“Their bodies are distinctive. The strange smoky texture of their flesh gives it away. They can change, molding themselves into whichever shape best suits their needs. If you see one, you’re already dead. Your body just doesn’t know it yet.” – Data-net post concerning the creatures that attacked Earth.

  “Lieutenant Singh, report.” Lieutenant Colonel Moran commanded from Capitan Griffin’s place in the center of the briefing room. It had only been a few hours since the last squad returned to the ship, after which a non-stop tornado of activity consumed every member of Charlie Company. When things finally slowed down, an unknown officer showed up out of the blue to demand an After-Action Report.

  When a deployed vessel returned with injured ground troops, people acted fast to get them taken care of with an admirable sense of urgency. The routine was so common, the soldiers expected to see a small contingent of Phantoms ready to operate the moment the company ship was reattached to the hub. When a mission with a comatose captain, a near fifty percent injury rate and a recently tortured civilian, that urgency was significantly greater.

  It even came with a debrief from the senior brass.

  Jack felt like every Phantom on the hub-ship was waiting for them. The moment the airlock sealed, about fifty soldiers rushed through and immediately began healing injuries as quickly as possible. Fortunately, they only had to carry a few off on stretchers; the rest could be treated with relative ease.

  As one of the more grievously injured soldiers, Nessa was the second to be taken away on one of those stretchers.

  The first was Captain Griffin.

  “Yes Sir,” the leader of First Platoon said, casting several images to the holographic projector, “Overall, First Platoon’s mission was a success and can be recorded as such. However, intel greatly underestimated the number of enemy forces. To put it mildly, they were significantly higher than reported. This mistake nearly wiped out my assault squad.”

  “Striker squad eliminated nearly forty Raak’Shee before the enemy tried to retreat. However, as is evident from the holes in my squad, three injuries were severe enough to warrant emergency surgery. Those soldiers are currently with the Phantoms and should be back to fighting shape within a few months.”

  The images cycled as she spoke. First showing a photo of a soldier’s face, then changing to a detailed explanation of their injuries. Of those, two had multiple broken bones that needed to be re-knit by a Phantom. Sadly, the third was undergoing extensive reconstruction after being ground away by the gears of battle. It was so severe; he was currently under the direct care of one of the highest-ranking Phantom Corpsmen on the hub-ship.

  “Equipment losses were higher than expected, which we all know is a sticking point with battalion. Overall, I call this mission a success,” The Officer returned to her chair, wiping the pictures with the projector as she did.

  “Would anyone from the First be willing to provide a statement that points out the failings of today and how to make them better?” Moran asked.

  As much as he hated taking after-action reports, the Colonel knew that allowing soldiers a moment to provide feedback usually ended up saving time and money down the line.

  “Well, not to state the obvious, but everything woulda gone better if nobody got hurt,” Sergeant Sanchez stood. “But that should go without saying. Those overgrown rhinos had the weight of sheer numbers on their side. Luckily, we occasionally punched them back enough to retrieve our injured. But it’s like the LT said, you’re lucky there is even a squad standing here right now.”

  “So,” the Colonel said patiently, “What exactly would you change?”

  “Breakers. We need more of ‘em. In total, we only have what… two or three at most? I can’t remember what Smith is. He doesn’t really like talking about himself much.”

  “Man, we’ve fought together for eleven years, and you still can’t remember that I’m a breaker?” A voice—presumably Smith—said from the formation.

  “I mean, it’s like he doesn’t even want to help,” he continued, his amused smile reminding everyone to laugh in the face of pain, “Anyway, long story short; we need better heavy armor in a bad way. Not to mention more options for blades. Those Raak take entirely too many rounds to kill with rifles.”

  The Lieutenant Colonel, already tired of listening to the report, responded with a slight nod before turning to Second Platoon and signing for the Lieutenant to begin.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Amor started, his rich tenor accented by his French heritage, “Second Platoon, more specifically Nebula Squad, was successful in their mission today. While I tend to agree with Singh that the higher number of targets threw off their game, they pulled through quite nicely.”

  “Any injuries?”

  “None that require your attention or intervention. Our wounds were small enough that most should be combat ready by the end of the day.”

  “Rose, do you have anything to add?” The Battalion Commander asked, turning to the large black man.

  He stood to address the officer, “Yes Sir, I want to congratulate Turaspeir publicly. They pulled off a major mission that frankly should have never come to our company, and they did it with minimal issues. Compared to how my squad got started, these cats are squared away at a level we only dreamed of.”

  “Thank you for that. But as you know, we will get to Turaspeir when we get to Turaspeir. Do you have anything else to add?”

  “Yes Sir. Truthfully, we could have probably done better. We are a heavily defensive squad best prepared for long, drawn-out battles from an entrenched position. Like First; we can defend for days, but have very few close combat options.”

  “Good to know. I will let the Battalion armorers know that Charlie Company will be requesting new armor loadouts,” Moran replied, turning to the next Platoon Leader, “Valentine, you’re up.”

