Chapter 7: Faction

United Nations Space Command

Special Operations Assignment Offices

Vice Admiral Byron Travers

Log #2

Subject: Waters (Again)

My ace-in-the-hole, my prize hog, horse, whatever you want to call her, is at it again.

What on Earth am I going to do about this woman? On one hand, she's sticking it to the Covenant; she's taken territory back and has fortified it against further assault. Thanks to her efforts, we can go back on the offensive and seize the initiative. Because of her success in this project, I've been promoted and now it looks like I can get back into the war. I have pull, I can rub shoulders with the brass: influence is the word.

And on the other, she's fucking insane. Every time that Marine, Frost, sneezes or farts, she wants to kill him! Frost is a war hero, he's got the medals to prove it. Waters, she's a rising star and HIGHCOM will want to start pinning medals and ribbons on her tit soon enough. Why they haven't yet is beyond me. But all that progress won't mean a damn thing if they're always at each other's throats.

Factionalism has characterized every military since the 20th Century, I get it. Marines, Army, Air Force, Navy, SF, what-have-you, they always have shit to say about the other. That's expected, even encouraged, but in the end, they always work together. There's something bigger than themselves, something to unify them, to bring them beyond the petty joking.

But this is different. Waters, despite her youth, is Navy to the bone. She's brought her swabbies victory, and they love her for it. Frost, well, his reputation speaks for itself and the Marines he's with are tight. Waters' people will fight for her, and Frost's people will fight for him. History shows that two people with followers don't often fight; their followers do.

If this issue doesn't get resolved soon, it'll boil over. That's why I'm on this goddamn ship heading to Port Sanchez, to un-fuck this mess.

Kids these days...

Vice-Admiral Byron Travers

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing in my window!?" Vivian exclaimed as she slid it to the side. Captain Kelly was dressed in fatigues and was wearing a climbing rig. He was soaking wet; his smooth, blonde hair was wild in the wind, and there was stubble on his sharp jawline. Even in the darkness, she could see his vivid blue eyes gleaming at her.

Rain came through the window, accompanied by the chilly wind. They stood there, him on the sill, she on the floor, staring at one another.

"May I come in?" he finally said.

Without another word, she helped him climb into the room. He took off the rig while she shut the door. Going into the bathroom, Vivian returned with a towel which he promptly took. He wiped his face and dried his hair, then peeled off the wet fatigue jacket he was wearing. All of his discarded clothing was placed in the bathroom sink.

Panting and tired, he sat back onto the couch across from the one Vivian was sleeping on. She quickly made him a cup off coffee which he readily drank. As she made him a second one, she sat down across from him.

"You're crazy!" What possessed you to come in here?" she hissed.

"Apparently it's because I'm crazy."

"There's guards right on the other side of the door. You could get thrown in the stockade and court-martialed."

"I don't doubt it," Kelly wheezed, "General Amsterdam has become pretty paranoid. She's never had an op go south like that before, she said."

Kelly went on to explain that he had to come see her. Planetside, he recovered some climbing and scaling equipment used by infantry for mountain and urban warfare. Although it might have appeared odd for a Navy captain to utilize such gear, officers of any service branch were well-trained in different realms of warfare. Even Navy cadets at Office Training School trained in infantry tactics, land navigation, hand-to-hand combat, weapon handling, and advanced courses that included rappelling, urban entry, and mountain warfare.

After taking the gear without raising suspicion, he equipped it with the help of a few of his bridge officers, and scaled the tower. The storm provided excellent cover for their infiltration.

"If you're here to break me out, I'm not going with you. I'm not going renegade."

"No, I said I'm here to talk to you," Kelly said. "Betraying the UNSC isn't exactly on my agenda. I came here to talk to you. There's a lot of discontent right now among the Navy wing of the task force."

Rumor spread about the confrontations between Vivian and Frost. Even if they did not know the full details, keen observers noted the tension and disdain the two held for one another. No matter how either party tried to disguise it and keep it behind closed doors, there were simply too many people in too small of a space. Kelly further explained the Navy personnel were distrustful of Frost, and along with Steele, massacred the prisoners. Regardless of their criminal activities, they believed such action was not becoming of the UNSC. Even though they were in a time of war, rules-of-engagement and military law needed to be obeyed. It was an oath all members of the UNSC swore. Considering the 89th MEU's past operations on Skopje and their subsequent legends of atrocities, their discontent was growing from serving alongside murderers. A few of the more moderate individuals within their tribe counseled much of it was hearsay and nothing was proven. Others countered they heard the Marines discussing their past missions against rebels and their tales proved their extrajudicial killings.

