. Then, she carefully extracted them. Steele's pain tolerance was high enough already but Jasmine was so precise that he didn't even feel his skin pull in the direction she withdrew the stitches.

The silence between them was uncomfortable, at least for him. He knew Jasmine was used to it after seeing how many thousands of personnel for the past several years. But he couldn't stay silent for long and he knew what he was going to say.

"Hey, Doc, I've got something to tell you."

"Really?"

"Well, it's just that me and Carris, we've uh...well, I think we're a thing now." He didn't know another way to express it. Jasmine instantly smiled and her eyes brightened behind her glasses.

"That's wonderful! I'm glad you two finally took the next steps in your relationship." Steele could tell from her tone that she wasn't exactly surprised. But he overcame the annoyance that everybody seemed to know already and pressed on.

"And you know how she's...different. Physically, emotionally, mentally. I don't think she's nuts or anything. But she's different and I really would like this to work. So, any advice you have would be really appreciated."

It was embarrassing to ask. Steele didn't like asking for advice anyways. He was a self-sufficient person and preferred to rely on himself rather than other people. Even though the Marine Corps was all about teamwork, and he certainly liked his team, it was easier to do things on his own. But he found he simply couldn't do that. These were uncharted waters for both him and Carris. Asking one of the guys was out of the question; he didn't want to know what someone like Bishop or even Grant, bachelors themselves, had to say on the matter. Going to Knight would have been reasonable but he worried bringing up the man's own marriage was going to make him homesick. Frost was in no condition to answer those kinds of questions.

But if there was anyone any service member in the battlegroup could go to, it was Doctor Ebrahimi. Everyone trusted her and relied on her quiet leadership and capacity for compassion. While she didn't get to see everyone in her office, she was in effect everyone's doctor.

Jasmine leaned back, still bent over slightly, and smiled tenderly at him. She pulled up a stool, took off her glasses, and thought for a few moments. Eventually, she giggled a little and looked at him sideways.

"I never believed Nate when he would tell me you're a real sweetheart underneath that layer of bad language and chain smoking. I'm glad I was wrong." She inhaled and shrugged. "All I can say really is that you two should take things slow. Don't force one another into anything the other doesn't want. Be patient, communicate, and don't be afraid to be kind. And I'm sure somewhere in my contract I'm obliged to say that your relationship must not affect your duties otherwise you could be reprimanded."

Steele rolled his eyes. "Carris and I have talked before. She's an introvert; she's quiet, shy, reserved, and needs time to warm up to people. And you're...well you're you. One might foresee personality clashes but your time together as squad mates and more than that, as friends, gives me confidence you two can make it work. A relationship, like any relationship, requires time, patience, and one hundred and ten percent when it comes to effort. And if you're still wondering about the physical aspect..." Steele found himself blushing and looking down at his boots again. This made Jasmine giggle. "...many aspects of Carris's physicality are far more advanced than the average human. But in regards to what you're thinking about, I don't think you two will have any issues. Although, as your doctor, I highly recommend the use of protection. One measure is good, two is—"

"I get the idea," Steele said hastily. He regained his composure and smiled. "Thanks Doc. Just thinking about all this kind of stuff is really exciting. I've never actually had a girlfriend, you know? Just goodnight girls. Never really had to think about committing. And now that I am, I think I can do it. I want to do it." Steele rubbed his jaw and suddenly felt his chest swelling a little bit. He drew in a shaky breath and cleared his throat. "Never had anybody I could count on until I joined the Corps. But I never thought I'd meet someone special." He laughed and shook his head. "I pretty much accepted that at some point I was gonna die and the most important people in my life were going to be a bunch of leathernecks. I didn't expect Carris."

"Sometimes people have a way of opening us up to new aspects of ourselves," Jasmine remarked. "It's important to be an individual. But, that doesn't mean another individual can help you become more than you are. It's good to let people in; you and Carris have definitely started down that path. I think you two are really good for each other."

"Thanks, that means a lot," Steele said genuinely, finally feeling at ease in the office. Still smiling, he motioned to her with his hand. "And for what it's worth, I always thought you and Nate were a good fit, too."

Jasmine seemed a little sad for a moment. Steele quirked an eyebrow and then smiled. "He'll come to see you soon. He's just a little blue. It happens. He's fine."

Frost stared at the bottom of the top bunk, the white mattress turned yellow from years of sweat stains. No matter how many times it was washed, those kinds of stains didn't go away. On the edges, the white sheets and olive drab comforter were tucked in correctly to regulation. Everything was aligned, neat, and severe. Years upon years of service tweaked and tuned his fine-motor skills. Whatever he did, from cleaning his weapon to making his bed, was done in the way the Corps wanted it done.

