A/N: Second rewritten chapter is here. Just like with Ch.1, this has been redone and remastered in 3rd person narrative.
Enjoy :)
Boot-Camp Constant
August 2nd
Eden Prime, Constant
2nd Platoon Barracks
06:00
Thomas had never been the best sleeper. It came with insomnia, so there was usually nothing he could do but swallow his pills and hope for the best. As it was, the future – or whatever – seemed to hold much the same problem, though for a distinctly different reason.
"I am amazed that you have already managed to become infatuated with that woman."
"…shut up…" he muttered in his head, stirring beneath the covers as the alarm clock went off.
However, the Voice was not entirely wrong.
Thomas didn't know what by Hel was happening with him, but for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about that smile of hers. The smile on Ashley's lips when she had greeted him, when they had driven around the colony, and even just when she had dropped him off at the barracks.
It really was annoying, when combining that with the knowledge that he was going to see her running around with Commander Shepard, like a dog in a leash… whoa, where did that thought come from?
It wasn't going to help them in the long run, and he knew it wasn't very productive either.
Okay, time to straighten up.
The clock was still ringing, meaning his entire thought-process had lasted less than a minute.
The squad jumped from their covers and bunks, ignoring the scantly-clad state of Hillary in favor of getting the uniforms and boots on. Jim ended up falling flat from his bed, landing on the metal floor with enough swearing to put Magnus to shame... Damn, I miss that guy.
It was hilarious watching him curse and swear as he got up, but Thomas kept that to himself, instead focusing on tying his shoes. No use in getting enemies on day one, even if most of the guys here were actually okay guys.
The others invited him to play cards, thinking maybe that Thomas didn't know how to whop their butts in 'Asshole'. He did, however, and ended up playing with money, gentlemen… or not.
Thomas didn't have any cash, so he wagered the only thing he had at that point; latrine-duty.
Now, Jim would be on latrine-duty and Thomas was twenty credits rich(er). It wasn't much, mainly because very few people these days carried around hard cash in credits, and he himself didn't have a chit yet.
Apparently, Donkey was suffering from a major crush on Ashley, something Thomas found both hilarious and also a little sad. He suspected the sergeant would be sorely disappointed when Shepard came riding in. Unless… Shepard was a woman this time. Thát would probably make up for some mistakes, although he wasn't sure how.
This universe was a weird place in more than one way, so he decided to simply follow suit with whatever happened, and hope procedure was the same as the Homeland Defense.
"Well lads, let's go greet our delicious buffet" Aforementioned sergeant said, clapping his hands.
"Let's hope it's better than yesterday. I fucking hate oatmeal." Bolin replied sourly, pulling on the non-descript military boots.
Thomas paused, processing the last word. Then, a smug grin started spreading on his face, one he did his best to turn away from his new colleagues. They've got oatmeal here! Yes! I love that stuff.
Although, the guy's comment did have him a little worried. What if they spoiled his only memory of oatmeal in this universe? That would suck. Especially because he really, frigging loved oatmeal. Gods, I hope there's a lot, and butter, and sugar, and cinamo-
"Yes! I get it! You have a profound fondness for the porridge of oat, milk and sugar, mixed with cinnamon and butter. By the Master, I am glad Ellehammer was not like this." The voice growled, cutting Thomas off. The recruit silently pondered what the problem could possibly be. Oatmeal was, to his reckoning, the single-most delicious and nutritious way of starting one's day, not to mention it was easy to make and-
"Will you please shut up about oatmeal? I despise that stuff." Thomas decided that further antagonizing the ghost-spirit-god-mental-case-being was likely a bad idea, and shut his thoughts down on the subject.
"So, how're you liking Constant so far?" it was Donkey who asked, walking next to Thomas on their way to the mess. The latter blinked, looking around as if to spot someone named 'Constant'. When the sergeant noticed that, he chuckled; "Right, not a colony-kid, I forgot. Constant's the colony here, the main settlement. We're in the outskirts, but still technically inside the borders."
"Oh." Damn, that was probably not the best first impression of professionalism; "It's a lot nicer than my last military camp, that's for sure."
"Scandinavia's not the paradise we hear it is?" Hillary Pennyloafer mused, walking with wide steps and both hands clasped behind her back. Thomas was momentarily struck by how much it reminded him of a little girl. A little girl with auburn hair and rattails. He shook it off, putting on a smile.
"Depends on where you go, really." He shrugged; "Our compound was in northern Jutland, so the weather was shit about half the year. The rest of the time tourists and assorted assholes would transform the streets into paved trashcans. And people wondered why I hated festival-weeks."
"Yeah, you won't get that here, so that's something at least." The woman said, sounding like she was highly amused, though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was; "We've only got one festival here, and you missed it by a month."
"Right."
The mess hall was in a nearby building, close enough to the barracks that a vehicle was uncalled for. Thus, the morning jog served to bring friskiness into their minds.
It was kind of a small place, considering the colony's armed forces consisted of twenty men per barracks, and some drivers for the Mako's. Having pondered that, Thomas wondered if and how he could get the colony to stock up on anti-synthetic rounds. Considering their probable high cost, he knew he couldn't just make the suggestion and hope for the best.