The Marines were more than unhappy or distrustful; they were furious. Frost was their big name trooper, somebody they could rally behind and count on. Aggressive, disciplined, and selfless, they recalled how he held the line during the Battle of Camp Havens, his stand at the turret control center, and his more recent achievements as a Raider; he was a man they looked up to. Unit pride soared thanks to him. Furthermore, they did not simply enlist or were drafted together; these men grew up alongside one another for several years. Brotherhood was a term often utilized throughout the service branches, but for them, it was a core ideal to their identity as Marines. Hearing his treatment at the hands of Vivian made Frost a victim in their eyes, and their rage was beginning to boil over. Before, relations in the mess hall were cordial and there was intermingling. Now, Marines and Navy personnel sat separately, and brawls were occurring in the messes, recreational areas, and training yards.

Officers on both sides were doing their best to control the brief, sharp outbursts of violence. No one was hurt beyond some bruises and cuts, but Kelly feared it was only going to get worse.

Compounding the entire situation were General Amsterdam and Major Holst. She was dragging the investigation out, bringing in experts to survey the massacre site and personally interviewing the family members of the deceased to get psychological and criminal backgrounds. Holst, somehow, made himself her deputy.

Kelly rubbed his forehead. "He said that the Army and the ODSTs are neutral in this affair and thus they should be the ones running the show. But he's too stupid to realize that's just spreading more division. By keeping us and Hayes out of this, we're practically out of the loop and he's making the cracks between us all the more wider. Bloody fool. Captain De Vos is the only one we can really count on. She's been interviewing everybody and trying to put the pieces together. Bless her, although she won't give me the skinny on any of it. It's damned frustrating, cap'."

Vivian took a little time to soak it all in. She sat back, inhaled slowly, and closed her eyes.

"Why are you telling me, then? I'm confined to quarters, there's nothing I can do," Vivian said, motioning to the rest of the room with both arms. "All of my operational and judicial authority as the task force commander is suspended. I'm outranked."

Kelly gazed at her somewhat desperately.

"There's gotta be something you can do. We know you didn't pull the trigger. Ask the guards to fetch Amsterdam, tell her that she's looking in the wrong place. You're the task force commander, that has to count for something in this."

"She won't listen to me," Vivian sighed, leaning forward and resting her hands on her knees. "Of course, she's taking her time to put things together. She needs to know if I'm crazy or not."

"Aw, cap', don't say that. Please, don't say that."

"Who knows? Maybe I did just imagine the whole thing. Let my fear, let my anger, get the better of me. At this point, I'm starting to wish that is the case. Frost is a good Marine, and he's a decent man."

She was looking towards the window when she said that. Rain was still pounding against the glass. It was comforting at that moment.

Kelly did not say a word for a time and she looked back at him before she was further fixated on the pleasant drops rolling down the glass. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pursed.

"Cap', I heard a lot about Skopje. Horrible stuff, what the Marines did the Innies. They tortured people, killed them in really terrible ways. People chained and staked to trees, thrown off cliffs. They even killed noncombatants. Begging your pardon, but I've been in the Navy a bit longer than you. I was a lieutenant commander back when Skopje went down. As wide as our colonies are, word can travel pretty fast when captains remember to plant their fuckin' comm buoys."

Vivian leaned back and stretched one arm along the backrest of the couch.

"You in the habit of believing rumors?"

"Most of a spark of truth, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. But you forget, I'm from Skopje. You didn't hear the artillery in the distance or see the Falcons over the mountain. You didn't see those forests burning from miles away. And you know what, I didn't know anything about what happened up there until a few days ago. ONI locked that place down tight and the propaganda machine did what it does best. So I don't know how in the world those rumors got started."

"How much do you know, then?"

"What the Innies did to a unit belonging to the Army. I don't really want to talk about it."

"Bad?"

"Worse."

