Eight weeks later
"Retreat! I'll send you the nav point where all teams gather!" Norah's voice crackled over the radio, calm but urgent.
Ellen glanced at her omni-tool, watching a blinking dot pop up on the map about 100 yards ahead. She was alone now, the last member of her squad. As she moved, she stuck close to the walls of derelict buildings, keeping her profile low to avoid enemy fire.
Her heart pounded as she neared the rendezvous point, but just as she passed an alley, her instincts screamed at her. She dove forward—barely in time. Bullets peppered the wall where she'd been standing, sending sharp cracks reverberating through the air.
"Close one", she muttered, rolling onto her feet. She fired a few shots down the alley to discourage her unseen attackers before sprinting the last stretch to the nav point.
When she arrived, three recruits were already waiting for her: Norah, Alex, and Carl Jenkins.
"Is that it? Is there no one else left?" Ellen asked, breathing heavily, her voice tinged with disbelief. When the mock battle started, there had been thirty recruits divided into ten squads.
Norah gave her a regretful look through her helmet visor. "No. This is all that's left. Our opponents were… effective."
Their "opponents" were the recruits from Camp Paloma. Chief Grayson had explained at the start of the exercise that this mock battle was a long-standing tradition. Camp Paloma and Camp Cody faced off regularly to determine which base trained the better recruits. The battlefield was a square kilometer of abandoned buildings, crumbling infrastructure, and wrecked vehicles, all perfectly suited for urban combat drills.
"We're losing because our platoon has too many women," Carl Jenkins grumbled, his voice a deep growl full of disdain. The brawny recruit had earned a reputation for being abrasive, overly aggressive, and utterly lacking in tact. His unpleasant attitude didn't win him many allies.
Alex, standing nearby, didn't hesitate. She slammed the butt of her rifle into the side of Jenkins' helmet. "Shut your mouth," she snapped. "Norah led your team, and you're still standing. Maybe be grateful instead of a jackass."
Jenkins grunted but didn't argue, rubbing the side of his helmet.
"Any idea how many Paloma recruits are left?" Ellen asked, breaking the tension.
Norah tilted her head, considering. "I'm guessing twelve, maybe fifteen."
Ellen gave a low whistle. "So about half. They tore us apart."
"Nothing's lost yet." Norah crouched and gestured for the others to gather around. Her voice was steady, even as her words carried the weight of their dwindling odds. "I have a plan. Check your maps."
Ellen brought up the map on her omni-tool. Three spots were marked on the grid.
"Divide and conquer," Norah explained, her tone firm. "We'll split up. Smaller groups mean we'll be harder to spot. Ellen, you take the left route. Jenkins, you're on the middle. I'll take the right flank."
"And me?" Alex asked, raising an eyebrow.
Norah turned to her with a faint smile. "You're our best shot. While they're focused on us, you'll circle around and pick them off from behind. Keep them guessing."
Ellen couldn't help but grin. The plan was bold—desperate, even—but it might just work.
Alex, however, folded her arms, unimpressed. "And how exactly am I supposed to cover all three of you at once?"
Norah pointed upward. "You take the rooftops. Stay quiet, and they won't even know you're there."
Alex gave a playful salute, her grin sly. "Yes, sir, ma'am."
Ellen clasped her hands together, boosting Alex up onto the nearest rooftop. Alex moved with ease, disappearing into the shadows above. Ellen watched her go before turning her attention to her own path. Clutching her Avenger assault rifle, she headed toward her assigned position. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, sharpening her senses but making it hard to keep still. Her fingers tightened around the weapon as if that would steady her nerves.
"See anyone?" Norah's voice came over the comms, breaking the silence after a few tense minutes.
Ellen was about to respond when movement caught her eye. Down the alley, one of the Paloma recruits stood with his back turned, studying the façade of a crumbling cement building.
She didn't hesitate. Raising her rifle, she fired a clean shot, catching him square in the back. The hit made him stumble, startled, and he reflexively spun around, weapon ready—but it was no use. He was eliminated. Lowering his rifle in acknowledgment, he nodded at Ellen before trudging off toward the assembly point for the defeated.
"One down. Fourteen left," Ellen reported, a hint of relief in her voice.
"Nice work," Norah replied.
A sudden burst of gunfire echoed about twenty yards away.
"Zhao, I need you here!" Jenkins barked over the radio, his voice strained.
"I'm on my way!"
The gunfire intensified, followed by Jenkins' frustrated growl. "Are you blind or what? How can you miss—" His voice cut out abruptly.
