669 days After Operation: Flashpoint
It was raining the day that she came to Seafoam for the first time. The C-130H cargo transport that had brought her to her new home for the foreseeable future had arrived in the midst of a midafternoon thunderstorm. The sky overhead was dark and bleak, but as she disembarked from the rear loading ramp along with cargo and other passengers, no one seemed to mind it much. It almost always rained in the afternoon at Seafoam, someone had told her. To these people who lived and worked here, it was nothing out of the ordinary.
Most of the passengers on the plane had been soldiers, both Seafoam Army and GPL Army. As soon as their boots hit the tarmac, the Seafoam soldiers were off heading toward the processing center without a moment's hesitation, and it took only a second for the GPL soldiers to follow in their wake. But she stood out like a sore thumb. Not only did she not have a camouflage uniform as they had, but she merely stood out in the rain by the tail of the plane, alone and unnoticed.
It hadn't always been like this, she bitterly recalled. She had been someone important once. She had been a commander in Team Galactic, known and feared across Sinnoh as Commander Mars. But that was before The War. When Team Rocket rose in its true, serious bid to take over the world, many in Galactic thought they should thrown in their lot with the Rockets. But Cyrus had refused, still believing that he could achieve his goal of using Dialga and Palkia to recreate the universe in his image, and ordered Galactic to continue fighting against the GPL and, whenever they interfered, Rocket as well. She had seen the stark similarities with Hitler then, but had stayed with Galactic, having nowhere else to go.
That all changed three months ago, when she and her platoon of grunts had been ordered to sabotage a GPL storehouse outside of Eterna City in Sinnoh. There had been a large-scale offensive against the Rockets taking place in the unknown wilderness north of Kanto's mountain range at the time, so she had been assured that there would only be a token force guarding the storehouse from attack. Commander Jupiter herself had assured her that it would be a milk run.
It had been a disaster.
She and her team had been prepared to deal with perhaps twenty to forty GPL soldiers guarding the storehouse. They had found not even that number upon entering the city. Eterna had appeared to be completely undefended. At the time, Mars, in her arrogance, had not suspected any danger, assuming that they had caught the enemy napping, that the mission would be even simpler than usual.
That was before a particularly-unskilled sniper had nearly taken her arm off, before the machine guns had ripped into her platoon. It had been raining that day, too. She'd laid in the mud as the squad automatic weapons cut down a third of her men in seconds, bleeding out from the wound in her shoulder and unable to think or move through the pain, cold pellets of rain assaulting her, continuously washing out her wound and causing her to bleed that much faster.
Most of her grunts had escaped that initial slaughter, scattering into the city alone or in groups of up to twelve or fifteen, fleeing like roaches with a light suddenly turned on. She could hear the clatter of distant gunfire as the enemy forces picked off her platoon almost at will. Even as the battle continued, a squad of twenty men entered the courtyard from the buildings they had ambushed them from, moving professionally and cautiously, checking the grunts to ensure there would be no nasty surprises. Across the courtyard from her, one grunt that somehow had survived being peppered by machine gun fire rolled onto his back as the enemy neared, spraying fire from his submachine gun. Two soldiers dropped, one dead and one wounded, as three others leveled assault rifles and finished the grunt off.
Struggling to reach to her side as the enemy soldiers neared, she grasped a small, marble-sized object and pulled it free, pressing her thumb to the button in the center and letting it roll out of her hand. "G-Go…Purugly… F-Fury…Swipes…"
The sound of the Poké ball bursting open and releasing the fat, gray and white cat drew the soldiers' attention, but before they could react, it had already leapt at the nearest soldier, its sharpened claws ripping at the throat of the man where there was no armor to protect him. Blood fountained from the fatal wound as he fell back, his death spasm clamping his trigger finger down, causing him to discharge his weapon into the ground and air.
"Hold your line!" one of the soldiers shouted as they all moved toward cover, ducking down behind any obstacle they could put between them and the Pokémon, firing at the Purugly, which ducked in and out of sight with a speed that its appearance belied.
From the rear of the group, one of the soldiers stumbled out of cover, the cat Pokémon gripped tightly to his helmet, his face already showing signs of clawing as he flailed blindly at it, trying to dislodge it. "Get it off! Get it off me!"
One soldier slung his rifle and reached for a combat knife as others trained their weapons on it. The Purugly slashed its claws across the throat of the soldier it was clinging to the head off, and leapt off as the dying man toppled. The soldier with the knife caught the cat by its tail and slung it down and to the ground, planting his boot on it to pin it in place. It retaliated immediately by raking its claws over the offending limb, filleting the tough leather of the boot.