Kelly scratched the back of his head and drank his coffee. When he finished, he set it down rather hard on the table in between the furniture.

"Cap', that's beside the point. I know you aren't crazy. You're too smart. You have to do something or this task force is going to fall apart. That can't happen." He grew very solemn, and his dark blue eyes grew depressed. Sinking back into the couch, he shook his head. "I love this outfit. I finally feel like I can really contribute to the war effort here. If it splits up, they'll just send me and my crew off somewhere to wait for the Covvies to show up and kill us. Out here, with these ships, these people, with you, we take the fight to them. We get to fight on our terms, cut loose and detached from the brass. Out here, we see things the way they are; we're losing the war. Colonies are burning, millions are dying, and all the fat generals and admirals back on Earth don't have a clue. Maybe they don't even care. But we know, we care, we see it, and we can do something about it. Because of us, maybe the entire UNSC will go on the offensive. Maybe we, we, can turn the tide."

For a time, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together. His expression became less sullen and more determined. There was a new twinkle to his eyes. It was not hard for Vivian to see he meant every single word. When he looked at her, she thought he would shed a determined tear. "Here, I have hope. At the end of the day, hope is what's gonna see us win this war."

Vivian smiled.

"That and the Magnetic Accelerator Cannon."

Kelly snorted. After a moment's pause, Vivian went over and sat beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder and the pair shared a friendly smile. "I love this task force too. From the people to the ships. Hope is a beautiful thing. But, you can't blind yourself with it. I don't think you do. What I mean is, I don't think I'm going to be around for much longer."

"Cap', no..."

"If it goes through that I was wrong, and Frost and Steele are cleared of any charges, they'll want a psych-eval. Although, I'm sure it'll be a formality; they'll sack me and stick me at a desk somewhere around Earth. They need somebody with a clear mind and solid judgement, not someone who sees ghosts and sees a murderer in everything that dresses in battle armor."

In the time she was tucked away in her own office, she ruminated on all the times her friends came back to her. Shadows, with blank white eyes, clawed hands, wild hair, and wounds leaking blood; they were terrifying. To say she was sound of mind was a complete lie, and she did not want to lie to the personnel under her command anymore. A real leader was transparent and provided inspiration. How could she do either, keeping figments of her own imagination away from them? Inspire? How? How, when she could barely sleep at night and covered her ears in the hopes the assault rifle would stop firing? Strength of character, stability of mind, stoutness of heart; those were the traits of a leader. Thinking, thinking, and thinking, Vivian decided she lacked everything.

In a way, she was tired. Just utterly exhausted, beyond the farthest point of fatigue. Sometimes, just sitting up on the couch took so much effort. In this room, she was eroding, wasting away. Not just the room, but the planet. She needed to get back out among the stars. A war was raging and she needed to be back in it. Left to her own devices, helpless against her memories and her imaginings, she would corrode. If not, she would self-destruct. In the days after the killing, she felt like a ticking bomb. Steadily, deliberately, counting down, all the way down, until it exploded. If she stopped moving, she was going to die.

Yet, there was the dilemma. She had to fight, but she did not trust herself with the lives of those entrusted to her any longer. Nobody, not even the most saintly holy man, wanted to admit their failings. For a long time, neither did Vivian. But she gave in and finally saw herself; insane. Or at least, close enough to insanity. People would die if she did not clear her mind and she was not sure she could do it.

It made her want to cry. Instead, she squeezed Kelly's shoulder. "If that happens, if they send me away, I've nominated you to take over as the CO. You're the right man for the job; experienced, intelligent, compassionate. That's what a leader ought to be."

"No way, cap'. You made me; if it weren't for you, I'd still be serving under that fat prick coward back over Ambition. I can command a ship, sure, but a whole task force? I-"

"I wouldn't have picked you if I didn't have confidence in you, Kelly. You went to OCS as soon as you were of age; you graduated a year early and in the top two percent of your class. Navigation, fleet tactics and deployment, supply, organization...you know what you can do."

"But I ain't you; the men and women of this group, they love you."

"Not all of'em!" Vivian said with a toothy smirk. She shook her head and laughed a little.