Oh yeah, he could just ask his new CO; 'Hey Ashley, we might want to stock up on disrupter rounds. Why, you say? Well, because of reasons'… yeah, thát would work.
Then again, maybe he could turn it so that the warning was more about the mercenary bands roaming the Terminus and the assorted pirates he "hoped" were close enough. He knew for a fact that the Eclipse utilized mechs, and so did the Blue Suns. Shit, I'll have to figure something out with those two…but how?
He decided to shelf those thoughts for later, seeing as he would only become grumpy, and someone would probably ask what his deal was. Bugger, but it was all he could do for now, and keep his eyes open for trouble. The group went for their trays, and Thomas discovered that this design hadn't changed a bit since his time in home defense.
The grub, or oatmeal, was every bit as disgusting as they had told him. It tasted like ashes, and looked like tapestry-glue. Thomas swore that this'd better be healthy as Hel, or he would do things to the chef. Things that involved rope, a chair, and a forced lesson in culinary quality.
The other guys must have been stationed in the colony for a while, since while Thomas was mentally complaining, and close to puking, they just ate in silence. Well, this morning is just fu- oh wait, Ash is coming towards our table.
She too, was carrying a bowl of the "delicious" oatmeal on her tray, as well as a mug of the cheap, black stuff Homeland Defense had taught Thomas only looked like coffee.
Future though this might be, he doubted something as ingrained as crap-coffee would just vanish. Or improve. Same thing, really.
When she sat down, Ashley gave a more modest smile than yesterday. Thomas, still somewhere between tired and contemplating the point of digestion, returned the greeting with a nod and a small smile of his own. Wonder if she only smiles like that when off duty;
"Morning guys"
"Morning Chief" they responded in unison, sans himself – that was probably going to be something he'd have to learn –, and proceeded with eating. Ashley broke the silence, such as it was, by turning her attention on Thomas;
"Fisher, I trust you found your way into the barracks, shouldn't've been too hard, seeing how I left you just outside. Or perhaps you found it cozier to sleep under the monorail again" she said, grinning just a little while pouring some of the coffee directly into her oatmeal. Thomas stared, focusing on the weird meal-combination, and not on her eyes. There's the cocky smile I missed…What am I talking about 'missed'? I've known her for a day.
"He did alright, Chief. Drained me of my spare-cash too in cards." Ünalan noted, sending Thomas a look that basically said 'you won't win next time'. Still, it was more good-natured than hateful, which would be odd if it wasn't, considering the Turkish corporal was remarkably good natured.
He curiously enough reminded Thomas of a different Turk, back in High School, even bearing the same name. Still, completely different appearances…
After the "luxurious" breakfast, Dog-Squad headed back to the barracks.
That was to say, the others did. Ashley gave Thomas a "come hither" finger. He briefly glanced at the direction of the rest of the squad, then resigned and followed his superior. I'm beginning to doubt that what they taught me about her in the game can be used here.
"Alright Rookie, since you don't have any armor or weapons, you'll be heading for the armory now. Just down the street here, and to your left. Look for the sign that says "Bob's guns". He's got a deal with Garrison Command, to supply our troops with standard hardware. Just tell him Williams sent you, and he'll get you outfitted. When done, come back here and head for the shooting range. That's that way." While she said this, she pointed at a large field where some targets were placed. Yeah, I remember, we came past it yesterday.
"Alright, armor, guns and shooting range. Got it" Thomas nod, standing as straight as I can.
"Got it?" she asks. Oh, I know what to say now.
"Got it, Ma'am." Hope that was the right answer. Well, it should be, considering we're in the military and at work now, so the ranks should count.
"Good, now go; if it takes you more than thirty minutes, I'll be back there, hauling your ass back myself."
Oh, she could haul my- Dammit brain, I told you to stop that!
"Well, it seems that since I'm staying, I should take on the role as your bad conscience."
"Err, I guess that could work" having his own Devil and Angel on his shoulders, could prove to be a good thing. But for some reason, I cannot help the feeling that I have just accepted a conscience more depraved than his own, onto his shoulders.
Something Thomas had not been prepared for – though at this point he supposed he really should have – was the new and strange sensation it was to be strapped into a Hydra-class hardsuit. He had never worn hardsuits – or any kind of body-armor – before, as the Danish Homeland Defense, even the Danish Defense Force, which was the main army, simply did not deploy them outside of warzones. Thomas, being a member of the former, had never seen combat, and thus the prospect of what a hardsuit entailed, actually had him a little unnerved.
And yet, the feeling was anything but negative. The weight felt like putting on soaked woolen clothes, or something similar to it, and the dark-green plates when he rapped them with his knuckles felt like a place between steel and ceramics, meaning they were likely an alloy of the latter.
"This is awesome." He breathed, marveling at the gear. It was funny – just a little – to consider how many nations in the twenty-first century would have had him assassinated just to get their hands on what he was now wearing.
"Aye, it's some fine work from them Adrin Labs people." The owner and overseer of the armory, Shae 'Bob' MacGregor consented; "Still, bet you've seen better gear, what with how you Union-folks focus on infantry'n all."