The soldier yelped as the claws bit into his foot and fell backwards, but before the Purugly could right itself and continue its assault, four streams of fire from four assault rifles converged on it, decisively ending the threat it presented.
Mars looked on in horror as the soldiers gunned down her Purugly, a heavy weight that had nothing to do with her shoulder wound settling on her chest as she watched her beloved Pokémon lay in a heap, its body twitching occasionally in its death shudder. She had seen many other trainers' Pokémon die in such a way, but had never expected it would happen to her. The soldiers advanced on her next, and the first one to her, without warning or preamble, raised his rifle and slammed the stock into her face, sending her into a black oblivion.
She had expected to die of her wounds, but the next thing she knew, she awoke at a prisoner of war camp in League-held Hoenn. After a moment's consideration, it made sense to her. She was a high-ranked enemy commander, so of course they would want her alive in order to interrogate her about Galactic. All she could think of, however, was how their intelligence had indicated that the League was mounting a major offensive against the Rockets, and yet an entire division had been at Eterna waiting for them. It hadn't simply been a matter of them stumbling onto the division, no; the enemy had been lying in wait for them. It meant that the GPL had planted faulty intelligence and set up her platoon, that intelligence had known about the disproportionate enemy force and sent them anyway, or that their actions had been leaked to the enemy. Knowing that Jupiter had ordered the mission, she suspected it was some combination of the latter two. Jupiter had always had it in for her, ever since she joined Galactic. With a war going on, and the potential for scenarios like the one that had happened, there was no better opportunity to get rid of someone you had no use for.
So when the interrogators had come to her, she had offered them a deal: she would tell them absolutely everything she knew about Galactic, its personnel, and its facilities and activities, and in exchange, they would let her join their army in order to get revenge on Jupiter. The League had accepted the offer without any hesitation on their part, which indicated they had reason to believe her desire for revenge was truthful, further supporting her theory that Jupiter had set her up in an attempt to kill her. She was only alive due to the poor marksmanship of one sniper.
That had been three months ago. She'd undergone eight weeks of basic military training in the wilderness of western Hoenn, which had been a nightmare unto itself as many of the trainees had recognized her as a Galactic commander, and sought to make her training a living hell. Her training instructors had done very little to stem the hazing, leaving her mired in the depression that had started with the betrayal and Purugly's death.
And now she had come to Seafoam for her advanced training. Officially, her military occupational specialty was explosive ordnance disposal, but with The War going on, an EOD technician was just as likely to get tapped to go on a sabotage mission. She had no desire to suffer the same prejudices that she'd dealt with at basic training, and so had changed the distinctive hairstyle she had worn as a Galactic commander, letting it hang loose rather than project above her head.
Thunder rumbled overhead, drawing her attention back to the present. Blinking slowly, she leaned her head back and looked up into the sky, the steady drizzling rain soaking her hair and clothes. Her right shoulder throbbed painfully, the ghost of the sniper wound making its memory, the memory of that terrible day, known to her. Adrift and without friends or comrades in this new environment, she knew it would be a long time before the scars would heal.
It was a few moments before she realized that she was being spoken to. She looked down, from staring at the sky at least, as the flight crewman was taller than her. Her eyes dropped down, focusing on the patch of duct tape on his ground crew vest that gave his name, 'WADE,' blood type, 'A-,' and a crude sketch of his rank, four stripes of a staff sergeant. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
He pointed in the direction the soldiers had gone. "You're going to want to go the same way they're going, ma'am. Processing will get you set up where you need to go."
She nodded numbly and picked up her bag, a standard military duffel that carried nothing but three changes of clothes, then followed the soldiers who had been on the plane with her. She wasn't looking forward to another processing center; it had taken an entire day and two separate trips to complete everything required to make it through the military entrance processing station in Hoenn, mostly due to a need for various waivers concerning her criminal background.
The processing center was largely deserted, with only the on-duty personnel and the other new arrivals inside. Leaving her bag in the pile of bags the other soldiers had left behind while they were going through processing, she stepped up to the part of the reception desk labeled 'AIR FORCE.' The woman sitting behind the desk motioned to a biometric scanner sitting on the desk. "Right index finger on the pad."
