Simple

I knew something was up when Control drafted me for a recon mission. Sure, it was really no big deal after the recons I'd attended with Delta, but Mathieson said this was a two-man squad type of job, and when I asked who I was paired up with, the line was mysteriously cut. It didn't bode well for my day.

I reported outside Vectes Naval Base at the requested time, and it was only then when I realized just how horrible things could get. It was supposed to be a simple mission, easy, but not now. The bane of my existence was back to haunt me.

"Ah, shit," I said, just loud enough for her to hear.

Alex Brand leaned against a Packhorse, smoking something she probably stole from the Pelruans. She waved me over with a viscous grin on her face. I steeled myself for an unpleasant conversation. Maybe it was a trick; maybe she was hanging out until someone else showed up. I was never so lucky.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my favorite bosom buddy," she said, pulling the hand-rolled cigarette from her mouth.

"No wonder Mathieson wouldn't say anything. Couldn't it have been anyone but you?"

"Who were you expecting, your buddies the war heroes? I'm not entirely happy about this either, but Hoffman wants some recon done and our plates just happened to be empty."

Alex was the last person I wanted to work with, especially on a scouting job. Neither of us was equipped to play secret agent, but she was a bit of a dead-eye with a Longshot. It counted for something—not much, but I wouldn't tell her that.

"Where's Mataki?" I asked. "This is more her thing. You could make it a ladies' day out, you know?"

"She's with Delta-One today." Alex rolled her eyes, taking another drag of her cigarette. "God, just suck it up, Princess. It's only a few hours."

A few hours with her was like a millennia in an imulsion lake. "Shit, I'd even take Mataki's hound over your ugly ass. Guess there's only enough room for one bitch today."

She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with her boot, a smug little grin on her face. It was only as I crawled into the passenger's seat when I realized what I'd said. Before I could cover up my mistake, she pounced.

"Male dogs aren't bitches, idiot," she sneered. "Or are you referring to yourself?"

I resisted the urge to slam my face against the dashboard. One mistake. One tiny little mistake and she would lord it over my head for the next week. "Can we just get this over with?"

Her grin didn't disappear as she got behind the wheel, or as she drove us out of VNB along the west coast. Now her fun really began.
There's a reason Alex doesn't drive anything. Riding with her is a bitch.

Five minutes in and I swear if I had any emotional attachment to my ass, I'd demand to drive—I couldn't feel anything from bouncing around. What I did have an investment in, however, was the truck, and I wasn't happy she seemed determined to tear it apart.

I complained about it once and she had made it her life goal to destroy tech whenever I was in earshot. It was just another way she tried to get under my skin, but I didn't fall for it anymore. I'd learned my lesson. My big mouth stayed shut.

I held onto the dashboard as we blazed across a short expanse of plain and soon we were under a tight canopy of trees on a dirt road the Pelruans created. Now Alex's speed became my biggest concern. The Pelruans had seen the Stranded once, months ago, and the path was obviously overgrown now. We could hit a root at any time and kiss the Packhorse goodbye.

"Could you slow down?" I asked against my better judgment.

"What's wrong? Is Princess's royal ass aching?"

"Of course not. It's made of steel—"

"From all the ass kickings you got as a kid," she laughed.

"But," I continued through grit teeth, "King Badass—that's me, in case you were wondering—would like to get there alive. And if you don't slow down, we'll end up nose-first in the camp. This is a recon. Covert, remember?"

She spared a moment to glance my way and rolled her eyes. "Come on, Baird. We both know why Hoffman chose us. We're rule breakers. We can strike out the Stranded population in a matter of hours and avoid regs. Hoffman won't even have paperwork to file."

Whoa. Okay, I hated Stranded with a passion—their fingerprints got all over my things—and I would kill them if I had to, but only if they forced me. The COG had standards. Rules of engagement: Don't shoot unless they shoot first. Apparently Alex had forgotten this.

"I don't think that's the point of this, Brand," I replied.

"These aren't our Stranded. They're savages, criminals. I've put these bastards down before and I can do it again. Some Gears pause at shooting humans—not me. Today we're going to secure our safety."

