Formation. Hurry up and wait. The life of an Enlisted soldier.

  - UWO First Sergeant Bendall -

  “Fuck, man,” Barlow says to my right, shifting his leg like his underwear is bunched up.

  “You guys heard anything yet?” Tran asks to my left, going through his interface slyly with one hand.

  “Nope,” I sigh.

  We’ve been standing at ease for the last three hours. Coming up on lunch now. I guess higher up is still getting briefed, by people even higher up. The trickle of information is deafening. Many theories are going around. All of them are wrong so far.

  “Bet it was an off-worlder,” Tran says, stretching his neck, “Those guys don’t give a fuck about Earth.”

  “Do you blame them?” I ask, with an eyebrow raised.

  “Nah, just saying.”

  “What if, you know,” Barlow says, glancing over, “What if God, like Earth God decided to step in finally?”

  Yeah, he’s not the first who’s been saying stuff like that. Been hearing it all morning. Every religious variation has been questioned now. People are genuinely thinking that the big G-O-D is the one stepping up to the plate to bat for Earth. They seem to be forgetting the fact that the gates have increased in difficulty. How much… well, we don’t know yet. The System, as per its usual withholding ass self, decided to just tell us it was recalibrating and good luck.

  “What if…” Tran pauses, squinting his eyes, an expression that looks like he’s thinking hard or trying to take a shit, I’m guessing the former, “What if like, Jesus, Muhammad, and Zeus like formed a don’t fuck with Earth pact?”

  Barlow gives me a look, and I shrug. He’s about to shut it down, but I hold up a hand.

  “Let him cook,” I say, fighting back the grin.

  “Okay, okay, just hear me out,” Tran says, holding up his hands, trying to show us some kind of demonstration, “Imagine all the Earth Pantheons across all the ages of civilization, imagine if they were real.”

  “Okay, hypothetically,” Barlow sighs.

  “Right,” Tran pauses, trying to parse the thoughts, “They’d be like unstoppable, right?”

  “Hypothetically,” I say, trying not to laugh still.

  “Well, it has to be something like that,” Tran says, scratching his chin, “Who else would have the juice to fuck with the System?”

  If only I could tell him; I don’t know, maybe an old forgotten Goddess who only seems to pick people who have lost everything. Because she probably has a fetish for suffering. The same type that doesn’t tell you the truth about how many lives you have. Instead, she instills false confidence. In the same breath, she breaks the rules to give you some kind of crazy ass ring that you don’t know how to use. Oh, and to do it, she screws your entire world. Not because you asked her to, but because she probably just got sick of Red telling her no.

  Still, if she hadn’t told me I had the lives… would I have had the balls to fight the Wyvern? Maybe she did help me, in her own, I don’t know, Goddessy way.

  “I wonder who’s stronger, Thor or Zeus,” Tran says, looking toward the skies, “Both fuck with lightning.”

  “So does Jupiter,” Barlow tilts his head, “Though he’s basically just Zeus if you look at it objectively.”

  “Dude, don’t shit on Zeus like that,” Tran protests.

  “Bro, they’re literally the same, just named different. You can go through all the Greek and Roman gods and find a counterpart,” Barlow says confidently.

  “You sure about that?” Tran asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “Very.”

  “Dionysus?” Tran challenges raising the eyebrow higher.

  “Bacchus.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Tran begins naming other gods and Barlow surprises both of us with his extensive knowledge. My mind drifts past the conversation, feeling the sleek metal band around my finger. What does it do? Why did Ulana cause so much trouble for it? She literally hand-picked it. Why? I wonder if there’s a way for me to communicate with her. Maybe I should try praying. On second thought, remembering her murals, she doesn’t answer prayers for those who seek her. Although, she is confusing, and somewhat of a contradiction. Maybe I should just try it later. There’s a tightening up in formation. All the platoons are starting to quiet down.

  “Attention!” our Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Mwangi yells.

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  All of us snap to it. Silence falls over hundreds of people as each platoon does the same. All four platoons of Charlie Company are completely silent, besides a stray fart three rows back. It’s always something.

  In front of us moving towards a large raised platform is the Company Commander, Captain Broden. He’s not bad, but he definitely didn’t say shit when we were getting field grade article fifteens from the Battalion Commander. Didn’t say that we were doing the right thing by helping off-worlders eat discarded Meals Ready to Eat. Didn’t say anything helpful. When the Battalion Commander asked if there was a reason he should be lenient, Broden just said, do as you see fit, Sir. If Staff Sergeant Mwangi hadn’t been there, Tran, Barlow, and I would be E-1s right now. Privates. He was there though, so no harm, no foul. Glancing at Tran though, he doesn’t feel the same. He absolutely hates Captain Broden. Barlow’s indifferent like me. Mostly.

  “At ease,” Captain Broden says into a microphone.

  Everyone relaxes, but we don’t speak.

  “All of us received the same message from the System,” he begins, walking along the raised platform, giving a perfect look to each platoon, “Command has notified us that due to the increase in Gate difficulty, we will be sending two platoons through each Gate.”

  Murmuring and groaning. That means we’re all on double-gate duty now. I’m not as upset about it as everyone else. I need to do more Gates. Fastest way to level.

  “We’re also receiving a permanent detachment from the World Hunters Association, and the World Supporters Association,” Captain Broden says, his face looking a little strained, “You will treat them with the utmost respect.”

  More murmuring.

