Chapter 8: Verdict

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost, wake up. Wake up."

Frost sleepily opened his eyes. He found himself on his side, curled nearly into a ball on the cot. Before he fell asleep, he pulled part of his fatigue jacket over his head and removed both his socks and boots. His feet were cold.

Stiff and bedsore, he stretched as he rose to a sitting posture. Cracking his neck and flexing his arms a little, he worked out the kinks in his joints. Sighing, he reached down, tugged his socks on, and then tied his boots on. Zippering his jacket and flattening the creases, he stood up and walked to the center of the white cell. Looking at the blank glass, he waited for someone to speak. For a brief time, there was nothing.

Tapping his foot, he wondered if the Army military police were trying to toy with him. Disturbing a prisoner's sleep without adequate reason could be interpreted as abuse, which could be investigated and punishable by court martial. Or at least, that's what he remembered reading in the UNSC handbook. Sleep deprivation usually came with greater frequency and factors far more terrifying than someone speaking passive-aggressively through the cell intercom. Tales of attacks dogs, beatings, inspections, and other methods came to mind. Perhaps, he thought, he read too many books growing up and his rationalization was influenced by sensationalism rather than fact.

Just then, the intercom crackled back to life. "Gunnery Sergeant Frost, turn around and place your hands against the walls."

Confused as he was, Frost ultimately obeyed. Deliberately, he turned and braced his hands on the stark white wall. "Do not move."

He heard the door slide open. A troop of soldiers came marching in. By their heavy footfalls and leathery strain of their webbing, he could tell all were heavily armed and armored. They gathered around him, forming a semicircle. On the wall, he could see their dark shadows looming over him.

Hands roughly took his arms and put them behind his back. A pair of handcuffs were placed on his wrists. It was not the steel loops connected by a chain like in the old days. Instead, it was a more advanced shackle. When deactivated, it looked like a rather large, symmetrical metal square. But with an activation key, two sliders came out of each side. Wrists were placed in the circular spaces on each one and then the key was turned again so that slides connected, pressurized, seal, and tightened on the wearer.

The moment they shut, he could not help but wince as his skin was pinched in the spaces.

A hand fell on each shoulder and turned him around.

"Gunnery Sergeant Frost, your presence has been requested at the CP," a lieutenant wearing a soft cover cap stated.

"Is my court martial today, sir?" Frost asked.

"Your presence has been requested," was all he said. "If you try to escape or in any way attack these guards, you will be shot. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Detail, proceed," the lieutenant ordered.

The troopers assembled around Frost and with one final shove in his back, they marched out of the cell. Stepping out into the hall, he could already feel a difference of air and temperature. Industrial heaters and vents ran along the ceiling and bathed him in warmth. A military smell, composed of unwashed people, oiled weapons, and starched uniforms, hung in the hall. Guards, spaced in ten foot intervals, lined the cell block. All wore a black pauldron on their armor with stark white letters reading MP. Each scowled as Frost was herded by them. Booted feet thudded on the concrete floor, webbing, armor, and packs rustled. Outside, he could hear the rumble of vehicle engines and the force of aircraft as they passed overhead.

He was guided past Steele's cell. Looking through the one-way glass, he could see his friend leaning against the opposite wall. Both hands were in their pockets, his posture was slouched over, and his head hung low. Thick blonde spilled over his face. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, a thin trail of smoke rising from it.

Frost was shocked and wondered just how he managed to get those.

Outside, he expected to be blinded by the sun. But it was an early overcast morning. A gray gloom hung over the base, chilly rain pattered on the compound grounds, and lights became a haze. Although it took time for his eyes to adjust, there was no pain.

There was a great deal of activity. Convoys of heavy vehicles ranging from civilian eighteen-wheeler tractor-trailers to Elephants rolled in and out of the base. Pelicans, Albatrosses, and Darters were descending and ascending with clockwork regularity. Automated cranes loaded crates packed with rations, ammunition, medicine, armor, uniforms, weapons, explosives, and every other item provided by the UNSC military infrastructure, ranging from small scissors in grooming kits to flash cloning sets. Each crate was unloaded by an automated crane and placed onto an elevator pad in the center of the two landing pads. Once fully loaded, the lift would lower into the bowels of the underground segment of the base to be stored in the cavernous subterranean warehouses.