Had the European Union finally gotten an army? If so, awesome. It was more than 'about damn time', and Thomas simply nodded with a spreading grin;
"I guess, but this is still pretty awesome." He said, tapping the chest-piece again. The helmet was next on the schedule, but came separate due to the technicalities of its operation. When Thomas got it on, the first thing he saw was a small HUD turning on, displaying things like his suit's integrity, its storage of Medigel and a currently flat bar meant to display the integrity of his shields, when activated; "Am I getting an Omnitool as well, or do we use civilian models?"
"Pff, what'd ye think this place is, kid, a merc band?" Bob scoffed as he tapped Thomas on his left arm. He had pressed an unseen – to Thomas – button, and the orange glow that followed nearly had his eyes pop from their sockets. Yeah, it was pretty much the most awesome thing ever; "The Logic Arrest's been developed to be integrated with military hardsuits, so we ship' em together for simplicity's sake. It's running on the same cells your shields'll be using, but the drain's so small, it's basically just a technicality."
"I think I'm in love."
"Hope ya mean the tool, son, 'cause I'm happily datin'." The Scotsman chuckled, most likely from how Thomas suffered a coughing fit at the implied offer. Goddamn Scots; "Anyway, this thing's got the standard military package: Overload'n Incinerate will give you an edge against mechs, drones and robots, while the Incinerate should fry just about anything from slavers te Krogan mercs. Or both, if that's more to yer tastes."
"Fuck me…"
"Told ya, not interested." Bob grinned; "It also comes with a handy welder, micro-fabricators, a flashlight, the mandatory extranet-capable computers as well as a flash-forged carbon-blade, for those close encounters." His expression hardened; "Hopefully, none of yer will ever need these things, but enough colonies have already been hit unprepared by slavers for the Alliance to cut corners on this. 'Specially not on Eden Prime."
"That's understandable." Thomas nodded, feeling the atmosphere tense just a little. Still, this did open up for a question he hadn't previously known how to broach; "Does that mean Eden Prime's got anti-orbital systems as well?"
"Constant's got GARDIAN-systems, plus some SAM-turrets on the outskirts. Mindoir didn't, and look what happened to them…Shite, listen to me go off when I haven't even given you your guns yet."
"…Damn." Thomas had to take a deep inhale of air. His head felt like the room was spinning when Bob presented the first piece. The man cocked a brow in confusion when he saw Thomas' expression, and the Dane had to gather himself before he could even speak; "I'm sorry, I just...didn't get enough sleep last night. You were saying?"
"Huh…Aye, I'll start with this one." Bob gestured to the bench between them. It was a large, flat slab of metal, complete with assorted pieces of equipment meant for maintaining gear. On the middle of the bench, the Scott had put down an Assault Rifle, one Thomas didn't immediately recognize; "Seen this before?"
"I…don't think so?" he offered; "It looks like the Avenger, but…"
The weapon was of medium length, roughly the size of the M4's he'd trained with, though with a much sleeker design, and a distinct lack of a vertical grip near the barrel. The rifle was painted a gunmetal grey and black, as well as a single broad stripe of red along the upper body. The barrel visibly integrated into the main body, a different type of dark grey between the lighter tones of the top and stock.
"Close enough, actually." Bob shrugged, pulling a small bar on the gun's side; "This is a Lancer II, a predecessor to the Avenger, but with a bit less firepower. It's a reliable gun though, so you won't get the jamming-issues the later models can irritate you with. It's still in use because it's so damned cheap, and extremely easy to repair, plus it's more or less unaffected by hacking-attempts, so no worries 'bout your gun blowing up'n yer face."
The Scott them opened a slide underneath the gun – that was why he'd pulled the small bar – and removed a piece of metal roughly the size and shape of a carton of cigarettes. Damn, so that was how ammunition looked these days? Thomas did know about the whole 'mass effect shaving off grains', but this was the first time he'd ever seen the actual ammunition.
"Tungsten, one kilo in each rifle, meaning you'll have some five hundred shots, give or take maybe two or three, depending on how well you maintain the damn thing. The heat sink's integrated in the rifle, so you'll only have to worry about the tungsten." He slid the block back in and pulled the small bar the other way, sealing the compartment; "I know someone's arguing we should make the heat sinks reloadable too, but then we might's well just go back to bullets, if yer ask me."
As Thomas simply nodded, Bob moved to slap the gun – showing clearly how to fold it up – onto the magnetic clamps on Thomas' back. Then, the Scott pulled up the next weapon in line: a sidearm, but a big one.
"That…is a big pistol. Not a Predator, I take it?"
"Aye lad, that's a Raikou Pistol. Fresh out of production, and punches dinner-plate-sized 'oles in anyone stupid or unlucky enough to be in front of them. That be, if they are unshielded. So try using it as a last stand choice, instead of ye primary firearm." He looked like someone presenting his daughter for marriage to a prince. Pistol or not, this thing weighed a lot less than the M9 pistols Thomas had worked with in Homeland Defense, and looked a lot more futuristic too.
Not surprising, given that he was in the future, as if his brain needed the reminder.
"About that…" the Voice started in a somewhat hesitant tone, causing Thomas to stare at a wall, pretending to study the shotgun-pieces on display. What?
"It is of course important that you know about the present time, but…I would suggest you take the first opportunity to use the extranet and look up some history."
"I know, I missed some hundred and fifty-something years."
"Hundred and sixty-eight, more like it…anyway, my point is that you should familiarize yourself with the…state, of Scandinavia."
