Chapter 5: Bandages

Jasmine Ebrahimi folded the top of the top sheet of her cot. It was a soft, olive drab blanket with the logo of the UNSC Navy on it in black. The bottom sheet was a crisp white, as was the pillow, and the frame was a plain metal gray.

There was not a single crease and there was no uneven length. Satisfied, she smiled, pushed her glasses back up her nose, and stepped back. Arms akimbo, she turned around and observed the room.

The walls were a sort of ochre colored, or a far more muted tan, she could not tell. It was a highly typical military color, even for the Navy wing of Luna Academy. Being on the tenth floor of the cadet barracks, there were two large windows at the opposite end of the quarters. Pale light shone through the thick glass. Sharing the same wall as the door were two desks, one one either side. Both were moderately sized, with room for a lamp, an Academy-issued terminal, a small office basket for paperwork, and a recharging station for a data pad. A desk chair complemented both. Above each desk was a pair of shelves. To the right of the leg space were three drawers, each increasing in size further to the bottom. In between the desk and the cots, which were in the corners by the window, were bureaus. Each side had one and it was large enough to hold all of the different outfits a cadet required; several standard issue gray uniforms as well as two sets of PT clothing. On the floor was a wide, olive drab rug. Besides such a plain adornment, there was a painting on one of the walls featuring a Navy flotilla from centuries ago. Five glistening, silver warships were at home among the blackness of space and the glitter of stars.

It was a relief to finally be at Luna Officer Training School. It was a prestigious facility, with many names; Luna OCS, Luna Academy, Academy at Mare Nubium. But no such names mattered to Jasmine, as it was her home now. For the next four years, it was home.

Taking the last of her civilian attire from her travel bag, she placed it neatly in the bottom drawer. Then, she pushed the bag under her bed. Most would have kicked it underneath with their foot. Instead, Jasmine knelt and slid it so it was packed neatly at the foot. Getting back up, she picked up a stack of books, which she neatly arranged from smallest to largest along the bottom shelf. Another stack was placed on the top shelf; unlike the books below, these ones were personal. However, they were all devoted to medicine; military medical evolution and innovations, treating battlefield trauma, textbooks on neural implants, robotic prosthetic's and physical therapy regarding them.

Just as she propped the last one up, there was a click, and the door hissed open. Jasmine turned to greet her fellow cadet.

She seemed tomboyish; her height was average and she was lean, but she seemed strong. The light gray cadet uniform she wore was crisp, clean, and styled immaculately. Freckles covered her cheeks and her skin was a natural shade of tan. Her dirty blonde hair was thick and voluminous; it was pulled back into a military regulation bun, but a few locks were loose and fell down to her neck.

For a moment, she lingered just beyond the doorway. She seemed to be taking in the room. Her emerald green eyes sparkled, but her gaze was so commanding and intense. Jasmine was taken aback and found herself unable to greet her.

Eventually, the newcomer turned and dropped her two travel bags. She managed a small smile.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Oh, uh, well, no problem," Jasmine said with a shy shrug. The cadet turned to her cot and began unpacking her bags. For a few moments, Jasmine watched with mild interest. Unsure of what to do, she cleared her throat.

"I'm Jasmine Ebrahimi," she greeted. Cadets were notified of their roommates far before they actually arrived at the academy. Unless she did not read her notification two months earlier, she already knew Jasmine's name, branch, and selected and projected military career path. Jasmine already knew her roommate's information: Vivian Waters, Navy, space naval warfare. She was going to be one of the officer's of a line ship; that could range from the navigator to being the XO. But it seemed so antisocial, so inhuman, not to greet and ask for one's name all the same.

"Waters," was all she said. She continued to unpack her belongings. Methodically, she arranged a few books on the shelves as well as her academy-issued texts. A few holographic picture frames were set up; Jasmine could not see them perfectly from where she sat, but one showed six girls, and another showed what looked like her family.

"Oh, you have hard cover books too? Lots of students are just downloading everything on their data pads," Jasmine said with a nervous chuckle. Vivian said nothing. Gazing at the freshly stacked books, she could not help but amble over. Standing on the tips of her toes, she tried to read the titles. "What genre do you prefer?"