The silence was telling. In this exercise, being "eliminated" meant an immediate disconnect from radio traffic, ensuring the fallen couldn't help their team further.
"Looks like Jenkins didn't make it," Alex chimed in, her voice tinged with dry amusement. "But on the bright side, three more of them are out. That's eleven left."
Norah let out a small laugh. "You'll have to tell me later how you got him. I need the story."
"You really don't," Alex replied, smirking. "El, heads up. I've got eyes on two near your position. Stay sharp. I'm heading your way."
Ellen nodded, even though Alex couldn't see her. Moving cautiously, she entered a large square. Low walls dotted the area, offering plenty of cover. She ducked behind one just as two Paloma recruits appeared on the opposite side.
"Alex, where are you?" Ellen asked, her voice tight as several bullets slammed into the wall behind her, sending fragments of cement flying.
"Almost there," Alex replied calmly.
A second later, Ellen heard the sharp crack of two bursts fired from above.
"Got them," Alex announced. "But we've got three more closing in on you. When I say now, dive left and cover the alley across from you. Got it?"
"Roger that," Ellen whispered, gripping her rifle tightly as she reloaded.
The silence stretched on, every muscle in Ellen's body coiled like a spring. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she forced herself to take a deep breath, steadying her aim.
Then Alex's voice rang out. "NOW!"
Without hesitation, Ellen dove to the left, raising her rifle and firing toward the alley Alex had indicated. Her shots found their marks, dropping the three recruits in quick succession before her magazine ran dry.
"Got them! Thanks, Alex!" Ellen called, her voice triumphant.
No response.
"Alex?" she tried again, her heart sinking slightly. "Hey, are you still there?"
Ellen got up and glanced at the roof, where Alex shrugged casually and made a slicing motion across her neck. That left only her and Norah against—what? Five or six? She didn't want to think too hard about the odds.
"Damn, where are you guys? They're chasing me, and I'm out of ammo!" Norah's voice crackled through Ellen's helmet comms.
Ellen quickly checked her omni-tool to pinpoint Norah's location. She was close, running south and barely keeping ahead of her pursuers.
"Run left at the next opportunity. I'll meet you there," Ellen said, sprinting as she shoved her last magazine into her assault rifle.
She kept low as she ran, weaving between shattered walls and debris, her boots crunching softly against the broken pavement. Movement flashed in the corner of her eye—a recruit from Camp Paloma. He was positioned to cut Norah off, but Ellen raised her rifle, fired a short burst, and sent him to the rally point for the eliminated.
"El, are you still there?!" Norah's voice was sharper now.
Ellen checked the map again, her thumb tracing Norah's path. "Don't worry. Next right, then left, then let yourself fall. Trust me."
Ellen reached a corner and pressed herself against the rough concrete, her breath steady but her heart racing. She tightened her grip on her rifle, listening for the pounding of boots. A moment later, Norah came into view, sprinting full tilt.
"Down!" Ellen yelled.
Norah didn't hesitate. She threw herself forward, hitting the dirt just as four recruits barreled around the corner, their focus entirely on her. They didn't even see Ellen until it was too late. She fired in controlled bursts, dropping them one after another until the rifle clicked empty.
Silence fell, save for the distant hum of shuttles and the soft rustle of wind through the abandoned buildings.
The four recruits sat up slowly, their expressions a mix of disbelief and frustration. "We lost?" one of them muttered, shaking his head.
Norah stood, dusting herself off and removing her helmet. Her hair clung to her forehead, damp with sweat, but her grin was unmistakable. "Not bad, Ellen," she said, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
"Not bad?" Ellen echoed, skeptical. She tugged off her helmet, her face flushed from exertion. "That's probably the greatest compliment I've ever gotten from you. Also, you're welcome."
She laughed, and Norah couldn't help but join in, her earlier tension melting into relief.
One of the defeated Paloma recruits scuffed a boot against the ground, muttering, "We let some girls beat us up? Seriously? The chief's gonna kill us."
Before Ellen or Norah could respond, Alex dropped lightly from the roof and landed beside them, brushing imaginary dust from her shoulders.
"Oh, we'll get back at you anytime—" Alex started, but Norah nudged her sharply in the ribs with her elbow.
"What she actually meant to say," Norah interjected smoothly, "is that it was a very good match from both camps."
Alex crossed her arms, grumbling under her breath, but relented. "Yeah, fine. You guys weren't that bad."
Before any more could be said, their omni-tools blinked. Ellen pulled up the message. "The drill is over. Meet at the rally point."