"If you stay, you're going to have to find a way to heal the wounds between the Navy and the Marines. They need to work together. They need to trust each other. If they don't, we won't be as effective in orbit or planetside. We'll all die."

"I can't do a thing until I'm out of this room, Kelly. It's out of my hands."

"There must be something you can do. Something I can do."

"You'll report back to your ship and pretend this never happened. If they ever find out you were in here, they won't confine you to quarters and send you to the Navy head shrink. They'll put you behind bars. Hope won't do you much good there."

"Better than sitting around here."

Kelly sighed, finished the last of his coffee, and stood up. Without another word, he went to the bathroom and changed back into the wet fatigues. Vivian watched in the doorway and could see him clench his teeth as the cold, damp material touched his skin. After a few minutes, it became manageable but his steps were rather stiff. Joining him back in her quarters, she helped him don the rig and reattach it to the safety ropes resting on the sill and squeezed between the window and its side trim. Throwing it back open, stepped aside so he could climb back up.

Before he did, he looked down at his boots. He wore a defeated expression; weariness in his face, his mouth slightly open as he drew labored breaths, and his eyes were squeezed shut.

Eventually, he looked back up at her. "If you asked me, I'd break you out of this place."

Vivian blinked, then she laughed.

"And go Innie? I guess I better stick around then, so I make sure you don't do such a foolish thing."

"I have no sympathy for the Innies above their rights as citizens. But sometimes I wonder, is rebellion such a foolish thing, when the government is foolish too?"

Vivian had no time to respond. Kelly heaved himself upwards, turned, and carefully climbed down a few paces. When he was halfway out of sight, he paused again, he looked at her. Wind tousled his blonde hair, rain ran in rivers down his face, and his eyes were very dark. Then, he disappeared.

She wanted to look over and watch him go, but Vivian closed the window instead. She sat down on the edge of her bed and waited.

With her data pad under her other arm, Jasmine raised her wrist. It was still very early in the morning and the sun was still trying to break through the clouds. When she passed by the windows inside the Marine barracks, she thought the sun would never come back out. Perhaps it was just like winter weather on Earth; in some places, the sun went away for months. For those people, it was a dark gray gloom for a good part of the year. Weather cycles of the Port seemed to indicate as such. Although, a more superstitious type would have bargained the weather matched the overall mood of the Port's inhabitants and the prospects of a glorious future for the battle group.

Luckily, Jasmine was not beholding to such suspicions.

Having gotten ahead on her morning logs, she decided to pay Frost's squad a visit. Bishop's disposition, although heartening, worried her about their mentality. Lacking their squad leader, second-in-command, and their knight in shining armor, she sensed a feeling of aimlessness. Combined with worry, it would sap their morale. Someone with a higher rank and pay-grade would have gone on to mention their poor morale would spread to other units like a disease. Low spirits and cynical opinions were just as detrimental to a unit's health as measles and TB. Vaccines took care of the latter; curing the former was far more challenging.

Thinking of them alone and unsure of what to do, Jasmine decided to make it a point to see them.

Approaching their communal living area, she knocked on the door before entering. As she suspected, they were all there. Bishop and Maddox sat at the dining table. Across from them were Bishop and Langley. All four had cups of steaming coffee in front of them; the first three held cigarettes in between their fingers. Thin trials of smoke mingled with clouds of steam, but nobody drank, smoked, or coughed.

Grant and Moser had pulled two of the armchairs close together around a coffee table. Seated on the top was a chessboard. Judging from the few pawns sitting alone in the center of the board, they were either uninterested or just hadn't been playing for too long.

"Good morning," Jasmine said.

"Mornin'."

"Morning, Doc."

"Sup', Doc."

"Morning."

"Want a cup, Doc?" Langley asked.

"Sure. Cream and sugar, please."

"How much?"

"Doesn't matter."

While Langley went to prepare a mug, Jasmine walked into the room. She first looked down at Grant and Moser, hunched towards each other and staring blankly at their game. Moser's jet black hair was growing out and looked as though it was not combed for days. His beard was thicker and there were a few grand strands in his mustache. Grant had trimmed his dark hair down to a stubble, but wore a bushy goatee. It gave him a rough, aged edge, betrayed by his soft cheekbones and youthful amber eyes.

Crouching, she tried to meet their eyes. "Who's winning?" she asked with a kind smile.