There was no answer. When she finally turned, she found Vivian glaring at her very intensely. Cowed, Jasmine cleared her throat and took a few steps back. As she did, she smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Sorry, didn't mean to crowd me. So, what made you pick the Navy?"

Vivian continued to stay silent, going over to the bureau and carefully organizing her clothes in the drawer. Rubbing the back of her head, Jasmine sighed. "Well, just let me know if you need a hand."

To avoid standing idly and awkwardly, she took one of the books from the shelf, sat on her bed, and began flipping the pages. Even thought she was a fast reader, she was entirely focused. Every so often, she would look up at Vivian as she fixed the bed sheets and unpacked her remaining belongings.

Jasmine hoped it would be different. It was just like her first year at medical school; living in an off-campus dormitory seemed ideal. There, she would find students like herself; private, quiet, and keen to study. But it seemed like the search requests she put into the university extranet portal were completely ignored. Instead, she was housed with a rowdy roommate who wanted nothing to do with her and was more interested in inviting men over. Night after night, all turned the volume up on her earphones to drown out the sounds of the squeaking bed frame and moans of pleasure. By the time second semester started, she applied, paid, and received a single room. Before that happened, nobody noticed her. Once she made the transition, everyone gossiped about the antisocial workaholic, who was so nervous and intimidated by the other boisterous student she always checked if anybody was around before refilling her water bottle at the communal bubbler. It didn't help that most of the rumors were true. All she could do was turn up the volume and drown it out.

With her new roommates, it seemed like the struggles of civilian university life were to repeat themselves in officer training school. Instead of sex-addicted, party-rocking teenagers, she would have to live with someone who was reserved, taciturn, and in no agreeable mood. Already, Jasmine envisioned filing the paperwork requesting a single room.

Disappointed, she reached over to the desk and retrieved her headphones. Plugging them into her second rate music player, she started listening to her playlist. Music tended to be very similar, utilizing less vocals and focusing more on rhythm and beats. Jasmine preferred longer, slower songs, with less energy than the typical high-paced rave-like synthesizer music students her age preferred. Flip music was still popular, but she had no interest.

Peeking up from her book, she saw Vivian sitting at her desk. She was reading too, except it was a textbook on ship-to-ship combat. Classes were not starting for two days and yet she was already studying. Looking back at her book, she felt silly to be reading a murder-mystery novel.

Jasmine glanced at her watch. The lunch hour in the barracks canteen was starting. She took one of the headphones from her ear.

"Hey, want to grab a bite-"

"Don't talk to me."

Without a response, Jasmine put her headphones back on, slid her book mark on the current page, and left.

She trundled through the halls, passing other fresh-faced, eager cadets drawn from Earth and her colonies. So many faces, so many smiles, so many shining eyes. It was difficult not to feel swept up in their upbeat emotions. Music served as a barrier between Jasmine and she drifted in between throngs and crowds. Roommates chatted with their neighbors in the doorways to their quarters. Others looked up friends from civilian life. A few embarrassed cadets impatiently waited for their parents to leave and avoided any displays of affection.

Going to the cafeteria, she found it nearly filled to capacity. There were rows, and rows, and rows of long tables lined with chairs. In between every five tables were a trio of great granite columns separated by about fifteen feet each. Huge, olive drab banners displayed enormous UNSC logos in white: a great eagle holding up its feathered wings, perched on a planet with a horizontal banner, furling upwards, with the acronym across it. Expecting a melting pot between the service branches at each table, Jasmine saw the tables were separatist. Nobody shared tables; they were all Navy, Marine, Army, or Air Force, there was no mingling.

Simply not in the mood to try elbow her way into a table or deal with the factionalism in the dining hall, she opted for the takeaway station with freshly packed meals. Grabbing a plastic container containing chicken salad with ranch dressing, a bag of potato chips, a soft drink, and a chocolate bar, she swiped her ID badge at the register and went back to the room.