  We’ve all seen people from the WHA and WSA. Usually, the WHA ones are on the news, clearing some catastrophe up. Always wearing flashy armor and flaunting insanely expensive weapons. There are two paths to supporting the United World Order. Some countries opted for a privatized organization. It didn’t really catch on, until people started finishing their contracts and joining it. Hunters don’t really have a lot of options outside of the military and the WHA. When the System came online, it randomly gave everyone a class. Some of those classes were designated as support classes, making them Supporters. The problem is, those classes are highly specialized. Farmers, Bakers, even Accountants. There’s plenty to go around. They level up like us, but by doing their jobs, albeit much, much slower.

  Therefore, it was decided by the powers that be, that all people born or chosen to be Hunters, fight the Gates. Those who are not, do what the System says, and support. It’s just another rung in the bullshit ladder the System makes us traverse.

  “On top of those developments, we should be expecting a lot of suits around here soon,” Captain Broden says, looking out at each platoon until they fall silent, “Whatever happened, did so just outside of our post. They will be combing through every single personnel file, and likely interviewing every person within a hundred-mile radius. If you know anything, and I mean anything, then you have a duty to the Earth to speak up.”

  Damn. That’s going to be messy. They’re going to figure out that something is up with me. I can’t in good conscience be medical coverage without healing. I was also off-post when the incident occurred. They’ll connect the dots. Losing my ID and not scanning it at the front gate, that might have bought me some time. Which I desperately need. Letting out a shallow breath, I need to tread carefully.

  “The next few weeks are going to be tough,” Captain Broden says, shaking his head, “I know that, and I’m sure you all get that as well. Take the rest of the day off, blow off some steam, Second and Fourth Platoon, you’re on call for the next Gate, no getting shitfaced.”

  There’s a lot of murmuring now. Lots of swearing under breath as well, especially from Tran. Captain Broden releases the platoons back to the platoon leaders and heads toward our platoon. He doesn’t know anything, relax.

  “At ease,” Captain Broden says to Staff Sergeant Mwangi and our Platoon Leader, second Lieutenant Harrows. Guy’s fresh as they come, came in three months ago. Hasn’t been bad yet, but also hasn’t stood out. Hard to with Mwangi around. But most people like him. He puts in effort and tries to learn.

  I’m too far back to hear what’s being said, but Mwangi looks pissed, and Harrows, well he looks confused as hell.

  Five minutes later, Lieutenant Harrows breaks the news.

  “Listen up, I know I haven’t been with you long, but I just want to say it’s been a pleasure working with you.”

  A pleasure working with us? Is he getting canned? Did he fuck up?

  “I’ve been reassigned to the investigative task force regarding the incident, it’s apparently an honor,” he says, unconvincingly.

  Why though? He literally just got here. This is so out of the ordinary.

  “Anyways, stay safe out there, and if you need anything, my doors always open,” Harrows says.

  “Attention!” Staff Sergeant Mwangi yells.

  We snap to it. Mwangi turns and salutes the outgoing Platoon Leader, all of us do the same.

  Lieutenant Harrows salutes us back, and then nods solemnly, before turning and walking off like a defeated man.

  “This is bullshit,” Tran groans, clenching his jaw, “He was actually decent.”

  We all had high hopes for him. Now we’re going to get a new Platoon Leader, who we don’t even know. To make matters worse, usually, there’s some left seat, right seat passing of the torch so to speak. Whatever, we’ve been through worse. We got this.

  Staff Sergeant Mwangi has a vein throbbing on the side of his temple. He’s livid.

  “Our new Platoon Leader,” he says through gritted teeth, “Is on the way, hold tight, and show them respect,” he pauses, shaking his head, “No matter how you might feel, you are soldiers.”

  “Hooah, Sergeant!” we all yell, though, not very enthusiastically.

  If we get a dipshit, it’s going to make the whole situation worse. Yet another domino falling from the Red Ulana Hurricane. Still, everyone I care about is alive. That’s enough for me.

  ***

  Three whole hours pass and half of us are crouching, some are even full-on sitting, Mwangi hasn’t said shit about it. He didn’t even say shit about my skipping extra duty, yet. There is some good news though, enough people have crouched that I can steal glances at Cortez. Her squad’s further back in the platoon formation. She’s swiping through her interface, but every once in a while, she looks up and gives me the hint of a smile. I’m lucky to have her. It still hasn’t fully sunk in that we are officially dating now. She’s one hell of a woman. Despite everything, she’s sticking by me. She turns and looks over at me, giving me an eyebrow raise, then a little tongue out while no one is looking, making me laugh.

  “Hey, heads up, I think that’s the new Lt,” Barlow says, nudging me.

  I don’t turn to look right away, just one more glance at Cortez and I can get through the formation. She turns though, standing on the tips of her boots to see over the people in front of her. Her expression changes almost instantly, her eyes sliding over to me, wide, eyebrow twitching up a storm. Her jaw is tense, she’s muttering something under her breath as she turns to look again. She looks… pissed.

  Why would she be…

  “Attention!” Mwangi yells.

  All eyes go forward.

  “Welcome to Second Platoon, Ma’am,” Mwangi says, rendering a salute which everyone follows… except for me.

  My jaw slacks open a bit, staring at the First Lieutenant in front of me…

  Barlow nudges me from my stupor and my salute goes up.

  “Thank you Sergeant Mwangi,” the Lieutenant says, then releasing the salute, all of ours fall too, “I am First Lieutenant Dorliac, and I’m looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you.”

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