Together, the trio began their walk through the labyrinth of alleys, their boots crunching against the rubble-strewn ground. A light breeze swept through the area, carrying with it the faint smell of scorched metal from earlier firefights.
When they reached the landing pad for the shuttles, the other recruits were already lined up in neat rows, separated by camp. Ellen, Norah, and Alex hurried to the back of their line, their grins uncontainable. Despite the fatigue, they stood tall, knowing they had clinched the victory for Camp Cody.
"Recruits, I'm almost a little proud of you," Grayson began, his tone carrying just enough gruffness to keep them from getting too comfortable. "You managed to avenge last year's embarrassing defeat—barely. And apart from one questionable shot that took Jenkins out—" he paused, casting a pointed glance at Alex, who smirked unapologetically, "—your performance was... acceptable."
A brief pause hung in the air, but then Grayson's mouth twitched into what might have been a smile. "You get the rest of the day off."
Cheers erupted from the recruits. Ellen could practically feel the relief in the air; the past weeks had been brutal, with little in the way of downtime. Yet as the numbers thinned—thanks to dropouts and voluntary exits—there had been subtle changes in the tone of camp life. Even Grayson, who once seemed like an unmovable wall of authority, had softened just enough to let the occasional dry joke slip.
Beside them, Camp Paloma's chief was less forgiving. His voice cut through the cheers like a whip. "Embarrassing. That's the only word I have for you lot. You're a disgrace. Get in the shuttles now, before I make you walk the entire way back!"
Grumbling and dejected, the Paloma recruits began to shuffle toward their shuttles, shoulders slumped in defeat. Ellen couldn't help but watch them go, her own emotions caught between pride and a faint sense of sympathy.
"You guys really pulled it off."
Ellen turned to see Lauren approaching with Olivia at her side. Both looked more relaxed than they had in weeks, their helmets tucked under their arms.
"We watched the whole thing through your helmet cams," Lauren continued with an approving nod.
"It was a solid match," Ellen replied, adjusting her rifle on her shoulder. She still felt the lingering buzz of adrenaline in her veins.
"But nothing compared to what's waiting for us out there," Olivia said, her voice quieter, more thoughtful. Her gaze lifted toward the sky, where the first stars were beginning to pierce the deepening twilight.
Ellen followed her gaze, the momentary calm allowing the weight of Olivia's words to sink in. They might've won today, but soon enough, this controlled exercise would be replaced by something far more unpredictable—and far more dangerous.
Without another word, the three of them boarded the next shuttle, its engines humming softly. As the craft lifted off, Ellen glanced back at the empty training ground, the site of their victory quickly fading into the distance.
The ride back to camp was short, but it carried a quiet sense of triumph—and the unspoken understanding that this might be one of their last moments of ease before reality came crashing down.
After a long shower, Ellen found herself at a loss with the unexpected free time. Drying her hair with a towel, she sat on her bunk and decided to text her mom.
Hey Mom,
Everything okay at home?
The basic training's been better lately. The last two weeks haven't been as brutal, so I think we'll all make it—
Before she could finish the sentence, an arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her back slightly.
"You can finish that tomorrow, El," Alex said, grinning. "We're going out to celebrate!"
Ellen turned, startled. "Celebrate? Where? Did you finally stumble on some mythical Alliance bar?"
"Of course," Alex replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. "I was on the boys' floor earlier, and one of them mentioned a shed a few miles from here. It's like a pub, but... you know... rustic."
Ellen raised an eyebrow. "You were visiting someone?"
Alex's grin widened, but she waved the question off. "Later."
Ellen sighed, her body still aching from the mock battle. "Fine, a few drinks couldn't hurt."
About an hour later, Ellen found herself sitting at a weathered wooden table in what could only be described as a bar that had stood still for at least 150 years. The dimly lit interior was a patchwork of mismatched chairs, peeling paint, and dented brass fixtures. Ellen liked it, though—it had a rough charm, the kind of place where no one cared about rank or appearances.
The air buzzed with noise. Waitresses weaved deftly between crowded tables, balancing trays of drinks, while the hum of conversations mixed with the occasional clink of glasses.
Ellen's table was lively, with Norah, Alex, and Ida keeping the energy high. Across the room, Karen and Holly—two women Ellen had butted heads with during her first week—were engrossed in a game of pool. Their rivalry had simmered down after Ellen outperformed them in a few training exercises. These days, they left each other in peace.