When she got back in, she found Vivian still reading. For a moment, Jasmine felt bad that she did not bring her roommate anything. Even if her behavior in the first few minutes left much to be desired, and did not exactly warrant kindness, Jasmine couldn't help herself. Quiet as she was, Jasmine was raised to be kind.

"Do you want to split the chips?"

Vivian slowly looked up, turned her head, and glared at her. Jasmine turned away immediately. "Sorry," she mumbled. She sat on her bed, unpacked the salad, took the disposable utensils from the plastic wrapper taped to the side, and began eating. Still listening to music, she opened her book back up and continued reading. Ever the slow eater, she took her time, so engrossed in the book she almost forgot to chew. Skipping the chips and chocolate bar, she tossed those on her desk, finished the salad, and drained the shake. Dropping everything into the trash bin beside her desk, she got into a more comfortable position on her bed.

Glancing at her watch, she saw that over an hour had passed. At first, she paid no attention, but then she sat up. "Hey, we've got to go to the superintendent's speech in the West Atrium."

"Is it mandatory?" Vivian asked.

"Yes."

Sighing irritably, Vivian marked her page and stood up. Jasmine took off her music player and swung her legs out from the bed. "Why don't we go together?"

Vivian just buttoned the top of her tunic and stormed out. Jasmine stared at the door for a moment, then rubbed her temples. She fixed her glasses and left too.

Like a rolling river rapid, cadets streamed through the halls. There was almost no space for one to raise their arms. Jasmine did really walk; she was swept along by the human current. Before she knew it, she was in the Atrium.

It was a massive chamber, wide and open in the center. More banners decorated the huge columns lining the sides and the walls. In the ceiling was a massive skylight; the Atrium was filled with pure white sunlight pouring through the glass. Normally, the Atrium was filled with tables, chairs, couches, and other stations allowing cadets to socialize and study. Instead, it was completely cleared and a temporary stage was erected at the far end wall, where four vertical banners featuring the individual icons of the UNSC service branches were hung up.

Assembled on either side of the stage were various high-ranking officers from the branches. Most were instructors, while a minority were other personnel visiting from off Luna.

It took some time, but eventually the dormitory's cadets were lined up inside the atrium. A cry rang out.

"Atten-shun!"

Everyone's heels clicked together and there was a machine-like snap of arms to the sides. All raised their chins and looked ahead. But the superintendent did not step up onto the stage. Instead, the cadets were amazed to see Vice Admiral Preston Cole approached the microphone stand.

He was ultimately impressive. His chest was very broad, his gray uniform was crisp, and the ribbon rack of his heart was adorned with row after row of ribbons and medals. His hair was regulation short, his square cheeks were freshly saved, and he maintained a steely squint. The man looked as if he was chiseled from stone.

"At ease," he said very gently, as if he was speaking to each cadet privately. Everyone reduced their posture and folded their hands behind their backs.

Vice Admiral Cole gazed out at them and nodded. "It was in the previous century I stood where you do now. I was a young man, surrounded by other young men and women. In your faces, I see them, I see the light they carried. Courage, bravery, selflessness, determination, resilience, and zeal to serve humanity. It is inspiring to see such traits still present in our young people, especially in the face of such adversity. One would imagine, as world after world slips away, and millions perish, we would give way to despair and resignation, or perhaps panic and desperation."

Here, he paused impressively. Inhaling sharply, he raised his chin slightly. He brought his hands forward, keeping them by his sides. "But humans are just not built that way," he said with steadfast determination. "Whether you have already seen service or have come straight from your civilian graduation, your true journey begins here. It matters not what branch you call home. Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force; you will embark upon a journey that will take you out among those stars to combat a ruthless foe."

His hands curled into fists. "Technology, science, they will not win this war. Those traits, that courage, bravery, selflessness, determination, resilience, and zeal, and the men and women who carry those core characteristics, will save humanity."