"You know," Moser sighed, "I'm not exactly sure."

"It's anybody's game, really," Grant added with a less than enthusiastic smile.

Jasmine nodded and patted him on the shoulder. Taking one of the spare kitchen chairs, she dragged it over and placed it at the end of the table. Spinning it around, she sat down and placed her data pad in front of her. None of the men looked at her. Knight was staring at the ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Maddox, sitting beside the window, stared out through the rainy glass. Bishop just looked into his mug.

Eventually, he looked back up and smiled at her.

"Sorry bunch, ain't we?"

"You look like a pack of sour-faced, grumpy Marines," Jasmine said after a little while. "But as far as I know, Marines are always angry. When are they not?"

"Not a Marine, thanks very much," Langley said as she slid a hot mug in front of Jasmine and took her seat again.

"You dress like one, talk like one, drink like one. Work on your cussing and grow a beard and you'll be a bonafide Marine," Maddox said without taking his eyes away from the window. Langley just rolled her eyes, but Jasmine could see a hint of smile in her small lips. Her hair, almost as dark a shade as Vivian's, was tied back into a regulation ponytail although a few of her locks were loose. Her skin remained pale, though not quite as white as a sheet.

Jasmine remembered when she first met Langley during her mandatory medical evaluation on the I'm Alone nearly two years ago. How young she seemed then, and how old she seemed now. Smooth skin was now worn and blasted by the weather; there were faded crease lines on her forehead and even the beginnings of crow's feet at the edges of her eyes. Months of micro-shrapnel, sunburns, and airborne debris took their toll; there were little marks and cuts all over her face. She truly did look like a Marine.

Maddox's orange hair seemed faded. It was thick and directionless, exacerbated by the fingers dug into it as he leaned his head on his hand. Once, he wore a goatee but it grew out and now there was a sheen of red stubble on his cheeks. Although scrawny compared to the likes of Bishop and Knight, he was still a moderately sized fellow. Knight, while bigger, was not as muscular as Bishop. His stubble had given way to a full beard; like his closely cropped hair, it was a very pale brown. He too seemed a few years older.

"I know it's frustrating," Jasmine began. "You're not in the loop, you're worried about your friends, your future, and beyond all that, we've been stuck on this planet for a long time. Believe me, I think we all earned a rest, but it's time to go back out there, wouldn't you say?"

"Yep."

"Yo."

"You said it."

"Can't happen soon enough."

"Ja."

"Mhm."

Jasmine clasped her hands together and rested them on the table.

"It's moments like this remind just how little we know. We're given as much information as our superiors think we need. If you think about it, we're never really fully aware of the situations. Often, they're above our station. Perhaps we know a bit more than the average citizen in the Inner Colonies or way back on Earth. Propaganda and ONI censorship make sure they don't see the amount of lives lost or how many planets were destroyed, lost, or abandoned each month. We become numb to it. I won't say resigned. Accept is too generous. What we do accept, is the limiting of information by our superiors. We have to trust them and sometimes, well, this is awful to say, it's a real gamble. But you don't have to gamble with Frost, do you? You never have to question, doubt, or second-guess. It's hard to find a leader like that. Somebody who...cares about you, who sees you for who you really are, and helps you be yourself."

None spoke up. Jasmine expected that. She could see by their attentive gazes and understanding expressions that she was right. Reaching over, she patted the top of Langley's hand. "Frost isn't the kind of man who would do such a thing. Not anymore. I firmly believe when we look at someone, it is who they are now that we should judge them by, not who they were, and not what they might become. He's going to come out of this just fine."

At last, they seemed to smile. Their eyes grew less hard and their faces brightened. Seeing their spirits raised brought cheer to Jasmine's heart as well. Life seemed to return to them; they looked at one another, drank coffee, stubbed their cigarettes out or smoked them.

Even if they did not speak, they were engaging one another and that was most important. If they were alone with themselves despite sharing the same room, they would be nothing more than islands. No support, no recognition, just pillars of solitude uninterested in one another and focused on the same malignant issue. On their own, the pillars would corrode and erode until they toppled over from the strain. Together, they could hold it up with ease.

"But that's not it," langley said then. "It's the Navy personnel. They're calling the Marines all sorts of bad things. You've heard them."

