Once upon a time, not too long ago, RRTS 2 was one of the top teams. The only team to threaten unit 6 with the title of top team. They had been just as skilled as Unit 6 and just as deadly. It was no wonder Vera had transferred so easily between units. Looking at it now, John wondered how Vera would feel. Since the death of Unit 2, it's status of best had plummeted to worst of the ten units. Unit 2 was a joke. Comparing Unit 6 to Unit 2 was like comparing a High School jock to a physically challenge student. Unit 2 consisted of nothing but rejects of RRTS. Each one had a low amount of years in the Marine Corps itself, but their skills showed they'd earned their place on the RRTS squad. All they gained from their quick reach in the Squad was an ego and belief that everything was theirs. Soldiers that could barely follow orders; who had unorthodox methods, and those who just sucked as soldiers.

John sighed heavily as he watched the unit from above. He needed to see them as a whole before dropping the bomb and throwing the shit into the fan.

Unit 2 consisted of two women and five men. John located the seven personnel quickly. They were gathered in the main room of the barracks. From John's observation, the women's cots were placed side by side. Two of the cots were occupied by the owners. One woman sat cross-legged, hunched over reading, while braiding her brown hair. She was decent height, possibly hitting the five foot seven marker. Her skin was a tinted cream color from posts outside. She held herself up, but John could see beneath it. He could sense her insecurities, her nervous ticks she had. He could sense her unease with the unit.

The cot beside her was taken up by the medic of the unit. The contents of her medic bag were displayed on her cot as she reorganized it into its pack. From above, John could see was of Latino origin. Her black hair was pulled behind her head into a tight pony that swung while she worked. Her dark eyes were focused with the task at hand. John could sense her irritability. He could hear her struggling airway, suffering from allergies. he noted how her left hand was slightly slower than her right even if she was left hand dominant.

On the far side of the barracks, near the showers, were two men. One stood in front of a punching bag, much like the one that had occupied 6's barracks, but on a much smaller level. The second soldier stood behind the bag, providing some resistance. The soldier punching stood just a few inches below John's height. His bright red hair was cut just a bit longer than his own and connected with a matching beard that ran down his chin. John noted the force dealt with each punch. He noted the slight limp from the right knee.

But it was his partner that took John's attention next. With a quick glance John knew he was going to have problems with the soldier. In a ten second span, John counted the soldiers beading brown eyes shift toward the women no less than four times. His black hair and mustache outlined his square jaw, giving the man an even more untasteful appearance. Worse yet, he matched John's height.

In the center of the barracks were the remaining three men. They sat in a small circle, playing poker. Just by looing at their hands, each one of them were bluffing. But the one who was bluffing with the worst hand, seemed to be the most confident. He sat hunched over, looking at his cards, but his air gave off immense confidence. The soldier was younger than John-as were most of them-his face was free of stubbles and shadow. His blonde hair parted up in his head . He smirked at his partners across from him, waiting. Yet through his entire situation, John could sense a steady heart beat. No anxiety or fear. Nothing traditionally attributed to a typical situation.

To the soldier's left sat a more tense player. The man twitched involuntarily as the seconds ticked by. He ran a hand through his dark dark hair, waiting for the next move. John could hear his accelerated heartbeat. He was clearly anxious about the game and knew there was no way he could win the pot. His dark hair was sleeked back by the repeated swipe of his hand. Sweat rolled down his square face. He was built just as his comrades were, older than the man to his right.

The final soldier sat a few feet from the others. He was an African American, built leaner than Destroyer and Duke had been. He sat slouched against the frame of the closest cot, his cards concealed by his arm. Ray band shades concealed his eyes from their sight, but John could see through them. His eyes were focused, glancing between his opponents, clearly annoyed with the length of time it was taking for someone to make their move.

When John had seen all he needed, he decided to make his presence known to all. "I'd fold, if I were you."

In a split second, all action, all sound ceased in the barracks, and all eyes shot to his position. John took note of the reaction time of each soldier. The woman were off their cots quickly, standing at attention. Supplies still on their cots, left for protocol. The gamblers moved with trained speed, turning toward him, leaving their cards and glasses abandoned. Only two moved slower, deliberately pressing their boundaries.

"Officer on deck!"

The unit lined up at attention, waiting for John to relieve them. John pushed himself off the railing and made his way down the stairs. "As you were." He hit the last step, standing just a few feet from the gamblers. "I'm guessing by some of your...enthusiastic expressions, you're all aware of the change in command with this unit."

One of the men snorted in the back. "Bullshit, you mean."

John narrowed his eyes on the man. It was the man John had seen holding the punching bag during his recon. "Lance Corporal Brody Hail. Fours years with the corps, one with RRTS. Ten reported cases of sexual harassment, no convictions. I don't care what shit you pull on your own time, Hail, but in this unit, you respect each one of your teammates, or so help me, I'll send your ass back to your enlisted father with a list of allegations that will be prosecuted against you. Is that understood?"

Hail glared at John as if he was trying to kill John with his thoughts. John marched toward Hail, not taking his eyes off his soldier. He could hear Hail's heartbeat thundering in his chest. He could hear the muscles in the man's hands tightened with each passing second. He stood just inches from Hail, sizing up the man. He was eye level with John, glaring at him through his darkened hazel eyes. His square jaw was set firm, clenching his teeth in anger as he held John's glare. John was waiting for him to strike, nothing could be better at getting his point across to all of them that he was in charge and they had no say in the matter. but Hail seemed to have a brain in his massive skull. Though his hand was still clenched, Hail nodded at John. "Yes sir."