As he spoke his voice rose. The microphone, Jasmine realized, was a mere formality. The man spoke with such vigor, with such belief in his own words, that his voice could have filled the entire West Atrium and broken the skylight. But he paused again and regained his composure. "I will not lie to you. Our enemies are determined, vigorous, and are fueled by religious fervor to kill us all. Not all of you will survive. But I look into your eyes and know you are ready to make countless sacrifices, including the most ultimate."

Vice Admiral Cole held out his arms and motioned to the officers standing on either side of the stage. "These are men and women who have seen combat and carnage. They have fought, lost friends, and made sacrifices. You will learn from these soldiers, you will learn and you will know what you must do to protect Earth and her colonies. I hope one day soon, I can serve alongside you. Thank you."

He then stood at attention and saluted. Nobody needed to give the order this time. As if one living organism, every cadet snapped to attention and saluted back. Even after Vice Admiral Cole lowered his arm, they were still saluting. As he turned away and started heading back to the steps, somebody yelled, "Let's hear it for Admiral Cole!"

The atrium erupted in cheering, whistling, and applause. Even Jasmine could not help herself; he was humanity's greatest hero, who could not become overjoyed at his presence? At first, she thought he was going to avoid their wild gestures and frenzied calls. Instead ,he stopped, turned, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lip. For a moment, he stood there, just smiling and looking into their faces. Then, he thrust a fist into the air and all the cadets went crazy. If they were wearing caps, they would have been tossed in the air, Jasmine was certain of it. As happy as she was, she did not want to stay to see cadets start throwing their blouses or shoes towards the skylight.

Lowering her arm and with a fading smile, she turned and tried to head back towards the exit. Instead, she was blocked by the throngs of cadets pushing forward, still cheering and eager to catch a glimpse of the man. Someone bumped into her hair and her glasses dropped from her nose.

She dropped to her knees, trying to feel around to find them. A few cadets cussed at her, but she was too busy to notice. After a few moments, she spotted them behind an Army cadet. All her calls of 'excuse me,' were ignored or unheard.

"Hey, get out of the way!"

Jasmine looked up to see Vivian shove the Army cadet out of the way. The latter was far too focused on the Vice Admiral to care. Vivian stooped, picked up the glasses, and nonchalantly tossed them to Jasmine.

"Oh, thanks, whoa!"

Before she could even put them back on, Vivian grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the crowd. She was like a MagLev train, barreling through the cadets who could barely get out of the way. When they broke through the rear of the crowd, Vivian let go. Jasmine was glad for it, as her grip was so tight it nearly hurt.

Jasmine dusted off her glasses and put them back on. "Hey, thanks-"

"This isn't high school. You're in the military now. Act like it."

Jasmine watched her go down the hall, head down, hands balled into tight fists, shoulders hunched as if she was about to charge. All she could do was sigh.

###

Nightfall could not have come soon enough. Jasmine took a shower before going to bed. Her hair was still a little wet but she did not mind so much. It made her feel cool and her quarters was a bit stuffy anyways. The windows were open, so a cool breeze filtered into the room. Not quite tired enough to fall asleep, she turned on a small, unobtrusive reading light she attached to the headboard of the cot and read a book.

Fatigue came slowly. Yawning, she bookmarked the page, slid the book under her pillow, and flicked the light off. Closing her eyes, she waited for sleep to come. But it was a trick, and she laid awake for what seemed like hours.

Her emotions were all mixed up. Vice Admiral Cole's speech was still ringing in her ears and it made her heartbeat race. Never before had she felt so patriotic, but not towards any one nation-state's flag. It was a patriotism of species, to all of humanity. She was going to be a servant, a custodian, and she was proud. Then came the concern of her roommate, who seemed so engrossed in her studies and carried a huge chip in her shoulder, and the next few years seemed so difficult to manage. Homesickness, the paradoxical excitement and dread for classes to start, and the wonderful feeling of independence and adulthood all sank in together. Sleep would remedy all these feelings, bubbling up and crashing headlong into each other; until then, Jasmine thought reluctantly, she would have to entertain them.

She began wondering if listening to music would help her sleep. The music player and headphones were still on her desk, just an arm's length away. Just as she thought about reaching for them in the dark, she heard a short, ruffled sound. At first, she thought the wind managed to open a book and swept some of the pages over. But the sound occurred once more and she could tell it was shuffling paper but moving bed sheets.