By the bar, five broad-shouldered men in Alliance uniforms lined the stools, their presence impossible to miss. Jenkins sat stiffly among them, a stark contrast to his boisterous companions: William Smith, John O'Malley, Shaun Gunner, and Keith Milow. That group had earned a reputation for keeping morale high with their antics, cracking jokes even when the exercises had pushed everyone to their limits.
Well, all of them except Jenkins, who mostly loitered at the edge of the laughter.
As Ellen sipped her drink, she noticed one of the men at the bar stand and saunter toward their table. It was Shaun—a tall, dark-haired man with warm brown eyes and a rugged charm about him. His square jaw and crooked nose hinted at a history of scuffles, but Ellen thought it suited him.
Without hesitation, he walked up to Alex, leaned down, and planted a kiss on her lips.
"Oh no, Alex has a new crush," Ellen teased, a smirk tugging at her lips. She winced as Norah gave her a light kick under the table.
"Yes, she does," Shaun replied, unfazed, his laughter warm and genuine. "Mind if I steal her for a bit? There's a jukebox in the back, and I have a feeling Alex might want to dance."
Alex giggled, cheeks flushing, and let him gently pull her toward the back of the bar. Ellen watched them go, sipping her beer in amusement.
"Our little rebel looks happy," Norah commented, her voice softer than usual. "How did she manage to hide it from us?"
"I caught her making out once," Ida chimed in, a playful glint in her eye.
Ellen set her bottle down with an exaggerated gasp, feigning outrage. "And you didn't think to tell me?!"
Ida shrugged, grinning. "I figured you already knew. Besides, it didn't seem like a big deal."
Ellen shook her head, leaning back in her chair. "It's hard to keep track of each other these days, even though we're stuck together all day. We barely get any free time to actually talk."
As if summoned by the lull in conversation, Keith Milow approached their table. He stood out from the other male recruits—leaner, polished, with a distinctly British charm. His accent and neatly parted hair gave him an air of effortless confidence.
He stopped in front of Ida, offering a small, crooked bow. "May I have the honor of a dance with the loveliest recruit in the Alliance?" he asked, his voice low but laced with playful sincerity.
Ida stammered something incoherent, her cheeks pink, but allowed herself to be led to the dance floor.
As the jukebox started up, the first chords of an old rock song spilled into the room. Recruits and civilians alike began to move to the beat, laughter and energy filling the space. Ellen watched as the once-stiff atmosphere of the training camp dissolved into something freer, lighter.
Norah leaned forward on the table, her chin resting on the back of her hands, one foot tapping absently to the music. The soft light of the bar caught in her golden-blond hair, a few loose strands framing her face in an almost ethereal glow. Her eyes, lit by the flickering bar lights, seemed to shimmer with quiet amusement.
Ellen's gaze lingered. It drifted to Norah's lips—full and slightly parted, curving into a small smile. A warmth spread through Ellen's chest, mixing with a twinge of fear. She'd felt this way for a while, but the thought of saying anything to Norah was terrifying. It wasn't just the risk of rejection. It was the possibility of complicating their service to the Alliance, of losing the steady friendship they'd built since childhood.
Norah turned her head, smiling as though she were about to say something. But her expression shifted when she noticed Ellen staring. Her brow lifted in curiosity, surprise flickering in her eyes.
Before anything could be said, someone stepped up to Ellen's side. A hand extended toward her, and when she looked up, she recognized John O'Malley. His messy brown hair nearly obscured his eyes, and his boyish grin was as disarming as ever.
"Care to dance, Webber?" he asked.
Relieved at the sudden distraction, Ellen took his hand with a grin. "Only if you're buying me a tequila after, O'Malley."
He laughed, tugging her toward the dance floor. "Deal."
As they moved to the beat of the faster song that followed, John leaned in slightly. "You were incredible out there today," he said, his voice loud enough to cut through the noise.
"Thanks," Ellen replied, a little embarrassed. "But honestly? We got lucky."
"Jenkins didn't think so," John chuckled. "He's still sulking because Zhao shot him."
Alex twirled past them, Shaun close behind. "Serves him right," she called over her shoulder. "Maybe next time he'll learn how to treat a lady!"
"Noted," John said with mock seriousness, glancing at Ellen. "Remind me to always be a perfect gentleman with Alex around."
They laughed, dancing through another two songs before retreating to the bar for the promised tequila. Ellen scanned the room while waiting for her drink, hoping to catch a glimpse of Norah, but the crowd made it impossible.
When the bartender finally slid her shot across the counter, Ellen downed it in one swift motion. She made her way back to their table, the buzz of the alcohol already warming her chest, but when she arrived, it was empty.