This chapter takes place roughly after Ch53 of SFTD.

Times like today reminded Eliza that she could open up more.

She'd come into the Bar to unwind with Bradford after one of her workout sessions. A few soldiers tailed them in and she opened conversation with them, and soon found herself bantering with the lot of them, with Bradford serving in his usual position as bartender. It was generally a pleasant evening in the Bar, with not too much to grumble about.

In a way, that was about to change. The topic had turned to what everyone had been doing before First Contact, and the mood had... well, not quite gone down, but it had quieted. It was clear that everyone was fine sharing, though, like they were getting things off of their chests. That was good by Eliza, but she got the sinking feeling that—

Herod pointed to her. "Well, what about you, Commander?"

Eliza sighed. She knew this was going to happen eventually. "Honestly, it's kind of sordid, and I can't imagine it makes for good retelling..."

"Trust the Commander on this one," Bradford warned. "If she doesn't want to tell it, that's on her."

"I mean..." Herod settled a hand on his hip. He was one of the ones who hadn't gotten around to telling his story either. "As far as we all know, you were ex-military. I was too—can you blame me for being curious about what the Commander was doing while I was getting my feet wet?"

Eliza blinked. She'd never heard this out of him. "What division?"

"Navy."

"Oh, so you were our chauffeurs," Eliza said, and then swiftly regretted doing so. She wasn't going to get into it, why was she saying this? Well... it helped that Herod said he was from a relatively close branch of the military to hers.

He swiftly picked up on that fact, eyebrows raising. "You were Marines?"

"Herod," Bradford reminded.

Eliza held up her hand. "... it's alright. Honestly, I need to look at it differently. The fact that it's sordid kind of needs to be heard, right? Because the US Military was not the best institution."

"Don't remind me," Herod concurred. "'Don't Ask, Don't Tell.' And I can only imagine the shit you got for being a woman in the Marines."

"You don't have to imagine." Bradford set his water aside. "Both she and I can tell you."

Roland, nursing his own drink, went "huh." "Were you two in at the same time? That makes sense if so."

Eliza rubbed at her mouth. If she was going to get into this, they were all going to be here for a while. "... are you all comfy? Willing to sit here a while as Bradford and I—but let's face it, mostly me—complain about our service?"

"I could do with hearing about it," Herod agreed. "Especially just to remind myself."

"Right." Where to begin. "—After Basic, where I nearly got dishonorably discharged—" That threw up a few eyebrows, "Bradford and I got shipped off to North Carolina. Second Battalion, Second Division; the 'Warlords,' they used to call them."

Bradford sighed, picking up a rag and wiping down the counter. "I don't know what's worse, the fact that was supposed to be a negative term and they forgot, or they knew and used it anyway."

Eliza turned to him, scowling. "This is America we're talking about," she griped. "It's the latter. Anyway..." She turned back to the soldiers. "Bradford and I had a ten year course of service. Mid 2005 to very early 2015. Anybody who's from the US here knows that under Bush, the 'War on Terror' was basically what the military was out of our borders for." She hoped the disgust in her voice in saying that was clear. "It was a war for oil and a war against Muslims. That's all it ever was."

"Me and Eliza were in during the height of that." Bradford paused as Roland gestured for another drink. He handed it off to the man, continuing to speak. "They had the balls to call one of the operations 'Operation Iraqi Freedom.' Freedom. Most of our excursions were exercises with other militaries, but the few operations we did go on? Instructions were to 'maintain the peace.'"

"And what a peace it was." Eliza's upper lip twitched. "Don't let the folks at home know about Abu Ghraib, though." They... would need some context for that. "I was mostly a desk jockey, but I oversaw a lot of the operations. Herod was right, though—trying to stay in the Marines or have anyone listen to me worth a goddamn was almost a lost cause. My drill sergeant at least taught me one thing; I wasn't worth shit as a woman. As a figure of fear? I could do something." She gestured for Bradford to get her some soda—mostly for some caffeine. Once she was passed it and took a swig, she went on. "—often I'd lay down the threat of some variation of 'do you think anyone will believe that a woman threatened you?' Or, perhaps worse, 'are you going to go to command and tell them you're feeling scared of a girl?' I really need to stress that abuse goes both ways, but back in the Marines... nobody wanted to be caught dead admitting I was essentially striking fear into my whole unit. Maybe they'd believe a man over me—but not if they were always too afraid to say something."

"And not if they had to go against the word of 'Brown Nose' Bradford." With the countertop cleaned, Bradford leaned on it. "I was the other threat of the unit. Eliza wouldn't have gotten away with a few more egregious stunts without me sucking up to that very same command and extending my 'good grades' to her. I was the posterboy for a military kid. They'd believe me over anyone in the unit. I took the extra laps, all the duties, the whole nine miles. Whenever it looked like enough of them were getting the nuts to rat Liz out? I'd remind them that I had a hotline to Henderson's phone and I could drop any charge on them that I wanted. Once Liz and I got Daniel court martialled, none of them really wanted to test us." He looked to the side. "I talk like I'm bragging about it, but... that's no way to be. That was a hierarchy of fear. Not trust."