Jasmine's heart beat a little faster, but her mind did not race away from her. Vivian was probably just readjusting her position under her blanket, nothing more.

Still, she did not lay back down. The sound came again, and again, and again, until it became continuous. Accompanying the rifling sheets was a squeaking strain on the bed frame. Then, there was whimpering. At first it was low and quick, then sharp and rapid. Finally, there was a short yell.

Without hesitation, Jasmine turned on her desk lamp. Vivian was wrapped up in her sheets, convulsing from head to toe. Her face seemed gripped by fear and her moth was open. Her legs began to thrash and she began to shriek in pain.

Throwing off the blanket, Jasmine leaped out of bed and tore the blanket from Vivian. She grabbed her by the shoulder and shook her. Then, Vivian's hands shot up and tried to shove Jasmine away. Fighting for control, Jasmine got onto the bed, managed to roll Vivian over, and put her into a hold. It was difficult and although she received training for such an incident, Jasmine was inexperienced. Improvising, she wrapped one arm around Vivian's middle and trapped her arm, while coiling her other around her still flailing arm, holding it upwards. Using her legs, she trapped Vivian's feet.

"Calm down, calm down, you're okay," Jasmine soothed, speaking right into her ear. "Everything's alright, everything's alright. You're in our room, you're on Luna. Talk to me, can you talk to me."

Vivian did not speak, but as Jasmine applied more weight on her pressure points, she ceased shaking. Instead, she began panting so fast she was nearly hyperventilating. Although she did not want to, Jasmine let go of the raised arm and pressed her hand to Vivian's forehead, cradling her head. "Shh. Everything's going to be fine. I've got you, don't worry."

Minutes ticked by. Eventually, Vivian's breathing slowed down. Jasmine leaned forward, craning her neck to see her face. Her eyes were wide open, glimmering like sparkling jewels as tears trickled down her face.

"I...I had a nightmare," she stammered as her voice was choked. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Do you want to try sitting up?"

Vivian sniffed hard and nodded. Slowly, Jasmine let go but kept an arm around Vivian's shoulders. Together, they sat up. Vivian's eyes, nose, and cheeks were very red. She sniffled constantly and swiped at her eyes, but the tears came on all the same. Jasmine rubbed her shoulder. "Do you want to try talking about it?"

"I lost some people very close to me a long time ago. I saw them die. It's stuck with me since then. I see it in my nightmares most nights."

"I'm sorry," Jasmine offered. Vivian just shrugged, biting her lip. It was easy to tell she did not know what to say or what to do. Eventually, she took a long, labored, stressed breath of air. "So, are you from the colonies?"

"Skopje, Inner Colonies."

"Where they build ships?"

Vivian turned, her eyes filled with surprise.

"Yeah...yeah! How'd you know that?" Before Jasmine could answer, Vivian wiped her nose. "You must be from the colonies too."

"No, actually. I'm from nowhere, I guess. My parents are from Earth. We moved around a lot"

"Oh."

"Why did you join the Navy?" Jasmine asked, trying to avoid silence.

"To get away from home. Too many memories. I also wanted to put my money where my mouth is. Didn't feel like getting drafted either, and I wanted to fight on my terms," Vivian chuckled sadly, "with the biggest guns on my side." She looked at her. "You put in for the Navy Medical Corps. I guess you'll be patching me up when I get wounded."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that," Jasmine said, wishing for a sharper wit.

"Why did you join?"

Jasmine explained her parents decided to quit their civilian posts and applied for Officer Training School. There was no shortage of surgeons required for the war effort and they could not keep moving from planet to planet. Now, they were UNSC officers and were holding positions on Reach. When they finished OCS, Jasmine was a first year medical student at a university on Reach. Like her parents, she felt the urge to serve as well. Quitting school, she applied for OCS. Luna Academy was where her parents went, so she went too.