Most of the personnel moving over the base were logistical personnel; mechanics, engineers, quartermasters, technicians, communications specialists, intelligence officers, and many others. A majority belonged to the Army and Navy; Operation: EXALT was jumping off soon and the battle fleet would arrive soon. They would need to resupply, make any repairs necessary, and their headquarters staff would need to sit down with local brass to go over the plans again.

Seeing it made his heart soar. It reminded Frost of when he first showed up to basic training at age thirteen. A quiet, nervous kid, not even in high school, whisked away by the powers that be to see the power in their corner. Tanks, aircraft, lines and lines of soldiers, and big, big guns. For the first time, he felt he had a place. For the first, it felt like he had a home. For the first time, he knew what he was going to do with his life. He knew, finally knew, he would not live a somber, quiet life of solitude outside Halifax. The entire galaxy was at his feet, and with weapon in hand, he was going to fight.

Even at that moment, knowing what awaited him, that feeling of air in his chest, lightness in his heart, and the weightlessness in his stomach, remained.

He was marched into the command center, ushered to the elevator, and eventually arrived at the office of Brigadier General Amsterdam. The officer in charge of the detail did not immediately open the door. Instead, he knocked.

"You want a cigarette?"

Frost turned to the sentry on his left. He was a fresh-faced private, no more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. There was no hint of stubble on his face nor any signs of battle. With a shy, gentle smile, he extended a pack of cigarettes with one sticking out.

"No thanks."

"You sure? I don't really smoke so I just give them out to the guys, you know? Why not? It's a nice thing to do, plus they give me stuff like chocolate from their rations or extra coffee. Nine outta ten dudes in my platoon smoke like chimneys."

"You'll be one of the nine, soon enough," Frost said, looking back towards the door.

The door opened and the officer stood at attention. Despite holding their weapons, the detail copied him. General Amsterdam glared at them.

"Detail reporting, ma'am!" the officer stated loudly. She nodded for them to enter.

Frost was marched in. The troopers stopped him only after a few paces and positioned him towards the left of the room. Arrayed between, on, and behind chairs and couches were the leading officers from the entire battle group. Besides Amsterda and her retinue of staff officers, there was ONI Captain Rundstrum, and the Navy masters; Kolchak, Alastair, Kelly, and Slater. As well, Major Holst and Captain De Vos were present along with Colonel Hayes and Major Royce. In the center was a wild-looking vice admiral he never saw before.

By Amsterdam's desk was Lieutenant Commander Jasmine Ebrahimi. Only a few days passed since he last saw her. He caught a glimpse of her optimistic, smiling face just before being locked up. Throughout his brief internment, she was on his mind a great deal. But he did not miss her until he finally saw her. Apart for such little time and his heart seemed to break. He could have broken into tears then, seeing her standing there. Desire to just walk across the room and embrace her gripped him. A great deal of resistance was afforded to stand still.

The moment their eyes met, he smiled. She too, flashed a radiant, hopeful grin at him.

Soon, she was obscured. The group of troopers assembled around him. Standing in front of the detail was the officer, who looked down his nose at Frost. "Gunnery Sergeant Frost, you will now be released from your restraints. Any attempt to escape, or any action deemed combative, will result in non-lethal force from the gentlemen standing behind you."

Frost looked over his shoulder. Standing on either side of the door were two burly, mean-looking, heavily armored Army military policemen. He looked back at the lieutenant. "Do you understand these instructions?"

"Yes, sir."

Just like that, the shackles were removed. They turned around, saluted the general, and departed. Frost watched them go. Once the final man passed through the door, he saw Captain Vivian Waters standing on the right side of the room.

Her body was facing forward but she was looking at him. All of her dirty blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, with a few locks hanging loose. She seemed a bit paler than usual. There were dark bags under her eyes; just looking at her, there was a general weariness.

Frost looked at all of the ranking officers around him. Unsure of what to do, he puffed his chest out, clicked his heels together, raised his chin, and saluted. "Gunnery Sergeant Frost, reporting."

"At ease," said the vice admiral. "I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Gunnery Sergeant. You've made quite a name for yourself. We've heard mention of Jack the Ripper back at the Mars offices. I bet if you were wearing your dress whites your chest would be full of medals and ribbons."

The admiral possessed a wolfish smile and an alarmingly uncivilized expression in his dark eyes. Something barbaric and primitive that could be unhinged and unleashed at any moment. Despite his gaunt frame and lack of an arm, he was ultimately intimidating.

Before he could find something to say, the admiral approached him. "Do you know me, son?"