"…meaning?" Thomas frowned.
"It would take too long to properly explain." The Voice brushed him off; "We will discuss it later, when you have a proper connection and the time to do so. For now, seeing how you have been properly equipped, I believe it should be your priority to make your way to the firing-ranges."
"Nothing's ever simple with you, is it?"
"Life would be unfathomably dull were that so."
"Rookie, what's taking so long?" Ashley called in through the comms of his helmet, demonstrating that yes, they did indeed work without him having even activated them.
"Equipment took a tad longer than we expected, Williams." Bob, for some reason, answered before Thomas even had a chance; "Don't blame the lad, I was the one chatting him up with technicalities."
"McGregor, I should have known…" curiously, she didn't sound the least bit angry; "Alright, I'm guessing you're done?"
"Yes, Chief." Thomas replied this time. He felt like a child if someone else had to do his talking, regardless of the good intentions; "I'm on my way right now."
With that, Thomas excused himself, holstered the Raikou and took off. Something he quickly realized was that the armor was heavier than he had expected, and after just a hundred meters, it was getting him winded just to jog. How by Tyr Ashley and the others could run around in these things was beyond him, meaning he was probably missing or overlooking something extremely simple.
What he did not overlook, however, was the sheer beauty of the surrounding landscapes. White prefabs made up the houses, and a street of dirt and gravel had taken over from simple mud, but still, it couldn't hide the natural beauty that was Eden Prime.
Eden Prime
Eden Prime
Eden Prime… nope, still gives me the chills.
Rounding the final corner of a red and white prefab – no doubt a military construction – Thomas spotted the firing range. Dog Squad was clearly under-prioritized when they had to train outside instead of in designated training-halls. Even the Homeland Defense had had those facilities, close to two-hundred years ago.
Spotting her pink and white Phoenix-armor before anyone else's, Thomas' eyes went to Ash as she directed the training. I mean, Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams. Damn, its hard not just calling her Ash. Guess it's only for the time being. When we meet up with Commander Sheppard, get shanghaied to his or her insane mission and take out the geth…
Geth.
Shit, that one was going to bite him in the ass sooner or later. He knew it, just didn't know when. It was a given, of course, that he wasn't going to take the original events lying down. Ashley had been the sole survivor of the squad, something he wasn't that keen on repeating.
Thomas liked the people on the squad. And even if he didn't, even if he had despised them on the cellular level, he still couldn't just let things happen. But…what could he do?
He could suggest that they stocked up on disruptor-rounds, or however the Hel that actually worked. But again, those were probably pretty damn expensive, meaning Ashley would want a damned good reason to put in a requisitions order for them, and Thomas wouldn't be able to give her one more plausible than the remote possibility of an Eclipse attack. Even then, normal rounds would kill mechs just fine.
Speaking of guns and such, Ashley was looking at him, pointing towards a booth with Ünalan standing in it. 'Guess I'm supposed to go have a shot at this. Get it, "have a shot?" Ahh, who am I kidding, I'm only fun when around Death… or whoever the hell he actually is. Alright, better go see how good a shot I actually am…
The target was a man-shaped piece of cardboard, roughly fifty meters away. That was a long shot with nothing but iron sights to go from. Luckily, the helmet did most of the aiming for him, something Thomas realized when he unfolded the rifle, and a crosshair appeared on his HUD. It moved perfectly in sync with his gun, and Thomas couldn't help a satisfied grin. I fucking love technology
Niiiice and easy. Breathe in…. breath out… in… out…
Press the trigger, nice and slow. Be ready for some kickback…
Babababang!
Okay, that was a lot better than I thought. There's practically no recoil on this thing. Must be something to do with Eezo. Everything's got something to do with Eezo these days.
Time to take a look at what he'd actually hit. Surprisingly, the result was actually a fine spray across the legs of the cardboard figure. Well, he'd crippled the thing, so that was always something. Okay, that just sounded wrong…
Never the less, it was a lot better than he'd feared. Thomas was of course, hoping for pure headshots, but what the Hel, he'd at least hit the damn thing. This sort of repeated action, with switching turns and aiming at cardboard, went on for most of the day, though the rest of Dog Squad seemed to be far better shots than him.
No big surprise there, really.
As the sun started reaching its zenith, the sound of a hungry belly alerted Thomas to the fact that yes, he was actually rather hungry. Somehow, the others knew it too, and the repetitive firing slowly trickled to a complete stop. Heads turned as the Chief started walking down their ranks;
"Alright people, let's get scrubbed up for mess." Ashley called, signaling what Thomas was waiting for and what the others knew was coming. He just hoped it would be something actually edible this time. Not much for eating glue again. I mean, seriously, we can have spaceships and laser guns, but food still sucks?! What the Hel?
As he turned to leave as well, Thomas found Ashley's hand on his torso. Her eyes locked with his through the visor, reflecting the setting sun. Such nice brown colors. He remained standing, not sure what to say, or if to even say anything.
"Uh… what does this mean?" he thought to himself, well aware that the Voice would probably take that as a directed question. He wasn't used to hot women even touching him, making this a less than familiar scenario.