  “Yes Sir,” she said, standing to address the room with her fast-paced speech, “Blackrock Squad was successful in our mission, but we have several casualties. Of those, only one was injured mortally. He is being transferred to the Re:Birth server as we speak.”

  “Is he joining the Steel Cast? Do I need to call for backfill from Algol?”

  “Yes Sir, he didn’t retain enough organic tissue for Li-Tech to provide life support. As you know, it can easily take several months for a soldier to be fully comfortable in their new skin. Even when he recovers, we know he will be reassigned to the Steel Brigade. If possible, we request a replacement Possessor.”

  The Lieutenant stopped talking but did not take her seat.

  “Well, spit it out. We don’t have all day.”

  “Sir, the only reason we suffered such heavy injuries is that one of those black creatures Monroe’s team found on our last deployment attacked. These soldiers are only alive today because someone had the bright idea of hitting it with a broken pipe instead of using Light. It wasn’t exactly effective, but it distracted the creature long enough to get the Possessor’s memory imprint. For the sake of everyone’s stomach, I will only share the photos with you personally.”

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  “Stars…” Moran said softly as he went over the damage, his demeanor softening for the first time.

  “That’s about what I said as well. We need a way to fight these things, especially since Fourth has the only deployable optic in our company.”

  “I’ll begin training with Monroe to get an understanding of how to fight them so I can teach the non-combatant types. But I will be ready to deploy if need be,” Summers said, interjecting himself into the conversation.

  “Thank you, First Sergeant. Eventually, Blackrock took the security terminal in the mountains and re-armed the system. Based on my observation, it was only a matter of minutes before the planetwide defense grid was back up and ready for action. Even if Light-based weaponry cannot harm those… things, the orbital network will eliminate any of their Raak’Shee lackeys that dares to surface.” Not waiting for a reply, the Lieutenant promptly took her seat.

  “Sergeant Scott, anything else to add?” Moran asked.

  “No Sir. The LT gave you everything you needed to know. If I could give a better report, I would be in her place,” the Sergeant replied from his chair.

  “I would still like to know your take, and I would like you to do it while standing.”

  “Sir, no offense, but if I could stand on my own, I wouldn’t be in this room with you right now. I would be in the infirmary, waiting for my people. I get paid to kill things. I do not get paid to write reports.” Scott said, gesturing to his bandaged thigh.

  From what Jack gathered, this mission had nearly destroyed third platoon. In order to get close enough to the security control center, they were forced to fight their way through a veritable army of Raak’Shee.

  All in all, they eliminated somewhere around eighty enemy soldiers, but the victory was not without losses. Nearly all their soldiers were wounded badly enough for an extensive stay in the infirmary. If not for some well timed aerial support from a last-minute cavalry deployment, there wouldn’t be a single soul standing in their place.

  It was the unfortunate price of battle.

  “Lieutenant Hawkins, report.” The Lieutenant Colonel said, turning to Jack’s platoon.

  “Sir,” Hawkins said, getting to his feet and falling into attention, “Turaspeir did much better than anyone expected. Especially considering the unforeseen circumstances they were in, I doubt anyone else at their skill level could’ve pulled it off. They broke in, killed enemy soldiers, and completed the mission. They only fought when needed, quickly deducing the most efficient method of dealing with the enemy when they did. Most of the time, they handled the enemy with stealth rather than brute force.”

  “And the secondary objective?”

  “They successfully recovered four cases of undiluted Serum. However, I don’t suspect that will be a major setback much longer. But either way, those cases have already been serialized and sent to Algol via remote drone.”

  “Good to hear,” he said, motioning for Hawkins to sit. “Monroe?”

  “Sir, those creatures were in the factory as well. All in all, we ran into three of them. The one hunting Alexander and Neilson, the one that took Walker’s leg, and the one at the end of the mission.”

  “Did you kill them?” Moran asked.

  “We killed one, and we did it the same way as before. I was able to tie a single thread to its body and strip it of the natural immunity to Li-Tech they seem to have. If Command needs a more detailed explanation, I would be glad to forward the helmet recordings. That said, the one from the slope, and the one the Captain helped us escape from, remain alive.”

  “And the civilian?”

  “Apparently, she was captured early in the occupation, but the timeline doesn’t line up. As much as I hate to say it, keeping a constant watch on her would be prudent. From what I gather, her jailer was the enemy leader. Again, the only reason half of my team survived is because of the Captain’s sacrifice.”

  “I can appreciate that. Will Turaspeir continue to question her?”

  “In time, but right now we need to lick our wounds and forget that the military world exists,” Jack said, knowing he was walking a fine line of insubordination with the comment.

  “Ha! I’ve been there, Sergeant. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to reconstitute myself after a mission.” The Colonel laughed, his irritation draining away in the face of such a bold statement, “What can an old soldier do to make these fights less one-sided?”

  “Create more Optics.” Jack replied with a shrug.

  “Which is pure chance. What are your injuries?”

  “Specialist Walker lost a leg, and I’m not entirely sure how long it will be until she is back in fighting shape. West sustained several injuries, but Alfson healed him in the field. Unfortunately, the power drain on everyone was so intense that I’m all but certain they will pass out in this chamber.”