Vivian told her she applied for an early advancement program via her high school before graduation. It was accepted, so the moment she completed her final semester she immediately traveled to Luna. She did not even go to her own graduation and never saw her hard copy diploma. Despite her parents' service in the UNSC Marine Corps, it was always going to be the Navy for her.

Sitting side by side, they swapped a few stories of their school experiences. At first, Jasmine expected to hear stories of how Vivian was the most popular, pretty girl in school, who competed in sports, and had a vast clique of friends. Instead, Vivian imparted stories of long library sessions, a small group of friends whom she loved so dearly, and a middle-class upbringing. As the oldest child with absent parents, it fell to her and her grandparents to raise the other two kids. It was tough; her younger sister was apparently very popular and had a very active life. Her brother, the youngest child, was no more than a toddler. Time in between school and family was spent reading or with friends, exploring the city and trying to get into or out of trouble.

Despite her surprise, Jasmine still felt like her own story was far less glamorous. With both parents working as doctors, they lived a very comfortable life. Moving from one beautiful high-rise apartment suite to the next, from planet to planet to planet, made making friends difficult. Once, as she was growing closer to a group she met in middle school, they decided it was more fun to tease her. When one of the kids with a lighter burned her favorite book, she stopped making friends. Nobody wanted to deal with her anyways. But she always made near-perfect marks in school, was always on the high honor roll, and earned several awards across multiple subjects. Her days were spent reading and that was about it.

A quick fear of ridicule rose and then was dashed. Vivian asked what she liked to read, eyeing her books. Jasmine admitted it was mostly murder-mystery novels and academic texts, ranging from history to science, but were predominately about medicine. While her tastes were far more broad, Vivian did enjoy mystery novels too, but stayed away from textbooks when it came to light reading. High school left her scarred for life she said, and they both laughed.

Their conversation grew very pleasant. By the end, they were eating the chocolate bar together.

"It's getting a little late," Jasmine said.

"Yeah," Vivian sighed, looking around. "I'm not sure I want to go back to sleep." She paused. "I'm not sure I should stay here. Maybe I should just report myself to the superintendent; I'm practically Four-F."

"Don't. You wanted to come here, so stay. It's only the first night. You can't let a dream hold you back," Jasmine squeezed Vivian's shoulder. "I'll help you."

Vivian blinked.

"I was so..." she shook her head. "I came here to study and train, not make friends. It's why I was so rude earlier. I'm sorry for that. But, you don't, I can't..."

"We're going to get through this, together," Jasmine assured her and for the first time in many years, felt very confident in her own words.

Staring for a time, Vivian blinked and looked away shyly.

"Jasmine..." she said, her gaze eventually returning. "Jasmine Ebrahimi. What a beautiful name. Mine's Vivian."

"Nice to meet you, Viv."

"Do you want to talk about what happened in the bunker some more?" Jasmine asked, setting aside her data pad and folding her hands on top of her desk. Corporal Karl Franklin Bishop sat across from her. Behind was a leather couch and an armchair, seated on a carpet. There was a small table on the left to make coffee and other hot drinks. To the right were some filing cabinets. Her office was cramped and lacked the personal touches that Vivian did.

Bishop was a stocky man, not as tall as other Marines, but far stronger looking. He had short reddish-brown hair and a matching scrappy beard. His face was shaped like a square and his head like a block. Despite his typical Marine-appearance, he sat slouched in the opposite chair with his folded hands resting on his stomach.

Jasmine ran a hand through her long black hair, intertwined with a few golden locks. "What about what happened in your quarters on the I'm Alone? You were sitting in the dark, talking about being seen."

"Yeah," Bishop eventually said, drawing the word out. "I was quite drunk at the time. Was drinking to forget the shit I saw that damn blockhouse, and the overhead lights were hurting my eyes, so I shut'em off. Big mistake. Moment I did, I'm in a corner staring at those big fuck-off glowy eyes Jackals have, or those smaller ones the Skirmishers have. See'em moving an' darting around. Really filled my head with smoke. By the time the rest of the squad came in, I thought I was talking to figments of my imagination."