"Well, it could imply that she has some feelings for you, and want to, what do you call it, kiss?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't… the hell; I wasn't even speaking to you. Please try keeping out of any thoughts concerning the certain female in front of me, okay?" Not to mention that he had known her for less than twenty-four hours. Thomas would not consider it even remotely realistic if she just… fell for him.
Donkey, for all he was a picture of probable sexism, was more likely to have that sort of luck. More power to him, I guess…
Thomas knew this was all likely nothing more than the effects of meeting someone like Ashley, and that Donkey, who had known her for so much longer, had all the more 'right' to her, if that was even a thing. Honestly, he'd feel a bit like a dick if he just 'took' the Chief, not that that would ever happen.
Plus, she was way out of his league, being a woman. That was, sadly, all it took with him. A point of immense frustration after he'd turned twenty, Thomas knew things weren't likely to change in that department. He just didn't have the guts to do… things. Or even flirt.
"Rookie, I don't recall giving you leave just yet" Her 'officer voice' cut through his train of thoughts. He snapped to a parade-stand, awaiting command. It was all muscle-memory, really, considering how much effort the drills back home had taken to make him live, breathe and eat discipline.
It was at least one trait he could use here.
"Ma'am?" he said, trying to sound as professional as he could with a beautiful woman's hand on his chest. Fuck, stop thinking like that. It's just going to end in pain eventually. Besides, Donkey was far more likely to end up with her, in case Shepard's a woman.
"Well, while you took your sweet time in the armory, the rest of the boys had at least ten rounds each. You are to do the same, or you'll run the colony's perimeter in full armor." Her voice still had that sternness to it, but Thomas thought he could see hints of that good ol' cocky smile through her helmet.
Also, considering just how big the colony turned out to be on the tour, he would pick the targeting-practice over running any day. Not to mention that he didn't know how many of those he had left. How many the colony had left.
"Yes ma'am."
The next thirty minutes went with shooting, cooling the gun and shooting. Thomas started turning the range into a downright cardboard-massacre. After some time, he remembered the jog from the armory to the field, and how hard it was;
"Chief, I've got a question if I may?"
"You may" Okay, guess we're still in soldier-commander mode.
"I noticed on the way to here from the armory that this suit is heavy as hell, and it's a light version. Is there some way to make the armor relieve some of that burden, or is the answer just a "get in better shape" kind of answer?"
"Yes." She stated, momentarily confounding the shit out of him; "Your armor's packed with servos in the joints, as well as along the back, right here where the blue lights are." She turned around and pointed at her own back, but as her hand was coming from the top, pointing down, Thomas couldn't help but follow that line down to her nice a- Brain, you fucking perv! Not going there, spank you very- Fuck!
"Yes ma'am. And the other half of the answer?" he asked courtly, keeping the professional tone as best he could.
"Well, that's just a matter of getting in a better shape, get used to the weight of that armor, and one day you'll be able to do acrobatics with it on" she gave him an encouraging smile. Dammit, it's almost like she reads my thoughts, and was toying with me. But oh no, I won't beaten by a horny brain. Oh no sire.
"I guess… so, food?" he asked, rolling his shoulders in the hardsuit. It was still kinda neat how it felt like wearing medieval armor, just high-tech. It even had pauldrons of reinforced plating.
"Right, so pack up your gear, unload your rifle, disassemble it and proceed to the mess." She said, then turned, leaving Thomas to his work. Great, so I'm stuck here again, fiddling with a futuristic weapon.
It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't forgotten completely how to disassemble it – mainly due to Ashley's form-fitting armor having distracted him – but in the end, he started getting it.
Ashley stopped walking when she had reached a good distance, the leaned against one of the prefabs as she observed the Rookie trying to work on his own.
It was a test of hers, one she did with every recruit, as a sort of trial to see if they could work by themselves. She had already given Fisher's medical record a read, and had come across a few interesting points. Most surprising was the fact that he was vaccinated against smallpox, a disease that had been wiped out more than fifty years back.
Odd, but not thát unusual. There were still plenty of people paranoid about diseases on Earth, especially in the Arcologies.
Also, the name 'Vestergaard Fisher' sounded eerily familiar, like she had heard it over and over at some point, yet she simply couldn't figure out when or in what context. Maybe, he had family in the Alliance higher ups? Grandfather had spent so many nights cursing the Alliance Leadership, she wouldn't write off the chance that he'd listed someone by that name…
Still then, why join a garrison if he had family up there?
For now, she set those thoughts aside as she kept her eyes on him. The recruit looked rather annoyed with the concept of having been ordered to disassemble his weapon. Although, he did make some progress. She wasn't close enough to hear him, but she could see that he was speaking. Simulated conversation maybe? She'd heard that could help stimulate some people's thought-processes.
"Alright Rookie, let's see what you're going to do…" She muttered to herself, keeping her eyes on the private.
"Pulling him through the test, are we?" A heavily accented voice came from next to her, causing the Chief to snap around with a fist curled but at the hip. She relaxed even as she recognized the voice of corporal Nadang, the South African soldier. He was leaned against the wall of the prefab, just next to her, looking at the recruit with the same eyes as her. Only, his held a slight measure of amusement; "You know, that's just not very nice."
"Corporal, sneaking up on your superior is hardly forgivable..." She grumbled, but her words didn't carry any actual threat. Rather, it was annoyance that she had been caught unaware, and in a highly unorthodox position. Unregulated too, if she had to be honest with herself.