Laying on the bottom bunk, Steele's bed, he could feel the difference. The mattress was weak and sagging and the sheets were disheveled. Everything was messy, being tugged and swept in every direction. In the years he spent with his best friend, he tried to keep him in order. Once, this unkempt bed would have driven him crazy. Time tended to relax certain things, though, and he found this was something he could accept from his buddy even if it still bugged him. Now that he was in it, he didn't care at all.

He took a drag on his cigarette and carefully lowered his arm. It was very stiff and even with pain medication it hurt like hell. Even when he was gentle and precise it ached terribly. Sleeping would have been preferable but he couldn't, so as fatigued as he was he contented himself with a smoke.

There was a knock on the trim of the open hatch. Vivian came into view and walked in. She sat down on the bottom bunk across from him and looked him over. He stared back at her, releasing a cloud of thin gray smoke from his lungs.

"You should be with your squad."

"I don't need a pep talk, Captain Waters."

"We took a bad hit, I know. But that doesn't mean you can just wallow in here and pretend the war's over for you. There are people counting on you and the moment you sink into your own feelings is the moment they start getting killed. So get off your ass and report to your planetside barracks."

Frost laughed as he lifted his cigarette back up. Vivian noticed the stress on his arm, plucked the cigarette from his fingers, and held it to his lips. After a moment, he took a short drag and nodded. She sat back and took a puff on it as well; from her expression he could tell she still didn't like the flavor.

"That's rich coming from you, Captain," Frost breathed. "I remember some uptight newly promoted swabby who decided it was more important to satisfy her demons instead of commanding her ship."

"I learned my lessons the hard way," Vivian said in a low, menacing tone. "It took me a long time to realize what was really important." She raised the cigarette but didn't press it to her lips. Her emerald eyes fixed on the titanium deck. "I still haven't healed from that night. I don't know if that's something you can come back from. Maybe that's a forever wound. But I'm not going to let my anger get the better of me anymore. Not with all these lives depending on me keeping a cool ahead."

She finally took a puff, leaned over, let Frost take another drag, and then sat back. "I'm trying, Nate. And what are you going to do, give up?"

Frost stared at her for a long time, then looked straight ahead at the bulkhead. He couldn't put into words his lack of feelings. Exhaustion was the only one that seemed to make any sense but even that didn't do his condition justice. There was no imparting it and any attempt would be completely and utterly feeble. Keeping silent was far easier. But he knew that was going to be an impossibility for him. When he looked at Vivian, he saw the fire in her eyes, a demand to meet her challenge. Perhaps it was the warrior in him, even if he felt that own blaze beginning to dim.

"How long has it been since you took command? Two years? Almost three? I've been fighting for eight. Do you know how much fucking death I've seen? Too much for one lifetime. I thought I could take it, figured that if I kept going, things would change. That we could actually win this war. That I could actually make a difference and do something. But it was all fake. I was just fooling myself."

Frost suddenly felt his chest begin to tighten. His eyes began to burn slightly and he felt tears roll down his cheeks. "All the battles I've fought in, all these medals they pinned to my chest, all the people I've killed, all the horrible things I've done..." he stopped and wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve even though it hurt to lift his arm. "I kept telling myself, 'this is for the Corps,' 'this is for humanity,' 'what I'm doing here is right,' and it hasn't meant anything. I've sacrificed more than my body, I've sacrificed my civilized self, my morals, any humanity that I ever had for a whole lot of nothing."

He sniffed and looked away, letting the tears run freely down his face. "Everything I've done just seems so wasteful. It hasn't meant anything. I don't mean anything. I'm just a machine and the Corps and humanity don't give two shits. All they see is a uniform and the good little soldier boy who does the bad shit they want done. Even if we do win, what's going to happen to me when there isn't a war to fight? I don't fit into the civilian world anymore. I'll just be a husk. A hollow."

"Get used to it."

Frost looked over at Vivian. She was smiling as the cigarette smoke swirled around her face. It was a very bitter, knowing smile. "You've fucked up and you've finally realized it. Good job. Now act like a Marine and own it. You're not the only one dealing with this kind of thing. We've all had to face hard truths. But we have a duty to humanity and to each other. The Marine I fought alongside on that planet would have said the same thing. That Marine understands duty, sacrifice, and even honor. That's the Marine I know."

She stood up, placed the cigarette between his lips, and smiled at him. "I'd like to see that Marine planetside inside of an hour."

Vivian turned on her heel and marched out. Frost stared at the door for a long time, the tears still welling in his eyes. As the ash from the burning cigarette fell onto his chest, he closed his eyes knowing she was wrong.

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Author's Note: Apologies for the absence, I've been in a bad place for the past few weeks and I've been pretty down on my writing. I'm trying to bounce back this week and I think this is a good place to start. We're only a couple chapters away from finishing this installment and it's a big relief. Hope nobody minds but I'm going to skip the comment responses this week. I also known one or two people are waiting on PMs, I'll get to those eventually, you all kind of know my stance on PMs. I'm very tired and I have a lot of work to do. Sorry.