He scratched his beard cheek and made a sputtering sound with his lips. "I mean, I was in there for hours, I get it. But I thought stuff that fucked with your head happened slowly, over time, or it was because of a whole bunch of bad stuff."

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. Emotional trauma is like physical trauma. The body can receive a single blow that causes massive damage, or a certain part of the body can be worn down and down, causing increasing pain over time. In war, we often see so many sights that we can tolerate, but only for so long. Some minds can collapse under the weight. Other sights are short, but are a shock, that leave an imprint on your psyche."

Jasmine's mind raced back to some of her first days on the I'm Alone. She remembered that day Vivian madly thrust the ship into Ambition's atmosphere to rescue the Marines; if it wasn't for the warship's internal gravity field, everything and everyone would have been thrown against the bulkheads. It was terrifyingly fun until the first casualties were evacuated to the ship. To see the pristine, uniformly lined medical cots filled with burned, bleeding, broken men and women nearly overwhelmed her.

"Does that make me a weak link? If your mind's getting to you, then you're not completely in the fight. Your mates can't depend on you."

"No. Coming here and speaking about it is proof you aren't the weak link. You're talking about it, you're being proactive, rather than dwelling in the trauma. You're healing."

"So it really is just like your average wound?"

"I like to think that any kind of trauma can be treated. Some require stitches and bandages; others require conversation and thought."

The Battle of Camp Havens played out in her mind again. Once again, she saw the Banshee descend on her and she felt the tremendous heat of plasma on her back. Out of the fog came Frost, who aided her and pointed to her sidearm. You get surrounded, you put the barrel of that pistol in your mouth and shoot yourself, understand? Hours dragged by as she watched a thin olive drab line of Marines stave off one Covenant wave after another. When the Scorpions came, the Marines jumped on and fired their weapons as the tanks plowed through the retreating masses. She remember the Marines' wide, wild eyes, bared teeth, and their tongues hanging from their mouths as they squeezed the triggers.

Bishop pursed his lips in a very confident way and nodded.

"It does feel loads better to get it out. I can't really talk about it to my mates; we're either too busy training, fighting, or trying to enjoy what time we have to think about those things. Now that I think about it, it's very strange. We see all sorts of terrible things but we never really talk about them."

"Do you think it would help talking to them?"

"Not really. You're the top doc around here, with licenses and degrees and all that. You're a professional, and most of those guys I know can't even remember to brush their teeth or wipe their asses."

They both laughed and Jasmine smiled at him. Bishop broke her gaze and sighed, directing his attention to the window. It was still raining and the sun was just starting to rise. A few golden rays managed to pierce the thick barrier of dark gray clouds. Rain or snow, the clouds remained hanging in the sky.

It reminded her of the morning after Camp Havens. The sky was overcast and it was frightfully cold. Bunches and packs of Marines huddled around campfires, waiting for reinforcements. She could still feel that cold in her bones and the fire's warmth on her palms. Instinctively, he tugged the collar of her olive drab sweater down and took off the white lab coat denoting her station.

Bishop looked back. "Although, I think I'll talk to them about that day in the quarters. I doubt they even remember, but I think they deserve an apology. Seems like the right thing to do."

"I think that's a great idea. I'm sure they would appreciate that."

He seemed happy that she approved of his idea. In a way, his reaction was childlike. Any child was happy to gain an adult's approval, whether it was sought or not.

Jasmine was about to offer more advice when he leaned forward. "Say Doc, you've seen your fair share of horrors, ain't ya?"

"I suppose," Jasmine said, straightening up.

"Who you talk to when that all gets to you? What do you do?"

"Sometimes, my duties keep me busy enough that I don't dwell on it," Jasmine said after a moment's hesitation. "If I have free time, I try to read or write."

"Poetry?"

"I write thesis essays for the Naval Medical Corps. Recommendations for improved battle casualty care, rationalize regulations regarding medicine, devising plans for medical bays on warships. Papers like those."

"Bit over my head."

"Other than that, I try not to bring my own issues to other people. But Vivian...Captain Waters and I go way back. Usually, if I have something on my mind, she makes time for me."