Dammit.
"Sorry Ma'am, wasn't aware I was sneaking." He said, not taking his eyes off the recruit as said soldier unloaded the rifle, having found the bar that let the ammo-block slide free from the gun itself.
"So, how come you haven't joined the others in the mess, Corporal?" She asked after a few minutes of watching Fisher unsuccessfully fiddle with the mechanisms before finally managing to free the barrel from the main part of the weapon, placing it on the workbench next to the shooting range.
"Though I'd see how our newest member was doing on his own. Besides, it's Thursday." He said, as if that explained it all. Which, to Ashley, it did.
"Ah, 'Leftovers-day'" She noted, getting a nod from him. It was common knowledge that even the hardened veterans bailed out on 'Leftovers day' when they could, seeing as cold, reused oatmeal or stiff, cold scrambled eggs that had been reheated and added grown sausages of questionable quality, was less than ideal for consumption.
She still hadn't tracked down whomever had designed the meal-plans. But oh, she would get them, some day. And then there would be Hell to pay. Or Hel, depending on where they'd be from.
"Well, you know the saying ma'am, every meal is a banquet, every paycheck a fortune." He replied with a shrug, watching as Fisher started looking around for a case to put the now fully disassembled weapon in. Thát was the trick, seeing as there was no container or case. It took most people a while to simply say 'fuck it' and reassemble the weapon. Which was, in all its brilliance, the goal of the test.
"We're not the USMC, Nadang… can the props. Now, observe how the innocent creature known as the Rookie struggles to figure out…" she said, turning from Nadang and back to looking at the recruit. Fisher had, contrary to her idea, already started reassembling the gun. Dammit, had he even looked for a container?
"Private, what are you doing?" She called out, deciding to break off the test, seeing as he had sort of circumvented the idea. The recruit almost jumped on the spot, though he pulled himself together, frowning at the way he could clearly see Nadang cracking a smile at the Chief's annoyance.
"Private, what are you doing?" Ashley suddenly barked, appearing just beyond the corner of a house and… what the flying pancake was Bolin laughing at? Thomas was torn between being horrified at Ashley's temper, and being pissed at the corporal.
In the end, he opted for the former.
"Ehm… I'm… putting the gun back together, Chief." he said, feeling like a complete moron. He knew he'd fuck something up before the day was out, and here was the proof. Not sure what he'd fucked up, but with the annoyance clear on Ashley's face, Thomas must have broken something. Also, since when did she get back from the mess so fast?
"Why are you putting it back together when I told you to take it apart?" She demanded, pointing at the halfway assembled rifle on the workbench. Well, there wasn't anywhere he could put the damn thing now, was there? The only logical way he would have been able to transport it would have been to put it back together.
"Well… I couldn't find a place to put the parts, so I thought I should just put it back together. I was wrong, right?" he muttered, not quite having the balls to spell out his line of thought. It was also really strange, but this reminded him of a practice the drill sergeants used to pull on them if they were all sleepy or didn't pay well enough attention:
Pick the gun apart and put it back together. Repeat and repeat and repeat… Gods was it dull at times. Still, the principles were the same, so this was a little easier than he'd thought. Thank Thor for muscle-memorization.
"I… well, no. But…" Ashley actually seemed lost for words now. He wasn't aware that she was mentally cursing over him looking like a kicked puppy; "Dammit… I haven't had people figure it out this fast before"
"Before?" he asked, now completely out of the loop. Figure out what, exactly?
"Never mind. Just finish up and get something to eat. Nadang, show him where to store his rifle." She said, gesturing for the corporal to stop cracking up and go help the private. Thomas stared, blinking as he tried processing the scene. In the end though, he put the gun back together, folded it up and followed the others to the mess.
And he still had no idea just what he'd done.
August 4th
Eden Prime, Garrison barracks
19:22
The days started becoming something of a fixated point of reference, with each day being the same as the former. After we get up, we dress then go eat breakfast. Usually, that breakfast consisted of what passed for oatmeal. Thomas was not doubting that it was healthy, and it sure did fill the stomach, but by Frey, it tasted like someone shat in a pot and cooked it!
After breakfast, or nightfast, he supposed it could be called – Constant was on a part of Eden Prime where the mornings were pitch-black –, the squad would train at the shooting range where they practiced with a wide assortment of weapons, including Assault Rifles, AR Carbines, Shotguns, pistols and long-distance firing.
This would keep up for around eight solid hours until lunch, which was at the time of Eden Prime midday, meaning around 14:30. After that, there would be either team-building exercises or trekking in the hills.
Thomas had to admit, even if there was a very real risk of Saren vaporizing the place… Eden Prime is fucking beautiful. I mean, it's like… paradise without all the animals, I guess.
So far the only animals he had seen were birds, cattle, dogs and a really weird native species called a 'gas-bag'.
While trekking was gorgeous, it did have its downs.
Especially because the trekking consisted of a near-constant run while wearing full equipment and gear. If there was always one thing Thomas hated about Homeland Defense, it was the running. And Gods, they were running a lot here
At least he'd gotten the hang of using his servos to do most of the work for him, which was nice.
The trekking lasted hours – hours – where they were running around the hills. Ashley and Donkey leading the way.