"Sir, no sir."

"Vice Admiral Travers. Recently promoted. If you trace the chain of command regarding this project regarding the I'm Alone, it ends with me. Well, maybe I'm not the last stop persay, but the second to last. I'm here to end this nonsense. Obviously, you can see there's no UNSC military lawyers here so we're settling this out of court, so to speak." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh white cloth. "Wipe that shit off your face, you're not playing army-man right now, it's time to act like a grown-up."

Frost obeyed the order and wiped the last of the camouflage facial paint from his face. By the time he was finished, the cloth was filthy. He held it up. Travers eyed it with disdain. "Keep it. Now, let's cut to the chase. Did you kill those detained smugglers?"

"Well-"

"Pardon me, did you murder the detained smugglers. There's no disputing there's a lot of seven-six-two millimeter FMJ-shaped holes in their bodies and an empty MA5B magazine discharged from your MA5B assault rifle. So, just run us through the motions, if you please."

Frost told them exactly what he told every other officer who came by to investigate him. One of the smugglers, the one who shot the unknown female prior to the detainment, went for a pistol on the ground to shoot Steele. Frost shot him first; several more tried to rush Steele but Frost gunned them down. The rest tried to run off into the woods. Before they could, Frost killed them all. Going after them with only two available personnel would have been irresponsible regarding search operations. Any number of the smugglers could have hidden in the darkness of the woods and overwhelmed the two Marines had they given chase. What's more, the chance they would escape increased. Maybe they could get one or two, but if the rest ran faster or hid themselves well, there would be hostile personnel over the planet. It was a risk the UNSC presence could not afford.

"Shooting unarmed detainees is not permissible by UNSC military law," General Amsterdam said, rubbing her forehead. "Even though they presented a risk to the security of our operations, we cannot, and furthermore, should not, harm or kill unarmed prisoners. It's the 26th Century, for God's sake! The fact we're even having this conversation is beyond disgusting. I expected more from you-"

"As far as I'm aware, General Amsterdam," Travers said, turning around, "there's an Army trooper in the stockade who was seized before any hard evidence against him was procured. Sure, he's guilty, we know that, but like every citizen, he has a right to a fair trial. Before criticizing this young man regarding the rules, you ought to follow them yourself."

General Amsterdam turned red in the face and averted her gaze. Travers turned around. "Right. As much as I expected."

He looked at the watch on his wrist. "...right, about, now..."

There was a knock on the door. General Amsterdam got up. Travers raised his hand. "Enter, please."

The door opened and another, different Army detail came in. As the group dispersed, they revealed to have Steele in custody. He was placed in between Vivian and Frost, although closer to the latter.

"Sergeant Steele, you will now be released from your restraints. Any attempt to escape, or any action deemed combative, will result in non-lethal force from the gentlemen standing behind you. Do you understand these instructions?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm fucking twelve. Yes, I understand the bloody instructions. Now, take these fucking things of me' hands."

The officer rolled his eyes but removed the shackles. Formalities were carried out and the detail exited the room. Steele looked over at Frost and smiled. "Look what the cat dragged in," he said.

Frost laughed.

"You're the one who walked in."

Steele snickered and jammed his hands into his pockets. He gazed at all the faces in the room. His smile disappeared. None of them spoke, not even Travers. Steele's gaze hardened into a glare.

"Look, if you think I'm gonna salute ya all, you probably don't know me all too well. So, whatever you're gonna do, shoot me, discharge me, lock me up, or let me go, just get on with it."

"Aptly put, sergeant," said Vice Admiral Travers. "You know why you're here. You know what will happen to you unless you are exonerated by your squadmates' testimony. Their careers rely on yours as well. Now, do go on."

After a brief hesitation, Steele explained what happened from the top. Acting rashly, he admitted, he charged down the hill once the killing took place. After securing the smugglers there was simply no time to restrain them. There were not enough guns on them to keep them from swarming. All the same, one of the smugglers attempted to retrieve his pistol to shoot him. It was by Frost's swift action that he was still alive. Some of the others decided to try rushing him anyways, and the rest tried to flee. Frost gunned them all down. Premediation was out of the question; all the decisions regarding the smugglers were hasty and born from circumstance. None of the options were desirable; they ran from bad to worse and ended with horrible. Coming out clean was an impossibility and to prevent a total disaster, killing them was the best choice. Having smugglers loose on the world, free to access potential stashes or caches, was a threat to their security.