Mars pressed her finger onto the pad, glancing up at the screen that indicated which way she should turn and move her finger to ensure a proper reading. The screen flashed green, and the woman looked over the data that came up on her terminal. Mars watched the woman's eyes grow when the no-doubt numerous notations on her file concerning criminal activity and affiliation with Galactic came up. The woman looked at her, and it didn't take a genius to notice the suspicious gleam in her eye. "Alessa Zelle, ID number 85302?"
That was a name she hadn't heard or answered to in a long time, one that would take some getting used to again. But her Galactic days were behind her, and the best way to ensure they stayed in her past was to return to the name of her birth. She nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Formerly known by the alias Mars, commander in the Galactic crime syndicate?"
And she certainly hadn't wanted attention drawn to her checkered past. Even now, she could feel the penetrating stares of several of the soldiers as they overheard from the waiting lobby. She squeezed her eyes shut, then nodded again. "Yes, ma'am."
She hoped that would be all that was said, but this woman seemed to have it in for her. "You are aware that fraudulent enlistment in the Republic of Seafoam Department of Defense is a felony offense, punishable by a minimum fine of ten thousand dollars and fifteen years of incarceration, and that fraudulent enlistment with the intent to provide intelligence on Republic of Seafoam military defenses, troop strengths, movements, et cetera, to enemies of the Republic of Seafoam is punishable by immediate death."
Mars wanted to be offended, even actively tried to be. But all she managed was mild annoyance. That alone told her that she was in a worse emotional state than she had thought, that she probably needed to seek professional help. All she could do was nod for a third time. "Yes, ma'am."
The woman stared at her silently for several moments, and all Mars could do was wearily stare back. Finally, the woman handed her a file folder with her name and the acronym 'RSAF' on the front that contained all her paperwork. Then she pointed down the hallway to Mars' right. "Second door on the right, the briefing room, go inside and take a seat."
"Thank you," Mars said, taking the file and turning down the hallway. The second doorway was open, and a glance to the door showed that it was the briefing room, and so she stepped inside and sat at the first chair inside the room. No one else was inside the room, so she leaned her head against the wall to her right, watching the doorway and waiting for whatever it was she was in the room for.
Thunder boomed outside the building, rattling the windows of the briefing room. She turned her head toward the windows and watched as the rain fell against the panes, generating miniature rivers that flowed down the surface of the glass. She used to find rain soothing, the combination of the sound it made and the sight of it hitting a window once able to draw her to sleep, but no longer.
She heard movement, and looked away from the window before she could drown in her memories. A uniformed man was walking into the room, a lieutenant according to the sewn rank on his collar. His uniform patches identified him as RSAF, Republic of Seafoam Air Force. She handed him her file folder without needing to be asked. Flipping it open, he read the notes on her file, then set it down and turned to the computer at the front of the room. "You're being officially transferred into the Seafoam military," he told her, entering commands into the system. "So that means we just need to get you to sign the same enlistment contracts for us that you signed for the League, and swear you in, and you'll be good to go." He gestured to a line on the floor in packaging tape. "Stand on that line, right index finger onto the biometric scanner."
She followed his instructions to the letter, giving her biometric signature when required, and staring unblinking into the camera attached to the system as it took a current picture for Seafoam's system files. He printed out two copies of the enlistment papers, one to go in her file, the other he handed to her for her personal records.
"Okay, follow me and we'll get you sworn in," he said, logging out of the system and then walking across the front of the room to a door set in the front wall. Wordlessly, she followed into the adjacent room, decorated in warm velvet colors with a podium on a raised platform, and the four flags of the four branches of the Seafoam military. She took her place in the center of the room and stood at attention. The lieutenant stepped onto the podium. "You already know the drill, so this won't be too much of a hassle. Raise your right hand, repeat after me. I, state your name, do solemnly swear or affirm."
She automatically raised her hand and echoed, "I, Alessa Zelle, do solemnly swear."
"That I will uphold and defend the constitution of the Republic of Seafoam against all enemies, foreign and domestic."
"That I will uphold and defend the constitution of the Republic of Seafoam against all enemies, foreign and domestic."
"That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same."
"That I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same."
"And that I will obey the orders of the Chancellor of the Republic and the orders of the officers appointed over me."
"And that I will obey the orders of the Chancellor of the Republic and the orders of the officers appointed over me."
"According to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."
"According to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice." She left off the last sentence, as was her right, as she had no faith or belief in a higher power.
The lieutenant lowered his hand, and she followed suit. "Okay, you're all set," he told her, pausing to shake her hand. His civility impressed her, and knowing that he had seen the notations of her criminal background on her paperwork, she was cheered slightly knowing that there were people out there willing to grant her the second chance she wanted. "You can go sit in the waiting lobby while we call someone over from your new unit to come get you."