There was real menace in her voice, something I'd never heard from her before. She seriously thought we were going to kill them. It'd be the logical answer—the easy answer, for sure—but Hoffman had always been honest with us. If he wanted us to shoot them like cattle, he would say so. Alex might have outranked me but I had to get a handle on this quick. Shit.

The first thing I would have done, if Alex was a normal woman, would be to ask if something happened, but there was the tricky part; she wasn't a normal woman. She didn't like to talk about feelings. A heart-to-heart would end with me nursing a black eye. Hell, maybe she'd veer into the nearest tree and we'd die. Not exactly the way I wanted to go. I was smarter than her; I could figure out a roundabout way to delay the cold-blooded executions of—well, they weren't all innocent, but they were unsuspecting. If I was going to kill anything, I at least wanted a chance of danger. Make it sporting, let them fight back.

And now I'm starting to sound like a psychopath. Great.

While my ass was in the air for the hundredth time, I took the chance to pull the map from my back satchel. I landed with a grunt and convinced myself to take my eyes off the road—she won't crash the truck, she won't crash the truck—and tried to make sense of the handwritten notes. This area was practically uncharted—another reason for this taxing mission—and I couldn't tell just how far off the grid we were; I'd been too busy trying to protect my ass from Alex's insane driving. My guess, we were about four kilometers away from the Stranded camp. That was close enough for my tastes.

"Alright, Brand, time to park it," I said. "Any closer and we could run into booby traps or they'll hear us coming and set up a welcome party."

She didn't answer, but the truck began to slow. I took that as a good sign. I pulled out a pencil and piece of scrap paper, retraced our route from VNB heading west, and filled in the appropriate grid on the spare paper. The camp was marked in a rough estimate on the grid from a single fly-over. Today we were going to figure out exactly where it was.

Alex brought the truck to a stop and pulled her Longshot out from behind the seat. "Try to keep us on the right path, Princess. We can't afford to lose the Packhorse."

"Oh, so now you care about our machinery." I stashed the papers and stepped out onto the overgrown track. I wasn't worried about losing the truck; I was worried about someone finding it, stripping it for parts and stealing the fuel. It had happened many times before, in more deserted areas than this. With Stranded around, you were never truly alone.

Alex slung her rifle over her shoulder with an unamused snort. She pulled out her shotgun, cracking it open and checking her rounds before snapping it closed. "Whatever. Just lead the way."

"The great Sergeant Brand is letting a little corporal like me take charge? Are you feeling okay?"

Her shotgun collided sharply against my back plate. The hit didn't hurt, but the strength behind it jostled me. "Get moving, Navigator."

I slid my Lancer into my hands for comfort and started east, hoping to hit the edge of the forest and not get lost. According to the Pelruans, there was a rise close enough to the camp to spy without being extremely visible. They also said the Stranded only used it as a defensive wall so we shouldn't expect resistance, but fuck that logic. If I were them, I'd have a look out position and a few traps. Stranded were crafty little shits. If they didn't take advantage of it, it'd be good news but I'd be a little disappointed.

At our quick pace, it didn't take long to find the edge of the trees or the rise. While Alex climbed ahead of me, I stopped to update my piece of scrap, accounting for the slight elevation of the cliff, and then followed up after her.

Greeting us at the top was a pillar of smoke spiraling above the trees. It came from the other side, in the camp I guessed, a sign of civilization. Alex's hands were tight around her shotgun, glaring at the dark cloud. Something was seriously wrong with her, but I wasn't willing to rock the boat. Yet. If she started taking potshots, I hoped my morality would get the better of me. We didn't need another war.

Five minutes later we were prone on the cliff edge, Alex spotting the crowd below through her scope. I had become her spotter and was on one knee to her left, close enough to a hedge if I needed to hide. With binoculars in hand, I watched her blind spots. The Stranded milled in their shanty town as if they were in Ephyra North, one of the capital's biggest malls. Marcus estimated the population at three-hundred, at least. I saw maybe a hundred-fifty, and most of them were women and children.

"The men must be out hunting," I said, panning towards the left end of their town. When I was told about the camp, I thought that's what they meant: a camp. But this really was more of a small city. It was kind of impressive.

"You're such a sexist pig," Alex sneered. "Look at the docks. They're out fishing or reconning near our own harbor."

