A/N: I'll be the first to admit that I'm not the President of the United States, nor am I a Marine, so please take all the details with a grain of salt and some friendly suspension of disbelief (especially if you have military experience). This remains a work of fiction
Nearly 7000 miles away, on the other side of the world, twenty-one year old Sergeant Spencer Carlin was just sitting down to an eagerly anticipated lunch. One of the PFC's in another squad had spread the rumor that there might be ice cream for dessert today. Spencer had been hearing rumors like these for the past eight and a half months, and they had yet to pan out.
On the other hand, in the 102 degree heat of a desert summer, even the mirage of an ice cream sundae was enough to almost remind Spencer of what it felt like to be cool and free of sand. She liked to keep up an optimistic skepticism about these sorts of things.
As she dug into a recently re-hydrated mystery meat sandwich, her best friend Chelsea Lewis plopped down into the seat across from her.
"What a feast!" Chelsea joked, hefting her small sloppy joe in her palm. Rations had been reduced a few days earlier after a supply caravan had been hit some sixty kilometers to the south. "I have no idea how they manage to convince a master chef to come all the way out here to cook for us. I almost don't want to eat this work of art!"
"Shut up Lewis," Spencer grinned at her friend, "You are breaking my concentration. I almost had myself convinced that this was fresh from Five Guys."
"Five Guys? Are you kidding me? The least you could do is imagine that it was from some place decent like In-N-Out."
"West coast burger snob."
"Not my fault you insist on remaining uncultured," Chelsea retorted, "and let's not even pretend that these things are burgers. It's just making me sad."
"Agreed."
A few of the other member of their squad joined them as they ate. The lunch-time conversation revolved around food (as always) and the men had just gotten into a debate about surf-and-turf when they were interrupted by a messenger.
"Sergeant Carlin, Corporeal Lewis, the captain requires your presence in the command tent."
Spencer looked quickly over to Chelsea who had an equally puzzled look on her face. "Consider us on our way," Spencer replied with a nod of dismissal. When the messenger had left the tent, the rest of the squad began to offer suggestions about what the girls might have done to incur the wrath of Captain Martinez as they hurried to clean their plates.
"Lighten up Carlin," Jacobs, a Lance Corporal, told her. "I bet he just wants to meet up for tea and crumpets!"
"Naw, let's be real, this is Martinez we're talking about, I'd bet he wants knitting lessons." That was Siller.
As the suggestions of why Martinez wanted to see her and Chelsea got more and more ridiculous, Spencer tried to laugh along as she swallowed the last of her peas and took a moment to make sure her uniform was neat and squared away.
There was only one thing on her mind. Did Martinez know?
Spencer racked her brain to try and think of another possible reason why the Captain would want to see her and the next highest ranking female officer in her squad – a female officer who was her best friend and with whom she just so happened to spend almost all of her time.
They usually received operational orders from further down the chain of command. In fact, she could only ever remember interacting with Captain Martinez in person a handful of times. There was no way that this summons was a good thing.
As soon as she and Chelsea walked out of the barracks and into the blinding desert sun, Chelsea set to work trying to calm her fears: "Relax Spence, he doesn't know anything. If he did, why would he be summoning the both of us?"
"I don't know, maybe he thinks you're hiding it too? We're together all the time Chels, maybe someone suggested something?"
A few years ago, before her training, Spencer Carlin might have wrung her hands and chewed on her lower lip as she battled the butterflies of nerves attacking her stomach. Now there was nothing to outwardly display her discomfort. To the rest of the camp, she was just another Sergeant making her way across camp with one of her fire-team leaders.
But Chelsea knew her better than that.
"I don't care what people think. Gossip spreads faster than the speed of light around here anyway, it's worse than high school. Talk doesn't mean anything. And he can't ask you anything Spencer, not based on rumors. He could try but," Chelsea hesitated, playing out the situation in her mind, "But I won't let him."
Spencer stopped abruptly, and pulled Chelsea to a halt with her by yanking on the elbow of her jacket. "Chelsea Lewis, I refuse to allow you to take the fall for me for anything. Not again."
Chelsea pulled Spencer's hand off her uniform. Spencer knew Chelsea could feel how stiff with tension she was, and so she softened her tone. "You know that's one order that I'm never going to follow Spence. You're my battle buddy, my best friend, and I'm always going to have your back." She took a moment to straighten out her uniform and pasted resolved firmly back on her face. "Especially when you've done absolutely nothing wrong!"
The fact that Chelsea felt that way meant the world to her, but unfortunately, the military didn't see it the same way.
Being a closeted lesbian in the United States Marine Corps meant that Spencer was on edge 24-7, and not just because she was stationed in the heart of a combat zone. Ever since President Christine Davies had signed a bill that essentially put Don't Ask Don't Tell on steroids, Spencer lived in constant fear of being discovered.
Under the new law, which had passed through Congress just days after Spencer had enlisted, being exposed as a homosexual in the military was grounds for more than just a dishonorable discharge. Now outed soldiers, seamen, airmen and marines could be tossed into prison as military criminals and fined massive amounts of money for the purpose of repaying the government the thousands of dollars that had been invested into their training. The new law had destroyed the lives of more than a few marines over the past few years and Spencer was determined not to be next.
She had tried and failed enough times throughout her adolescence to secretly "cure" herself of being gay. After enough time, however, she had accepted who she was and knew there was nothing she could or even wanted to do to change it. She loved the ladies, and there were a lot of people out there who agreed with her that there was nothing wrong with that…
Except for the fact that the Commander-in-Chief's bigoted political agenda was in conflict with her ability to live out her dream.