"Trust came later on, if shaky. I mentioned Abu Ghraib. It wasn't our specific unit out there, but it still fell to me to report the news. For context..." Eliza sighed. How much did she want to say? How much did she want to reveal of what she'd been complicit in doing back then? There was a reason she never talked about her military history, the kind of decision making that made XCOM headhunt her and Bradford for the organization. The truth. You've swept it under the rug, a voice went. They're your soldiers. They deserve to know who they're working for.

"Right. Abu Ghraib was a territory—or city, hard to remember—over in Iraq. We bombed it once on the suspicion of having a chemical weapons factory. After that, we occupied it. We had a short stint there, data was passed to me as well as reports, and... there was an area were prisoners were kept. There were... Geneva Conventions violations. Abuse of prisoners. One or two on tape. Instead of being the whistleblower I should have been... I kept the evidence. Mostly to keep our unit and the Marines out of immediate hot water, but partially as blackmail. I reported 'all clear' back to command, and we were routinely pulled from the area a while later. Word got out eventually but it wasn't connected to me. From then, the 'Warlords' knew me as someone to be feared... but as someone who would also keep them out of trouble if it benefitted me. We all got really cozy after that, right until December 2014.

"Due to my outstanding record—remember, Bradford was also singing my praises and command was eating up his every word—Bradford and I received a letter from the 'Extraterrestrial Combat Unit.' We thought it was a joke at first, but my superior went white as a sheet when I showed it to him and he saw the names signed at the bottom. Early January, we were back to the US, underground bunker. I was promoted to Commander of XCOM, Bradford to Central Officer. Things... went accordingly from there. Six month struggle against the Elders, me throwing whatever we had at them just to slow them down. I get taken, the base collapses, you know the rest of the story." She paused for a moment, gauging their reactions. The small group of soldiers were still looking at her intently, waiting for her to continue speaking. There wasn't hostility, but thankfully nobody seemed to be nodding along with what she did. "... that's the story, really. I wasn't a saint—never have been. I thought it was better to leave that all in the past since I'm not like that nowadays, but you guys have the right to know."

"And it's not just Liz." Bradford looked out over the group. "I was right there, too—complicit in or even facilitating everything she did. We weren't as bad as we could be; a number of the people in our unit actively laughed and joked about the war crimes us and the other branches were committing. They thought the people we were fighting and dealing with were less than human. It all just became a big joke to them, but that doesn't exonerate us. You've got the right to your opinions—if you feel like you can't serve under us with that info in mind, we understand. We'll try to get you to one of the better havens on offer, or maybe one of the Factions if you qualify."

The silence spanned for a moment, and it was clear her soldiers were thinking over everything said. Clint was the one to speak up after taking a sip of his drink. "Well, I see it this way; you said yourself you're not like that now. And as far as I'm concerned, you're not running things the way you used to—quite the opposite, in fact. I can't speak for the people you harmed, directly or indirectly, but I think you did your time when you got shelved for twenty years and Bradford had to spend those looking for you. My curiosity is sated, but I'm staying."

"I'm with Clint, largely." Herod leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't want to downplay what you two did—but, well, I'm culpable to my own actions in the Navy as well. I wasn't exactly the most huggy or moral person. I'm better nowadays, but it's not an excuse. You two are literally doing one of the most taxing and heroic actions—you're saving the Earth, and other planets too. You've taken in people and aliens from all walks of life, and I have only ever seen you two be kind. Maybe Bradford is a hardass sometimes, but always in a good way. So, bottom line? I'm staying, just keep making up for what you did."

"Honestly?" Roland gestured towards Eliza. "It kinda makes me feel better knowing you're not a spotless person. I felt kind of uncomfortable at times working under someone who seemed like they could do no wrong. Made me feel like I wasn't up to the task. Not to say I'm happy about what you did, hell no, but... I guess hearing about mistakes you made in the past just makes you feel more human to me. I'm with the others. I'm staying."

A few others echoed their sentiment, and Eliza was left to process it. Honestly, earlier this year? She expected deserters if she ever gave away that information. It was comforting to have this support around her—and heartening to know she and Bradford would still be held to their actions. Eliza would still be doing whatever she could to repent for them—none of them were right, and those weren't people who deserved to die or have the crimes against them covered up. There was no glory in the "War on Terror." Just oil and racism. Eliza nodded. "Thank you all. I still want to do better than I have done, and will always want to. You can count on that. And if you want to tell the other soldiers if they're curious, by all means."

"I'll still be doing my best in keeping this whole operation afloat, and Eliza stable." He reached over and patted her shoulder. "We're not spotless. But we're damn well gonna work to make up for what spots there are."

Herod grinned, raising his beer. "I can drink to that. Cheers!"

Everyone clinked their bottles and glasses together, and Eliza resolved to never repeat those mistakes again.