"Like I said, hunting. Bringing home the fishy bacon for their women to filet. You know: gut it, clean it, and cook it."

"God, shut up, would you?"

Warning sirens blared in my head. If I could bother her this much, something was way off. Normally she would reciprocate, like at the beginning of this little field trip. Now there was something inside her that I could only recognize as still and cold. It wasn't like her, but why did I even care? She was Alex fucking Brand, poison to herself and everyone else around her. I wanted nothing to do with her issue but now my conscience was nipping at the back of my mind.

She was like me.

Before I had Cole or Delta, I was unstoppable. I'd thrown punches, taken some in return, and found every way possible to push buttons. I didn't think about the people around me. Honestly, I still only take certain people into account—but that's more than I ever imagined as a child. I never wanted, or even thought I'd have friends. I internalized all my shit, it became a bad attitude, and now I was seeing it in someone else. But I had a way to vent; I had Cole to talk to. Alex, as far as I knew, was a regular lone wolf.

Shit, shit, shit.

I tried to convince myself that I didn't care. She could be PMSing! But Cole's late night therapy sessions had rubbed off on me. I had to ask somehow.

"So, any reason for the dead critter up your ass?" I asked, setting the binoculars down. Not exactly the tact I was hoping for, but it would get the job done.

"Piss off," she hissed.

"You know, I'm really starting to miss Mataki and Sam. At least they pretend to be civil."

"You're going soft in your old age, Baird. Can't take a few insults?"

"Hey, you're no spring chicken, either. I'm just trying to help but if you don't wanna talk, I get it. I'll just be over here doing my job."

She pulled her face away from the scope to look at me. "You've been bitching at me all day. What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem? Lady, I'm not the one with a dead animal in my anal cavity!"

"I'm not afraid to shove you off this cliff."

A horn blared from below, reminding me of the point for this outing. Alex pressed herself flat against the ground and I moved closer to the hedge, binoculars already at my eyes. Boats began to appear near the docks.

I resisted the urge to ask Alex for the fifteenth time if her scope cast a glare. Why couldn't we make a little sniper hidey-hole? There were thick ledges on the face; we could have created a nest during the night and camped out. No, not her. She wasn't a real sniper like Granny. Alex preferred to be front and center, even with a Longshot.

The Stranded moored their boats and hauled nets and crates onto the dock before greeting their wives. Looked like a good catch—more than the Pelruans brought in. Several kids ran on the docks to find their families, bouncing around fishing nets and maybe asking what their dad caught today. It was all strangely domestic. Human.

One big guy stepped onto the docks and the other men crowded around him. That had to be Massy. Hoffman wanted more info on him—where he slept, what he ate, know thy enemy type of shit—to figure out the best way to negotiate. Hoffman wasn't afraid to put a round through some Stranded but Prescott wanted diplomacy in this new order. We had to make friends with our enemies.

"I've got a clear shot on the tall one," Alex whispered.

"Hell no," I hissed. "Don't even think about it, Brand. If you kill Massy, there's going to be more raids on Pelruan. They'll want revenge."

"And they can come get it. We'll just have to kill them."

"Damn it, listen to yourself!" I looked at her to find her smiling, cold and empty, her finger too close to the trigger for my comfort.

"Sound logic in my mind." With a sharp inhale, she held her breath.

I had a split second to decide—should I stop her or let all hell break loose? Fuck that. We'd been fighting for too long. I wanted my chance at peace and no snippy red-head was going to ruin it.

I grabbed her by the neck of her armor and, using what little leverage I had over her, pulled. A loud crack echoed in the air. Before she had the chance to yell or draw another weapon, I pushed her face against the ground and crawled on her back. She was tough, but she couldn't buck off the weight of a full set of armor. I kept my head down and hoped we were far enough away from the ledge that the shouts from below were just about locating the shot, not seeing two suspicious figures on the cliff. It wouldn't take them long to get up here.

Alex struggled weakly beneath me. "Get off me, you bastard! I had him—he was right there!"

"Shut up," I spat, "or you'll get us killed."

"I don't care anymore! They deserve to die, Baird. You know and I know it."

"Well today really isn't the day for executions. How about we both shut up and get out of here alive?"