"Baby-killers, murderers, rapists, psychos..." Knight muttered. "We've done some bad shit we never did that."

"Fuckers we killed deserved it anyways," Maddox put in.

"They weren't there when we did those things. I don't think we'd do such things to do. But we were justified in doing. It doesn't matter though; they weren't there and they're judging us for it? Before all this, we got along fine and now that the captain's behind closed doors they're acting like it's our fault." Bishop shook his head. "They think we're insane. We're not crazy. We're dedicated Marines and we do our job well. Who're they to judge us?"

"They're angry, and they're human. I know it's aggravating, but you can't pay them any mind. Let them jeer; retaliation will only breed retaliation. Stay above the muck and you'll stay clean."

"We've been keeping our noses clean but the other Marines are pissed as hell. They keep talking about roughing up some of the swabbies. Hell, they're so mad they're talking about beating shit out of the Army personnel." Knight shook his head. "It's hard not to get mired in it. Doesn't it make you angry, Doc?"

Of course it did, she wanted to say. Committing an act of self-defense and maintaining control of the mission, and he was imprisoned for it? If General Amsterdam did not pull joint-operational authority, the Army could never have touched him. To be held by another branch was demeaning to his enlistment as a Marine.

Respect as a soldier was not the only reason. She cared about him so much. There were other words she could use to express her feelings, but like so many, she feared using them too early. Regardless, that was how she felt about him and she wanted him back. Back with her, back to their spaces, feeling each other's presence. To wake up next to him, to go to sleep beside him, to slip into the sheets from a late shift and find him there. How she longed to see him happily cooking in the communal kitchen, singing or humming, tapping his foot to nonexistent music. The way he looked over his shoulder and smiled, it was a tonic that no doctor could provide. And there were those moments when their heads on the same pillow, two bare bodies pressed against each other under the sheets, and drenched in sweat. She wanted it back, she wanted it all back, she wanted him back.

At times such as these, she wanted to break her calm, patient exterior, the one she wore nearly constantly. Sometimes, it was just her own choice. On other occasions, it was by obligation, and a realization that in many situations, someone had to be calm, neutral, and even in their actions. Here, these Marines were friends, and if not, people she could at least find common ground with. To them, she was the one taking care of their friend Bishop as well as the lover of their squad leader. By their standards, she was one of them even if she did not feel like it. No one in the room would blame her for blowing her top and venting about the situation.

Before she could decide whether or not to do so, someone came marching in loudly. All turned to see Captain De Vos standing in the doorway. In her hand was a data pad and she wore a very determined expression.

"Dr. Ebrahimi, I need you to take a walk with me please, ma'am."

"I suppose it's urgent," Jasmine said, gazing into her eyes.

De Vos only nodded. With a sigh, Jasmine stood up and collected her data pad. She smiled at the squad. "This will all be over soon," she said, more for herself than for them.

Out in the hall, she had to catch up to De Vos. She was walking so fast she bordered on jogging. Her free hand was clenched in a tight fist.

"I just finished speaking with Carris a few hours ago. Her testimony provides conclusive evidence to the outcome of this case."

"That's rather vague, Captain."

"Intentionally. I'm sorry, Lieutenant Commander; I want to bring this in front of General Amsterdam before anyone else. We can settle this matter right here right now."

"If you weren't going to tell me, you could have left me behind," Jasmine said, trying to hide her irritation.

"General Amsterdam is a capable leader and a good soldier. I trust her, but this case has got her in a bind. I think she's worried that this may compromise her command and she'll be removed from this operational group. Having you there will not only back me up, but I believe it will offer a calming presence, someone we can look to keep the discussion civilized."

"I take it we're expecting someone uncivilized, then?"

"Major Holst is..." De Vos looked down briefly as she walked. Then she shook her head a little and looked ahead once more. "...is proving inflammatory to the situation."

"I might be of better service if you tell me what Carris said."

De Vos said nothing. Jasmine decided not to press the matter. Pulling rank was not something she was prepared to do or even wished to do. As well, she respected De Vos on a military and personal level. She trusted her to tell her when the time was right.