Donkey… Damn Thomas felt bad for him. At first he was wondering why they called him 'Donkey', but when he looked at the guy's nameplate… 'Wallace Dorati Donk' did seem like something he would have invented a new name to cover too.
Thomas wondered if Donkey's parents hate him that much?
Still, the squad was actually starting to almost feel familiar to him now, having spent three days here awake.
There was Ashley Williams, of course, the official commanding officer with her rank being Gunnery Chief.
Then there was Donkey, the sergeant and second in command.
Bates was another soldier Thomas didn't meet until the day before, when the squad met up at the bar. The bar… again, poor Donkey. Probably like himself, Thomas wasn't sure yet, he had the hots on for Ashley. And really, who wouldn't? But… to see his attempt at sweet-talking her over the drinks, only to have her say that she would prefer Pennyloafer over him? That made me feel sorry for the poor sod. Still, Bates commented that he wouldn't mind seeing some quote 'Hot girl on girl' action, end quote. He struck Thomas as a bit of a simple character, a stereotype to their gender, but basically an okay guy.
Hillary Pennyloafer was the second woman on the squad, easing some of the female burden from Ashley, he'd bet. She seemed like she was the same age as Ashley, but often thought like an older woman, and sometimes like a teenager. It was really, really funny having her around actually, plus the first time Thomas saw her, he thought she was a boy. The main reason was that she…well, she did not really have much of a defining chest to speak of.
Something he, luckily, had not had the chance to mention.
Then, of course there was Bolin Nadang and Jim Norroty. Both were cool guys, whom Thomas suspected of having joined up at the same time. Mainly because they both had the same accents, and Jim being just dark enough that his family could be from Africa as well. Bolin seemed to be more of an easy-come easy-go kinda person, while 'Jimmy' was a lot more serious and struggled to do everything better than the rest of them.
A career-soldier in the making. Thomas had seen that before, with people back home. One of his best friends had set his sights on a career in the navy, even went as far as to becoming an officer. A scowl found its way to his face when he realized this. Nikolai had been one of his very few close friends for almost ten years.
Now, he was just another face he would never see again.
"So… Sergeant. How did your persuasion attempt with Ashley go?" Hillary asked, cracking a smile in the process.
Some of the other main reasons Thomas had thought she was a guy was because she has short blond hair and a quite muscular frame. Hel, her face was pretty damn boyish too, giving her a… 'charmingly gruff' female appearance, once you knew she was a woman.
Of course, she knew how it went, seeing as she and Ashley ended up fake-making out – though to Thomas it looked very much real, why were women allowed to do that kind of thing with no questions asked while men couldn't? – just to send Donkey over the top, with Hillary sitting on Ashley's lap, both looking at the sergeant with puppy-eyes, swapping saliva while making soft moans. Even though Thomas might have had a crush on Ashley, watching her play around like that was simply priceless and hilarious, not to mention erection-inducing. Honestly, he had not seen that part of her coming.
"Shut it Private." The sergeant muttered, hitting the light switch. Or, palming it really, seeing as it was one of those haptic interface-things where you would just touch it. Still, the red glow was rather annoying in the darkness, even if it was dying out after a few seconds. The only light remaining was Norroty reading something on his Omnitool. Ashamed as he was to say it, Thomas hadn't yet gotten down to the history-lesson the Voice wanted him to read.
He more or less understood how the tool itself worked, though he'd be buggered if a haptic interface wasn't the most annoying thing in the world. Either you'd need gloves for it, or – and this pissed him off more than just a little – you would need small chips in your fingertips, something the clinic had seen fit to slip in while he was under.
They could stick their Hippocratic Oath up where even Mimir couldn't see it.
"Aye sir." She laughed back, the sound of her back hitting the bunk following her voice. After a while, Norroty shut off his Omnitool, leaving the newcomer in the complete darkness. This was the part Thomas hated…
These people… they were great people, good people, and honestly it was tearing Thomas apart with guilt, knowing that he couldn't save them.
Or he could try, which would result in them just laughing at him… ignoring what he said right up until Saren would come in, guns blazing with his big ship. And if they all survived that somehow… they would ask just how the fuck he'd known.
There really was no way of getting around this, was there?
Fuck me… why did I have to end up here of all places? Why did I have to get to know a bunch of people who just get to die anyway because Hudson and BioWare decided on it?
And Thomas didn't even know when the shit would hit the fan, which was really what bothered him the most. The dig site had been open for almost a week now, with some people from the Citadel bound to arrive soon to look at the beacon. And… Saren would probably arrive at some point before or after that… Fuuuuuuuuck….why can't this be simple?
"Maybe because simple would require that you shared all your knowledge of the coming events with everyone, which in turn could mess with the timeline, or 'canon' as you put it, rendering your knowledge useless."
"Thanks for the pep-talk…" Thomas muttered, turning over under the blanket. Underneath the covers, he brought out the datapad he'd been putting off reading. Now was as good a time as any, really.
It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight anyway…
Codex Entry: Second Kalmar Union
Following the Scandinavian Revolutions in 1810, representatives from each country's revolutionary governments – Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland and Finland – met in Stockholm to discuss a treaty between the nations. The result was the Unification Treaty of Kalmar, which became the founding document of the Second Kalmar Union.