"We have to kill them. At least Massy! He can't get away with his crimes now—I won't let him."

As I listened to her huff against the grass, I tried to piece together her insane logic. We had just landed on this island so it wasn't like she had a personal score to settle.

"Alright, Brand, I'll bite. What the fuck is wrong with you and these Stranded?"

She hesitated. The quiet said everything—she was considering it. Shit, she was going to tell me. The ice queen was about to crack to the renowned jackass, and I wasn't sure I was ready for it.

"It's not fair," she said quietly. "It's not right that these people can torment Pelruan the way they do."

"I was a trust fund baby with a great life ahead of me—a bunch of gray assholes took that away. Guess what? Life's not fair. But the townspeople made do. The Stranded stopped bothering them."

"A woman told me this morning that her daughter was kidnapped by these fuckers. It was years ago, her daughter's back home, but she still has nightmares. You don't know what it's like, Baird. To have your security stripped away by a human being, by someone just like you, and to be so helpless. I do," she said, and her voice changed, maybe broke for a second. "I came from the baby farms—you know what they did there. I have a reason to fight. I promised that as long as I'm alive, I'd do everything in my power—anything—to make sure no one ever feels the way I did."

And just like that, I felt like shit. Everyone had their own demons but I thought Alex had left hers in the past; she did a convincing enough job. Now she just wanted to play superhero. It was a noble fantasy, but even she couldn't protect everyone. At one time I thought Alex was simple, easy enough to understand, but now I was really starting to see what made her tick. She wasn't entirely the bitch I thought she was; she wanted to help people, even if that meant killing. Damn.

I crawled off her back and she sat up, pushing her hair out of her reddening face. Was she crying? Shit, I didn't want to see her cry; I wouldn't be able to be mean to her. I looked away as she wiped the dirt from her face, and then moved back to her rifle still perched on a tripod near the ledge.

"They're hustling down there," she said. "We should probably check in with Control, see if they tried to raise our guys on the public channel."

She was going to act like it didn't happen. Fine, I could do that. In fact, I was happy to do that. "Or we could, you know, get the hell out of here."

She ignored me. "Control, this is Sergeant Brand. Has there been any news from our friends up north?"

My earpiece clicked instantly and Mathieson's harried voice replied, "Yes, actually. Massy thinks we're trying to assassinate him. Any idea why?"

"Got me, but I think we're done out here. Foxtrot-Two is returning to base."

"Negative. The colonel wanted you out there until—"

"We've been compromised, Control. We have the intel we need so we're coming back."

Mathieson was quiet and I used the time to head toward the ledge. Yeah, the Stranded were pissed. The women and kids had disappeared and a swarm of men, most of them with rifles, were on high alert.

"Roger that, Foxtrot-Two," Mathieson said, and then he was gone again.

Alex slid back from the cliff, pulling her rifle with her, and I followed. So that was it? We were gone for maybe an hour, definitely not enough time for a reconnaissance. I guess I couldn't complain. Alex would finally get out of my hair.

We packed up our equipment and carefully made our way back to the Packhorse. The Stranded probably wouldn't patrol this far out, but I wasn't taking chances. If there was a time I wished for comfortable shoes, it was now. The standard issue COG boots were not made for stealth and I was aware of every stomp between Alex and I. When the truck was back in view, and still intact, I relaxed.

As I slid into the passenger's side, I slumped against the seat with a sigh. Today was a complete failure, as I knew it would be. Hoffman had to be drunk when he assigned us on this mission. Whatever. We were done, I was still alive, and so I couldn't complain.

The cab was quiet for a measly five minutes when Alex said, "Not a word about today, got it?"

"I never share my failures, thanks," I replied. She cast me a scathing look that I easily ignored. "Of course I'm not going to say anything. It's not my place. If you want to share your skeletons with someone, that's your business; I'm not going to do it for you."

She made a sound that sounded like a strangled laugh. "Are we actually agreeing on something?" she asked with a smile.

"God, I hope not."

The truck picked up speed. "You really are going soft, Princess. I hope you realize that."

And because I was such a big-hearted pushover, I gave her the victory. "Yeah, yeah, just don't tell anyone, okay?"