"And Nate-boy too, I reckon."

Jasmine blushed and averted his gaze.

"Yes, Gunnery Sergeant Frost-"

"Nate."

"-Nate and I speak very often, yes."

Just the thought of him made her stomach roil with concern. It was more than a pit, it was like an entire numbing of her senses, spreading from her core to her extremities. Vivian was confined to quarters and Frost was in the stockade. Just a few days without them felt like years. It was only with their departure from daily affairs did she realize what pillars they were in among the entire task force. Vivian was the overall commander of the Naval element; brilliant, daring, stubborn, and willing to take risks. The Marines rallied around their star trooper, Frost, who possessed a bloody legend and the skills to back it up. Both were nearly worshiped by their respective service branches.

Without them, the entire task force seemed lost. Commander Solak, the I'm Alone's executive officer, was doing his best to maintain order with help from Captain Kelly. Colonel Hayes was controlling his Marines but it was easy to see their tension and mounting aggression. Thankfully, the full details of the bungled operation were still undisclosed, so the two branches were angry at the Army rather than each other.

But as soon as word got out, Jasmine knew their attention would shift to each other. The Navy personnel would support Vivian's decision to arrest and investigate the Marines. In turn, the latter would accuse her of singling out Frost. Her personal vendetta against him was becoming less clandestine by the day.

That was the most distressing and disappointing aspect of it all. Vivian finally made that step; she moved on, even without forgetting or forgiving. Jasmine was more than happy, she was proud of her best friend.

Had she reverted? And what of Frost, had he returned to his old ways as well?

Bishop must have sensed her thoughts.

"You know, I may be just a two-bit Marine, but I've known Nate for a long, long time. We did a lot of horrible things together, but that's just war. Marines are trained to kill; they want you to be aggressive. I know him, I see him; Nate's not that kind of man." He tapped his chest, over his heart. "Not in here."

Jasmine smiled bravely.

"Thank you."

Bishop could see her unease.

"I'll take off, Doc. I appreciate you seeing me so early." Both stood up. He clicked his heels and saluted, and Jasmine returned the gesture. Turning on his heel, he left her office.

Jasmine did not sit back down. Instead, she went over to the window and folded her arms across her chest. Looking out across the compound, she thought of Vivian and Nate. Trauma could be healed, she believed that; but the more she thought, the more she reflected upon it, she doubted she could ever heal them.

Word Count: 6,404

Author's Note: Still continuing the opening theme of introducing background for the characters punctuated with a slice of the present. Part of the theme is identifying certain aspects that can define the character (elements for Vivian/Frost, mineral for Steele, and objects for Carris and Jasmine). Considering two points, one from Chapter 1 and another from Chapter 4, have yet to be seen, I'm also dabbling with some nonlinear storytelling. Rather enjoyable. Next chapter will be out next week, hopefully earlier as I plan to finish reconstructing Marsh Silas: Inquisitor, my Warhammer story.

Comment Responses:

TheShadeOps: Generation Kill is one of my favorite miniseries and I've actually reviewed footage to ascertain proper military chatter. It's probably one of the most accurate portrayals of the military I've ever seen. De Vos is an interesting character to work with, and I plan on increasing her role in the story. She's level-headed, committed, and loyal. Carris is the only canon POV character, and she has limited lore surrounding her. Crafting her background is difficult, but I didn't want to make up a character and squeeze them into the SPARTAN-II lore. Her vagueness is a double-edged sword; I don't have much to go on, but there's a lot of creative freedom.

CommissarBS: Your question is quite apt. Time and again, the previous story has dealt with the concept of personal struggles and rule of law in a time of survival. Yet, the extended lore of Halo has shown that, despite the presence of a genocidal enemy, the UNSC is willing to commit time, resources, and manpower to maintain military law and justice, such as in The Fall of Reach when John-117 is reviewed and question by a military board and his character is judged.

MightBeGone: I appreciate your regular responses, but please, there's no expectation for you or any other reader to leave a review on every chapter. I'm still surprised how popular Carris is as a character in this story. Guess I'm doing something right!