"Thank you, sir," she said quietly, then turned and exited the swearing-in room, proceeding back down the hall toward the waiting room. Inside were the soldiers that had arrived on the plane with her, all awaiting transportation to their various destinations. Some of them looked up at her as she entered, and those that looked did so with scorn; they had heard the woman at the front desk call her by her Galactic alias. Not making eye contact, she moved toward the last row of seats and sat in the far corner, farthest from the other soldiers, who continued to chat amongst themselves.
She leaned into the corner and rested her head on the wall, and from where she sat, she could see the rain falling outside. Sighing quietly, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep in order to pass the time. It was never that easy, of course. Her memories swam up, unbidden, and the next clap of thunder that rattled the windows in their frames sounded to her like the report of a sniper rifle. She started at the sound, but quickly settled herself and closed her eyes again. This time, her imagination transformed the sound of the rain pattering against the window into the rattle of the squad automatic weapons. She could still hear the screams in her mind; funny that a dozen light machine guns firing at full auto couldn't drown the sound of the human voice in surprise and death.
Forcing her eyes open, she jerked upright before the memories could consume her, feeling a thin trail of liquid streaking from the corner of her right eye. She belatedly realized she had an audience in the form of one of the soldiers, who stood in the row of seats ahead of her, glaring down at her with crossed arms. "Well, well, little miss Galactic afraid of the rain, is she?"
She ignored his words and studied his uniform. She saw no hint of the 'Flaming S' that was the famed, and feared, insignia of Seafoam, and the pattern of the camouflage was that of the armed forces of Hoenn, a pattern that was intimately familiar to her following her incarceration in that prisoner of war camp. Galactic and the forces of Hoenn had had a large number of clashes over the course of The War.
The soldier was not pleased with her silence. He leaned forward and grabbed the front of her shirt with his right hand, hauling her up out of her seat. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you, you scum!"
Another soldier approached, this one did have the Seafoam insignia on his arm. "Hey, c'mon buddy, why don't you let her down and let's go have a round of pool, huh?"
"Nah, this bitch has it comin' to her," the first soldier said. She looked down at his uniform. The name on his name strip was Owen. "You bastards killed thirty-eight of my buddies. I think that means I owe you thirty-eight cuts."
"Don't make a mess in here," the Seafoam soldier said disapprovingly. Other than that, however, he didn't seem at all interested in saving her from the Hoenn soldier.
"That's not a problem," said the man holding her.
Then a white-hot flash of pain struck her, her vision whiting out to match. She never even saw him swing. He didn't give her time to react, striking again while she was still reeling. He struck her again in the same place, and she felt her lip split under the blows.
Dragging her out of the rows of seats, he threw her to the ground in the opposite corner and stood over her, raining blows on her with both hands. She didn't fight back or attempt to get away. All she did was curl up and cover her head with her arms, enduring the blows raining down on her upper body. None of the other soldiers in the room did anything to stop him, nor did she expect them to.
She had no idea how long the beating lasted, but she knew it lasted long enough to feel as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her head and arms. She wanted to think that one of the other Hoenn soldiers had stepped in after the first had gotten his licks, but it was hard to count with the blows raining on her. The blows finally came to an end, and she remained curled in her protective ball as the first soldier returned and spat on her, pronouncing, "Damn Galactic bitch thinks she can just jump over to our side when things are going to piss for them."
"'Things are going to piss for them,'" a new voice loudly announced, "because she came over to our side. It was her information that's allowing us to effectively end the threat of Galactic, and you'd better not forget it, soldier."
Mars noticed what the soldier didn't, that all the Seafoam soldiers in the room had shut their mouths and snapped to attention. "And just who the fuck you think you are comin' in here like you're hot…" The Hoenn soldier's tirade died on his lips as he spun around and found himself facing down a Seafoam uniform with the double bars of captain sewn onto his lapel.
"I think I'm the guy about to kick your ass," the captain finished. He wasn't overly big or muscled, but the look in his brown eyes made the threat genuine. "Is there a reason why I came here today to pick up the newest member of my squad and find her curled into a ball in the corner and you pukes standing over her like you've got a pair?"
"But, sir, she's Galactic…" the Hoenn soldier weakly attempted to justify.
"Really?" the captain asked, the sound of genuine curiosity in his voice even though everyone involved knew it wasn't. He crossed the waiting room, shoved the two Hoenn soldiers out of the way none-too-gently, and then pulled Mars up by her elbow, much more gently than he had treated the two soldiers, and made a show of looking her clothing over. "Well you must be psychic, boy, 'cos I don't see a 'G' anywhere on this outfit."