"Good." John turned his back to Hail and made his way back toward the front of the barracks. "There was a time when Unit 2 was one of RRTS's top units. Right up with Unit 6. The best of the baddest. Now, it's the shit of this outfit." He turned to face the unit. "It's no secret. Unit 2 can't complete a mission without it going to shit. Hell, you're lucky I'm your CO, instead of someone else. She would've cussed you all out and then kicked your asses around this barracks until you were up to par with her." John paused, trying to keep his focus. He couldn't afford to let Vera screw him over. Damn her to hell. Even dead she still managed to screw him over.

"I'm shaking in my boots." Hail snorted. "Like a girl can kick my ass."

John clenched his jaw. It would be too easy to break Hail's jaw, and it was a bad example. "Any of you familiar with the Russian Radicals known as the Red Death?"

Hail shrugged his massive shoulders, unimpressed.

"No one?" John asked.

"They were a group of radicals seeking to take control over Russia's government. They were brutal in interrogations and executions." answered one of the women. She was the smaller, more timid of the two. She let her sentence die off when John looked at her.

"Keep going soldier." John said.

"They had over half of Russia under their terror for twenty years until the US got involved. A combined effort by Intel and RRTS 6 led an undercover assault against them and took out the group." she finished. "However, credit was given to Staff Sergeant Vera Dimitrov for the success of the mission."

The sound of her name was like a knife to his chest, but the look of terror in Hail's eyes was well worth the pain. Vera had made a name for herself outside of Unit 6, and this was the proof. John smirked at Hail. "Yes, she can kick your ass, Corporal." John turned back toward the woman. "Private First Class Abigail Nachios."

The timid woman nodded slowly. "Yes sir."

He walked in front of her, standing over six inches taller. She was smaller than Vera, and less fit as well. "Three years with the corps, recent transfer to 2. Unit tech support. Five prior complaints of hacking into the base files. No convictions." He looked at her closely. He noted how her fingers twitched with nerves. Her heart raced inside her chest. "You must be good if they kick your ass out of this unit. Might even come in handy with this gig."

Abigail looked up at John. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"It also says you have a tendency to freeze under stress. That kind of shit response gets you and everyone around you killed." John snapped.

Abigail nodded her head. "Understood."

John let his eyes shift to the medic. "Sargent Jade Matthis."

Jade stood at attention. "Sir, right severed years with the corps, four years active duty with RRTS."

"Six complaints filed for treating enemy soldiers." John stated.

"Doctors without borders." Jade answered. She stood a good number of inches taller than Abigail. She was well toned, trained, a career soldier in the corps by appearance. Her skin tone lead John to believe she had Hispanic origins. Her faint accent hinted toward a Spanish speaking neighborhood in the states. Her dark eyes never left John's hard gaze.

John held her gaze tightly. "On this mission, the only treatment to give these wounded is a bullet to the brain. Do not forget that."

Jade was visibly confused, but John moved on before she could inquire. "Sergeant Calvin Moscow."

"Sir."

John found himself staring at one of the card players, the cocky one. He was barely older than Nachios. He stood a four inches lower than Reaper, but he held his status firm. "Seven years with the marines, five with RRTS." John said. Short tempers and quick reflexes did not mix well in the corps. It was a wonder the soldier was still enlisted.

Calvin nodded.

"Keep your temper in check or I'll kill you myself, understood." John said.

"Yes sir." Cal nodded.

Sargent Jason Rogers." John called.

"Sir." Jason stood at six foot. His skin was pale and bore several dozen visible scars. One scar in particular raked over his skull, slicing through patches of his blond hair. Rogers didn't seem fazed by his scars, as he had been training on the bag when John had entered.

"Six years in the corps, three with RRTS." John said. No use mentioning what Rogers had problems with.

Rogers nodded. "Yes sir."

"Sargent Mitchell Skylark." John called.

"Sir." Skylark was the same height as John. His brown hair was beginning to curl, signaling the need for a trim. He stood tall, broad shoulders.

"It says here you requested a transfer to unit one from unit three." John stated.

Mitchell nodded. "Yes sir, I preferred working with a wider variety of soldiers."

"Variety enough, for you?" John asked.

"Yes sir." Mitchel replied.

John nodded and dropped the files on the closest cot. "Gunnery Sargent John Grim. You call me Reaper or sir, do you get me?"

"We get you sir!" they echoed.

"Good. Now that we've all gotten to know each other, I'll get down to business. We've got a gig." he stated.

All eyes seemed surprised by the comment. It didn't surprise John, though. He read their last mission statement. It was a complete failure. Base had to send in another RRTS unit to clean up and complete the mission, earning every single soldier from 2 a weeks worth of brig time to serve.

"Why us?" Hazard asked. "We're the bottom of the shit barrel."

"Because your bottom of the shit barrel unit was all there was to send." John answered. "Fall in!"

In an instant, unit 2 moved through the barracks toward the weapons room, leaving John standing alone. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It had been far too tempting to tell them what had happened, what would happen when they reached the facility. But what good would it have done? If anything, the information would have undermined his authority and caused a massive power struggle within the unit. And right now, he needed every soldier with a clear understanding of just who was in command here. John turned and jogged up the stairs, ready for a return trip to hell.

wahoo! sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I promise I didn't forget about it. I just got so busy...plus almost human premiered. I had to see Karl Urban's new project. SO GOOD! anyway, I know this chapter was a little slow and all about the new unit, don't worry it'll pick up. It always does.