Steele, quite formally, stood up straight. "Vice Admiral, the operation went sideways because I failed to follow Gunnery Sergeant Frost's or Captain Waters' orders, as well as failing to heed the ROE and other operational parameters. Were it not for my actions, you'd have the smugglers in custody and we wouldn't be having this conversation. Sir, if you're going to punish us, hold me solely responsible."

Frost was shocked. He wanted to run over to Steele, grab him by the collar of his fatigue jacket and shake him. No, he wanted to say, you can't, you won't. No, we're friends, we're brothers, where you go, I will go too. If we fall, we fall together. If we die, we die together. Even if he couldn't go over to him, he tried to catch his attention, capture his gaze with his own. To plead with his eyes, to tell him that he did not have to do such a thing. Selflessness had no place in this hearing, or whatever bastardized version of a trial this was. Don't do it, he kept thinking, please don't do it.

Travers seemed less than impressed. His lips were pressed into a long, thin line and his head was cocked to the side. Eventually, he inhaled long and sharply.

"Noted." He glanced at his watch. "Our next guest should-"

There was a knock on the door. "Oh, they're early. Marvelous."

When the door opened, a cadre of troopers came in. It was a much larger detail, at least double the size of Frost and Steel's. In their center was Carris, tall and strong. Her thick black hair was loose and came down to her jaw and her deep blue eyes seemed flat. Unlike her compatriots, she was not shackled upon arrival. As always, she stood straight and soldierly. Often, her suit of armor seemed to obscure her conduct as a military woman. The armor made her movements look automatic and robotic. Out of it, she was every inch a soldier. From her gait to the way she held her shoulders back, one could observe the rigid discipline that filled her veins.

"Petty Officer Carris...Carris...hm, what is it again?" Travers asked with a wave of his hand.

"One-three-seven, sir," Carris answered, folding her hands behind her back.

"Of course it is," Travers sighed. "Well, you were the only one who did not participate in the killings. You observed them through your sniper scope, did you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, Gunnery Sergeant Frost and Sergeant Steele have both told their sides of the story which corroborate one another. However, in the amount of time in between the shooting and Captain Waters' discovery, they could have hatched this story. You saw what happened, but there's no chance you were privy to it. Unless the comm channels were open. Captain De Vos?"

"Sir, we were operating by close frequencies and channels. To communicate, you would have to activate your headset or helmet earpiece. If you did not, your voice would not carry over any of the nets, not even the TEAMCOM."

"And the mission communications recordings?"

De Vos swiped her data pad and tapped a few keys.

"Recordings indicate that in between the time of the shooting and the time of the confrontation there were no open communication channels. It would have been impossible for the Petty Officer to pick up any chatter."

"Excellent. Now, Carris, you're free to speak. Tell us what happened." Travers put a cigarillo to his lips, took out a strike-anywhere match, swiped it against General Amsterdam's desk, and lit it. After a few puffs, he waved the match until the flame flickered out before flicking it onto the floor. Taking the cigarillo from his lips, he motioned towards her. "Don't have a Bible for you to swear on, but just to be clear, your careers and theirs depend on this. So, tell the truth."

Carris stared at him, long and hard. Frost was watching her; everyone was. Eventually, she looked over at him, then at Steele, followed by Vivian, then finally back at the Vice Admiral. Clenching his teeth, Frost held his breath.

"The smuggler who shot the female suspect attempted to grab his weapon and shoot the sergeant," Carris said. "Frost was forced to fire. Several others did the same immediately afterwards. Others ran. Frost killed them all in order to save himself, Sergeant Steele, and to maintain security in the sector."

Everyone blinked. A few murmured to each other. They looked around, gazes meeting and breaking every few seconds. Frost breathed again. He looked past Carris and saw Vivian. Slowly, she turned her head away and her eyes fell to her feet. Both hands, clenched into fists, unfurled and hung limply by her sides.

Travers took another puff and stepped closer to Carris. He was shorter than her by nearly half a foot, but he moved so fast and severely even she recoiled slightly. Right in her face, he stared into her eyes.

"That corroborates what these two jarheads said. If you were lying, that'd be one hell of a coincidence that it lines up perfectly with their stories. Or you're just plain lucky."

"It's neither luck nor a coincidence, sir," Carris answered firmly, "it's the truth."

Travers grinned devilishly and laughed. He turned on his heel and walked back to the center of the room.