He turned to look at Mars' face, and she saw his eyes dart over the injuries to her face in his brief pause before asking, "What's your name, soldier?"
"Zelle, sir," she answered, managing not to stammer, and forcing herself not to run her tongue across her split lip. "Alessa Zelle."
He turned immediately to face the Hoenn soldiers. "That don't sound like no name none of them Galactics use to me," he said. "Normally they call themselves after planets and asteroids and all that other nonsense. That don't sound like no planet name to me. Does it sound like a planet name to you, boy?"
"N-No, sir. I-I just… I thought that…"
"I-I-I-I-I, you just thought what?" the captain demanded, mocking the soldier. "I didn't know they issued brains with the uniforms over in Hoenn."
"Sir… It's just…with how everybody knows that Seafoam's got no use for traitors…"
"You ever read any Star Wars books, son?" the captain asked wearily.
"No, sir."
"Well, are you at least familiar with the movies, with Jango Fett, Boba Fett? The Mandalorians?"
"A little, sir."
"They have a saying in their own language, cin vhetin. It means a fresh start or a clean slate for someone who joins the Mandalorians. Whatever they did before joining the Mandalorians doesn't count, and they'll be judged only by what they do after that point. We here at Seafoam operate under the same principle. We have no use for traitors, but we hold no fault to those who recognize that they are on the wrong side and change their standing."
The four Seafoam soldiers in the background didn't move, but it was easy to tell that they were swelling with pride. Seafoam was legendary already for its reputation of giving no quarter to enemy combatants who had betrayed them, but they also had a lesser-known reputation for quickly accepting defectors with open arms, and only later performing terrible and unspeakably inhuman deeds to them if they revealed themselves to be traitors in their midst. With the number of infiltrators that Rocket still attempted to send into Seafoam, that was likely the source of the rumor of Seafoam broking no tolerance for traitors or defectors.
The three yokels from Hoenn, on the other hand, the two that had assaulted Mars and the one that had probably been about to, looked suitably chastened. It was just as well that they got this rude wake-up call here and now, before they actually got into any duties working on Seafoam's home turf.
"Well, now that we've got that all sorted out, I think you two need to head off to the medics to get that looked at," the captain said.
Glances were exchanged between the quartet of Seafoam soldiers; they were somewhat familiar with Seafoam's more…robust form of discipline. The two Hoenn soldiers, however, looked between each other, perplexed. "Get…what…"
That was all he got out before the right hook from the captain took him off his feet, sending him headfirst into the side of a pinball machine. His head rebounded with a sickening thud. Immediately following on the heels of that strike, the captain spun around and slammed his fist into the second soldier's solar plexus, knocking the breath from him. The captain then dragged the first soldier out from underneath the pinball machine that he'd fallen under, planted one knee on his chest to pin him in place, then calmly reached into one of the pockets of his airman battle uniform and pulled out a black, right-handed glove brace.
Mars was unsure what the brace was for until he started striking the soldier in the face, again and again. Then she realized that it was to protect his fingers; a jawbone being far more likely to break fingers than the other way around. Given enough time and blows, however, and the jawbone would give way, as demonstrated by the sudden crack and screaming of the soldier. The captain never once slowed his strikes until he had delivered thirty-eight to the soldier, and Mars had counted each one.
Once he'd finished with the first, he turned to the second, not bothering to be quite so precise as he had against the first soldier. He struck wherever this soldier wasn't protecting; when he covered his head he struck at his stomach, and when he curled to protect his stomach, the captain struck his face. Thirty-four hits for that soldier, thirty-four blows to head and stomach and then the captain stood, calmly removing the now-bloodied brace and tucking it back into the pocket he'd removed it from.
As he was doing that, he spared a casual look of almost-malice to the third Hoenn soldier. "See your friends to a medic, would you?" He turned next to the four Seafoam soldiers. "Your new units have been informed as to your collusion in the hazing of a new recruit, and they'll see to your punishments personally." He turned toward Mars. "Airman Zelle, can you walk? Do I need to call the medics?"
She shook her head. "No, thank you, Captain…" She glanced at his name strip. "Captain Ganale." She brushed her hand against the split in her lip, and scowled when it came away bloody. "I'll be fine. It looks worse than it is."