  “Understood,” Moran said, turning back to the company. “You all did incredible work out there, soldiers. I hate to bench a company in wartime, but if anyone has earned it…”

  “Excuse me,” a Georgia twang filled the room, cutting the Colonel off, “I hate to interrupt, but this will just be a second.”

  The look of irritation returned as Moran glared at Dave in annoyance. After a long minute, he motioned for the Aegis to continue.

  “Sir, while we were in the Vault, we ran across some neat toys. We left most of them on the shelves, but we brought a few home with us.”

  “You just… took equipment that you knew wasn’t complete? Under whose authority did you raid those shelves?”

  “Uh… Officer Hargrave?”

  The room went quiet. While the Colonel could make him turn everything over, anything considered a gift from one of the seven Unranked Officers was the sole property of the recipient.

  “And?”

  “And I strapped one to my armor. It is a shield-boosting module. I want to volunteer for the experiments, even if it only results in a short boost of power.”

  “Absolutely not. Not even if the researcher was Hargrave himself,” the Colonel snapped.

  “Well… it wasn’t Officer Hargrave,” Dave said sheepishly.

  “Who was it?”

  “The initials on the plaque were FB, and there was a reference to another module with the initials TK. The one on the shield module hinted he had a way to make everything safe, but couldn’t find volunteers,” Dave answered. “Sir, if these two technologies can make me strong enough to save just one life, it is worth it. If they prove successful and can eventually be used by any Aegis, we could save countless lives.”

  “You can save lives by perfecting your craft,” he replied, giving no ground.

  “You know what I think?” an obnoxiously loud voice interrupted the conversation.

  The disturbance broke what little remained of their military decorum. All eyes turned toward the source of the noise and found an almost comically large Latin man leaning against the back wall of the chamber. His deeply tanned skin, massive size, and long unruly hair instantly gave away his identity.

  “I think that if a soldier is willing to undergo an unknown quantity of tests on the off chance that he might save a life, we should allow it.”

  “Officer Barca,” Moran replied, irritation dripping from his tone.

  The Colonel showed clear annoyance at the man's presence, but the rest of the company was visibly shocked.

  “Sir, I’m surprised. Usually, my office notifies me when one of you is onboard. Something as menial as an after-action report rarely draws the attention of an Unranked Officer.”

  “I know I’m breaking protocol, Lieutenant Colonel. I simply don’t care. Just as a little secret between you and me… and apparently Charlie Company, Toby removed my name from that protocol years ago. He said it was getting far too tedious to track my comings and goings,” he replied, ignoring the Colonel’s tone as he walked to the center platform with a laugh, “but we don’t have time to talk about what once was. If this young man wants to volunteer for amplification experiments, who are you to stop him? At best, he will turn the tide of battle when things are going south. At worst? At worst, he has to endure a few weeks of detox while Theresa removes the mental pathways that lead to addiction.”

  Silence lingered as Barca fell quiet. While thinking about his response, Lieutenant Colonel Moran caught Dave’s gaze. Was it smart to allow this soldier to play fast and loose with his own life? No.

  But was it really that risky? Did Moran even have a say in this transaction?

  “Specialist, do you understand what you’re signing up for?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

  “Honestly, no. But if I’m going to be responsible for my team’s safety, I have to try.”

  It was the response Moran both expected and feared. It was the short-sighted answer of someone who hadn’t trained enough but still expected power to be handed to them.

  “And is that not something that training can help rectify?” He asked, slipping a small dart into his hand.

  “I’m sure it can, but will training alone be enough to fight back?”

  Moran struck while Dave was busy looking at his platoon for reassurance.

  With a flick of his wrist, a dart flew on a direct path for the Aegis’s right shoulder. It was a test. One that would cost the trust of this soldier. That was something he was willing to live with if it meant forcing this child to understand.

  “What the hell, man?”

  That…

  That was not the response Moran expected.

  Pulling the Specialist’s vision into his own, it shocked the Colonel to see the dart hanging in the air a quarter inch from Dave’s flesh.

  “That was a test,” Moran replied. “if I would have hit you, I wouldn’t have allowed you to take place in these trials. Again, do you understand the danger of what you’re signing up for?”

  “Sir, pardon my bluntness, but what part of my previous statement was unclear? No, I don’t know what I’m getting into, but I’m willing to try anything to keep my friends alive.”

  The disrespectful tone grated on him, but Moran recognized it was his own fault.

  “Very well. Officer Barca, I will pass this on to Captain Griffin when she is back on her feet. You may approach West for these experiments, but I ask that you wait until Turaspeir is on the road to recovery.”

  “Of course,” Barca said, clapping Moran on the shoulder, “I’m not a monster. West, I’ll be coming by your cabin to talk about the process before we commit to anything.”

  “Company, fall out,” Moran said, turning on his heel and walking out of the briefing room.

  The things that happened to Charlie Company brought back memories that were better left forgotten.

  Fortunately, he knew just how to forget those memories again.