"Well, that's it, then? General Amsterdam, are you satisfied?"

"Yes, sir."

"Waters, you set?"

"Yes, Admiral."

"I'm not. I have significant reservations about the way my men were treated," Hayes began, "and furthermore-"

"I actually don't give a fuck what you think, Colonel Hayes," Travers snapped, whirling around and pointing at him with the cigarillo. "Be happy that your leathernecks aren't going to be scrubbing toilets with their toothbrushes and taking cocks up their asses in prison for the next twenty years. You got what you wanted; a settlement outside of the courtroom. That's the best I can do so live with it. Don't like it, write a letter. Carbon-copy me too, I'd love to read it."

Colonel Hayes turned beet red and clenched his teeth. Royce, calm and so quiet one would forget his presence were he not beside his commanding officer, just took a step forward. He made no significant movement or gestures. Maintaining his silence, he just came a little closer to the Vice Admiral. Travers was too busy gloating in himself to notice. He turned around and around, looking at everyone in the room. "There ya have it, folks. Smugglers tried to jump our boys, dumb as they may be, and they got killed. Falls under rules-of-engagement in my book, so the matter is over."

"Shooting running, unarmed men in the back is still unacceptable behavior. I cannot condone such acts as a joint operational commander and a flag officer," Amsterdam said, standing up and planting her hands on the desk.

"Far as I'm concerned, a good Innie is a dead one," Travers said. "The more, the better. But they're not on our radar anymore. I've got dozens of warships in slipspace coming this way. A huge fleet, ready to take the fight to the Covenant. I'm not going to jeopardize Operation: EXALT because the commanding officers of the diversionary and support force are butting heads over such trivial matters. Get your heads out of your asses, get your heads in the game, and get ready for jump off. Otherwise, this mission, and your task force, are scrubbed. Understand?"

"Yes, Vice Admiral Travers," came the resounding, unanimous answer but with variant tones of enthusiasm.

"Good. Now-"

"Sir, I have one request," Vivian said, stepping forward.

Travers was surprised to hear her speak, or at least it seemed so. The stupor which swept over her seemed to evaporate, then. Vivian kept her chin up and her hands folded behind her back. In a matter of moments, she regained a professional exterior and she looked very proud in her gray tunic.

She did not even wait for the Vice Admiral to approve her asking. "Regardless of the shootings, Gunnery Sergeant Frost and Sergeant Steele should be demoted. Steele disregarded orders to hold his position, and Frost failed to assert command over one of his Marines. These acts are inexcusable among the infantry, especially among noncommissioned officers."

Vice Admiral Travers clenched the cigarillo in his teeth for a few moments, tugging on his beard with his newly freed hand. Soon, he nodded his head to the side and took the cigarillo out.

"Colonel Hayes?"

"Admiral, sir?"

"Demote Sergeant Steele to corporal."

Hayes blinked, then turned to face the sniper.

"Sergeant Steele, you have been demoted to corporal. Turn in your stripes and go to the quartermaster to maintain your uniform."

Frost looked at his friend. For a brief moment, a singular instance that lasted for a mere second but seemed to go on for a millenium, he saw disappointment. Not once had Steele cared about the ethos, disciplines, or culture of the Marine Corps. Marching, saluting, ranks, authority, respect, honor, those were all just words to him. Words could hold great power to many; some words actually possessed meaning for others. Not to Steele. To him, it was silly, unnecessary, and not worth fighting or dying over. All he wanted to do was fight for the sake of fight, and to get away from home as he often said. But there it was, disappointment. Was it from being punished in general, being singled out, or finally facing the consequences of his poor military attitude? Perhaps, Frost thought, it was all of those reasons combined.

The flash of emotion passed and he shrugged.

"Think I can get some stripes with a zipper? It'll be easier next time I'm busted down."

Travers was the only one who laughed. Stubbing his cigarillo out in the ashtray on Amsterdam's desk, he raised his hand into the air.

"Alright, everybody out except for Waters, Frost, Steele, and Ms. One-Three-Seven."