He nodded, then turned and headed out of the waiting lobby. She followed behind him, stopping to pick up her bag from the pile before exiting the processing station into the driving rain. A Humvee, one of the new M1151 models judging by the Common Remotely Operated Weapon Station machine gun turret that rotated and elevated at random intervals, waited outside. She climbed into the passenger seat and stuffed her bag between her feet as Captain Ganale boarded the driver's side and started the vehicle. Rather than try to shake the water out of her hair and risk a larger headache, she submitted herself to simply dripping water.
The gunner operating the CROWS turret looked over Mars' injuries and asked, "Jesus, Cap, what happened to her?"
"Two of the pukes from Hoenn decided they wanted to kick her ass because she's a former Galactic commander," Ganale answered as he drove the vehicle away from the military airport, heading across the island toward the docks.
"No shit?" the gunner asked, leaning forward to get a better look at her face. "Which one?"
"Mars," she answered quietly, not turning to look at the gunner.
"Oh, the cute one," the gunner said, then turned his attention back to his control station. "Yeah, that one with the purple hair is one ugly-lookin' bitch, know what I mean, Cap?"
"Mind your weapon, Sergeant," Ganale admonished, though there was no edge to his voice, and he was smirking.
"Yes, sir, Captain, sir," the gunner said with a chuckle, eying his screen that displayed the point of view of the mounted M2 .50-caliber heavy machine gun as he held the control stick to the right in order to spin the weapon in a slow circle. The rain limited visibility on the turret camera, but this gunner was experienced at his job, and could easily pick out targets even in such a downpour that it appeared more of a white sheet than falling rain.
Mars, blushing from the sergeant's compliment, looked out the window of the vehicle as they drove along the outskirts of the medium-sized city on the first of Seafoam's eight islands. This city, unlike every other one she had seen in recent months, looked as though it had no idea a war was going on. She could see civilians moving about beneath umbrellas on their daily lives with hardly a care in the world, but on closer inspection, she could also see the armed military patrols on duty, not to mention the fact that every single building had either a Seafoam flag or a yellow soldier's ribbon somewhere on it. Those civilians she could see that stopped to greet or otherwise interact with the soldiers did so with an attitude of utmost respect and pride. The sense of solidarity and patriotism of these people was palpable, even inside the fast-moving vehicle.
Before too long, they were past the city, heading through unspoiled forests marred only by the presence of the paved road. A steady, neutral silence filled the interior of the vehicle, broken only by the rain striking its metal exterior and the squeak of the windshield wipers. Mars looked out into the green depths of the island, marveling at its appearance now as compared to how Seafoam had looked prior to the terraformation. Cyrus had once planned on stealing the terraformation technology used to create the eight-island archipelago that Seafoam was today, but a scouting party that had gone to probe the defense network of the republic had never been heard from again, and the only time that Seafoam had truly been vulnerable, during its civil war, Galactic had not managed to put together a large enough force to get all the way past Kanto and still have enough personnel to secure the terraformation technology from Seafoam.
"Nice to look at, isn't it?" the sergeant asked from the back seat. His attention was on his screen, but he could see Mars' posture from the corner of his eye. "That's something we take pride in here at Seafoam, our natural beauty. You know, a lot of people think of us, they think a bunch of knuckle-dragging Neanderthals that go around looking for fights to pick or jump into. But the real reason that any of us fight? You're lookin' out that window at it."
Mars nodded thoughtfully at the sergeant's words; she had never been one to place any stock in anything other than what she could see and touch, especially not her feelings, but the peace she felt looking at the new Seafoam, not even eight years since the terraformation, made her believe that the islands alone were reason enough to fight. She was beginning to understand why patriotism at Seafoam was so high.
"Sergeant Goldberg, you missed your calling," Ganale said. "You should've been a tour guide."
"Well, I am a tour guide, Cap," Goldberg answered blankly. "It's my day job when I'm not wearing this lovely uniform."
A feeling of warmth formed at the base of her spine and started to spread through her body as she listened to the two soldiers banter, compounded by the rain pattering against the metal exterior of the HMMWV. She wasn't unfamiliar with camaraderie, as she had commanded her team of grunts that had died in Jupiter's betrayal for years, and had been close with a number of them. But with these soldiers, who knew her only as a former enemy, it was as though they were inviting her into the close-knit community that the Seafoam armed forces was. Of course, she technically was one of them now that she had taken her oath of enlistment, but she knew full well that grudges could be held for a long time…
Mars didn't recall falling asleep on the trip through the forests. Consequently, she hadn't noticed the HMMWV arriving at the intercoastal dock and boarding the military ferry. When she finally awoke, the right side of her neck sore from being stretched at an unusual angle as she slept in the vehicle, she noticed that she was the only one in the vehicle. Raising her head and looking out the windshield, she saw more vehicles lined up before the one she was in, and a glance to the side mirror showed more behind.