Together, they stormed out of the barracks and into the morning gloom. It was still raining steadily but the strong winds were finally dying down. The entire compound courtyard was glistening in the foggy gloom. Static white and yellow lights, and flashing red ones, shone eerily through the gray clouds all over the base. Some personnel shouted or spoke loudly to one another as they unloaded vehicles or moved cargo from one area to another. Trucks, Warthogs, and Scorpions rolled in and out of the base. At one point, Jasmine and De Vos stopped as an Elephant, looming out of the fog, rumbled by them. It towered of them as its massive treads ground against the pavement. It shook the world around them. On the ramparts of the giant command vehicle, shadowy figures stared down at them.

They went over to the command center, pushed through the doors, flashed their IDs to the security personnel at the desk, and took the elevator up to the office floor. Months ago, it was a dilapidated ruin of cracked concrete, thick vines, demp floors, flooded basements, and dusty skeletons. Now, it was a composition of exterior reinforced concrete and smooth, white interior paneling. There were intercom systems, security cameras, monitors displaying information from the entire battle and fleet network, as well as live connections to other battlefronts. Personnel were packed together on each floor; clerks, military police, analysts, scientists, advisors, intelligence operatives, separate administrative personnel for all of the service branches, and more. Chamber after chamber served a multitude of tasks ranging from the organization of the daily distribution of supplies and work details, to briefing rooms dedicated to planning future operations.

After exiting the elevator, they walked down the long hall, shouldering past numerous staff officers. When they came to General Amsterdam's office, they found two Army sentries on either side.

"We're seeing the General. Now. Try to stop us and you'll be cleaning shit-covered boots with your toothbrushes," De Vos growled as they approached.

"Actually ma'am," one of the sentires said as he tapped an entry code into the door key pad, "you're expected."

"What?"

The door slid open and they walked right in. Jasmine snapped to attention a second after De Vos did. Sitting behind her oak desk was General Amsterdam, hands folded and resting on the edge. There were dark bags under her eyes and her hair was loose from its usual bun. Sitting nonchalantly on a leather armchair on the left side of the room was Major Holst, who was clean-shaven and in a trim fatigue uniform. Behind her were four staff officers, each holding a data pad. In the chair beside him was Captain Rundstrum, smiling happily as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. On the leather couch across from them were Captains Kelly and Slater, of Batavia and Best of the Best, respectfully. Standing behind them were two Commanders; Alastair of Determined Guardian and Kolchak of Lion's Den. Standing on their side but closer was Colonel Hayes, arms folded across his broad chest and glaring menacingly. Major Holst was beside him, hands folded behind his back and wearing a soft cover cap.

All were staring in the center of the room. A Navy admiral was standing there by himself. He turned around and Jasmine blinked.

"Rear Admiral Travers?" she said without thinking.

His brown hair was still wild and swept back. His beard was shorter but still scrappy. Acne scars mottled his cheeks. Ribbons decorated the left side of his chest. Coffee and alcohol stains that once decorated his gray tunic were gone. The left sleeve was folded and pinned at the shoulder. His right hand remained curled in a fist at his side.

He smiled slowly, flashing his pearly white teeth like a wolf.

"Vice Admiral, thank you," he said. "It's good to see you again, doctor. And you must be Captain De Vos. It's a pleasure to meet you. Now, I believe you have some information to share and if I don't hear it in ten seconds everybody is going back to Earth in chains."

Word Count: 6,106

Author's Note: Did some experimentation with monologue in this chapter. I liked the way it came out. Wanted to branch out a little because I've been focusing on improving dialogue, which I'm very happy with. As for the ending, it's not so much a twist but rather a tying of the bow; the beginning opens with Travers introducing himself, and it ends with Travers being physically introduced. Sign, sealed, delivered.

Anyways, I plan to get the next chapter up a little sooner.

Comment Responses:

TheCarlosInferno: Thanks for commenting! Chapter 6 was the last introduction chapter and now we're going to begin progressing with the plot. Colonel Hayes is a character we'll see a bit more of in his series. As I stated in the information packet on the forum a few months ago, Nora Langley will no longer be a POV character but will still be a participating member of the story undergoing growth and development.

MightBeGone: That was the goal, I really wanted it to be fast while also providing enough details to titillate the senses. Glad the conversation provided the desired effect too.