Slowly, they trickled through the door. All the Navy captain and commanders offered glances of respect to their CO, but glared at the Marines as they passed. De Vos came next, without expression. Holst came between Steele and Frost, bumping the latter with his shoulder. Rundstrum walked after him nonchalantly, winking at the gunnery sergeant. Colonel Hayes patted Frost on the shoulder and offered a sympathetic smile. Royce betrayed no more emotion beyond a curt nod. The Army staff officers came through, professional and unassuming. Jasmine was behind them. She came up to Frost, smiling sadly. Her mouth moved, like she was going to speak. Instead, she remained silent and brushed the back of her hand against his. A mere touch, but it was electrifying. Frost watched her pause by the door to look at Vivian, who smiled at her. He could not see what the doctor's reaction was, and she left a moment later. But it was Amsterdam who lingered.

Glaring at the Vice Admiral, she came around the desk and stood in front of him.

"This is my office."

"It is. Now get out, or I'll have you demoted too," Travers said in an even tone. Grimacing, Amsterdam shook her head and left.

Travers then turned around and faced the remaining four. He sighed happily, smiled wide, and sat on the edge of Amsterdam's desk. "Here we are. I'd love to say, 'together at last,' but that carries implications that I personally don't mirror."

His gaze and tone hardened. "Waters, you're not the only person who can run this show. I know you and many others probably disagree, but I'm not prepared to have an officer who sees ghosts and can't cooperate in a joint operation with other personnel. The only reason I'm keeping you in command is because of your military achievements, the way you inspire the Navy personnel, and, well, I just so happen to like you. I wish a lot of the other officers I've worked with shared your attitude towards engaging with the enemy. Fuckin' fossils..."

He scratched his chin. "But that's the way it is, kids. If you don't make peace or at least just ignore each other for the rest of this deployment, you'll do alright by me."

"Uh, Admiral, me and Carris ain't exactly a part of that history. Just saying that for posterity."

"Noted, corporal," Travers said flatly. His attention shifted to Frost. "And you, my lad, I have some good news for you. Seems some concrete facts rather than your legend has gone all the way up to HIGHCOM. They're very impressed that your team managed to reclaim a planet. Got a lot of people at HIGHCOM talking, and a lot more people talking at SPECWARCOM and NAVSPECWAR."

He sidled up to him and put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "After your op, the Commandant of the Marine Corps is pushing for special operations units that fall under Marine jurisdiction. ODST's might be an evolution of Marine doctrine, but their volunteers come from all of the service branches. It's quite possible they're going to reactivate the Marine Raiders. Whether they're going to fall under SPECWARCOM or NAVSPECWAR is as undecided yet, and some are against it. But, it's not a bad idea. Army's got pathfinders, rangers, advisors; Navy's got the ODSTs, even the Air Force has PJ's and controllers. Marines? What do they have?"

Travers let go and began walking towards the window behind the desk. "So, your company is being reformed into a Raider detachment. If your operations prove successful, the 89th MEU and the other MEU's from Hayes project will be reformed into Raider Regiments. Obviously, your company commander will be in charge, but you're the star of the show."

He walked over to Waters. "As much as the Marine Corps hates to admit it, they cannot do what they do, and cannot be who they are, without the Navy. That's a fact of life. Grass grows, water is wet, and the Marines can't move anywhere without a Navy starship. Part of your duty is to work in junction with the Raider detachment; planning ops, assisting in mission executions. No sidelining, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. If you can enfranchise the Raiders, NAVSPECWAR might be interested in expanding its own special forces, not just from infantry but to actual task forces." He walked back in front of the group and looked at every single one of them. "There's a lot riding on you. You have to work together. You have to remember you're on the same side. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they all said, even Steele.

"Good, now get out of my sight. I have to see about establishing our NAVSPECWAR officer on this base."

Without hesitation, the four exited the room.

In the hall, Frost and Steele immediately embraced. They held it for a few moments, slapping each other hard on the back and laughing. When they finally parted, they were still holding each other by the shoulders.

"Boy, bruv, I thought we were royally fucked."

"Me too. I'm sorry about your stripes."

"Ain't nothing to worry about. Besides, I get a feeling that fox in there's got bigger plans for me too. Not sure what that might be, but hey, it's just fucking stripes, right?"

"Right."

After a moment, they hugged again. "Damn, brother, it's good to see you."

"You too, mate."

When they parted again, they turned to face Carris. But she didn't wait for them. Instead, she stormed by, shoulders hunched, head down like she was about to charge, and her hands were curled into fists. She walked so hard and so fast, Frost was surprised he did not see cracks in the flooring each time she took a step. Soon, she disappeared around the corner, opting for the stairs rather than the elevator.