She unclipped her harness and opened the door, stepping out onto the ferry, covered by the roof of the vehicle berth from the still-falling rain. Sighing softly, she ran a hand through her fading red hair, mindful of the lumps she'd received from the two Hoenn trainers. It was peaceful and quiet down there where passengers weren't technically allowed, and she took a deep breath of the sea breeze that was filled with the scent of rain. She could most definitely come to like living at Seafoam. Perhaps, when The War ended and things returned to normal in life, she would settle on one of the islands. It wasn't as if anything was waiting for her back in Sinnoh.
Unfortunately, the vehicle berth didn't give a very panoramic view of the surroundings that the passenger deck would, but in exchange for being alone it was a trade she was willing to accept. And she could still hear the rain falling on the exterior of the ferry, a rush of soothing white noise that calmed her as she sat upon the running board of the HMMWV. Rain while inside a building she was fine with; it was being out in the rain, feeling it fall on her and dredge the memories of the betrayal that she didn't like.
She hadn't been enjoying the solitude for long when she sensed that she wasn't as alone as she thought. She pushed herself up from the running board of the vehicle and looked down toward the rear of the line of vehicles, where the passenger door of another HMMWV was open and a pair of legs in forest camouflage were dangling out. Slowly, she approached the vehicle, and began to hear a voice coming from within as she neared.
"…last report, but the Navy's giving Rocket enough to think about on that front." It was the captain, and she wondered who he was talking to. "What's the word from the League command over there in Hoenn? Are we going to see any support from our supposed allies anytime soon? We can maintain the blockade for a long time, but unless we start looking at taking real estate back from Rocket, then this is going to degenerate fast."
There was silence for several moments, which let her realize that he was talking to someone on a phone. She would have first assumed that it was a hand radio, but she heard no voice speaking back, and he had mentioned that the other participant in his conversation was in Hoenn. The distance between Hoenn and Seafoam was far too great for a hand radio to cover.
"…Well, I guess that's better than nothing. We need to tackle Cinnabar ourselves before we can move any substantial force away from the Islands. Not to mention the good staging ground for a Kanto assault that Cinnabar would make. Speaking of, things are going to heat up a lot more very soon. You being in the medical keeps you mostly out of the front lines, but you know how often they tap medics to go out with units to the front. Have you even taken any of the weapons training that they're offering?"
Pause.
"No, I know you're a conscientious objector. I know you don't like the fighting. But when you're out there trying to keep some kid's guts inside him, the enemy would shoot you just as soon as they shot the kid. You need to be able to defend yourself, and in a war like this, I'm sorry to say that your Gloom just isn't going to be enough. You need to be able to handle a weapon. A pistol, at the very minimum. No…Yes, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. But… Aunt Erika, you may be a better Gym Leader than I was, but I'm a soldier first and foremost, and my military experience is what counts here. No, I'm not trying to backtalk you. I just don't want to get handed a folded League flag because my aunt got herself shot up trying to save some kid out on the lines. Yes…Okay. Thank you. You've put my mind at ease, Aunt Erika. Call me next time you're free. Yes, yes, I remember. I'll pick you up something nice to go with the rest of the ones I owe you. Promise you'll get them next time I see you. Okay, see you later. Bye."
There came a clicking sound of a phone snapping shut, then the captain launched himself out of the HMMWV and shut the door behind him. With that done, he lazily turned toward Mars, which indicated that he had been aware of her presence the entire time. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded to him, and he nodded back.
He slipped the phone into one of the multitude of pockets on his uniform, then said, "You're here to learn from the best demo man in the Allied army. That'd be me. But as you can probably tell by these wings, I'm a fighter pilot, and I can't be spending my time that I should be running missions with my squad teaching you the finer points of reconstructive surgery."
She merely tilted her head to one side, waiting for him to finish what he had to say. She was well familiar with the concept of being seen and not heard.
"So what we're going to do is fold you into the squad. You know how to fly?"
"No, I never got to take lessons before The War started," she answered, shaking her head.
He shrugged. "Well, no matter. We've got a couple guys in the squad that fly two-seaters and need Peewos."
"Peewo?"
"P-W-O, Principal Weapons Officer. Fighter-bombers have a pilot and the Peewo that sits in the back and aims the bombs."