In 1864, Prussian Chancellor Otto von Bismarck embarked on a war of conquest over the dispute between the Kalmar Union member, Denmark, and the states of Schleswig-Holstein.
While the Danish soldiers were relatively quickly overwhelmed at the old walls of Danevirke, the Prussian invasion was stopped short in its tracks at the siege of Dybøl, when armored warships arrived from Oslo, carrying Union troops and artillery, as well as Samish mercenaries.
The Prussian soldiers, previously in a superior shelling-position, were now caught between the Danish defenders, and the landing reinforcements coming up from the southern fjord. The battle turned into a bloodbath, with neither side achieving true victory, though the Prussian soldiers were eventually forced to retreat to a more defensible position, allowing the defenders a pyrrhic victory, if nothing else.
The war concluded with the signing of a ceasefire, granting Denmark the state of Schleswig, while Holstein remained neutral as a future buffer between the great nations. This war, while hurtful to the relations between later Germany and Scandinavia, served to bring the Kalmar Union closer together, finally cementing the alliance as military as well as political in name as well as deed.
Later on, Scandinavia remained pointedly neutral during the First World War, despite both sides heavily arguing their case to the northern union. As such, the Kalmar Union prospered from trading with both sides of the conflict, as well as Schleswig functioning as a statewide sanctuary for displaced populations, as well as a neutral treatment-site for both sides.
The Second World War forced the Union into action when Russian soldiers invaded Finland in 1939, and the Kalmar Union entered the war on the side of the Allies. Though Finland eventually fell to the Soviet Union in 1940, Swedish and Danish warships harassed the soviet supply-ships crossing the Baltic Sea, forcing Stalin to send his supply routes across the Siberian, then the Finnish steppes and forests, the latter providing amble opportunity for Finnish partisans to ambush them.
When Russia was attacked by Germany, and as a result thereof sided with the Allies, Scandinavia pulled out of the war, refusing to fight side by side with the soldiers currently occupying the lands of its member nation, Finland. The war was eventually won by the Allies, though historians have argued that the casualties could have been much diminished had the Union not pulled out.
During the Cold War, the Kalmar Union managed a tense relationship with the USSR, refusing to acknowledge Soviet ownership of eastern Finland, though lacking the capacity to retake the lost territory. When the North Atlantic Treaty Organization was formed as a counter to the Warsaw-pact, the Kalmar Union joined as a single entity, determined to remain unified.
In 2016, at the outbreak of the Third World War, Scandinavia fought with Nato against Russian forces in Northern Europe, primarily focusing their military capacities in the Baltic Sea, Finland's border with Russia, and the North Atlantic.
At the end of the War, approximately two million Union troops had been killed in action, and five million civilians had been killed by the fighting, primarily in Finland where Russian Bear-Bombers had carpet-bombed the capital, or in sea-side towns and harbors targeted by Russian missile cruisers.
As a result of the War, Finland regained the entirety of its old territory from Russia, and the Kalmar Union remained a unified superpower, capable of impacting international politics with respect and willpower alone. Members of the European Union, which the Kalmar Union remains a partner if not key-member of, have often voiced criticism of the Unions overtly militarized societies, maintaining compulsory military service for all eligible men and women within its borders.
At the turn of the next century, the Kalmar Union had grown to include Kaliningrad and Estonia. The Baltic states became the first Christian countries to join the previously pure-Asatru Union. In 2131, pro-Russian separatism flourished in Eastern Europe, clandestinely funded and supported by Russian President Joseph Igor Malevich.
Despite the evidence of Russian involvement, the European Union was facing a decline in economic capability, and as such depended too much on Russian energy to punish what was in simplicity foreign state-sponsored anarchy. The Kalmar Union levied heavy sanctions on Russia when Kaliningrad experienced similar uprisings, but due to official denial of involvement, the Union was unable to declare a state of war without breaking international law.
As a counter-measure to destabilization of a member-state, Union troops were sent to combat the insurrectionism in Kaliningrad, and shortly thereafter were engaged by 'self-defense troops' from the separatist-controlled parts of the small nation. When Russia threatened with a full-scale intervention in the Baltic state, the Kalmar Union was forced to retract its peace-keeping forces, and Kaliningrad eventually left the Union before dissolving into city-states ruled by pro-Russian officials.
Relations between the Union and Russia progressively deteriorated to the point where the 'cold' war between the two factions seemed ready to go hot. The only reason this never happened, was the discovery of alien ruins on Mars, which led to the formation of the Human Systems Alliance. When the first human-settled world of Shanxi was attacked by the Turian Hierarchy in 2154, the Kalmar Union joined the Alliance, putting aside old grudges with Russia in the face of extraterrestrial threats.
It remains a significant powerbase to this day, and maintains military bases on several colonies in the inner systems. Union Army Trainers are highly sought after for their expertise in guerrilla-style winter warfare.
One of the Alliance's two Battleship-class warships were designed by the Union Naval Ministry, and has been dubbed the Níðhöggr (read Nidhogg) from the dragon of the Norse underworld. As a main participant of the EFEC and lacking in substantial spaceports, the Scandinavia does not supply the Alliance with actual warships, though the majority of the navy's medicinal equipment originates from Sweden.
A/N
So, as you can see, I am taking some extreme liberties with world history.
I regret nothing!