All Spencer had ever wanted since she was old enough to seriously contemplate her future was to be a Marine just like her grandpa. Her mother's father, Colonel Glen Myers, was Spencer's hero and role model. He had enlisted in the Marine Corps when he was only eighteen years old, ready and willing to defend his country during World War II. He had proved himself in combat during campaigns across the Pacific and was even awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in the Battle of Iwo Jima. After the war, he stayed with the Marines on active duty, eventually earning a commission and retiring with the rank of Colonel.
Spencer had literally grown up listening to battle tactics as bed time stories and playing war with her older brothers Glen and Clay. While her brothers had followed in their mother's footsteps by enrolling in the US Naval Academy after high school, Spencer had surprised her own family by enlisting in the Marine Corps instead. Her grandpa always said that the best military leaders started from the bottom and worked to earn their stripes in the field rather than in the classroom.
Her plan had been to spend her first five years in the Corps as an enlisted Marine, then go on to Officer's Training School later, if she still felt like she wanted to make a career out of the military. Since President Davies had been elected, however, there was that small matter of being gay in a very gay-unfriendly line of work. Her period as an enlisted marine was now for her to not only to earn respect for the enlisted Marines she might one day command, but also to determine if her heart could handle hiding who she was from all of the people she cared about. Now with only a year left in her active duty service contract, Spencer was considering her future more than ever, and she still hadn't come to a decision.
She just had to hope that it wasn't about to be made for her.
Spencer chose to ignore Chelsea's words of comfort and continued across the camp to the officer's headquarters. After a quick salute to the guards stationed outside the temporary headquarters, the girls were shown inside and directed into the captain's office.
It was time to find out what this was about.
"Have a seat marines," Captain Martinez instructed before sitting behind the portable table that served as his desk. He hastily closed a laptop and pushed it aside so he could focus his attention on fully on the two of them.
"Thank you sir," Spencer replied, sitting stiffly. Chelsea followed her lead. She held herself rigidly still even though her stomach was churning.
She could not read the captain's expression. Like Spencer herself, he was a master of controlling his emotions. She'd always liked that about him – he gave off the impression of always being cool and calm, event in the worst of situations.
"I'm sure you are both wondering why you are here." He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers across the surface of the desk. "The answer's quite simple: you are being reassigned."
After expecting the worst and playing the situation out in her brain over and over, Spencer was now a little lost.
"Reassigned, sir?" Chelsea asked.
They both had been serving in the 1st Marines Special Operations Battalion together since they had completed boot camp and they were working in the only riffle platoon in the Corps currently carrying out the work they were trained to do: special security combat operations.
Spencer and Chelsea were part of an elite unit of the marines charged with security operations in combat and combat perimeter zones. They protected key political leaders and their families from kidnapping and assassination attempts in an incredibly unstable environment.
Spencer's squad in particular was known for their flawless record of protection for the female family members of Afghan military leaders and politicians. Their rifle platoon was nicknamed the "Guardians of Freedom," and they wore the title with pride. Reassignment, therefore, came with the implication of demotion.
"Yep," the Captain confirmed, "And it's gonna be a bitch to replace you. Orders came from the higher-ups, though, so it's pretty much out of my hands."
Spencer was still on edge. She waited for him to explain himself. 'Why?' was a word that didn't really exist in the vocabulary of a Marine, but that didn't mean she did not want to know more about what was going on.
"You are both being transferred to Washington for a security detail - a special request."
This did not exactly make a lot of sense to Spencer, but she was counting her blessings. It was not clear that DADT had nothing to do with what was going on here. She let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. Now she was more confused than afraid.
There were a few Marine camps in Washington state that Spencer knew of, but why Washington of all places? It was pretty much the exact opposite of Afghanistan – not that she would complain about finally seeing some clouds or rain.
"You are to both pack up your things and be ready for transport at 23:00 hours. You'll be landing at Bolling Air Force Base, where you will be directed to report to Colonel David Michaels at the White House."
She had definitely been thinking about the wrong Washington. Apparently they were talking about the capital.
Washington, DC? The White House?
The only security detail Spencer knew about for a Marine at the White House was work as a Marine Sentry. The position was basically one of a glorified doorman. Whenever the president was present in the West Wing, a team of four marines took shifts standing ceremonial guard outside the entrance to the wing. Spencer seriously doubted that she and Chelsea were being pulled off active duty in Afghanistan to go open doors. To be sure, it was an honor to be asked to serve the Commander-in-Chief directly, but Spencer liked the job she had now and she was good at it.
Not to mention she was not Christine Davies' biggest fan. If she had to see the evil queen's face every single day…
A quick glance over at Chelsea told Spencer that her friend was just as unsettled by this news as she was. Captain Martinez laughed a little at their reaction. "I wish I could tell you more, I'm just as curious about what the heck this is all about, but that's all I know." He stood up and Spencer and Chelsea immediately rose to join him. He extended his hand first to Spencer, then to Chelsea, shaking them firmly.
"It's been an honor serving with you Sergeant Carlin, Corporeal Lewis. You'd best gather your things and say your goodbyes. The ride out to the transport is going to take a few hours, so you'll need to leave as soon as possible."
As soon as they were dismissed and out of earshot of any superiors, Chelsea voiced what Spencer had been thinking for the past five minutes: "What the hell?"