She nodded. "I can handle that."
"Good." He glanced at the watch on his left wrist. "We're almost to the base now. Let's go."
He headed into the stairwell that led up to the passenger deck of the ferry, and she followed behind him. There were a decent number of people on the passenger deck, matching the number of vehicles below. She spotted Sergeant Goldberg off to the side, smoking a cigarette as he stared out into the rain on the path behind them. Ganale, however, led her toward the front of the ferry. Nothing was visible through the haze of rain.
"First time at Seafoam?" he asked. He didn't wait for her to answer, instead nodding to the sea ahead of them. "Get ready for a show."
She watched as directed, and saw nothing for nearly a minute. Just as she began to turn and remark on this observation, she caught a flicker of light from the corner of her eye, and turned her attention forward again. There, flickering faintly in the gloom before her, were a number of pinpoints of light, red and green primarily, with some blue and yellow scattered amongst the others. The lights were arranged haphazardly, in a configuration she couldn't recognize, and the first thought on her mind was unidentified flying object.
Then a hazy shape appeared out of the driving rain, towering high over the rough seas. At first she mistook it for an oil rig, but as they neared, it soon became apparent that the structure was far wider and taller than any oil rig she had ever seen. Then it hit her what she was looking at, and she nearly smacked herself for not realizing it sooner; of course the ferry would be taking them to the massive floating drydock, military base, and shipyard in the center of Seafoam's lagoon.
She had seen the reports, the reconnaissance photos, and knew the facility's dimensions, but it was one thing to have the knowledge, and another to see it with your own eyes. Only one side of it was visible from her position in the rain, but what she could see bristled with weapon emplacements for defense against sea and air attacks, with a maze of girders and support beams behind the initial weapons systems serving as additional armor for the factories and other support buildings that took up much of the lower levels. The only sections of the facility that actually reached down to the water's surface were the shipyards that built and repaired the warships of Seafoam's navy. The actual 'surface' of the facility was five hundred feet above sea level.
"We'll be coming in underneath one of the primary airstrips," Ganale said, actually startling Mars, who had gotten lost in the splendor of the floating facility. "If you're lucky, we might just get an…ah, there we are."
She looked up toward the top of the facility, at the obvious extension that was a runway long, wide, and sturdy enough to support any kind of aircraft traffic. The lights lining it were blazing as those on the other sections of the platform dimmed, and a spotlight flashed on, cutting through the rain. Moving to the side of the ferry, she shaded her eyes and peered toward the sky, looking for a telltale dark shape or the glow of aircraft running lights.
"Weather like this makes for hazardous landings, so ground crew should be starting to make use of their Pokémon's whirlwind abilities to drive back the…yep, right on schedule."
As he said this, the sheet of rain surrounding the runway drastically lessened. The ferry driver brought the boat just inside the area of protection from the heavier rain offered by the whirlwinds and stopped the craft in order to allow the passengers to view the incoming aircraft landing.
After a few minutes, two dim shapes appeared outside the protection area, and almost before Mars could blink, they burst through into the protected zone. The first was a relatively-short, single-engine delta-winged fighter with a single vertical stabilizer and dual engine intakes surrounding the cockpit. The L-angled refueling boom projecting from the nose of the craft allowed her to identify it as a Mirage 2000, but the strangest thing about it was its paint scheme. Rather than the standard grey seen in nearly all military aircraft, this Mirage sported a white nose and leading edges on the wings and vertical stabilizer, and an orange-colored body. The distance prevented her from making out the finer details.
The second fighter was only slightly larger than the Mirage, and looked almost identical, except for the second fighter having twin engines, twin canard wings behind the cockpit, and a more streamlined appearance. The delta wings, sole vertical stabilizer, and even the refueling boom were similar. Owing to that, she determined that the second fighter was likely a Rafale, and it too sported a non-standard paint scheme. It shared the white nose and leading edges of the Mirage, but it's primary body color was pink, and it also had some finer details that she couldn't determine by distance.
Ganale seemed to recognize the fighters instantly as they passed overhead and approached the runway. "Hmm, I wonder what Meth and Bento were up to. Patrol? Hmm…" He shrugged. "Well, guess I'll find out." Reaching up to his right shoulder, he pulled off the Velcro Seafoam Air Force patch, looking down for a moment at the stylized upswept wings and the hard cell 'S' surrounded by the flames that made the 'Flaming S' insignia so recognizable. Then he took Mars' left hand and placed the patch in it. "Welcome to Seafoam, kid."