Chapter 4: Operation Crispy Bacon
The harsh reality of leading an insurrection against an alien force that had conquered and held sway over the entire planet for over twenty years was finally catching up with the Commander. Now they were beginning to hallucinate. They must be because the Commander swore they could smell bacon.
The Commander sat at their desk in their private quarters on board the Avenger, reviewing reports from the latest operation against the ADVENT. At first the Commander thought they may have fallen asleep and slept all the through to the morning but checking their watch on their wrist, 2am Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). The international nature of XCOMs missions made operational planning a mess of time zones and day/night raids. The Commander found it a small comfort to have a physical watch to refer to and keep track of the local time within the Avenger.
The Commander opened a drawer in their desk and retrieved a pistol they kept in there, after the doomed attack on the original XCOM base as well as the raids on the Avenger the Commander had taken to always keeping at least one firearm always within arm's reach. Opening the door to their quarters they stepped out into the corridor as the smell began to intensify, leading them deeper down the dark halls of the Avenger. The Commander had heard talk somewhere that if you smelt burnt toast it could be a sign of a heart attack, never heard one for bacon though.
At first the Commander thought it was coming from the canteen but swiftly remembered nothing coming out of that kitchen ever smelt this good. Despite the international funding for the original XCOM project the stringent oversight and multinational nature of the project made securing any non-critical supplies a ceaseless string of red tape and regulation. This restricted day to day meals to fairly standard fare, even by military standards. Morale had been maintained through weekly themed nights from the some of the culinary whizzes amongst the XCOM staff.
These days it was a crapshoot determining what you could procure and how much of it. Deliveries from resistance cells, trades in the underground markets and supplies 'obtained' from ADVENT outposts and convoys ensured that XCOM wouldn't go hungry but that still left yawning gaps in terms of both variety and anything beyond basic nutrition. The science team on board the Avenger assured everyone the food from the Settlements was safe to eat if nothing else, which did little to reassure the rest of the staff. It was also being noted that traces of alien minerals were seeping into the earth and water and effecting even plants grown in the independent settlements. Pre-packaged standbys from before the invasion were becoming scarcer by the day, making anything entirely humanmade a rare luxury.
Attempts to revitalise the old themed nights were hampered both by a lack of ingredients and by the knowledge of proper earth cuisine becoming a lost art amongst the majority of the 20-something year olds either fleeing the settlements or growing up without a care for what the food tasted like as long as it stayed down after eating.
As the commander moved further through the Avenger the smell continued to intensify and began to be accompanied by muffled noises. The Commander soon found themselves outside the door to the Armory. While its main purpose was storing and maintaining the strike team's weaponry it also contained a firing range for the Strike Team and any other eager personnel to practice their marksmanship. With the threat to the resistance growing every day XCOM needed every able person on board trained and armed should the need arise. Despite being available around the clock most Strike Team members kept to a regular training schedule for the sake of those sleeping in the barracks just down the hall.
As the Commander entered the firing range the regular sounds of gunfire became louder, and the accompanying voices became clearer.
"Now remember, this isn't a slug thrower, so there's a little less kick back than what you're used to. That being said, there's still a lot coming out the other end that you've got to contend with"
"Right"
"Just take a deep breath, line up your shot and squeeze the trigger"
A shot rang out, a beam of super-heated energy emerged from the barrel of the Gauss rifle to strike the target at the far end of the range.
From their position in the entryway the Commander watched one of the strike team's new rookies, Parker her name was, being instructed by Kate McBride, one of the revived XCOMs top sharpshooters. To the uninitiated it would seem like little more than a regular training session. But none of that would explain the smell. The Commander only realised it when they saw the tin foil secured tightly around the exposed barrel of the rifle. Parker fired the final shot before engaging the safety, removing the power pack and laying the rifle down on the table.
"Now, conventional wisdom says you want to leave it on for about two minutes to make sure it gets all the way through" Kate instructed. "Well, the mother of convention never considered the laser powered sniper rifle so it'll probably only need about a minute and half. Any longer than that and you'll just have an expensive mess to clean up" Retrieving a utility knife from her belt she set about unravelling the tinfoil. "Right, let's see what we have here"
Retrieving the wrapped foil from around the weapon they laid it out on the table between them. With the same patience and precision as if she were performing some form of delicate surgery Kate unwrapped the stiff foil with the tip of her knife. "Now, exactly how long you leave it there is up to you" Kate continued as she worked. "Personally, I tend to leave it a little longer as I enjoy the little crispy bits you get off the- Commander!"
Parker turned and immediately stiffened at the sight of the Commander. "Commander" she stammered. "We weren't expecting you down here. We can explain-"
"Is that, bacon?" the Commander interrupted, their gaze unknowingly fixated on the tasty morsel freshly unwrapped from amongst the foil as if it were the most beautiful thing in the world.
"Would you care for one, Commander?" Kate asked. The Commander simply nodded.
Kate retrieved a bap laid aside on the table along with an array of condiments and seasonings. She prepared a bacon sandwich before handing it to the Commander.
"After we stopped the raid on that resistance outpost outside Copenhagen I managed to get in contact with a friend of mine who runs a pig farm just outside the city. Well, what used to be the city" Kate clarified. "Anyway, a few bottles of purified water and a box of medical supplies later and we've got ourselves some fresh bacon strips"
The Commander took their first hearty bite. In an instant, the sensation cascaded through them like a wave, they could even feel the hint of tears forming in the corners of their eyes. This was real bacon. This wasn't the reprocessed, repackaged substitute that passed for 'meat' in the settlements, this was the genuine, grass fed, straight from the pig's slice of heaven bred with a smidgen of outstanding. This was practically priceless to them and yet they shared it without a seconds thought.
It was all the Commander could do to muster the words. "As you were"
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The salty flavour lingered in the Commanders mouth well into the next morning. Roused at the usual time at the crack of 7:09am the Commander had a brief window to shake off the early morning fatigue before being summoned to the Situation Room to deal with the troublesome matter of that ongoing alien occupation.
Sitting at their console in the Situation Room all was not right for one of the Flight Officers, craning his neck to sniff inquisitively at the air before declaring. "Can anyone smell bacon?"
"Shepard" Bradford interjected, leaning on the guard rail which separated the central platform from the rest of the crew. "Is this your street way of saying you think there's a policeman on board the Avenger?"
"No, sir" Shepard replied. "I mean I can actually smell bacon"
"You're imagining things" Bradford replied.
"I'm pretty sure I read that smelling things like that is one of the signs of a heart attack" another of the Flight Officers interjected. "You're not going to drop dead on us, are you?" they joked.
"Then who would be there to deal with your mess?" Shepard snarked back.
The Commander, sitting across the Situation Room pretended not to take notice of the exchange, consuming themselves with reviewing the mornings communications. Working their way down the list they saw one from Kate which simply read:
Next time, we're going to try cooking if off the Skyrangers exhaust port.
XCOM Rule 18: Operatives are to stop cooking bacon on the heat sinks of plasma weapons
18a. Even if it is perfectly cooked. All samples will be confiscated and disposed of.
18b. This applies to all other surfaces not intended for cooking.