The two Marines looked at each other. Frost was concerned; Carris was the strong and silent type, but anger was not something she defaulted too. Even in circumstances when it was merited, she maintained a cool exterior. Steele seemed more tired and even embarrassed.

"I, uh, better go catch up with her. Make sure she's alright."

"Sure, brother. Tell the squad I'll be around in a few hours. I'm going to see Jasmine."

"Is see spelled f-u-c-k?" Steele asked, winking. Frost shoved him away.

"Get outta here, asshole," he laughed. Steele waved and jogged down the hall, turning hard as he rounded the corner.

Frost smiled and shook his head. Sighing long and loud, he braced his hand against the wall and rubbed his eyes with the other. Relieved laughter escaped his lips. He even shivered, as the subtly building adrenaline began to filter out of his system. Feeling cold from his fleeting stress, he rubbed his arms and turned around. Vivian was right there.

If there was anything he could have said, he would have. But nothing came to mind. No words. What could he say to her, anyways? She was not a defeated foe, she was his task group commander. They were not friends in any degree, and to say rivals was not befitting of their relationship. Even rivals could respect one another and frankly, he did, in some strange, twisted way even he could not describe.

It was Vivian who spoke first.

"I'm sorry," she said. She shrugged in exasperation and shook her head. "I'm just sorry. I don't know what else to say. I have a screw loose somewhere, even if almost everybody else doesn't think so. I was standing there thinking my career could be over in a second. If they kicked me out now, I'd probably lose my mind back home. I can't do anything else right now; I'm not sure if I ever can. But that's not what I was thinking about. Instead, I was realizing just how wrong I am, how wrong I have been. I know what you did, and you know where we stand on that. But this, this is different. You had to react to save not only yourself, but your buddy. Here I am trying to throw you in prison. It's that old hate, Frost, that hate I can't seem to get out."

She looked at the ground, shook her head, then wiped her eyes. He did not notice any tears, though. When she looked back up, she seemed more resolute. For a long time, I've been an empty uniform. It feels that way, at least. From now on, I'm going to start being a real leader. I'm going to earn it, not just rely on high marks and advancement programs. You've been a Marine since you first put on the uniform. It's time I became a Navy captain."

Frost stared at her for a long time. He still could not speak. Any words he could have mustered would spill out, meaningless, weightless, and entirely lacking the magnanimity of his opposite's own speech. Anything would have fallen short, so it simply would not have been worth speaking.

Vivian nodded a little. "I'll see you out there, Gunny."

She turned around slowly and began drifting down the hall. The captain seemed so utterly, entirely exhausted. Still, she did not slump or slouch. Despite her weary state, there was an element of strength in the way she walked, a discipline to her stride, something that showed she was an officer of the UNSC Navy. At that moment, as she walked away with her head held high, Frost could not help but admire her.

"Captain Waters."

She stopped and turned halfway around. Frost stepped into the middle of the hallway, clicked his heels together, straightened his back, and snapped his arm upwards in a salute.

For a long time, she stared at him. There was no hint of amusement, surprise, or shame in her gaze. Instead, there was a sad sort of acceptance, something that said she did not deserve it but she still wanted it. Beneath the gray tunic, there was a human with desire and hurt. Frost felt like he was seeing her for the very first time in all his life.

She turned, straightened, and saluted back. It was one of the smartest salutes he ever saw in his entire career. A moment later, she disappeared down the hall, and Frost was alone again. Lowering his arm, he smiled a little and left to find Jasmine.

Word Count: 6,120

Author's Note: A little dialogue heavy but I think that's alright. Many of the previous chapters were weighted in prose, so I think it's fitting that the characters were able to vocalize more. Granted, it was Travers who did the most talking, but he's an emerging character in this story so it's all the more fitting we feature him, especially do to his physical absence in the previous story.

Comment Responses:

TheShadeOps: The shit might not have hit the fan just yet, or perhaps it has quite hit the fan. It might be more fitting the shit has indeed made tentative contact with the fan and has definitely made a mess but not too big a mess. Gosh, that's some gross imagery...

Guest: I really, really wish you could have seen my face when I went back to check the chapters to see I had one from my Warhammer story instead. I've always tried to stay organized, but I suppose with the sheer amount of documents on my Doc Manager, it was only a matter of time before I made a mistake. Thanks for pointing that out.

MightBeGone: You're not the only one who's excited to see what happens next. Uh, well, that implies I don't know what's happening next, but let me assure you I certainly do know what's happening next. I swear.